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Constance Sherwood
CONSTANCE SHERWOOD.
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.
CHAPTER I.
I had not thought to write the story of my life; but the wishes of
those who have at all times more right to command than occasion to
entreat aught at my hands, have in a manner compelled me thereunto.
The divers trials and the unlooked-for comforts which have come to my
lot during the years that I have been tossed to and fro on this uneasy
sea--the world--have wrought in my soul an exceeding sense of the
goodness of God, and an insight into the meaning of the sentence in
Holy Writ which saith, "His ways are not as our ways, nor his thoughts
like unto our thoughts." And this puts me in mind that there are
sayings which are in every one's mouth, and therefore not to be
lightly gainsayed, which nevertheless do not approve themselves to my
conscience as wholly just and true. Of these is the common adage,
"That misfortunes come not alone." For my own part, I have found that
when a cross has been laid on me, it has mostly been a single one, and
that other sorrows were oftentimes removed, as if to make room for it.
And it has been my wont, when one trial has been passing away, to look
out for the next, even as on a stormy day, when the clouds have rolled
away in one direction and sunshine is breaking overhead, we see others
rising in the distance. There has been no portion of my life free from
some measure of grief or fear sufficient to recall the words that "Man
is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward;" and none so reft of
consolation that, in the midst of suffering, I did not yet cry out,
"The Lord is my shepherd; his rod and his staff comfort me."
I was born in the year 1557, in a very fair part of England, at
Sherwood Hall, in the county of Stafford. For its comely aspect,
commodious chambers, sunny gardens, and the sweet walks in its
vicinity, it was as commendable a residence for persons of moderate
fortune and contented minds as can well be thought of. Within and
without this my paternal home nothing was wanting which might please
the eye, or minister to tranquillity of mind and healthful
recreation. I reckon it amongst the many favors I have received from a
gracious Providence, that the earlier years of my life were spent
amidst such fair scenes, and in the society of parents who ever took
occasion from earthly things to lead my thoughts to such as are
imperishable, and so to stir up in me a love of the Creator, who has
stamped his image on this visible world in characters of so great
beauty; whilst in the tenderness of those dear parents unto myself I
saw, as it were, a type and representation of his paternal love and
goodness.
My father was of an ancient family, and allied to such as were of
greater note and more wealthy than his own. He had not, as is the
manner with many squires of our days, left off residing on his own
estate in order to seek after the shows and diversions of London; but
had united to a great humility of mind and a singular affection for
learning a contentedness of spirit which inclined him to dwell in the
place assigned to him by Providence. He had married at an early age,
and had ever conformed to the habits of his neighbors in all lawful
and kindly ways, and sought no other labors but such as were
incidental to the care of his estates, and no recreations but those of
study, joined to a moderate pursuit of field-sports and such social
diversions as the neighborhood afforded. His outward appearance was
rather simple than showy, and his manners grave and composed. When I
call to mind the singular modesty of his disposition, and the
retiredness of his manners, I often marvel how the force of
circumstances and the urging of conscience should have forced one so
little by nature inclined to an unsettled mode of life into one which,
albeit peaceful in its aims, proved so full of danger and disquiet.
My mother's love I enjoyed but for a brief season. Not that it waxed
cold toward me, as happens with some parents, who look with fondness
on the child and less tenderly on the maiden; but it pleased Almighty
God to take her unto himself when I was but ten years of age. Her face
is as present to me now as any time of my life. No limner's hand ever
drew a more faithful picture than the one I have of her even now
engraved on the tablet of my heart. She had so fair and delicate a
complexion that I can only liken it to the leaf of a white rose with
the lightest tinge of pink in it. Her hair was streaked with gray too
early for her years; but this matched well with the sweet melancholy
of her eyes, which were of a deep violet color. Her eyelids were a
trifle thick, and so were her lips; but there was a pleasantness in
her smile and the dimples about her mouth such as I have not noticed
in any one else. She had a sweet womanly and loving heart, and the
noblest spirit imaginable; a great zeal in the service of God,
tempered with so much sweetness and cordiality that she gave not
easily offence to any one, of howsoever different a way of thinking
from herself; and either won them over to her faith through the
suavity of her temper and the wisdom of her discourse, or else worked
in them a personal liking which made them patient with her, albeit
fierce with others. When I was about seven years of age I noticed that
she waxed thin and pale, and that we seldom went abroad, and walked
only in our own garden and orchard. She seemed glad to sit on a bench
on the sunny side of the house even in summer, and on days when by
reason of the heat I liked to lie down in the shade. My parents
forbade me from going into the village; and, through the perverseness
common to too many young people, on account of that very prohibition I
longed for liberty to do so, and wearied oftentimes of the solitude we
lived in. At a later period I learnt how kind had been their intent in
keeping me during the early years of childhood from a knowledge of the
woeful divisions which the late changes in religion had wrought in our
country; which I might easily have heard from young companions,
and maybe in such sort as to awaken angry feelings, and shed a drop of
bitter in the crystal cup of childhood's pure faith. If we did walk
abroad, it was to visit some sick persons, and carry them food or
clothing or medicines, which my mother prepared with her own hands.
But as she grew weaker, we went less often outside the gates, and the
poor came themselves to fetch away what in her bounty she stored up
for them. I did not notice that our neighbors looked unkindly on us
when we were seen in the village. Children would cry out sometimes,
but half in play, "Down with the Papists!" but I witnessed that their
elders checked them, especially those of the poorer sort; and "God
bless you, Mrs. Sherwood!" and "God save you, madam!" was often in
their mouths, as she whom I loved with so great and reverent an
affection passed alongside of them, or stopped to take breath, leaning
against their cottage-palings.
Many childish heartaches I can even now remember when I was not
suffered to join in the merry sports of the 1st of May; for then, as
the poet Chaucer sings, the youths and maidens go
"To fetch the flowers fresh and branch and bloom,
And these, rejoicing in their great delight,
Eke each at other throw the blossoms bright."
I watched the merry wights as they passed our door on their way to the
groves and meadows, singing mirthful carols, and bent on pleasant
pastimes; and tears stood in my eyes as the sound of their voices died
away in the distance. My father found me thus weeping one May-day, and
carried me with him to a sweet spot in a wood, where wild-flowers grew
like living jewels out of the green carpet of moss on which we sat;
and there, as the birds sang from every bough, and the insects hovered
and hummed over every blossom, he entertained me with such quaint and
pleasant tales, and moved me to merry laughter by his witty devices;
so that I set down that day in my book of memory as one of the
joyfullest in all my childhood. At Easter, when the village children
rolled pasch eggs down the smooth sides of the green hills, my mother
would paint me some herself, and adorned them with such bright colors
and rare sentences that I feared to break them with rude handling, and
kept them by me throughout the year, rather as pictures to be gazed on
than toys to be played with in a wanton fashion.
On the morning of the Resurrection, when others went to the top of
Cannock Chase to hail the rising sun, as is the custom of those parts,
she would sing so sweetly the psalm which speaketh of the heavens
rejoicing and of the earth being glad, that it grieved me not to stay
at home; albeit I sometimes marvelled that we saw so little company,
and mixed not more freely with our neighbors.
When I had reached my ninth birthday, whether it was that I took
better heed of words spoken in my hearing, or else that my parents
thought it was time that I should learn somewhat of the conditions of
the times, and so talked more freely in my presence, it so happened
that I heard of the jeopardy in which many who held the Catholic faith
were, and of the laws which were being made to prohibit in our country
the practice of the ancient religion. When Protestants came to our
house--and it was sometimes hard in those days to tell who were such at
heart, or only in outward semblance out of conformity to the queen's
pleasure--I was strictly charged not to speak in their hearing of aught
that had to do with Catholic faith and worship; and I could see at
such times on my mother's face an uneasy expression, as if she was
ever fearing the next words that any one might utter.
In the autumn of that year we had visitors whose company was so great
an honor to my parents, and the occasion of so much delight to myself,
that I can call to mind every little circumstance of their brief
sojourn under our roof, even as if it had taken place but
yesterday. This visit proved the first step toward an intimacy which
greatly affected the tenor of my life, and prepared the way for the
direction it was hereafter to take.
These truly honorable and well-beloved guests were my Lady Mounteagle
and her son Mr. James Labourn, who were journeying at that time from
London, where she had been residing at her son-in-law the Duke of
Norfolk's house, to her seat in the country; whither she was carrying
the three children of her daughter, the Duchess of Norfolk, and of
that lady's first husband, the Lord Dacre of the North. The eldest of
these young ladies was of about my own age, and the others younger.
The day on which her ladyship was expected, I could not sit with
patience at my tambour-frame, or con my lessons, or play on the
virginals; but watched the hours and the minutes in my great desire to
see these noble wenches. I had not hitherto consorted with young
companions, save with Edmund and John Genings, of whom I shall have
occasion to speak hereafter, who were then my playmates, as at a riper
age friends. I thought, in the quaint way in which children couple one
idea with another in their fantastic imaginations, that my Lady
Mounteagle's three daughters would be like the three angels, in my
mother's missal, who visited Abraham in his tent.
I had craved from my mother a holiday, which she granted on the score
that I should help her that forenoon in the making of the pasties and
jellies, which, as far as her strength allowed, she failed not to lend
a hand to; and also she charged me to set the bed-chambers in fair
order, and to gather fresh flowers wherewith to adorn the parlor.
These tasks had in them a pleasantness which whiled away the time, and
I alternated from the parlor to the store-room, and the kitchen to the
orchard, and the poultry-yard to the pleasure-ground, running as
swiftly from one to the other, and as merrily, as if my feet were
keeping time with the glad beatings of my heart. As I passed along the
avenue, which was bordered on each side by tall trees, ever and anon,
as the wind shook their branches, there fell on my head showers of red
and gold-colored leaves, which made me laugh; so easy is it for the
young to find occasion of mirth in the least trifle when their spirits
are lightsome, as mine were that day. I sat down on a stone bench on
which the western sun was shining, to bind together the posies I had
made; the robins twittered around me; and the air felt soft and fresh.
It was the eve of Martinmas-day--Hallowtide Summer, as our country
folk call it. As the sun was sinking behind the hills, the tread of
horses' feet was heard in the distance, and I sprang up on the bench,
shading my eyes with my hand to see the approach of that goodly
travelling-party, which was soon to reach our gates. My parents came
out of the front door, and beckoned me to their side. I held my posies
in my apron, and forgot to set them down; for the first sight of my
Lady Mounteagle, as she rode up the avenue with her son at her side,
and her three grand-daughters with their attendants, and many
richly-attired serving-men beside, filled me with awe. I wondered if
her majesty had looked more grand on the day that she rode into London
to be proclaimed queen. The good lady sat on her palfry in so erect
and stately a manner, as if age had no dominion over her limbs and her
spirits; and there was something so piercing and commanding in her
eye, that it at once compelled reverence and submission. Her son had
somewhat of the same nobility of mien, and was tall and graceful in
his movements; but behind her, on her pillion, sat a small counterpart
of herself, inasmuch as childhood can resemble old age, and youthful
loveliness matronly dignity. This was the eldest of her ladyship's
grand-daughters, my sweet Mistress Ann Dacre. This was my first sight
of her who was hereafter to hold so great a place in my heart and
in my life. As she was lifted from the saddle, and stood in her
riding-habit and plumed hat at our door, making a graceful and modest
obeisance to my parents, one step retired behind her grandam, with a
lovely color tinging her cheeks, and her long lashes veiling her sweet
eyes, I thought I had never seen so fair a creature as this high-born
maiden of my own age; and even now that time, as it has gone by, has
shown me all that a court can display to charm the eyes and enrapture
the fancy, I do not gainsay that same childish thought of mine. Her
sisters, pretty prattlers then, four and six years of age, were led
into the house by their governess. But ere our guests were seated, my
mother bade me kiss my Lady Mounteagle's hand and commend myself to
her goodness, praying her to be a good lady to me, and overlook, out
of her great indulgence, my many defects. At which she patted me on
the cheek, and said, she doubted not but that I was as good a child as
such good parents deserved to have; and indeed, if I was as like my
mother in temper as in face, I must needs be such as her hopes and
wishes would have me. And then she commanded Mistress Ann to salute
me; and I felt my cheeks flush and my heart beat with joy as the sweet
little lady put her arms round my neck, and pressed her lips on my
cheek.
Presently we all withdrew to our chambers until such time as supper
was served, at which meal the young ladies were present; and I
marvelled to see how becomingly even the youngest of them, who was but
a chit, knew how to behave herself, never asking for anything, or
forgetting to give thanks in a pretty manner when she was helped. For
the which my mother greatly commended their good manners; and her
ladyship said, "In truth, good Mistress Sherwood, I carry a strict
hand over them, never suffering their faults to go unchastised, nor
permitting such liberties as many do to the ruin of their children." I
was straightway seized with a great confusion and fear that this was
meant as a rebuke to me, who, not being much used to company, and
something overindulged by my father, by whose side I was seated, had
spoken to him more than once that day at table, and had also left on
my plate some victuals not to my liking; which, as I learnt at another
time from Mistress Ann, was an offence for which her grandmother would
have sharply reprehended her. I ventured not again to speak in her
presence, and scarcely to raise my eyes toward her.
The young ladies withdrew early to bed that night, and I had but
little speech with them. Before they left the parlor, Mistress Ann
took her sisters by the hand, and all of them, kneeling at their
grandmother's feet, craved her blessing. I could see a tear in her eye
as she blessed them; and when she laid her hand on the head of the
eldest of her grand-daughters, it lingered there as if to call down
upon her a special benison. The next day my Lady Mounteagle gave
permission for Mistress Ann to go with me into the garden, where I
showed her my flowers and the young rabbits that Edmund Genings and
his brother, my only two playmates, were so fond of; and she told me
how well pleased she was to remove from London unto her grandmother's
seat, where she would have a garden and such pleasant pastimes as are
enjoyed in the country.
"Prithee, Mistress Ann," I said, with the unmannerly boldness with
which children are wont to question one another, "have you not a
mother, that you live with your grandam?"
"I thank God that I have," she answered; "and a good mother she is to
me; but by reason of her having lately married the Duke of Norfolk, my
grandmother has at the present time the charge of us."
"And do you greatly love my Lady Mounteagle?" I asked, misdoubting in
my folly that a lady of so grave aspect and stately carriage should be
loved by children.
"As greatly as heart can love," was her pretty answer.
"And do you likewise love the Duke of Norfolk, Mistress Ann?" I asked
again.
"He is my very good lord and father," she answered; "but my knowledge
of his grace has been so short, I have scarce had time to love him
yet."
"But I have loved you in no time," I cried, and threw my arms round
her neck. "Directly I saw you, I loved you, Mistress Ann."
"Mayhap, Mistress Constance," she said, "it is easier to love a little
girl than a great duke."
"And who do you affection beside her grace your mother, and my lady
your grandam, Mistress Ann?" I said, again returning to the charge; to
which she quickly replied:
"My brother Francis, my sweet Lord Dacre."
"Is he a child?" I asked.
"In truth, Mistress Constance," she answered, "he would not be well
pleased to be called so; and yet methinks he is but a child, being not
older, but rather one year younger than myself, and my dear playmate
and gossip."
"I wish I had a brother or a sister to play with me," I said; at which
Mistress Ann kissed me and said she was sorry I should lack so great a
comfort, but that I must consider I had a good father of my own,
whereas her own was dead; and that a father was more than a brother.
In this manner we held discourse all the morning, and, like a rude
imp, I questioned the gracious young lady as to her pastimes and her
studies and the tasks she was set to; and from her innocent
conversation I discovered, as children do, without at the time taking
much heed, but yet so as to remember it afterward, what especial care
had been taken by her grandmother--that religious and discreet
lady--to instill into her virtue and piety, and in using her, beside
saying her prayers, to bestow alms with her own hands on prisoners and
poor people; and in particular to apply herself to the cure of
diseases and wounds, wherein she herself had ever excelled. Mistress
Ann, in her childish but withal thoughtful way, chide me that in my
own garden were only seen flowers which pleased the senses by their
bright colors and perfume, and none of the herbs which tend to the
assuagement of pain and healing of wounds; and she made me promise to
grow some against the time of her next visit. As we went through the
kitchen-garden, she plucked some rosemary and lavender and rue, and
many other odoriferous herbs; and sitting down on a bench, she invited
me to her side, and discoursed on their several virtues and properties
with a pretty sort of learning which was marvellous in one of her
years. She showed me which were good for promoting sleep, and which
for cuts and bruises, and of a third she said it eased the heart.
"Nay, Mistress Ann," I cried, "but that must be a heartsease;" at
which she smiled, and answered:
"My grandam says the best medicines for uneasy hearts are the bitter
herb confession and the sweet flower absolution."
"Have you yet made your first communion, Mistress Ann?" I asked in a
low voice, at which question a bright color came into her cheek, and
she replied:
"Not yet; but soon I may. I was confirmed not long ago by the good
Bishop of Durham; and at my grandmother's seat I am to be instructed
by a Catholic priest who lives there."
"Then you do not go to Protestant service?" I said.
"We did," she answered, "for a short time, whilst we stayed at the
Charterhouse; but my grandam has understood that it is not lawful for
Catholics, and she will not be present at it herself, or suffer us any
more to attend it, neither in her own house nor at his grace's."
While we were thus talking, the two little ladies, her sisters, came
from the house, having craved leave from the governess to run out into
the garden. Mistress Mary was a pale delicate child, with soft
loving blue eyes; and Mistress Bess, the youngest, a merry imp, whose
rosy cheeks and dimpling smiles were full of glee and merriment.
"What ugly sober flowers are these, Nan, that thou art playing with?"
she cried, and snatched at the herbs in her sister's lap. "When I
marry my Lord William Howard, I'll wear a posy of roses and
carnations."
"When I am married," said little Mistress Mary, "I will wear nothing
but lilies."
"And what shall be thy posy, Nan?" said the little saucy one again,
"when thou dost wed my Lord Surrey?"
"Hush, hush, madcaps!" cried Mistress Ann. "If your grandam was to
hear you, I doubt not but the rod would be called for."
Mistress Mary looked round affrighted, but little Mistress Bess said
in a funny manner, "Prithee, Nan, do rods then travel?"
"Ay; by that same token, Bess, that I heard my lady bid thy nurse take
care to carry one with her."
"It was nurse told me I was to marry my Lord William, and Madge my
Lord Thomas, and thee, Nan, my Lord Surrey, and brother pretty Meg
Howard," said the little lady, pouting; "but I won't tell grandam of
it an it would be like to make her angry."
"I would be a nun!" Mistress Mary cried.
"Hush!" her elder sister said; "that is foolish talking, Madge; my
grandmother told me so when I said the same thing to her a year ago.
Children do not know what Almighty God intends them to do. And now
methinks I see Uncle Labourn making as if he would call us to the
house, and there are the horses coming to the door. We must needs obey
the summons. Prithee, Mistress Constance, do not forget me."
Forget her! No. From that day to this years have passed over our heads
and left deep scars on our hearts. Divers periods of our lives have
been signalized by many a strange passage; we have rejoiced, and,
oftener still, wept together; we have met in trembling, and parted in
anguish; but through sorrow and through joy, through evil report and
good report, in riches and in poverty, in youth and in age, I have
blessed the day when first I met thee, sweet Ann Dacre, the fairest,
purest flower which ever grew on a noble stem.
CHAPTER II.
A year elapsed betwixt the period of the so brief, but to me so
memorable, visit of the welcomest guests our house ever received--to
wit, my Lady Mounteagle and her grand-daughters--and that in which I
met with an accident, which compelled my parents to carry me to
Lichfield for chirurgical advice. Four times in the course of that
year I was honored with letters writ by the hand of Mistress Ann
Dacre; partly, as the gracious young lady said, by reason of her
grandmother's desire that the bud acquaintanceship which had sprouted
in the short-lived season of the aforesaid visit should, by such
intercourse as may be carried on by means of letters, blossom into a
flower of true friendship; and also that that worthy lady and my good
mother willed such a correspondence betwixt us as would serve to the
sharpening of our wits, and the using our pens to be good servants to
our thoughts. In the course of this history I will set down at
intervals some of the letters I received at divers times from this
noble lady; so that those who read these innocent pictures of herself,
portrayed by her own hand, may trace the beginnings of those virtuous
inclinations which at an early age were already working in her soul,
and ever after appeared in her.
On the 15th day of January of the next year to that in which my eyes
had feasted on this creature so embellished with rare endowments and
accomplished gracefulness, the first letter I had from her came
to my hand; the first link of a chain which knit together her heart
and mine through long seasons of absence and sore troubles, to the
great comforting, as she was often pleased to say, of herself, who was
so far above me in rank, whom she chose to call her friend, and of the
poor friend and servant whom she thus honored beyond her deserts. In
as pretty a handwriting as can well be thought of, she thus wrote:
"MY SWEET MISTRESS CONSTANCE,
--Though I enjoyed your company but for the too brief time
during which we rested under your honored parents' roof, I
retain so great a sense of the contentment I received
therefrom, and so lively a remembrance of the converse we
held in the grounds adjacent to Sherwood Hall, that I am
better pleased than I can well express that my grandmother
bids me sit down and write to one whom to see and to
converse with once more would be to me one of the chiefest
pleasures in life. And the more welcome is this command by
reason of the hope it raises in me to receive in return a
letter from my well-beloved Mistress Constance, which will
do my heart more good than anything else that can happen
to me. 'Tis said that marriages are made in heaven. When I
asked my grandam if it were so, she said, 'I am of
opinion, Nan, they are made in many more places than one;
and I would to God none were made but such as are agreed
upon in so good a place.' But methinks some friendships
are likewise made in heaven; and if it be so, I doubt not
but that when we met, and out of that brief meeting there
arose so great and sudden a liking in my heart for you,
Mistress Constance,--which, I thank God, you were not slow
to reciprocate,--that our angels had met where we hope one
day to be, and agreed together touching that matter.
"It suits ill a bad pen like mine to describe the fair seat we
reside in at this present time--the house of Mr. James Labourn,
which he has lent unto my grandmother. 'Tis most commodious and
pleasant, and after long sojourn in London, even in winter, a
terrestrial paradise. But, like the garden of Eden, not without
dangers; for the too much delight I took in out-of-doors pastimes--
and most of all on the lake when it was frozen, and we had merry
sports upon it, to the neglect of my lessons, not heeding the lapse
of time in the pursuit of pleasure--brought me into trouble and sore
disgrace. My grandmother ordered me into confinement for three days
in my own chamber, and I saw her not nor received her blessing all
that time; at the end of which she sharply reproved me for my fault,
and bade me hold in mind that 'twas when loitering in a garden Eve
met the tempter, and threatened further and severe punishment if I
applied not diligently to my studies. When I had knelt down and
begged pardon, promising amendment, she drew me to her and kissed
me, which it was not her wont often to do. 'Nan,' she said, 'I would
have thee use thy natural parts, and improve thyself in virtue and
learning; for such is the extremity of the times, that ere long it
may be that many first shall be last and many last shall be first in
this realm of England. But virtue and learning are properties which
no man can steal from another; and I would fain see thee endowed
with a goodly store of both. That great man and true confessor, Sir
Thomas More, had nothing so much at heart as his daughter's
instruction; and Mistress Margaret Roper, once my sweet friend,
though some years older than my poor self, who still laments her
loss, had such fine things said of her by the greatest men of this
age, as would astonish thee to hear; but they were what she had a
right to and very well deserved. And the strengthening of her mind
through study and religious discipline served her well at the
time of her great trouble; for where other women would have lacked
sense and courage how to act, she kept her wits about her, and
ministered such comfort to her father, remaining near him at the
last, and taking note of his wishes, and finding means to bury him
in a Christian manner, which none other durst attempt, that she had
occasion to thank God who gave her a head as well as a heart. And
who knows, Nan, what may befal thee, and what need thou mayst have
of the like advantages?'
"My grandmother looked so kindly on me then, that, albeit abashed at
the remembrance of my fault, I sought to move her to further
discourse; and knowing what great pleasure she had in speaking of
Sir Thomas More, at whose house in Chelsea she had oftentimes been a
visitor in her youth, I enticed her to it by cunning questions
touching the customs he observed in his family.
"'Ah, Nan!' she said, that house was a school and exercise
of the Christian religion. There was neither man nor woman
in it who was not employed in liberal discipline and
fruitful reading, although the principal study was
religion. There was no quarrelling, not so much as a
peevish word to be heard; nor was any one seen idle; all
were in their several employs: nor was there wanting sober
mirth. And so well-managed a government Sir Thomas did not
maintain by severity and chiding, but by gentleness and
kindness.'
"Methought as she said this, that my dear grandam in that matter of
chiding had not taken a leaf out of Sir Thomas's book; and there was
no doubt a transparency in my face which revealed to her this
thought of mine; for she straightly looked at me and said, 'Nan, a
penny for thy thoughts!' at the which I felt myself blushing, but
knew nothing would serve her but the truth; so I said, in as humble
a manner as I could think of, 'An if you will excuse me, grandam, I
thought if Sir Thomas managed so well without chiding, that you
manage well with it.' At the which she gave me a light nip on the
forehead, and said, 'Go to, child; dost think that any but saints
can rule a household without chiding, or train children without
whipping? Go thy ways, and mend them too, if thou wouldst escape
chastisement; and take with thee, Nan, the words of one whom we
shall never again see the like of in this poor country, which he
used to his wife or any of his children if they were diseased or
troubled, "We must not look at our pleasures to go to heaven in
feather-beds, or to be carried up thither even by the chins."' And
so she dismissed me; and I have here set down my fault, and the
singular goodness showed me by my grandmother when it was pardoned,
not thinking I can write anything better worth notice than the
virtuous talk with which she then favored me.
"There is in this house a chapel very neat and rich, and an ancient
Catholic priest is here, who says mass most days; at the which we,
with my grandmother, assist, and such of her servants as have not
conformed to the times; and this good father instructs us in the
principles of Catholic religion. On the eve of the feast of the
Nativity of Christ, my lady stayed in the chapel from eight at night
till two in the morning; but sent us to bed at nine, after the
litanies were said, until eleven, when there was a sermon, and at
twelve o'clock three masses said, which being ended we broke our
fast with a mince-pie, and went again to bed. And all the
Christmas-time we were allowed two hours after each meal for
recreation, instead of one. At other times, we play not at any game
for money; but then we had a shilling a-piece to make us merry;
which my grandmother says is fitting in this time of mirth and joy
for his birth who is the sole origin and spring of true comfort. And
now, sweet Mistress Constance, I must bid you farewell; for the
greatest of joys has befallen me, and a whole holiday to enjoy
it. My sweet Lord Dacre is come to pay his duty to my lady and tarry
some days here, on his way to Thetford, the Duke of Norfolk's seat,
where his grace and the duchess my good mother have removed. He is a
beauty, Mistress Constance; and nature has so profusely conferred on
him privileges, that when her majesty the queen saw him a short time
back on horseback, in the park at Richmond, she called him to her
carriage-door and honored him with a kiss, and the motto of the
finest boy she ever beheld. But I may not run on in this fashion,
letting my pen outstrip modesty, like a foolish creature, making my
brother a looking-glass and continual object for my eyes; but learn
to love him, as my grandam says, in God, of whom he is only
borrowed, and not so as to set my heart wholly on him. So beseeching
God bless you and yours, good Mistress Constance, I ever remain,
your loving friend and humble servant,
"ANN DACRE."
Oh, how soon were my Lady Mounteagle's words exalted in the event! and
what a sad brief note was penned by that affectionate sister not one
month after she writ those lines, so full of hope and pleasure in the
prospect of her brother's sweet company! For the fair boy that was the
continual object of her eyes and the dear comfort of her heart was
accidentally slain by the fall of a vaulting horse upon him at the
duke's house at Thetford.
"MY GOOD MISTRESS CONSTANCE"
(she wrote, a few days after his lamentable death),--"The lovingest
brother a sister ever had, and the most gracious creature ever born,
is dead; and if it pleased God I wish I were dead too, for my heart
is well-nigh broken. But I hope in God his soul is now in heaven,
for that he was so young and innocent; and when here, a short time
ago, my grandmother procured that he should for the first, and as it
has pleased God also for the only and the last, time, confess and be
absolved by a Catholic priest, in the which the hand of Providence
is visible to our great comfort, and reasonable hope of his
salvation. Commending him and your poor friend, who has great need
of them, to your good prayers, I remain your affectionate and humble
servant,
"ANN DACRE."
In that year died also, in childbirth, her grace the Duchess of
Norfolk, Mistress Ann's mother; and she then wrote in a less
passionate, but withal less comfortable, grief than at her brother's
loss, and, as I have heard since, my Lady Mounteagle had her
death-blow at that time, and never lifted up her head again as
heretofore. It was noticed that ever after she spent more time in
prayer and gave greater alms. Her daughter, the duchess, who at the
instance of her husband had conformed to the times, desired to have
been reconciled on her deathbed by a priest, who for that end was
conducted into the garden, yet could not have access unto her by
reason of the duke's vigilance to hinder it, or at least of his
continual presence in her chamber at the time. And soon after, his
grace, whose wards they were, sent for his three step-daughters to the
Charterhouse; the parting with which, and the fears she entertained
that he would have them carried to services and sermons in the public
churches, and hinder them in the exercise of Catholic faith and
worship, drove the sword yet deeper through my Lady Mounteagle's
heart, and brought down her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave,
notwithstanding that the duke greatly esteemed and respected her, and
was a very moral nobleman, of exceeding good temper and moderate
disposition. But of this more anon, as 'tis my own history I am
writing, and it is meet I should relate in the order of time what
events came under my notice whilst in Lichfield, whither my
mother carried me, as has been aforesaid, to be treated by a famous
physician for a severe hurt I had received. It was deemed convenient
that I should tarry some time under his care; and Mr. Genings, a
kinsman of her own, who with his wife and children resided in that
town, one of the chiefest in the county, offered to keep me in their
house as long as was convenient thereunto a kindness which my parents
the more readily accepted at his hands from their having often shown
the like unto his children when the air of the country was desired for
them.
Mr. and Mrs. Genings were of the religion by law established. He was
thought to be Catholic at heart; albeit he was often heard to speak
very bitterly against all who obeyed not the queen in conforming to
the new mode of worship, with the exception, indeed, of my mother, for
whom he had always a truly great affection. This gentleman's house was
in the close of the cathedral, and had a garden to it well stored with
fair shrubs and flowers of various sorts. As I lay on a low settle
near the window, being forbid to walk for the space of three weeks, my
eyes were ever straying from my sampler to the shade and sunshine out
of doors. Instead of plying at my needle, I watched the bees at their
sweet labor midst the honeysuckles of the porch, or the swallows
darting in and out of the eaves of the cathedral, or the butterflies
at their idle sports over the beds of mignonette and heliotrope under
the low wall, covered with ivy, betwixt the garden and the close. Mr.
Genings had two sons, the eldest of which was some years older and the
other younger than myself. The first, whose name was Edmund, had been
weakly when a child, and by reason of this a frequent sojourner at
Sherwood Hall, where he was carried for change of air after the many
illnesses incident to early age. My mother, who was some years married
before she had a child of her own, conceived a truly maternal
affection for this young kinsman, and took much pains with him both as
to the care of his body and the training of his mind. He was an apt
pupil, and she had so happy a manner of imparting knowledge, that he
learnt more, as he has since said, in those brief sojourns in her
house than at school from more austere masters. After I came into the
world, he took delight to rock me in my cradle, or play with me as I
sat on my mother's knee; and when I first began to walk, he would lead
me by the hand into the garden, and laugh to see me clutch marigolds
or cry for a sunflower.
"I warrant thou hast an eye to gold, Con," he would say; "for 'tis the
yellow flowers that please thee best."
There is an old hollow tree on the lawn at Sherwood Hall where I often
hid from him in sport, and he would make pretence to seek me
elsewhere, till a laugh revealed me to him, and a chase ensued down
the approach or round the maze. He never tired of my petulance, or
spoke rude words, as boys are wont to do; and had a more serious and
contemplative spirit than is often seen in young people, and likewise
a singular fancy for gazing at the sky when glowing with sunset hues
or darkened by storms, and most of all when studded at night with
stars. On a calm clear night I have noticed him for a length of time,
forgetting all things else, fix his eyes on the heavens, as if reading
the glory of the Lord therein revealed.
My parents did not speak to him of Catholic faith and worship, because
Mr. Genings, before he suffered his sons to stay in their house, had
made them promise that no talk of religion should be ministered to
them in their childhood. It was a sore trial to my mother to refrain,
as the Psalmist saith, from good words, which were ever rising from
her heart to her lips, as pure water from a deep spring. But she
instructed him in many things which belong to gentle learning, and in
French, which she knew well; and taught him music, in which he
made great progress. And this wrought with his father to the
furtherance of these his visits to us. I doubt not but that, when she
told him the names of the heavenly luminaries, she inwardly prayed he
might one day shine as a star in the kingdom of God; or when she
discoursed of flowers and their properties, that he should blossom as
a rose in the wilderness of this faithless world; or whilst guiding
his hands to play on the clavichord, that he might one day join in the
glorious harmony of the celestial choirs. Her face itself was a
preachment, and the tones of her voice, and the tremulous sighs she
breathed when she kissed him or gave him her blessing, had, I ween, a
privilege to reach his heart, the goodness of which was readable in
his countenance. Dear Edmund Genings, thou wert indeed a brother to me
in kind care and companionship whilst I stayed in Lichfield that
never-to-be-forgotten year! How gently didst thou minister to the sick
child, for the first time tasting the cup of suffering; now easing her
head with a soft pillow, now strewing her couch with fresh-gathered
flowers, or feeding her with fruit which had the bloom on it, or
taking her hand and holding it in thine own to cheer her to endurance!
Thou wert so patient and so loving, both with her who was a great
trouble to thee and oftentimes fretful with pain, and likewise with
thine own little brother, an angel in beauty and wit, but withal of so
petulant and froward a disposition that none in the house durst
contradict him, child as he was; for his parents were indeed weak in
their fondness for him. In no place and at no time have I seen a boy
so indulged and so caressed as this John Genings. He had a pretty
wilfulness and such playful ways that his very faults found favor with
those who should have corrected them, and he got praise where others
would have met with chastisement. Edmund's love for this fair urchin
was such as is seldom seen in any save in a parent for a child. It was
laughable to see the lovely imp governing one who should have been his
master, but through much love was his slave, and in a thousand cunning
ways, and by fanciful tricks, constraining him to do his bidding.
Never was a more wayward spirit enclosed in a more winsome form than
in John Genings. Never did childish gracefulness rule more absolutely
over superior age, or love reverse the conditions of ordinary
supremacy, than in the persons of these two brothers.
A strange thing occurred at that time, which I witnessed not myself,
and on which I can give no opinion, but as a fact will here set it
down, and let such as read this story deem of it as they please. One
night that, by reason of the unwonted chilliness of the evening, such
as sometimes occurs in our climate even in summer, a fire had been lit
in the parlor, and the family were gathered round it, Edmund came of a
sudden into the room, and every one took notice that his face was very
pale. He seemed in a great fear, and whispered to his mother, who said
aloud--"Thou must have been asleep, and art still dreaming, child."
Upon which he was very urgent for her to go into the garden, and used
many entreaties thereunto. Upon which, at last, she rose and followed
him. In another moment she called for her husband, who went out, and
with him three or four other persons that were in the room, and I
remained alone for the space of ten or fifteen minutes. When they
returned, I heard them speaking with great fear and amazement of what
they had seen; and Edmund Genings has often since described to me what
he first, and afterward all the others, had beheld in the sky. He was
gazing at the heavens, as was his wont, when a strange spectacle
appeared to him in the air. As it were, a number of armed men with
weapons, killing and murdering others that were disarmed, and great
store of blood running everywhere about them. His parents and those
with them witnessed the same thing, and a great fear fell upon
them all. I noticed that all that evening they seemed scared, and
could not speak of this appearance in the sky without shuddering. But
one that was more bold than the rest took heart, and cried, "God send
it does not forbode that the Papists will murder us all in our beds!"
And Mistress Genings, whose mother was a French Huguenot, said,
"Amen!" I marked that her husband and one or two more of the company
groaned, and one made, as if unwittingly, the sign of the cross. There
were some I know in that town, nay and in that house, that were at
heart of the old religion, albeit, by reason of the times, they did
not give over attending Protestants' worship.
A few days later I was sitting alone, and had a long fit of musing
over the many new thoughts that were crowding into my mind, as yet too
childish to master them, when Edmund came in, and I saw he had been
weeping. He said nothing at first, and made believe he was reading;
but I could see tears trickling down through his fingers as he covered
his face with his hands. Presently he looked up and cried out,
"Cousin Constance, Jack is going away from us."
"And if it please God, not for a long time," I answered; for it
grieved me to see him sad.
"Nay, but he is going for many years, I fear," Edmund said. "My uncle,
Jean de Luc, has asked for him to be brought up in his house at La
Rochelle. He is his godfather, and has a great store of money, which
he says he will leave to Jack. Alack! cousin Constance, I would that
there was no such thing in the world as money, and no such country as
France. I wish we were all dead." And then he fell to weeping again
very bitterly.
I told him in a childish manner what my mother was wont to say to me
when any little trouble fell to my lot--that we should be patient, and
offer up our sufferings to God.
"But I can do nothing now for Jack," he cried. "It was my first
thought at waking and my last at night, how to please the dear urchin;
but now 'tis all over."
"Oh, but Edmund," I cried, "an if you were to be as good as the
blessed saints in heaven, you could do a great deal for Jack."
"How so, cousin Constance?" he asked, not comprehending my meaning;
and thereupon I answered:
"When once I said to my sweet mother, 'It grieves me, dear heart, that
I can give thee nothing, who gives me so much,' she bade me take heed
that every prayer we say, every good work we do, howsoever imperfect,
and every pain we suffer, may be offered up for those we love; and so
out of poverty, and weakness, and sorrow, we have wherewith to make
precious and costly and cheerful gifts."
I spoke as a child, repeating what I had heard; but he listened not as
a child. A sudden light came into his eyes, and methinks his good
angel showed him in that hour more than my poor lips could utter.
"If it be as your sweet mother says," he joyfully cried, "we are rich
indeed; and, even though we be sinners and not saints, we have
somewhat to give, I ween, if it be only our heartaches, cousin
Constance, so they be seasoned with prayers."
The thought which in my simplicity I had set before him took root, as
it were, in his mind. His love for a little child had prepared the way
for it; and the great brotherly affection which had so long dwelt in
his heart proved a harbinger of the more perfect gift of charity; so
that a heavenly message was perchance conveyed to him that day by one
who likewise was a child, even as the word of the Lord came to the
prophet through the lips of the infant Samuel. From that time forward
he bore up bravely against his grief; which was the sharper inasmuch
that he who was the cause of it showed none in return, but rather joy
in the expectancy of the change which was to part them. He would
still be a-prattling on it, and telling all who came in his way that
he was going to France to a good uncle; nor ever intended to return,
for his mother was to carry him to La Rochelle, and she should stay
there with him, he said, and not come back to ugly Lichfield.
"And art thou not sorry, Jack," I asked him one day, "to leave poor
Edmund, who loves thee so well?"
The little madcap was coursing round the room, and cried, as he ran
past me, for he had more wit and spirit than sense or manners:
"Edmund must seek after me, and take pains to find me, if so be he
would have me."
These words, which the boy said in his play, have often come back to
my mind since the two brothers have attained unto a happy though
dissimilar end.
When the time had arrived for Mistress Genings and her youngest son to
go beyond seas, as I was now improved in health and able to walk, my
father fetched me home, and prevailed on Mr. Genings to let Edmund go
back with us, with the intent to divert his mind from his grief at his
brother's departure.
I found my parents greatly disturbed at the news they had had touching
the imprisonment of thirteen priests on account of religion, and of
Mr. Orton being likewise arrested, who was a gentleman very dear to
them for his great virtues and the steadfast friendship he had ever
shown to them.
My mother questioned Edmund as to the sign he had seen in the heavens
a short time back, of which the report had reached them; and he
confirming the truth thereof, she clasped her hands and cried:
"Then I fear me much this forebodes the death of these blessed
confessors, Father Weston and the rest."
Upon which Edmund said, in a humble manner:
"Good Mistress Sherwood, my dear mother thought it signified that
those of your religion would murder in their beds such as are of the
queen's religion; so maybe in both cases there is naught to
apprehend."
"My good child," my mother answered, "in regard of those now in
durance for their faith, the danger is so manifest, that if it please
not the Almighty to work a miracle for their deliverance, I see not
how they may escape."
After that we sat awhile in silence; my father reading, my mother and
I working, and Edmund at the window intent as usual upon the stars,
which were shining one by one in the deep azure of the darkening sky.
As one of greater brightness than the rest shone through the branches
of the old tree, where I used to hide some years before, he pointed to
it, and said to me, who was sitting nearest to him at the window:
"Cousin Constance, think you the Star of Bethlehem showed fairer in
the skies than yon bright star that has just risen behind your
favorite oak? What and if that star had a message for us!"
My father heard him, and smiled. "I was even then," he said, "reading
the words of one who was led to the true religion by the contemplation
of the starry skies. In a Southern clime, where those fair luminaries
shine with more splendor than in our Northern heavens, St. Augustine
wrote thus;" and then he read a few sentences in Latin from the book
in his hand,--"Raising ourselves up, we passed by degrees through all
things bodily, even the very heavens, whence sun and moon and stars
shine upon the earth. Yea, we soared yet higher by inward musing and
discourse and admiring of God's works, and we came to our own minds
and went beyond them, so as to arrive at that region of never-failing
plenty where thou feedest Israel for ever with the food of truth."
These words had a sweet and solemn force in them which struck on the
ear like a strain of unearthly music, such as the wind-harp wakes in
the silence of the night. In a low voice, so low that it was like
the breathing of a sigh, I heard Edmund say, "What is truth?" But when
he had uttered those words, straightway turning toward me as if to
divert his thoughts from that too pithy question, he cried: "Prithee,
cousin Constance, hast thou ended reading, I warrant for the hundredth
time, that letter in thine hand? and hast thou not a mind to impart to
thy poor kinsman the sweet conceits I doubt not are therein
contained?" I could not choose but smile at his speech; for I had
indeed feasted my eyes on the handwriting of my dear friend, now no
longer Mistress Dacre, and learnt off, as it were by heart, its
contents. And albeit I refused at first to comply with his request,
which I had secretly a mind to; no sooner did he give over the urging
of it than I stole to his side, and, though I would by no means let it
out of my hand, and folded down one side of the sheet to hide what was
private in it, I offered to read such parts aloud as treated of
matters which might be spoken of without hindrance.
With a smiling countenance, then, he set himself to listen, and I to
be the mouthpiece of the dear writer, whose wit was so far in advance
of her years, as I have since had reason to observe, never having met
at any time with one in whom wisdom put forth such early shoots.
"DEAR MISTRESS CONSTANCE"
(thus the sweet lady wrote),--"Wherefore this long silence and
neglect of your poor friend? An if it be true, which pains me much
to hear, that the good limb which, together with its fellow, like
two trusty footmen, carried you so well and nimbly along the alleys
of your garden this time last year, has, like an arrant knave,
played fast and loose, and failed in its good service,--wherein, I am
told, you have suffered much inconvenience,--is it just that that
other servant, your hand, should prove rebellious too, refuse to
perform its office, and write no more letters at your bidding? For
I'll warrant 'tis the hand is the culprit, not the will; which
nevertheless should be master, and compel it to obedience. So, an
you love me, chide roundly that contumacious hand, which fails in
its duty, which should not be troublesome, if you but had for me
one-half of the affection I have for you. And indeed, Mistress
Constance, a letter from you would be to me, at this time, the
welcomest thing I can think of; for since we left my grandmother's
seat, and came to the Charterhouse, I have new friends, and many
more and greater than I deserve or ever thought to have; but, by
reason of difference of age or of religion, they are not such as I
can well open my mind to, as I might to you, if it pleased God we
should meet again. The Duke of Norfolk is a very good lord and
father to me; but when there are more ways of thinking than one in a
house, 'tis no easy matter to please all which have a right to be
considered; and, in the matter of religion, 'tis very hard to avoid
giving offence. But no more of this at present; only I would to God
Mr. Fox were beyond seas, and my lady of Westmoreland at her home in
the North; and that we had no worse company in this house than Mr.
Martin, my Lord Surrey's tutor, who is a gentleman of great learning
and knowledge, as every one says, and of extraordinary modesty in
his behavior. My Lord Surrey has a truly great regard for him, and
profits much in his learning by his means. I notice he is Catholic
in his judgment and affections; and my lord says he will not stay
with him, if his grace his father procures ministers to preach to
his household and family, and obliges all therein to frequent
Protestant service. I wish my grandmother was in London; for I am
sometimes sore troubled in my mind touching Catholic religion and
conforming to the times, of which an abundance of talk is ministered
unto us, to my exceeding great discomfort, by my Lady Westmoreland,
his grace's sister, and others also. An if I say aught thereon
to Mistress Fawcett (a grave and ancient gentlewoman, who had the
care of my Lord Surrey during his infancy, and is now set over us
his grace's wards), and of misliking the duke's ministers and that
pestilent Mr. Fox--(I fear me, Mistress Constance, I should not have
writ that unbeseeming word, and I will e'en draw a line across it,
but still as you may read it for indeed 'tis what he is; but 'tis
from himself I learnt it, who in his sermons calls Catholic religion
a pestilent idolatry, and Catholic priests pestilent teachers and
servants of Antichrist, and the holy Pope at Rome the man of sin)
she grows uneasy, and bids me be a good child to her, and not to
bring her into trouble with his grace, who is indeed a very good
lord to us in all matters but that one of compelling us to hear
sermons and the like. My Lord Surrey mislikes all kinds of sermons,
and loves Mr. Martin so well, that he stops his ears when Mr. Fox
preaches on the dark midnight of papacy and the dawn of the gospel's
restored light. And it angers him, as well it should, to hear him
call his majesty King Philip of Spain, who is his own godfather,
from whom he received his name, a wicked popish tyrant and a son of
Antichrist. My Lady Margaret, his sister, who is a year younger than
himself, and has a most admirable beauty and excellent good nature,
is vastly taken with what she hears from me of Catholic religion;
but methinks this is partly by reason of her misliking Mr. Fulk and
Mr. Clarke's long preachments, which we are compelled to hearken to;
and their fashion of spending Sunday, which they do call the
Sabbath-day, wherein we must needs keep silence, and when not in
church sit still at home, which to one of her lively disposition is
heavy penance. Methinks when Sunday comes we be all in disgrace;
'tis so like a day of correction. My Lord Surrey has more liberty;
for Mr. Martin carries him and his brothers after service into the
pleasant fields about Westminster Abbey and the village of Charing
Cross, and suffers them to play at ball under the trees, so they do
not quarrel amongst themselves. My Lord Henry Howard, his grace's
brother, always maintains and defends the Catholic religion against
his sister of Westmoreland; and he spoke to my uncles Leonard,
Edward, and Francis, and likewise to my aunt Lady Montague, that
they should write unto my grandmother touching his grace bringing us
up as Protestants. But the Duke of Norfolk, Mrs. Fawcett says, is
our guardian, and she apprehends he is resolved that we shall
conform to the times, and that no liberty be allowed us for the
exercise of Catholic religion."
At this part of the letter I stopped reading; and Edmund, turning to
my father, who, though he before had perused it, was also listening,
said: "And if this be liberty of conscience, which Protestants speak
of, I see no great liberty and no great conscience in the matter."
His cheek flushed as he spoke, and there was a hoarseness in his voice
which betokened the working of strong feelings within him. My father
smiled with a sort of pitiful sadness, and answered:
"My good boy, when thou art somewhat further advanced in years, thou
wilt learn that the two words thou art speaking of are such as men
have abused the meaning of more than any others that can be thought
of; and I pray to God they do not continue to do so as long as the
world lasts. It seems to me that they mostly mean by 'liberty' a
freedom to compel others to think and to act as they have themselves a
mind to; and by 'conscience' the promptings of their own judgments
moved by their own passions."
"But 'tis hard," Edmund said, "'tis at times very hard, Mr. Sherwood,
to know whereunto conscience points, in the midst of so many inward
clamors as are raised in the soul by conflicting passions of dutiful
affection and filial reverence struggling for the mastery. Ay,
and no visible token of God's will to make that darkness light. Tis
that," he cried, more moved as he went on, "that makes me so often
gaze upward. Would to God I might see a sign in the skies! for there
are no sign-posts on life's path to guide us on our way to the
heavenly Jerusalem, which our ministers speak of."
"If thou diligently seekest for sign-posts, my good boy," my father
answered, "fear not but that he who said, 'Seek, and you shall find,'
will furnish thee with them. He has not left himself without
witnesses, or his religion to be groped after in hopeless darkness, so
that men may not discern, even in these troublous times, where the
truth lies, so they be in earnest in their search after it. But I will
not urge thee by the cogency of arguments, or be drawn out of the
reserve I have hitherto observed in these matters, which be
nevertheless the mightiest that can be thought of as regards the
soul's health."
And so, breaking off this discourse, he walked out upon the terrace;
and I withdrew to the table, where my mother was sitting, and once
more conned over the last pages of _my lady's_ letter, which, when the
reader hath read, he will perceive the writer's rank and her right to
be thus titled.
"And now, Mistress Constance, I must needs inform you of a
matter I would not leave you ignorant of, so that you
should learn from strangers what so nearly concerns one
whom you have a friendship to--and that is my betrothal
with my Lord Surrey. The ceremony was public, inasmuch as
was needful for the solemnising of a contract which is
binding for life--'until death us do part,' as the
marriage service hath it. How great a change this has
wrought in my thoughts, none knows but myself; for though
I be but twelve years of age (for his grace would have the
ceremony to take place on my birthday), one year older
than yourself, and so lately a child that not a very long
time ago my grandmother would chastise me with her own
hands for my faults, I now am wedded to my young lord, and
by his grace and all the household titled Countess of
Surrey! And I thank God to be no worse mated; for my lord,
who is a few months younger than me, and a very child for
frolicksome spirits and wild mirth, has, notwithstanding,
so great a pleasantness of manners and so forward a wit,
that one must needs have pleasure in his company; and I
only wish I had more of it. Whilst we were only friends
and playmates, I used to chide and withstand him, as one
older and one more staid and discreet than himself; but,
ah me! since we have been wedded, 'tis grand to hear him
discourse on the duty of wives, and quote the Bible to
show they must obey their husbands. He carries it in a
very lordly fashion; and if I comply not at once with his
commands, he cries out what he has heard at the
play-house:
'Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she's froward, peevish sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy, or sway,
Where they are bound to serve, love, and obey.'
He has a most excellent memory. If he has but once heard out of any
English or Latin book so much read as is contained in a leaf, he
will forthwith perfectly repeat it. My Lord Henry, his uncle, for a
trial, invented twenty long and difficult words a few days back,
which he had never seen or heard before; yet did he recite them
readily, every one in the same order as they were written, having
only once read them over. But, touching that matter of obedience,
which I care not to gainsay, 'tis not easy at present to obey my
lord my husband, and his grace his father, and Mistress Fawcett,
too, who holds as strict a hand over the Countess of Surrey as over
Mistress Ann Dacre; for the commands of these my rulers do not at
all times accord: but I pray to God I may do my duty, and be a good
wife to my lord; and I wish, as I said before, my grandmother
had been here, and that I had been favored with her good counsel,
and had had the benefit of shrift and spiritual advice ere I entered
on this stage of my life, which is so new to me, who was but a child
a few weeks ago, and am yet treated as such in more respects than
one.
"My lord has told me a secret which Higford, his father's servant,
let out to him; and 'tis something so weighty and of so great
import, that since he left me my thoughts have been truants from my
books, and Monsieur Sebastian, who comes to practice us on the lute,
stopped his ears, and cried out that the Signora Contessa had no
mercy on him, so to murther his compositions. Tis not the part of a
true wife to reveal her husband's secrets, or else I would tell you,
Mistress Constance, this great news, which I can with trouble keep
to myself; and I shall not be easy till I have seen my lord again,
which should be when we walk in the garden this evening; but I pray
to God he may not be off instead to the Mall, to play at kittlepins;
for then I have small chance to get speech with him to-day. Mr.
Martin is my very good friend, and reminds the earl of his duty to
his lady; but if my lord comes at his bidding, when he would be
elsewhere than in my company, 'tis little contentment I have in his
visits.
"'Tis yesterday I writ thus much, and now 'tis the day to send this
letter; and I saw not my lord last night by reason of his
grandfather my Lord Arundel sending to fetch me unto his house in
the Strand. His goodness to me is so great, that nothing more can be
desired; and his daughter my Lady Lumley is the greatest comfort I
have in the world. She showed me a fair picture of my lord's mother,
who died the day he was born, not then full seventeen years of age.
She was of so amiable a disposition, so prudent, virtuous, and
religious, that all who knew her could not but love and esteem her.
And I read a letter which this sweet lady had written in Latin to
her father on his birthday, to his great contentment, who had
procured her to be well instructed in that language, as well as in
her own and in all commendable learning. Then I played at primero
with my Lord Arundel and my Lady Lumley and my uncle Francis. The
knave of hearts was fixed upon for the quinola, and I won the flush.
My uncle Francis cried the winning card should be titled Dudley.
'Not so,' quoth the earl; 'the knave that would match with the queen
in the suit of hearts should never win the game.' And further talk
ensued; from which I learnt that my Lord Arundel and the Duke of
Norfolk mislike my Lord Leicester, and would not he should marry the
queen; and my uncle laughed, and said, 'My lord, no good Englishman
is there but must be of your lordship's mind, though none have so
good reason as yourself to hinder so base a contract; for if my Lord
of Leicester should climb unto her majesty's throne, beshrew me if
he will not remember the box on the ear your lordship ministered to
him some time since;' at which the earl laughed, too; but my Lady
Lumley cried, 'I would to God my brother of Norfolk were rid of my
Lord Leicester's friendship, which has, I much fear me, more danger
in it than his enmity. God send he does not lead his grace into
troubles greater than can well be thought of!' Alack, Mistress
Constance, what uneasy times are these which we have fallen on! for
methinks 'troubles' is the word in every one's mouth. As I was about
to step into the chair at the hall-door at Arundel House, I heard
one of my lord's guard say to another, 'I trust the white horse will
be in quiet, and so we shall be out of trouble.' I have asked Mr.
Martin what these words should mean; whereupon he told me the white
horse, which indeed I might have known, was the Earl of Arundel's
cognisance; and that the times were very troublesome, and plots were
spoken of in the North anent the Queen of Scots, her majesty the
queen's cousin, who is at Chatesworth; and when he said that,
all of a sudden I grew red, and my cheeks burned like two hot coals;
but he took no heed, and said, 'A true servant might well wish his
master out of trouble, when troubles were so rife.' And now shame
take me for taking up so much of your time, which should be spent in
more profitable ways than the reading of my poor letters; and I must
needs beg you to write soon, and hold me as long as I have held you,
and love me, sweet one, as I love you. My Lady Margaret, who is in a
sense twice my sister, says she is jealous of Mistress Constance
Sherwood, and would steal away my heart from her; but, though she is
a winsome and cunning thief in such matters, I warrant you she shall
fail therein. And so, commending myself to your good prayers, I
remain
"Your true friend and loving servant,
"ANN SURREY."
As I finished and was folding up my letter the clock struck nine. It
was waning darker without by reason of a cloud which had obscured the
moon. I heard my father still pacing up and down the gravel-walk, and
ever and anon staying his footsteps awhile, as if watching. After a
short space the moon shone out again, and I saw the shadows of two
persons against the wall of the kitchen garden. Presently the
hall-door was fastened and bolted, as I knew by the rattling of the
chain which hung across it. Then my father looked in at the door and
said, "'Tis time, goodwife, for young folks to be abed." Upon which my
mother rose and made as if she was about to withdraw to her
bed-chamber. Edmund followed us up stairs, and, wishing us both
good-night, went into the closet where he slept. Then my mother,
taking me by the hand, led me into my father's study.
CHAPTER III.
As I entered the library, which my father used for purposes of
business as well as of study, I saw a gentleman who had often been at
our house before, and whom I knew to be a priest, though he was
dressed as a working-man of the better sort and had on a riding coat
of coarse materials. He beckoned me to him, and I, kneeling, received
his blessing.
"What, up yet, little one?" he said; "and yet thou must bestir thyself
betimes to-morrow for prayers. These are not days in which priests may
play the sluggard and be found abed when the sun rises."
"At what hour must you be on foot, reverend father?" my mother asked,
as sitting down at a table by his side she filled his plate with
whatever might tempt him to eat, the which he seemed little inclined
to.
"Before dawn, good Mrs. Sherwood," he answered; "and across the fields
into the forest before ever the laboring men are astir; and you know
best when that is."
"An if it be so, which I fear it must," my father said, "we must e'en
have the chapel ready by two o'clock. And, goodwife, you should
presently get that wench to bed."
"Nay, good mother," I cried, and threw my arms round her waist,
"prithee let me sit up to-night; I can lie abed all to-morrow." So
wistfully and urgently did I plead, that she, who had grown of late
somewhat loth to deny any request of mine, yielded to my entreaties,
and only willed that I should lie down on a settle betwixt her chair
and the chimney, in which a fagot was blazing, though it was
summer-time, but the weather was chilly. I gazed by turns on my
mother's pale face and my father's, which was thoughtful, and on the
good priest's, who was in an easy-chair, wherein they had compelled
him to sit, opposite to me on the other side of the chimney. He
looked, as I remember him then, as if in body and in mind he had
suffered more than he could almost bear.
After some discourse had been ministered betwixt him and my father of
the journey he had been taking, and the friends he had seen since last
he had visited our house, my mother said, in a tremulous voice, "And
now, good Mr. Mush, an if it would not pain you too sorely, tell us if
it be true that your dear daughter in Christ, Mrs. Clitherow, as
indeed won the martyr's crown, as some letters from York reported to
us a short time back?"
Upon this Mr. Mush raised his head, which had sunk on his breast, and
said, "She that was my spiritual daughter in times past, and now, as I
humbly hope, my glorious mother in heaven, the gracious martyr Mrs.
Clitherow, has overcome all her enemies, and passed from this mortal
life with rare and marvellous triumph into the peaceable city of God,
there to receive a worthy crown of endless immortality and joy." His
eye, that had been before heavy and dim, now shone with sudden light,
and it seemed as if the cord about his heart was loosed, and his
spirit found vent at last in words after a long and painful silence.
More eloquent still was his countenance than his words as he
exclaimed, "Torments overcame her not, nor the sweetness of life, nor
her vehement affection for husband and children, nor the
flattering allurements and deceitful promises of the persecutors.
Finally, the world, the flesh, and the devil overcame her not. She, a
woman, with invincible courage entered combat against them all, to
defend the ancient faith, wherein both she and her enemies were
baptized and gave their promise to God to keep the same until death. O
sacred martyr!" and, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, the good
father went on, "remember me, I beseech thee humbly, in thy perfect
charity, whom thou hast left miserable behind thee, in time past thy
unworthy father and now most unworthy servant, made ever joyful by thy
virtuous life, and now lamenting thy death and thy absence, and yet
rejoicing in thy glory."
A sob burst from my mother's breast, and she hid her face against my
father's shoulder. There was a brief silence, during which many
quickly-rising thoughts passed through my mind. Of Daniel in the
lions' den, and the Machabees and the early Christians; and of the
great store of blood which had been shed of late in this our country,
and of which amongst the slain were truly martyrs, and which were not;
of the vision in the sky which had been seen at Lichfield; and chiefly
of that blessed woman Mrs. Clitherow, whose virtue and good works I
had often before heard of, such as serving the poor and harboring
priests, and loving God's Church with a wonderful affection greater
than can be thought of. Then I heard my father say, "How was it at the
last, good Mr. Mush?" I oped my eyes, and hung on the lips of the good
priest even as if to devour his words as he gave utterance to them.
"She refused to be tried by the country," he answered, in a tremulous
voice; "and so they murthered her."
"How so?" my mother asked, shading her eyes with her hand, as if to
exclude the mental sight of that which she yet sought to know.
"They pressed her to death," he slowly uttered; "and the last words
she was heard to say were 'Jesu, Jesu, Jesu! have mercy on me!' She
was in dying about a quarter of an hour, and then her blessed spirit
was released and took its flight to heaven. May we die the death of
the righteous, and may our last end be like hers!"
Again my mother hid her face in my father's bosom, and methought she
said not "Amen" to that prayer; but turning to Mr. Mush with a flushed
cheek and troubled eye, she asked, "And why did the blessed Mrs.
Clitherow refuse to be tried by the country, reverend father, and
thereby subject herself to that lingering death?"
"These were her words when questioned and urged on that point," he
answered, "which sufficiently clear her from all accusation of
obstinacy or desperation, and combine the rare discretion and charity
which were in her at all times: 'Alas!' quoth she, 'if I should have
put myself on the country, evidence must needs have come against me
touching my harboring of priests and the holy sacrifice of the mass in
my house, which I know none could give but only my children and
servants; and it would have been to me more grievous than a thousand
deaths if I should have seen any of them brought forth before me, to
give evidence against me in so good a cause and be guilty of my blood;
and, secondly,' quoth she, 'I know well the country must needs have
found me guilty to please the council, who so earnestly seek my blood,
and then all they had been accessory to my death and damnably offended
God. I therefore think, in the way of charity, for my part to hinder
the country from such a sin; and seeing it must needs be done, to
cause as few to do it as might be; and that was the judge himself.' So
she thought, and thereupon she acted, with that single view to God's
glory and the good of men's souls that was ever the passion of her
fervent spirit."
"Her children?" my mother murmured in a faint voice, still hiding her
face from him. "That little Agnes you used to tell us of, that
was so dear to her poor mother, how has it fared with her?"
Mr. Mush answered, "Her _happy_ mother sent her hose and shoes to her
daughter at the last, signifying that she should serve God and follow
her steps of virtue. She was committed to ward because she would not
betray her mother, and there whipped and extremely used for that she
would not go to the church and hear a sermon. When her mother was
murthered, the heretics came to her and said that unless she would go
to the church, her mother should be put to death. The child, thinking
to save the life of her who had given her birth, went to a sermon, and
thus they deceived her."
"God forgive them!" my father ejaculated; and I, creeping to my
mother's side, threw my arms about her neck, upon which she, caressing
me, said:
"Now thou wilt be up to their deceits, Conny, if they should practice
the same arts on thee."
"Mother," I cried, clinging to her, "I will go with thee to prison and
to death; but to their church I will not go who love not our Blessed
Lady."
"So help thee God!" my father cried, and laid his hand on my head.
"Take heart, good Mrs. Sherwood," Mr. Mush said to my mother, who was
weeping; "God may spare you such trials as those which that sweet
saint rejoiced in, or he can give you a like strength to hers. We have
need in these times to bear in mind that comfortable saying of holy
writ, 'As your day shall your strength be.'"
"'Tis strange," my father observed, "how these present troubles seem
to awake the readiness, nay the wish, to suffer for truth's sake. It
is like a new sense in a soul heretofore but too prone to eschew
suffering of any sort: 'tis even as the keen breezes of our own
Cannock Chase stimulate the frame to exertions which it would shrink
from in the duller air of the Trent Valley."
"Ah! and is it even so with you, my friend?" exclaimed Mr. Mush. "From
my heart I rejoice at it: such thoughts are oftentimes forerunners of
God's call to a soul marked out for his special service."
My mother, against whom I was leaning since mention had been made of
Mrs. Clitherow's daughter, began to tremble; and rising said she would
go to the chapel to prepare for confession. Taking me by the hand, she
mounted the stairs to the room which was used as such since the
ancient faith had been proscribed. One by one that night we knelt at
the feet of the good shepherd, who, like his Lord, was ready to lay
down his life for his sheep, and were shriven. Then, at two of the
clock, mass was said, and my parents and most of our servants
received, and likewise some neighbors to whom notice had been sent in
secret of Mr. Mush's coming. When my mother returned from the altar to
her seat, I marvelled at the change in her countenance. She who had
been so troubled before the coming of the Heavenly Guest into her
breast, wore now so serene and joyful an aspect, that the looking upon
her at that time wrought in me a new and comfortable sense of the
greatness of that divine sacrament. I found not the thought of death
frighten me then; for albeit on that night I for the first time fully
arrived at the knowledge of the peril and jeopardy in which the
Catholics of this land do live; nevertheless this knowledge awoke in
me more exultation than fear. I had seen precautions used, and
reserves maintained, of which I now perceived the cause. For some time
past my parents had prepared the way for this no-longer-to-be-deferred
enlightenment. The small account they had taught me to make of the
wealth and comforts of this perishable world, and the histories they
had recounted to me of the sufferings of Christians in the early times
of the Church, had been directed unto this end. They had, as it were,
laid the wood on the altar of my heart, which they prayed might one
day burn into a flame. And now when, by reason of the discourse
I had heard touching Mrs. Clitherow's blessed but painful end for
harboring of priests in her house, and the presence of one under our
roof, I took heed that the danger had come nigh unto our own doors, my
heart seemed to beat with a singular joy. Childhood sets no great
store on life: the passage from this world to the next is not terrible
to such as have had no shadows cast on their paths by their own or
others' sins. Heaven is not a far-off region to the pure in heart; but
rather a home, where God, as St. Thomas sings,
"Vitam sine termino
Nobis donet in patria."
But, ah me! how transient are the lights and shades which flit across
the childish mind! and how mutable the temper of youth, never long
impressed by any event, however grave! Not many days after Mr. Mush's
visit to our house, another letter from the Countess of Surrey came
into my hand, and drove from my thoughts for the time all but the
matters therein disclosed.
"SWEET MISTRESS CONSTANCE"
(my lady wrote),--"In my last letter I made mention, in an obscure
fashion, of a secret which my lord had told me touching a matter of
great weight which Higford, his grace's steward, had let out to him;
and now that the whole world is speaking of what was then in hand,
and that troubles have come of it, I must needs relieve my mind by
writing thereof to her who is the best friend I have in the world,
if I may judge by the virtuous counsel and loving words her letters
do contain. 'Tis like you have heard somewhat of that same matter,
Mistress Constance; for much talk has been ministered anent it since
I wrote, amongst people of all sorts, and with various intents to
the hindering or the promoting thereof. I mean touching the marriage
of his grace the Duke of Norfolk with the Queen of Scots, which is
much desired by some, and very little wished for by others. My lord,
as is reasonable in one of his years and of so noble a spirit, and
his sister, who is in all things the counterpart of her brother,
have set their hearts thereon since the first inkling they had of
it; for this queen had so noted a fame for her excellent beauty and
sweet disposition that it has wrought in them an extraordinary
passionate desire to title her mother, and to see their father so
nobly mated, though not more than he deserves; for, as my lord says,
his grace's estate in England is worth little less than the whole
realm of Scotland, in the ill state to which the wars have reduced
it; and when he is in his own tennis-court at Norwich, he thinks
himself as great as a king.
"As a good wife, I should wish as my lord does; and indeed this
marriage, Mistress Constance, would please me well; for the Queen of
Scots is Catholic, and methinks if his grace were to wed her, there
might arise some good out of it to such as are dependent on his
grace touching matters of religion; and since Mr. Martin has gone
beyond seas, 'tis very little I hear in this house but what is
contrary to the teaching I had at my grandmother's. My lord saith
this queen's troubles will be ended if she doth marry his grace, for
so Higford has told him; but when I spoke thereof to my Lady Lumley,
she prayed God his grace's might not then begin, but charged me to
be silent thereon before my Lord Arundel, who has greatly set his
heart on this match. She said words were in every one's mouth
concerning this marriage which should never have been spoken of but
amongst a few. 'Nan,' quoth she, 'if Phil and thou do let your
children's tongues wag anent a matter which may well be one of life
and death, more harm may come of it than can well be thought of.' So
prithee, Mistress Constance, do you be silent as the grave on what I
have herein written, if so be you have not heard of it but
from me. My lord had a quarrel with my Lord Essex, who is about his
own age, anent the Queen of Scots, a few days since, when he came to
spend his birthday with him; for my lord was twelve years old last
week, and I gave him a fair jewel to set in his cap, for a
love-token and for remembrance. My lord said that the Queen of Scots
was a lady of so great virtue and beauty that none else could be
compared with her; upon which my lord of Essex cried it was high
treason to the queen's majesty to say so, and that if her grace held
so long a time in prison one who was her near kinswoman, it was by
reason of her having murthered her husband and fomented rebellion in
this kingdom of England, for the which she did deserve to be
extremely used. My lord was very wroth at this, and swore he was no
traitor, and that the Queen of Scots was no murtheress, and he would
lay down his head on the block rather than suffer any should style
her such; upon which my lord of Essex asked, 'Prithee, my Lord
Surrey, were you at Thornham last week when the queen's majesty was
on a visit to your grandfather, my Lord Arundel?' 'No,' cried my
lord, 'your lordship being there yourself in my Lord Leicester's
suite, must needs have noticed I was absent; for if I had been
present, methinks 'tis I and not your lordship would have waited
behind her majesty's chair at table and held a napkin to her.' 'And
if you had, my lord,' quoth my Lord Essex, waxing hot in his speech,
'you would have noticed how her grace's majesty gave a nip to his
grace your father, who was sitting by her side, and said she would
have him take heed on what pillow he rested his head.' 'And I would
have you take heed,' cries my lord, 'how you suffer your tongue to
wag in an unseemly manner anent her grace's majesty and his grace my
father and the Queen of Scots, who is kinswoman to both, and even
now a prisoner, which should make men careful how they speak of her
who cannot speak in her own cause; for it is a very inhuman part, my
lord, to tread on such as misfortune has cast down.' There was a
nobleness in these words such as I have often taken note of in my
lord, though so young, and which his playmate yielded to; so that
nothing more was said at that time anent those matters, which indeed
do seem too weighty to be discoursed upon by young folks. But I have
thought since on the lines which 'tis said the queen's majesty wrote
when she was herself a prisoner, which begin,
'O Fortune! how thy restless, wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled wit;
Witness this present prison, whither fate
Could bear me, and the joys I quit'--
and wondered she should have no greater pity on those in the same
plight, as so many be at this time. Ah me! I would not keep a bird
in a cage an I could help it, and 'tis sad men are not more tender
of such as are of a like nature with themselves!
"My lord was away some days after this at Oxford, whither he had
been carried to be present at the queen's visit, and at the play of
_Palamon and Arcite_, which her majesty heard in the common hall of
Christ's Church. One evening, as my lady Margaret and I (like two
twin cherries on one stalk, my lord would say, for he is mightily
taken with the stage-plays he doth hear, and hath a trick of framing
his speech from them) were sitting at the window near unto the
garden practising our lutes and singing madrigals, he surprised us
with his sweet company, in which I find an ever increasing content,
and cried out as he approached, 'Ladies, I hold this sentence of the
poet as a canon of my creed, that whom God loveth not, they love not
music.' And then he said that albeit Italian was a very harmonious
and sweet language which pleasantly tickleth the ear, he for his
part loved English best, even in singing. Upon which, finding him in
the humor for discreet and sensible conversation, which,
albeit he hath good parts and a ready wit, is not always the case,
by reason of his being, as boys mostly are, prone to wagging, I took
occasion to relate what I had heard my Lord of Arundel say touching
his visit to the court of Brussels, when the Duchess of Parma
invited him to a banquet to meet the Prince of Orange and most of
the chief courtiers. The discourse was carried on in French; but my
lord, albeit he could speak well in that language, nevertheless made
use of an interpreter. At the which the Prince of Orange expressed
his surprise to Sir John Wilson, who was present, that an English
nobleman of so great birth and breeding should be ignorant of the
French tongue, which the earl presently hearing, said, 'Tell the
prince that I like to speak in that language in which I can best
utter my mind and not mistake.' And I perceive, my lord,' I said,
'that you are of a like mind with his lordship, and no lover of
new-fangled and curious terms.'
"Upon which my dear earl laughed, and related unto us how the queen
had been pleased to take notice of him at Oxford, and spoke merrily
to him of his marriage. 'And prithee, Phil, what were her highness's
words?' quoth his prying sister, like a true daughter of Eve. At
which my lord stroked his chin, as if to smooth his beard which is
still to come, and said her majesty had cried, 'God's pity, child,
thou wilt tire of thy wife afore you have both left the nursery.'
'Alack,' cried Meg, 'if any but her highness had said it, thy hand
would have been on thy sword, brother, and I'll warrant thou didst
turn as red as a turkey-cock, when her majesty thus titled thee a
baby. Nay, do not frown, but be a good lord to us, and tell Nan and
me if the queen said aught else.' Then my lord cleared his brow, and
related how in the hunting scene in the play, when the cry of the
hounds was heard outside the stage, which was excellently well
imitated, some scholars who were seated near him, and he must
confess himself also, did shout, 'There, there--he's caught, he's
caught!' upon which her grace's majesty laughed, and merrily cried
out from her box, 'Those boys in very troth are ready to leap out of
the windows!' 'And had you such pleasant sports each day, brother?'
quoth our Meg. 'No, by my troth,' my lord answered; 'the more's the
pity; for the next day there was a disputation held in physic and
divinity from two to seven; and Dr. Westphaling held forth at so
great length that her majesty sent word to him to end his discourse
without delay, to the great relief and comfort of all present. But
he would not give over, lest, having committed all to memory, he
should forget the rest if he omitted any part of it, and be brought
to shame before the university and the court.' 'What said her
highness when she saw he heeded not her commands?' Meg asked. 'She
was angered at first,' quoth my lord, 'that he durst go on with his
discourse when she had sent him word presently to stop, whereby she
had herself been prevented from speaking, which the Spanish
Ambassador had asked her to do; but when she heard the reason it
moved her to laughter, and she titled him a parrot.'
"'And spoke not her majesty at all?' I asked; and my lord said, 'She
would not have been a woman, Nan, an she had held her tongue after
being once resolved to use it. She made the next day an oration in
Latin, and stopped in the midst to bid my Lord Burleigh be seated,
and not to stand painfully on his gouty feet. Beshrew me, but I
think she did it to show the poor dean how much better her memory
served her than his had done, for she looked round to where he was
standing ere she resumed her discourse. And now, Meg, clear thy
throat and tune thy pipe, for not another word will I speak till
thou hast sung that ditty good Mr. Martin set to music for thee.' I
have set it down here, Mistress Constance, with the notes as
she sung it, that you may sing it also; and not like it the less that
my quaint fancy pictures the maiden the poet sings of, in her 'frock
of frolic green,' like unto my sweet friend who dwells not far from
one of the fair rivers therein named.
A knight, as antique stories tell,
A daughter had named Dawsabel,
A maiden fair and free;
She wore a frock of frolic green,
Might well become a maiden queen,
Which seemly was to see.
The silk well could she twist and twine,
And make the fine March pine,
And with the needle work;
And she could help the priest to say
His matins on a holy day,
And sing a psalm in kirk.
Her features all as fresh above
As is the grass that grows by Dove,
And lythe as lass of Kent;
Her skin as soft as Leinster wool,
And white as snow on Penhisk Hull,
Or swan that swims on Trent.
This maiden on a morn betime
Goes forth when May is in its prime,
To get sweet setywall,
The honeysuckle, the hurlock,
The lily and the lady-smock,
To deck her father's hall.
"'Ah,' cried my lord, when Meg had ended her song, beshrew me, if
Monsieur Sebastian's madrigals are one-half so dainty as this
English piece of harmony.' And then,--for his lordship's head is at
present running on pageants such as he witnessed at Nonsuch and at
Oxford,--he would have me call into the garden Madge and Bess,
whilst he fetched his brothers to take part in a May game, not
indeed in season now, but which, he says, is too good sport not to
be followed all the year round. So he must needs dress himself as
Robin Hood, with a wreath on his head and a sheaf of arrows in his
girdle, and me as Maid Marian; and Meg, for that she is taller by an
inch than any of us, though younger than him and me, he said should
play Little John, and Bess Friar Tuck, for that she looks so
gleesome and has a face so red and round. 'And Tom,' he cried, 'thou
needst not be at pains to change thy name, for we will dub thee Tom
the piper.' 'And what is Will to be?' asked my Lady Bess, who, since
I be titled Countess of Surrey, must needs be styled My Lady William
Howard.' 'Why, there's only the fool left,' quoth my lord, 'for thy
sweetheart to play, Bess.' At the which her ladyship and his
lordship too began to stamp and cry, and would have sobbed outright,
but sweet Madge, whose face waxes so white and her eyes so large and
blue that methinks she is more like to an angel than a child, put
out her little thin hands with a pretty gesture, and said, 'I'll be
the fool, brother Surrey, and Will shall be the dragon, and Bess
ride the hobby-horse, an it will please her.' 'Nay, but she is Friar
Tuck,' quoth my lord, 'and should not ride.' 'And prithee wherefore
no?' cried the forward imp, who, now she no more fears her grandam's
rod, has grown very saucy and bold; 'why should not the good friar
ride, an it doth pleasure him?'
"At the which we laughed and fell to acting our parts with no little
merriment and noise, and sundry reprehensions from my lord when we
mistook our postures or the lines he would have us to recite. And at
the end he set up a pole on the grass-plat for the Maying, and we
danced and sung around it to a merry tune, which set our feet flying
in time with the music:
Now in the month of maying,
When the merry lads are playing,
Fa, la, la.
Each with his bonny lasse,
Upon the greeny grasse,
Fa, la, la.
Madge was not strong enough to dance, but she stole away to gather
white and blue violets, and made a fair garland to set on my head,
to my lord's great content, and would have me unloose my hair on my
shoulders, which fell nearly to my feet, and waved in the wind in a
wild fashion; which he said was beseeming for a bold outlaw's bride,
and what he had seen in the Maid Marian, who had played in the
pageant at Nonsuch. Mrs. Fawcett misdoubted that this sport of ours
should be approved by Mr. Charke, who calls all stage-playing
Satan's recreations, and a sure road unto hell; and that we shall
hear on it in his next preachment; for he has held forth to her at
length on that same point, and upbraided her for that she did suffer
such foolish and profane pastimes to be carried on in his grace's
house. Ah me! I see no harm in it; and if, when my lord visits me, I
play not with him as he chooses, 'tis not a thing to be expected
that he will come only to sing psalms or play chess, which Mr.
Charke holds to be the only game it befits Christians to entertain
themselves with. 'Tis hard to know what is right and wrong when
persons be of such different minds, and no ghostly adviser to be
had, such as I was used to at my grandmother's house.
"All, Mistress Constance! when I last wrote unto you I said troubles
was the word in every one's mouth, and ere I had finished this
letter--which I was then writing, and have kept by me ever
since--what, think you, has befallen us? 'Tis anent the marriage of
his grace with the Queen of Scots; which I now do wish it had
pleased God none had ever thought of. Some weeks since my lord had
told me, with great glee, that the Spanish ambassador was about to
petition her majesty the queen for the release of her highness's
cousin; and Higford and Bannister, and the rest of his grace's
household--whom, since Mr. Martin went beyond seas, my lord spends
much of his time with, and more of it methinks than is beseeming or
to the profit of his manners and advancement of his behavior--have
told him that this would prepare the way for the
greatly-to-be-desired end of his grace's marriage with that queen;
and my lord was reckoning up all the fine sports and pageants and
noble entertainments would be enacted at Kenninghall and Thetford
when that right princely wedding should take place; and how he
should himself carry the train of the queen-duchess when she went
into church; who was the fairest woman, he said, in the whole world,
and none ever seen to be compared with her since the days of Grecian
Helen. But when, some days ago, I questioned my lord touching the
success of the ambassador's suits, and the queen's answer thereto,
he said: 'By my troth, Nan, I understand that her highness sent away
the gooseman, for so she entitled Senor Guzman, with a flea in his
ear; for she said he had come on a fool's errand, and gave him for
her answer that she would advise the Queen of Scots to bear her
condition with less impatience, or she might chance to find some of
those on whom she relied shorter by a head.' Oh, my lord,' I cried;
'my dear Phil! God send she was not speaking of his grace your
father!' 'Nan,' quoth he, 'she looked at his grace the next day with
looks of so great anger and disdain, that my lord of Leicester--that
false and villainous knave--gave signs of so great triumph as if his
grace was even on his way to the Tower. Beshrew me, if I would not
run my rapier through his body if I could!' 'And where is his grace
at present?' I asked. 'He came to town night,' quoth my lord, 'with
my Arundel, and this morning went Kenninghall.' After this for some
days I heard no more, for a new tutor came to my lord, who suffers
him not to stay in the waiting-room with his grace's gentlemen, and
keeps so strict a hand over him touching his studies, that in his
brief hours of recreation he would rather play at quoits, and other
active pastimes, than converse with his lady. Alack! I wish he were
a few years older, and I should have more comfort of him than now,
when I must needs put up with his humors, which be as changeful, by
reason of his great youth, as the lights and shades on the grass
'neath an aspen-tree. I must be throwing a ball for hours, or
learning a stage-part, when I would fain speak of the weighty
matters which be on hand, such as I have told you of. Howsoever, as
good luck would have it, my Lady Lumley sent for me to spend
the day with her; and from her ladyship I learnt that his grace had
written to the queen that he had withdrawn from the court because of
the pain he felt at her displeasure, and his mortification at the
treatment he had been subjected to by the insolence of his foes, by
whom he has been made a common table talk; and that her majesty had
laid upon him her commands straightway to return to court. That was
all was known that day; but at the very time that I was writing the
first of these woeful tidings to you, Mistress Constance, his grace--
whom I now know that I do love dearly, and with a true daughter's
heart, by the dreadful fear and pain I am in--was arrested at
Burnham, where he had stopped on his road to Windsor, and committed
to the Tower. Alack! alack! what will follow? I will leave this my
letter open until I have further news to send.
"His grace was examined this day before my Lord-keeper Bacon, and my
Lords Northampton, Sadler, Bedford, and Cecil; and they have
reported to her majesty that the duke had not put himself under
penalty of the law by any overt act of treason, and that it would be
difficult to convict him without this. My Lord of Arundel, at whose
house I was when these tidings came, said her majesty was so angered
at this judgment, that she cried out in a passion, 'Away! what the
law fails to do my authority shall effect;' and straightway fell
into a fit, her passion was so great; and they were forced to apply
vinegar to restore her. I had a wicked thought come into my mind,
Mistress Constance, that I should not have been concerned if the
queen's majesty had died in that fit, which I befear me was high
treason, and a mortal sin, to wish for one to die in a state of sin.
But, alack! since I have left going to shrift I find it hard to
fight against bad thoughts and naughty tempers; and when I say my
prayers, and the old words come to my lips, which the preachments I
hear do contradict, I am sometimes well-nigh tempted to give over
praying at all. But I pray to God I may never be so wicked; and
though I may not have my beads (which were taken from me), that the
good Bishop of Durham gave me when I was confirmed, I use my fingers
in their stead; and whilst his grace was at the Tower I did say as
many 'Hail Maries' in one day as I ever did in my life before; and
promised him, who is God's own dear Son and hers, if his grace came
out of prison, never to be a day of my life without saying a prayer,
or giving an alms, or doing a good turn to those which be in the
same case, near at hand or throughout the world; and I ween there
are many such of all sorts at this time.
"Your loving servant to command, whose heart is at present heavier
than her pen,
"ANN SURREY."
"P. S. My Lord of Westmoreland has left London, and his lady is in a
sad plight. I hear such things said on all sides touching Papists as
I can scarce credit, and I pray to God they be not true. But an if
they be so bad as some do say, why does his grace run his head into
danger for the sake of the Popish queen, as men do style her? They
have arrested Higford and Bannister last night, and they are to
taste of the rack to-day, to satisfy the queen, who is so urgent on
it. My lord is greatly concerned thereat, and cried when he spoke of
it, albeit he tried to hide his tears. I asked him to show me what
sort of pain it was; whereupon he twisted my arm till I cried out
and bade him desist. God help me! I could not have endured the pain
an instant longer; and if they have naught to tell anent these plots
and against his grace, they needs must speak what is false when
under the rack. Oh, 'tis terrible to think what men do suffer and
cause others to suffer!"
This letter came into my hand on a day when my father had gone into
Lichfield touching some business; and he brought with it the
news of a rising in the north, and that his Grace of Northumberland
and my Lord of Westmoreland had taken arms on hearing of the Duke of
Norfolk's arrest; and the Catholics, under Mr. Richard Norton and Lord
Latimer, had joined their standard, and were bearing the cross before
the insurgents. My father was sore cast down at these tidings; for he
looked for no good from what was rebellion against a lawful sovereign,
and a consorting with troublesome spirits, swayed by no love of our
holy religion but rather contrary to it, as my Lord of Westmoreland
and some others of those leading lords. And he hence foreboded fresh
trials to all such as were of the ancient faith all over England;
which was not long in accruing even in our own case; for a short time
after, we were for the first time visited by pursuivants, on a day and
in such a manner as I will now briefly relate.
CHAPTER IV.
On the Sunday morning which followed the day on which the news had
reached us of the rising in Northumberland, I went, as was my wont,
into my mother's dressing-room, to crave her blessing, and I asked of
her if the priest who came to say mass for us most Sundays had
arrived. She said he had been, and had gone away again, and that she
greatly feared we should have no prayers that day, saving such as we
might offer up for ourselves; "together," she added after a pause,
"with a bitter sacrifice of tears and of such sufferings as we have
heard of, but as yet not known the taste of ourselves."
Again I felt in my heart a throbbing feeling, which had in it an
admixture of pain and joy--made up, I ween, of conflicting
passions--such as curiosity feeding on the presentment of an
approaching change; of the motions of grace in a soul which faintly
discerns the happiness of suffering for conscience sake; and the fear
of suffering natural to the human heart.
"Why are we to have no mass, sweet mother?" I asked, encircling her
waist in my arms; "and wherefore has good Mr. Bryan gone away?"
"We received advice late last evening," she answered, "that the
queen's pursuivants have orders to search this day the houses of the
most noted recusants in this neighborhood; and 'tis likely they may
begin with us, who have never made a secret of our faith, and never
will."
"And will they kill us if they come?" I asked, with that same
trembling eagerness I have so often known since when danger was at
hand.
"Not now, not to-day, Conny," she answered; "but I pray to God they do
not carry us away to prison; for since this rising in the north, to be
a Catholic and a traitor is one and the same in their eyes who have to
judge us. We must needs hide our books and church furniture; so give
me thy beads, sweet one, and the cross from thy neck."
I waxed red when my mother bade me unloose the string, and tightly
clasped the cross in both my hands "Let them kill me, mother," I
cried; "but take not off my cross."
"Maybe," she said, "the queen's officers would trample on it, and
injure their own souls in dishonoring a holy symbol." And as she spoke
she took it from me, and hid it in a recess behind the chimney; which
no sooner was done, than we heard a sound of horses' feet in the
approach; and going to the window, I cried out, "Here is a store of
armed men on horseback!" Ere I had uttered the words, one of them had
dismounted and loudly knocked at the door with his truncheon; upon
which my mother, taking me by the hand, went down stairs into the
parlor where my father was. It seemed as if those knocks had struck on
her heart, so great a trembling came over her. My father bade the
servants throw open the door; and the sheriff came in, with two
pursuivants and some more men with him, and produced a warrant to
search the house; which my father having read, he bowed his head, and
gave orders not to hinder them in their duty. He stood himself the
while in the hall, his face as white as a smock, and his teeth almost
running through his lips.
One of the men came into the library, and pulling down the books,
scattered them on the floor, and cried:
"Look ye here, sirs, what Popish stuff is this, fit for the hangman's
burning!" At the which another answered:
"By my troth, Sam, I misdoubt that thou canst read. Methinks thou dost
hunt Popery as dogs do game, by the scent. Prithee spell me the title
of this volume."
"I will have none of thy gibing, Master Sevenoaks," returned the
other. "Whether I be a scholar or not, I'll warrant no honest
gospeller wrote on those yellow musty leaves, which be two hundred
years old, if they be a day."
"And I'll warrant thee in that credence, Master Samuel, by the same
token that the volume in thy hand is a treatise on field-sports, writ
in the days of Master Caxton; a code of the laws to be observed in the
hunting and killing of deer, which I take to be no Popish sport, for
our most gracious queen--God save her majesty!--slew a fat buck not
long ago in Windsor Forest with her own hand, and remembered his grace
of Canterbury with half her prey;" and so saying, he drew his comrade
from the room; I ween with the intent to save the books from his rough
handling, for he seemed of a more gentle nature than the rest and of a
more moderate disposition.
When they had ransacked all the rooms below, they went upstairs, and
my father followed. Breaking from my mother's side, who sat pale and
still as a statute, unable to move from her seat, I ran after him, and
on the landing-place I heard the sheriff say somewhat touching the
harboring of priests; to the which he made answer that he was ready to
swear there was no priest in the house. "Nor has been?" quoth the
sheriff; upon which my father said:
"Good sir, this house was built in the days of Her majesty's
grandfather, King Henry VII.; and on one occasion his majesty was
pleased to rest under my grandfather's roof, and to hear mass in that
room," he said, pointing to what was now the chapel, "the church being
too distant for his majesty's convenience: so priests have been within
these walls many times ere I was born."
The sheriff said no more at that time, but went into the room, where
there were only a few chairs, for that in the night the altar and all
that appertained to it had been removed. He and his men were going out
again, when a loud knocking was heard against the wall on one side of
the chamber; at the sound of which my father's face, which was white
before, became of an ashy paleness.
"Ah!" cried one of the pursuivants, "the lying Papist! The egregious
Roman! an oath is in his mouth that he has no priest in his house, and
here is one hidden in his cupboard."
"Mr. Sherwood!" the sheriff shouted, greatly moved, "lead the way to
the hiding-place wherein a traitor is concealed, or I order the house
to be pulled down about your ears."
My father was standing like one stunned by a sudden blow, and I heard
him murmur, "'Tis the devil's own doing, or else I am stark, staring
mad."
The men ran to the wall, and knocked against it with their sticks,
crying out in an outrageous manner to the priest to come out of his
hole. "We'll unearth the Jesuit fox," cried one; "we'll give him a
better lodging in Lichfield gaol," shouted another; and the sheriff
kept threatening to set fire to the house. Still the knocking from
within went on, as if answering that outside, and then a voice
cried out, "I cannot open: I am shut in."
"'Tis Edmund!" I exclaimed; "'tis Edmund is in the hiding-place." And
then the words were distinctly heard, "'Tis I; 'tis Edmund Genings.
For God's sake, open; I am shut in." Upon which my father drew a deep
breath, and hastening forward, pressed his finger on a place in the
wall, the panel slipped, and Edmund came out of the recess, looking
scared and confused. The pursuivants seized him; but the sheriff cried
out, surprised, "God's death, sirs! but 'tis the son of the worshipful
Mr. Genings, whose lady is a mother in Israel, and M. Jean de Luc's
first cousin! And how came ye, Mr. Edmund, to be concealed in this
Popish den? Have these recusants imprisoned you with some foul intent,
or perverted you by their vile cunning?" Edmund was addressing my
father in an agitated voice.
"I fear me, sir," he cried, clasping his hands, "I befear me much I
have affrighted you, and I have been myself sorely affrighted. I was
passing through this room, which I have never before seen, and the
door of which was open this morn. By chance I drew my hand along the
wall, where there was no apparent mark, when the panel slipped and
disclosed this recess, into which I stepped, and straightway the
opening closed and I remained in darkness. I was afraid no one might
hear me, and I should die of hunger."
My father tried to smile, but could not. "Thank God," he said, "'tis
no worse;" and sinking down on a chair he remained silent, whilst the
sheriff and the pursuivants examined the recess, which was deep and
narrow, and in which they brandished their swords in all directions.
Then they went round the room, feeling the walls; but though there was
another recess with a similar mode of aperture, they hit not on it,
doubtless through God's mercy; for in it were concealed the altar
furniture and our books, with many other things besides, which they
would have seized on.
Before going away, the sheriff questioned Edmund concerning his faith,
and for what reason he abode in a Popish house and consorted with
recusants. Edmund answered he was no Papist, but a kinsman of Mrs.
Sherwood, unto whose house his father had oftentimes sent him. Upon
which he was counselled to take heed unto himself and to eschew evil
company, which leads to horrible defections, and into the straight
road to perdition. Whereupon they departed; and the officer who had
enticed his companion from the library smiled as he passed me, and
said:
"And wherefore not at prayers, little mistress, on the Lord's day, as
all Christian folks should be?"
I ween he was curious to see how I should answer, albeit not moved
thereunto by any malicious intent. But at the time I did not bethink
myself that he spoke of Protestant service; and being angered at what
passed, I said:
"Because we be kept from prayers by the least welcome visit ever made
to Christian folks on a Lord's morning." He laughed and cried:
"Thou hast a ready tongue, young mistress; and when tried for
recusancy I warrant thou'lt give the judge a piece of thy mind."
"And if I ever be in such a presence, and for such a cause," I
answered, "I pray to God I may say to my lord on the bench what the
blessed apostle St. Peter spoke to his judges: 'If it be just in the
sight of God to hear you rather than God, judge ye.'" At which he
cried:
"Why, here is a marvel indeed--a Papist to quote Scripture!" And
laughing again, he went his way; and the house was for that time rid
of these troublesome guests.
Then Edmund again sued for pardon to my father, that through his rash
conduct he had been the occasion of so great fear and trouble to him.
"I warrant thee, my good boy," quoth my father, "thou didst cause me
the most keen anguish, and the most sudden relief from it, which can
well be thought of; and so no more need be said thereon. And as thou
must needs be going to the public church, 'tis time that thou bestir
thyself; for 'tis a long walk there and back, and the sun waxing hot."
When Edmund was gone, and I alone with him, my father clasped me in
his arms, and cried:
"God send, my wench, thou mayest justify thy sponsors who gave thee
thy name in baptism; for 'tis a rare constancy these times do call
for, and such as is not often seen, saving in such as be of a noble
and religious spirit; which I pray to God may be the case with thee."
My mother did not speak, but went away with her hand pressed against
her heart; which was what of late I had often seen her to do, as if
the pain was more than she could bear.
One hour later, as I was crossing the court, a man met me suited as a
farmer; who, when I passed him, laid his hand on my shoulder; at the
which I started, and turning round saw it was Father Bryan; who,
smiling as I caught his hand, cried out:
"Dost know the shepherd in his wolf's clothing, little mistress?" and
hastening on to the chapel he said mass, at the which only a few
assisted, as my parents durst not send to the Catholics so late in the
day. As soon as mass was over, Mr. Bryan said he must leave, for there
was a warrant issued for his apprehension; and our house famed for
recusancy, so as he might not stay in it but with great peril to
himself and to its owners. We stood at the door as he was mounting his
horse, and my father said, patting its neck:
"Tis a faithful servant this, reverend father; many a mile he has
carried thee to the homes of the sick and dying since our troubles
began."
"Ah! good Mr. Sherwood," Mr. Bryan replied, as he gathered up the
bridle, "thou hast indeed warrant to style the poor beast faithful. If
I were to shut my eyes and let him go, no doubt but he would find his
way to the doors of such as cleave to the ancient faith, in city or in
hamlet, across moor or through thick wood. If a pursuivant bestrode
him, he might discover through his means who be recusants a hundred
miles around. But I bethink me he would not budge with such a burthen
on his back; and that he who made the prophet's ass to speak, would,
give the good beast more sense than to turn informer, and to carry the
wolf to the folds of the lambs. And prithee, Mistress Constance," said
the good priest, turning to me, "canst keep a secret and be silent,
when men's lives are in jeopardy?"
"Aye," cried my father quickly, "'tis as much as worthy Mr. Bryan's
life is worth that none should know he was here to-day."
"More than my poor life is worth," he rejoined; "that were little to
think of, my good friends. For five years I have made it my prayer
that the day may soon come--and I care not how soon--when I may lay it
down for his sake who gave it. But we must e'en have a care for those
who are so rash as to harbor priests in these evil times. So Mistress
Constance must e'en study the virtue of silence, and con the meaning
of the proverb which teacheth discretion to be the best part of
valor."
"If Edmund Genings asketh me, reverend father, if I have heard mass
to-day, what must I answer?"
"Say the queen's majesty has forbidden mass to be said in this her
kingdom; and if he presseth thee more closely thereon, why then tell
him the last news from the poultry-yard, and that the hares have eat
thy mignonette; which they be doing even now, if my eyes deceive me
not," said the good father, pointing with his whip to the
flower-garden.
So, smiling, he gave us a last blessing, and rode on toward the Chase,
and I went to drive the hares away from the flower-beds, and
then to set the chapel in fair order. And ever and anon, that day and
the next, I took out of my pocket my sweet Lady Surrey's last letter,
and pictured to myself all the scenes therein related; so that I
seemed to live one-half of my life with her in thought, so greatly was
my fancy set upon her, and my heart concerned in her troubles.
CHAPTER V.
Not many days after the sheriff and the pursuivants had been at our
house, and Mr. Bryan, by reason of the bloody laws which had been
enacted against Papists and such as harbor priests, had left us,--
though intending to return at such times as might serve our commodity,
and yet not affect our safety,--I was one morning assisting my mother
in the store-room, wherein she was setting aside such provisions as
were to be distributed to the poor that week, together with salves,
medicines, and the like, which she also gave out of charity, when a
spasm came over her, so vehement and painful, that for the moment she
lost the use of speech, and made signs to me to call for help. I ran
affrighted into the library for my father, and brought him to her,
upon which, in a little time, she did somewhat recover, but desired he
would assist her to her own chamber, whither she went leaning on his
arm. When laid on her bed she seemed easier; and smiling, bade me
leave them for awhile, for that she desired to have speech with my
father alone.
For the space of an hour I walked in the garden, with so oppressive a
grief at my heart as I had never before experienced. Methinks the
great stillness in the air added thereunto some sort of physical
disorder; for the weather was very close and heavy; and if a leaf did
but stir, I started as if danger was at hand; and the noise of the
chattering pies over my head worked in me an apprehensive melancholy,
foreboding, I doubt not, what was to follow. At about eleven o'clock,
hearing the sound of a horse's feet in the avenue, I turned round, and
saw Edmund riding from the house; upon which I ran across the grass to
a turning of the road where he would pass, and called to him to stop,
which he did; and told me he was going to Lichfield for his father,
whom my mother desired presently to see. "Then thou shouldst not
tarry," I said; and he pushed on and left me standing where I was; but
the bell then ringing for dinner, I went back to the house, and, in so
doing, took notice of a bay-tree on the lawn which was withered and
dried-up, though the gardener had been at pains to preserve it by
sundry appliances and frequent watering of it. Then it came to my
remembrance what my nurse used to say, that the dying of that sort of
tree is a sure omen of a death in a family; which thought sorely
disturbed me at that time. I sat down with my father to a brief and
silent meal; and soon after the physician he had sent for came, whom
he conducted to my mother's chamber, whereunto I did follow, and
slipped in unperceived. Sitting on one side of the bed, behind the
curtains, I heard her say, in a voice which sounded hollow and weak,
"Good Master Lawrenson, my dear husband was fain to send for you, and
I cared not to withstand him, albeit persuaded that I am hastening to
my journey's end, and that naught that you or any other man may
prescribe may stay what is God's will. And if this be visible to you
as it is to me, I pray you keep it not from me, for it will be to my
much comfort to be assured of it."
When she had done speaking, he did feel her pulse; and the while my
heart beat so quick and, as it seemed to me, so loud as if it must
needs impede my hearing; but in a moment I heard him say: "God defend,
good madam, I should deceive you. While there is life, there is hope.
Greater comfort I dare not urge. If there be any temporal matter
on your mind, 'twere better settled now, and likewise of your soul's
health, by such pious exercises as are used by those of your way of
thinking."
At the hearing of these his words, my father fetched a deep sigh; but
she, as one greatly relieved, clasped her hands together, and cried,
"My God, I thank thee!"
Then, stealing from behind the curtain, I laid my head on the pillow
nigh unto hers, and whispered, "Sweet mother, prithee do not die, or
else take me with thee."
But she, as one not heeding, exclaimed, with her hands uplifted, "O
faithless heart! O selfish heart! to be so glad of death!"
The physician was directing the maids what they should do for her
relief when the pain came on, and he himself stood compounding some
medicine for her to take. My father asked of him when he next would
come; and he answered, "On the morrow;" but methinks 'twas even then
his belief that there would be no morrow for her who was dying before
her time, like the bay-tree in our garden. She bade him farewell in a
kindly fashion; and when we were alone, I lying on the bed by her
side, and my father sitting at its head, she said, in a low voice,
"How wonderful be God's dealings with us, and how fatherly his care;
in that he takes the weak unto himself, and leaves behind the strong
to fight the battle now at hand! My dear master, I had a dream
yesternight which had somewhat of horror in it, but more methinks of
comfort." My father breaking out then in sighs and tears as if his
heart would break, she said, "Oh, but thou must hear and acknowledge,
my loved master, how gracious is God's providence to thy poor wife.
When thou knowest what I have suffered--not in body, though that has
been sharp too, but in my soul--it will reconcile thine own to a
parting which has in it so much of mercy. Thou dost remember the night
when Mr. Mush was here, and what his discourse did run on?"
"Surely do I, sweet wife," he answered; "for it was such as the mind
doth not easily lose the memory of; the sufferings and glorious end of
the blessed martyr Mrs. Clitherow. I perceived what sorrowful heed
thou didst lend to his recital; but has it painfully dwelt in thy mind
since?"
"By day and by night it hath not left me; ever recurring to my
thoughts, ever haunting my dreams, and working in me a fearful
apprehension lest in a like trial I should be found wanting, and prove
a traitor to God and his Church, and a disgrace and heartbreak to thee
who hast so truly loved me far beyond my deserts. I have bragged of
the dangers of the times, even as cowards are wont to speak loud in
the dark to still by the sound of their own voices the terrors they do
feel. I have had before my eyes the picture of that cruel death, and
of the children extremely used for answering as their mother had
taught them, till cold drops of sweat have stood on my brow, and I
have knelt in my chamber wringing my hands and praying to be spared a
like trial. And then, maybe an hour later, sitting at the table, I
spake merrily of the gallows, mocking my own fears, as when Mr. Bryan
was last here; and I said that priests should be more welcome to me
than ever they were, now that virtue and the Catholic cause were made
felony; and the same would be in God's sight more meritorious than
ever before: upon which, 'Then you must prepare your neck for the
rope,' quoth he, in a pleasant but withal serious manner; at the which
a cold chill overcame me, and I very well-nigh faulted, though
constraining my tongue to say, 'God's will be done; but I am far
unworthy of so great an honor.' The cowardly heart belied the
confident tongue, and fear of my own weakness affrighted me, by the
which I must needs have offended God, who helps such as trust in
him. But I hope to be forgiven, inasmuch as it has ever been the wont
of my poor thoughts to picture evils beforehand in such a form as to
scare the soul, which, when it came to meet with them, was not shaken
from its constancy. When Conny was an infant I have stood nigh unto a
window with her in my arms, and of a sudden a terror would seize me
lest I should let her fall out of my hands, which yet clasped her; and
methinks 'twas somewhat of alike feeling which worked in me touching
the denying of my faith, which, God is my witness, is dearer to me
than aught upon earth."
"'Tis even so, sweet wife," quoth my father; "the edge of a too keen
conscience and a sensitive apprehension of defects visible to thine
own eyes and God's--never to mine, who was ever made happy by thy love
and virtue--have worn out the frame which enclosed them, and will rob
me of the dearest comfort of my life, if I must lose thee."
She looked upon him with so much sweetness, as if the approach of
death had brought her greater peace and joy than life had ever done,
and she replied: "Death comes to me as a compassionate angel, and I
fain would have thee welcome with me the kindly messenger who brings
so great relief to the poor heart thou hast so long cherished. Now,
thou art called to another task; and when the bruised, broken reed is
removed from thy side, thou wilt follow the summons which even now
sounds in thine ears."
"Ah," cried my father, clasping her hand, "art thou then already a
saint, sweet wife, that thou hast read the vow slowly registered as
yet in the depths of a riven heart?" Then his eyes turned on me; and
she, who seemed to know his thoughts, that sweet soul who had been so
silent in life, but was now spending her last breath in
never-to-be-forgotten words, answered the question contained in that
glance as if it had been framed in a set speech.
"Fear not for her," she said, laying her cheek close unto mine. "As
her days, so shall her strength be. Methinks Almighty God has given
her a spirit meet for the age in which her lot is cast. The early
training thou hast had, my wench; the lack of such memories as make
the present twofold bitter; the familiar mention round thy cradle of
such trials as do beset Catholics in these days, have nurtured thee a
stoutness of heart which will stand thee in good stead amidst the
rough waves of this troublesome world. The iron will not enter into
thy soul as it hath done into mine." Upon which she fell back
exhausted and for a while no sound was heard in or about the house
save the barking of our great dog.
My father had sent a messenger to a house where we had had notice days
before Father Ford was staying but with no certain knowledge he still
there, or any other priest in neighborhood, which occasioned him no
small disquietude, for my mother's strength seemed to be visibly
sinking which was what the doctor's words had led him to expect. The
man he sent returned not till the evening; in the afternoon Mr.
Genings and son came from Lichfield, which, when my mother heard, she
said God was gracious to permit her once more to see John, which was
Mr. Genings' name. They had been reared in the same house; and a
kindness had always continued betwixt them. For some time past he had
conformed to the times; and since his marriage with the daughter of a
French Huguenot who lived in London, and who was a lady of very
commendable character and manners, and strenuous in her own way of
thinking, he had left off practising his own religion in secret, which
for a while he used to do. When he came in, and saw death plainly writ
in his cousin's face, he was greatly moved, and knelt down by her side
with a very sorrowful countenance; upon which she straightly looked at
him, and said: "Cousin John, my breath is very short, as my time
is also like to be. But one word I would fain say to thee before I
die. I was always well pleased with my religion, which was once thine
and that of all Christian people one hundred years ago; but I have
never been so well pleased with it as now, when I be about to meet my
Judge."
Mr. Genings' features worked with a strange passion, in which was more
of grief than displeasure, and grasping his son's shoulder, who was
likewise kneeling and weeping, he said: "You have wrought with this
boy, cousin, to make him a Catholic."
"As heaven is my witness," she answered, "not otherwise but by my
prayers."
"Hast thou seen a priest, cousin Constance?" he then asked: upon which
my mother not answering, the poor man burst into tears, and cried:
"Oh, cousin--cousin Constance, dost count me a spy, and at thy
death-bed?"
He seemed cut to the heart; whereupon she gave him her hand, and said
she hoped God would send her such ghostly assistance as she stood in
need of; and praying God to bless him and his wife and children, and
make them his faithful servants, so she might meet them all in
perpetual happiness, she spoke with such good cheer, and then bade him
and Edmund farewell with so pleasant a smile, as deceived them into
thinking her end not so near. And so, after a while, they took their
leave; upon which she composed herself for a while in silence,
occupying her thoughts in prayer; and toward evening, through God's
mercy, albeit the messenger had returned with the heavy news that
Father Ford had left the county some days back, it happened that Mr.
Watson, a secular priest who had lately arrived in England, and was on
his way to Chester, stopped at our house, whereunto Mr. Orton, whom he
had seen in prison at London, had directed him for his own convenience
on the road, and likewise our commodity, albeit little thinking how
great our need would be at that time of so opportune a guest, through
whose means that dear departing soul had the benefit of the last
sacraments with none to trouble or molest her, and such ghostly aid as
served to smooth her passage to what has proved, I doubt not, the
beginning of a happy eternity, if we may judge by such tokens as the
fervent acts of contrition she made both before and after shrift, such
as might have served to wash away ten thousand sins through his blood
who cleansed her, and her great and peaceable joy at receiving him
into her heart whom she soon trusted to behold. Her last words were
expressions of wonder and gratitude at God's singular mercy shown unto
her in the quiet manner of her death in the midst of such troublesome
times. And methinks, when the silver cord was loosed, and naught was
left of her on earth save the fair corpse which retained in death the
semblance it had had in life, that together with the natural grief
which found vent in tears, there remained in the hearts of such as
loved her a comfortable sense of the Divine goodness manifested in
this her peaceable removal.
How great the change which that day wrought in me may be judged of by
such who, at the age I had then reached to, have met with a like
affliction, coupled with a sense of duties to be fulfilled, such as
then fell to my lot, both as touching household cares, and in respect
to the cheering of my father in his solitary hours during the time we
did yet continue at Sherwood Hall, which was about a year. It waxed
very hard then for priests to make their way to the houses of
Catholics, as many now found it to their interest to inform against
them and such as harbored them; and mostly in our neighborhood,
wherein there were at that time no recusants of so great rank and note
that the sheriff would not be lief to meddle with them. We had
oftentimes had secret advices to beware of such and such of our
servants who might betray our hidden conveyances of safety; and my
father scarcely durst be sharp with them when they offended by
slacking their duties, lest they might bring us into danger if they
revealed, upon any displeasure, priests having abided with us. Edmund
we saw no more since my mother's death; and after a while the news did
reach us that Mr. Genings had died of the small-pox, and left his wife
in so distressed a condition, against all expectation, owing to debts
he had incurred, that she had been constrained to sell her house and
furniture, and was living in a small lodging near unto the school
where Edmund continued his studies.
I noticed, as time went by, how heavily it weighed on my father's
heart to see so many Catholics die without the sacraments, or fall
away from their faith, for lack of priests to instruct them, like so
many sheep without a shepherd; and I guessed by words he let fall on
divers occasions, that the intent obscurely shadowed forth in his
discourse to my mother on her deathbed was ripening to a settled
purpose, and tending to a change in his state of life, which only his
love and care for me caused him to defer. What I did apprehend must
one day needs occur, was hastened about this time by a warning he did
receive that on an approaching day he would be apprehended and carried
by the sheriff before the council at Lichfield, to be examined
touching recusancy and harboring of priests; which was what he had
long expected. This message was, as it were, the signal he had been
waiting for, and an indication of God's will in his regard. He made
instant provision for the placing of his estate in the hands of a
friend of such singular honesty and so faithful a friendship toward
himself, though a Protestant, that he could wholly trust him. And next
he set himself to dispose of her whom he did term his most dear
earthly treasure, and his sole tie to this perishable world, which he
resolved to do by straightway sending her to London, unto his sister
Mistress Congleton, who had oftentimes offered, since his wife's
death, to take charge of this daughter, and to whom he now despatched
a messenger with a letter, wherein he wrote that the times were now so
troublesome, he must needs leave his home, and take advantage of the
sisterly favor she had willed to show him in the care of his sole
child, whom he now would forthwith send to London, commending her to
her good keeping, touching her safety and religious and virtuous
training, and that he should be more beholden to her than ever brother
was to sister, and, as long as he lived, as he was bound to do, pray
for her and her good husband. When this letter was gone, and order had
been taken for my journey, which was to be on horseback, and in the
charge of a maiden gentlewoman who had been staying some months in our
neighborhood, and was now about in two days to travel to London, it
seemed to me as if that which I had long expected and pictured unto
myself had now come upon me of a sudden, and in such wise as for the
first time to taste its bitterness. For I saw, without a doubt, that
this parting was but the forerunner of a change in my father's
condition as great and weighty as could well be thought of. But of
this howbeit our thoughts were full of it, no talk was ministered
between us. He said I should hear from him in London; and that he
should now travel into Lancashire and Cheshire, changing his name, and
often shifting his quarters whilst the present danger lasted. The day
which was to be the last to see us in the house wherein himself and
his fathers for many centuries back, and I his unworthy child, had
been born, was spent in such fashion as becometh those who suffer for
conscience sake, and that is with so much sorrow as must needs be felt
by a loving father and a dutiful child in a first and doubtful
parting, with so much regret as is natural in the abandonment of a
peaceful earthly home, wherein God had been served in a Catholic
manner for many generations and up to that time without
discontinuance, only of late years as it were by night and
stealth, which was linked in their memories with sundry innocent joys
and pleasures, and such griefs as do hallow and endear the visible
scenes wherewith they be connected, but withal with a stoutness of
heart in him, and a youthful steadiness in her whom he had infected
with a like courage unto his own, which wrought in them so as to be of
good cheer and shed no more tears on so moving an occasion than the
debility of her nature and the tenderness of his paternal care
extorted from their eyes when he placed her on her horse, and the
bridle in the hand of the servant who was to accompany her to London.
Their last parting was a brief one, and such as I care not to be
minute in describing; for thinking upon it even now 'tis like to make
me weep; which I would not do whilst writing this history, in the
recital of which there should be more of constancy and thankful
rejoicing in God's great mercies, than of womanish softness in looking
back to past trials. So I will even break off at this point; and in
the next chapter relate the course of the journey which was begun on
that day.
CHAPTER VI.
I was to travel, as had been ordered for our mutual convenience and
protection, with Mistress Ward, a gentlewoman who resided some months
in our vicinity, and had heard mass in our chapel on such rare
occasions as of late had occurred, when a priest was at our house, and
we had commodity to give notice thereof to such as were Catholic in
the adjacent villages. We had with us on the journey two serving-men
and a waiting-woman, who had been my mother's chambermaid; and so
accompanied, we set out on our way, singing as we went, for greater
safety, the litanies of our Lady; to whom we did commend ourselves, as
my father had willed us to do, with many fervent prayers. The
gentlewoman to whose charge I was committed was a lady of singular
zeal and discretion, as well as great virtue; albeit, where religion
was not concerned, of an exceeding timid disposition; which, to my no
small diversion then, and great shame since, I took particular notice
of on this journey. Much talk had been ministered in the county
touching the number of rogues and vagabonds which infested the public
roads, of which sundry had been taken up and whipped during the last
months, in Lichfield, Stafford, and other places. I did perceive that
good Mistress Ward glanced uneasily as we rode along at every
foot-passenger or horseman that came in sight. Albeit my heart was
heavy, and may be also that when the affections are inclined to tears
they be likewise prone to laughter, I scarce could restrain from
smiling at these her fears and the manner of her showing them.
"Mistress Constance," she said at last, as we came to the foot of a
steep ascent, "methinks you have a great heart concerning the
dangers which may befall us on the road, and that the sight of a
robber would move you not one whit more than that of an honest pedler
or hawker, such as I take those men to be who are mounting the hill in
advance of us. Doth it not seem to you that the box which they do
carry betokens them to be such worthy persons as I wish them to
prove?"
"Now surely," I answered, "good Mistress Ward, 'tis my opinion that
they be not such honest knaves as you do suppose. I perceive somewhat
I mislike in the shape of that box. What an if it be framed to entice
travellers to their ruin by such displays and shows of rare ribbons
and gewgaws as may prove the means of detaining them on the road, and
a-robbing of them in the end?"
Mistress Ward laughed, and commended my jesting, but was yet ill at
ease; and, as a mischievous and thoughtless creature, I did somewhat
excite and maintain her fears, in order to set her on asking questions
of our attendants touching the perils of the road, which led them to
relate such fearful stories of what they had seen of this sort as
served to increase her apprehensions, and greatly to divert me, who
had not the like fears; but rather entertained myself with hers, in a
manner such as I have been since ashamed to think of, who should have
kissed the ground on which she had trodden.
The fairness of the sky, the beauty of the fields and hedges, the
motion of the horse, stirred up my spirits; albeit my heart was at
moments so brimful of sorrow that I hated my tongue for its
wantonness, my eyes for their curious gazing, and my fancy for its
eager thoughts anent London and the new scenes I should behold there.
What mostly dwelt in them was the hope to see my Lady Surrey, of whom
I had had of late but brief and scanty tidings. The last letter I had
from her was writ at the time when the Duke of Norfolk was for the
second time thrown in the Tower, which she said was the greatest
sorrow that had befallen her since the death of my Lady Mounteagle,
which had happened at his grace's house a few months back, with all
the assistance she desired touching her religion. She had been urged,
my Lady Surrey said, by the duke some time before to do something
contrary to her faith; but though she much esteemed and respected him,
her answer was so round and resolute that he never mentioned the like
to her any more. Since then I had no more tidings of her, who was
dearer to me than our brief acquaintance and the slender tie of such
correspondence as had taken place between us might in most cases
warrant; but whether owing to some congeniality of mind, or to a
presentiment of future friendship, 'tis most certain my heart was
bound to her in an extraordinary manner; so that she was the continual
theme of my thoughts and mirror of my fancy.
The first night of our journey we lay at a small inn, which was held
by persons Mistress Ward was acquainted with, and by whom we were
entertained in a decent chamber, looking on unto a little garden, and
with as much comfort as the fashion of the place might afford, and
greater cleanliness than is often to be found in larger hostelries.
After supper, being somewhat weary with travel, but not yet inclined
for bed, and the evening fine, we sat out of doors in a bower of
eglantine near to some bee-hives, of which our hostess had a great
store; and methinks she took example from them, for we could see her
through the window as busy in the kitchen amongst her maids as the
queen-bee amidst her subjects. Mistress Ward took occasion to observe,
as we watched one of these little commonwealths of nature, that she
admired how they do live, laboring and swarming, and gathering honey
together so neat and finely, that they abhor nothing so much as
uncleanliness, drinking pure and clear water, even the dew-drops on
the leaves and flowers, and delighting in sweet music, which if
they hear but once out of tune they fly out of sight.
"They live," she said, "under a law, and use great reverence to their
elders. Every one hath his office; some trimming the honey, another
framing hives, another the combs. When they go forth to work, they
mark the wind and the clouds, and whatsoever doth threaten their ruin;
and having gathered, out of every flower, honey, they return loaded in
their mouths and on their wings, whom they that tarried at home
receive readily, easing their backs of their great burthens with as
great care as can be thought of."
"Methinks," I answered, "that if it be as you say, Mistress Ward, the
bees be wiser than men."
At the which she smiled; but withal, sighing, made reply:
"One might have wished of late years rather to be a bee than such as
we see men sometimes to be. But, Mistress Constance, if they are
indeed so wise and so happy, 'tis that they are fixed in a condition
in which they must needs do the will of him who created them; and the
like wisdom and happiness in a far higher state we may ourselves
enjoy, if we do but choose of our free will to live by the same rule."
Then, after some further discourse on the habits of these little
citizens, I inquired of Mistress Ward if she were acquainted with mine
aunt, Mistress Congleton; at the which question she seemed surprised,
and said,
"Methought, my dear, you had known my condition in your aunt's family,
having been governess for many years to her three daughters, and only
by reason of my sister's sickness having stayed away from them for
some time."
At the which intelligence I greatly rejoiced; for the few hours we had
rode together, and our discourse that evening, had wrought in me a
liking for this lady as great as could arise in so short a period. But
I minded me then of my jests at her fears anent robbers, and also of
having been less dutiful in my manners than I should have been toward
one who was like to be set over me; and I likewise bethought me this
might be the cause that she had spoken of the bees having a reverence
for their elders, and doubted if I should crave her pardon for my want
of it. But, like many good thoughts which we give not entertainment to
by reason that they be irksome, I changed that intent for one which
had in it more of pleasantness, though less of virtue. Kissing her, I
said it was the best news I had heard for a long time that I should
live in the same house with her, and, as I hoped, under her care and
good government. And she answered, that she was well pleased with it
too, and would be a good friend to me as long as she lived. Then I
asked her touching my cousins, and of their sundry looks and
qualities. She answered, that the eldest, Kate, was very fair, and
said nothing further concerning her. Polly, she told me, was
marvellous witty and very pleasant, and could give a quick answer,
full of entertaining conceits.
"And is she, then, not fair?" I asked.
"Neither fair nor foul," was her reply; "but well favored enough, and
has an excellent head."
"Then," I cried, letting my words exceed good behavior, "I shall like
her better than the pretty fool her sister." For the which speech I
received the first, but not the last, chiding I ever had from Mistress
Ward for foolish talking and pert behavior, which was what I very well
deserved. When she had done speaking, I put my arm round her neck--for
it put me in mind of my mother to be so gravely yet so sweetly
corrected--and said, "Forgive me, dear Mistress Ward, for my saucy
words, and tell me somewhat I beseech you touching my youngest cousin,
who must be nearest to mine own age."
"She is no pearl to hang at one's ear," quoth she, "yet so gifted with
a well-disposed mind that in her grace seems almost to supersede
nature. Muriel is deformed in body, and slow in speech; but in
behavior so honest, in prayer so devout, so noble in all her dealings,
that I never heard her speak anything that either concerned not good
instruction or godly mirth."
"And doth she not care to be ugly?" I asked.
"So little doth she value beauty," quoth Mistress Ward, "save in the
admiring of it in others, that I have known her to look into a glass
and smiling cry out, 'This face were fair if it were turned and every
feature the opposite to what it is;' and so jest pleasantly at her own
deformities, and would have others do so too. Oh, she is a rare
treasure of goodness and piety, and a true comfort to her friends!"
With suchlike pleasant discourse we whiled away the time until going
to rest; and next day were on horseback betimes on our way to
Coventry, where we were to lie that night at the house of Mr. Page, a
Catholic, albeit not openly, by reason of the times. This gentleman is
for his hospitality so much haunted, that no news stirs but comes to
his ears, and no gentlefolks pass his door but have a cheerful welcome
to his house; and 'tis said no music is so sweet to his ears as
deserved thanks. He vouchsafed much favor to us, and by his merry
speeches procured us much entertainment, provoking me to laughter
thereby more than I desired. He took us to see St. Mary's Hall, which
is a building which has not its equal for magnificence in any town I
have seen, no, not even in London. As we walked through the streets he
showed us a window in which was an inscription, set up in the reign of
King Richard the Second, which did run thus:
"I, Luriche, for the love of thee
Do make Coventry toll free."
And further on, the figure of Peeping Tom of Coventry, that false
knave I was so angry with when my father (ah, me! how sharp and sudden
was the pain which went through my heart as I called to mind the hours
I was wont to sit on his knee hearkening to the like tales) told me
the story of the Lady Godiva, who won mercy for her townsfolk by a
ride which none had dared to take but one so holy as herself. And, as
I said before, being then in a humor as prone to tears at one moment
as laughter at another, I fell to weeping for the noble lady who had
been in so sore a strait that she must needs have chosen between
complying with her savage lord's conditions or the misery of her poor
clients. When Mr. Page noticed my tears, which flowed partly for
myself and partly for one who had been long dead, but yet lived in the
hearts of these citizens, he sought to cheer me by the recital of the
fair and rare pageant which doth take place every year in Coventry,
and is of the most admirable beauty, and such as is not witnessed in
any other city in the world. He said I should not weep if I were to
see it, which he very much desired I should; and he hoped he might be
then alive, and ride by my side in the procession as my esquire; at
the which I smiled, for the good gentleman had a face and figure such
as would not grace a pageant, and methought I might be ashamed some
years hence to have him for my knight; and I said, "Good Mr. Page, be
the shutters closed on those days as when the Lady Godiva rode?" at
the which he laughed, and answered,
"No; and that for one Tom who then peeped, there were a thousand eyes
to gaze on the show as it passed."
"Then if it please you, sir, when the time comes," I said, "I would
like to look on and not to ride;" and he replied, it should be as I
pleased; and with such merry discourse we spent the time till supper
was ready. And afterward that good gentleman slackened not his efforts
in entertaining us; but related so many laughable stories, and took so
great notice of me, that I was moved to answer him sometimes in a
manner too forward for my years. He told us of the queen's visit to
that city, and that the mayor, who had heard her grace's majesty
considered poets, and herself wrote verses, thought to commend himself
to her favor by such rare rhymes as these, wherewith he did greet her
at her entrance into the town:
"We, the men of Coventry,
Be pleased to see your majesty,
Good Lord! how fair you be!"
at the which her highness made but an instant's pause, and then
straightway replied,
"It pleaseth well her majesty
To see the men of Coventry.
Good Lord! what fools you be!"
"But," quoth Mr. Page, "the good man was so well pleased that the
Queen had answered his compliment, that 'tis said he has had her
majesty's speech framed, and hung up in his parlor."
"Pity 'tis not in the town-hall," I cried; and he laughing commended
me for sharpness; but Mistress Ward said:
"A sharp tongue in a woman's head was always a stinging weapon; but in
a queen's she prayed God it might never prove a murtherous one." Which
words somewhat checked our merriment, for that they savored of rebuke
to me for forward speech, and I ween awoke in Mr. Page thoughts of a
graver sort.
When we rode through the town next day, he went with us for the space
of some miles, and then bade us farewell with singular courtesy, and
professions of good will and proffered service if we should do him the
good at any time to remember his poor house; which we told him he had
given us sufficient reason not to forget. Toward evening, when the sun
was setting, we did see the towers of Warwick Castle; and I would fain
have discerned the one which doth bear the name of the great earl who
in a poor pilgrim's garb slew the giant Colbrand, and the cave 'neath
Guy's Cliff where he spent his last years in prayer. But the light was
declining as we rode into Leamington, where we lay that night, and
darkness hid from us that fair country, which methought was a meet
abode for such as would lead a hermit's life.
The next day we had the longest ride and the hottest sun we had yet
met with; and at noon we halted to rest in a thicket on the roadside,
which we made our pavilion, and from which our eyes did feast
themselves on a delightful prospect. There were heights on one side
garnished with stately oaks, and a meadow betwixt the road and the
hill enamelled with all sorts of pleasing flowers, and stored with
sheep, which were feeding in sober security. Mistress Ward, who was
greatly tired with the journey, fell asleep with her head on her hand,
and I pulled from my pocket a volume with which Mr. Page had gifted me
at parting, and which contained sundry tales anent Amadis de Gaul,
Huon de Bordeaux, Palmerin of England, and suchlike famous knights,
which he said, as I knew how to read, for which he greatly commended
my parents' care, I should entertain myself with on the road. So,
one-half sitting, one-half lying on the grass, I reclined in an easy
posture, with my head resting against the trunk of a tree, pleasing my
fancy with the writers' conceits; but ever and anon lifting my eyes to
the blue sky above my head, seen through the green branches, or fixed
them on the quaint patterns the quivering light drew on the grass, or
else on the valley refreshed with a silver river, and the fair hills
beyond it. And as I read of knights and ladies, and the many perils
which befel them, and passages of love betwixt them, which was new to
me, and what I had not met with in any of the books I had yet read, I
fell into a fit of musing, wondering if in London the folks I should
see would discourse in the same fashion, and the gentlemen have so
much bravery and the ladies so great beauty as those my book treated
of. And as I noticed it was chiefly on the high-roads they did come
into such dangerous adventures, I gazed as far as I could
discern on the one I had in view before me with a foolish kind of
desire for some robbers to come and assail us, and then a great
nobleman or gallant esquire to ride up and fall on them, and to
deliver us from a great peril, and may be to be wounded in the
encounter, and I to bind up those wounds as from my mother's teaching
I knew how to do, and then give thanks to the noble gentleman in such
courteous and well-picked words as I could think of. But for all my
gazing I could naught perceive save a wain slowly ascending the hill
loaden with corn, midst clouds of dust, and some poorer sort of
people, who had been gleaning, and were carrying sheaves on their
heads. After an hour Mistress Ward awoke from her nap; and methinks I
had been dozing also, for when she called to me, and said it was time
to eat somewhat, and then get to horse, I cried out, "Good sir, I wait
your pleasure;" and rubbed my eyes to see her standing before me in
her riding-habit, and not the gentleman whose wounds I had been
tending.
That night we slept at Northampton, at Mistress Engerfield's house.
She was a cousin of Mr. Congleton's, and a lady whose sweet affability
and gravity would have extorted reverence from those that least loved
her. She was then very aged, and had been a nun in King Henry's reign;
and, since her convent had been despoiled, and the religious driven
out of it, having a large fortune of her own, which she inherited
about that time, she made her house a secret monastery, wherein God
was served in a religious manner by such persons as the circumstances
of the time, and not their own desires, had forced back into the
world, and who as yet had found no commodity for passing beyond seas
into countries where that manner of life is allowed. They dressed in
sober black, and kept stated hours of prayer, and went not abroad
unless necessity compelled them thereunto. When we went into the
dining-room, which I noticed Mistress Engerfield called the refectory,
grace was said in Latin; and whilst we did eat one lady read out loud
out of a book, which methinks was the life of a saint; but the fatigue
of the journey, and the darkness of the room, which was wainscotted
with oak-wood, so overpowered my senses with drowsiness, that before
the meal was ended I had fallen asleep, which was discovered, to my
great confusion, when the company rose from table. But that good lady,
in whose face was so great a kindliness that I never saw one to be
compared with it in that respect before or since, took me by the hand
and said, "Young eyes wax heavy for lack of rest, and travellers
should have repose. Come to thy chamber, sweet one, and, after
commending thyself by a brief prayer to him who sleepeth not nor
slumbereth, and to her who is the Mother of the motherless, get thee
to bed and take thy fill of the sleep thou hast so great need of, and
good angels will watch near thee."
Oh, how I did weep then, partly from fatigue, and partly from the dear
comfort her words did yield me, and, kneeling, asked her blessing, as
I had been wont to do of my dear parents. And she, whose countenance
was full of majesty, and withal of most attractive gentleness, which
made me deem her to be more than an ordinary woman, and a great
servant of God, as indeed she was, raised me from the ground, and
herself assisted to get me to bed, having first said my prayers by her
side, whose inflamed devotion, visible in her face, awakened in me a
greater fervor than I had hitherto experienced when performing this
duty. After I had slept heavily for the space of two or three hours I
awoke, as is the wont of those who be over-fatigued, and could not get
to sleep again, so that I heard the clock of a church strike twelve;
and as the last stroke fell on my ear, it was followed by a sound of
chanting, as if close unto my chamber, which resembled what on rare
occasions I had heard performed by two or three persons in our
chapel; but here, with so full a concord of voices, and so great
melody and sweetness, that methought, being at that time of night and
every one abed, it must be the angels that were singing. But the next
day, questioning Mrs. Ward thereupon as of a strange thing which had
happened to me, she said, the ladies in that house rose always at
midnight, as they had been used to do in their several convents, to
sing God's praises and give him thanks, which was what they did vow to
do when they became religious. Before we departed, Mistress Engerfield
took me into her own room, which was small and plainly furnished, with
no other furniture in it but a bed, table, and kneeling-stool, and
against the wall a large crucifix, and she bestowed upon me a small
book in French, titled "The Spiritual Combat," which she said was a
treasury of pious riches, which she counselled me by frequent study to
make my own; and with many prayers and blessings she then bade us
God-speed, and took leave of us. Our last day's lodging on the road
was at Bedford; and there being no Catholics of note in that town wont
to entertain travellers, we halted at a quiet hostelry, which was kept
by very decent people, who showed us much civility; and the landlady,
after we had supped, the evening being rainy (for else she said we
might have walked through her means into the fair grounds of the Abbey
of Woburn, which she thanked God was not now a hive for drones, as it
had once been, but the seat of a worthy nobleman; which did more
credit to the town, and drew customers to the inn), brought us for our
entertainment a huge book, which she said had as much godliness in
each of its pages as might serve to convert as many Papists--God save
the mark!--as there were leaves in the volume. My cheeks glowed like
fire when she thus spoke, and I looked at Mistress Ward, wondering
what she would say. But she only bowed her head, and made pretence to
open the book, which, when the good woman was gone,
"Mistress Constance," quoth she, "this is a book writ by Mr. Fox, the
Duke of Norfolk's old schoolmaster, touching those he doth call
martyrs, who suffered for treason and for heresy in the days of Queen
Mary,--God rest her soul!--and if it ever did convert a Papist, I do not
say on his deathbed, but at any time of his life, except it was
greatly for his own interest, I be ready . . ."
"To be a martyr yourself, Mistress Ward," I cried, with my ever too
great proneness to let my tongue loose from restraint. The color rose
in her cheek, which was usually pale, and she said:
"Child, I was about to say, that in the case I have named, I be ready
to forego the hope of that which I thank God I be wise enough to
desire, though unworthy to obtain; but for which I do pray each day
that I live."
"Then would you not be afraid to die on a scaffold," I asked, "or to
be hanged, Mistress Ward?"
"Not in a good cause," she said.
But before the words were out of her mouth our landlady knocked at the
door, and said a gentleman was in the house with his two sons, who
asked to pay their compliments to Mistress Ward and the young lady
under her care. The name of this gentleman was Rookwood, of Rookwood
Hall in Suffolk, and Mistress Ward desired the landlady presently to
bring them in, for she had often met them at my aunt's house, as she
afterward told me, and had great contentment we should have such good
company under the same roof with us; whom when they came in she very
pleasantly received, and informed Mr. Rookwood of my name and
relationship to Mistress Congleton; which when he heard, he asked if I
was Mr. Henry Sherwood's daughter; which being certified of, he
saluted me, and said my father was at one time, when both were at
college, the closest friend that ever he had, and his esteem for him
was so great that he would be better pleased with the news that
he should see him but once again, than if any one was to give him a
thousand pounds. I told him my father often spake of him with singular
affection, and that the letter I should write to him from London would
be more welcome than anything else could make it, by the mention of
the honor I had had of his notice. Mistress Ward then asked him what
was the news in London, from whence he had come that morning. He
answered that the news was not so good as he would wish it to be; for
that the queen's marriage with monsieur was broke off, and the King of
France greatly incensed at the favor M. de Montgomeri had experienced
at her hands; and that when he had demanded he should be given up, she
had answered that she did not see why she should be the King of
France's hangman; which was what his father had replied to her sister,
when she had made the like request anent some of her traitors who had
fled to France.
"Her majesty," he said, "was greatly incensed against the Bishop of
Ross, and had determined to put him to death; but that she was
dissuaded from it by her council; and that he prayed God Catholics
should not fare worse now that Ridolfi's plot had been discovered to
declare her highness illegitimate, and place the Queen of Scots on the
throne, which had moved her to greater anger than even the rising in
the north.
"And touching the Duke of Norfolk," Mistress Ward did ask, "what is
like to befal him?"
Mr. Rookwood said, "His grace had been removed from the Tower to his
own house on account of the plague; but it is reported the queen is
more urgent against him than ever, and will have his head in the end."
"If her majesty will not marry monsieur," Mistress Ward said, "it will
fare worse with recusants."
Upon which one of the young gentlemen cried out, "'Tis not her majesty
will not have him; but monsieur will not have her. My Lord of Oxford,
who is to marry my Lord Burleigh's daughter, said yesterday at the
tennis court, that that matter of monsieur is grieviously taken on her
grace's part; but that my lord is of opinion that where amity is so
needful, her majesty should stomach it; and so she doth pretend to
break it off herself by reason of her religious scruples."
At the which both brothers did laugh, but Mr. Rookwood bade them have
a care how they did suffer their tongues to wag anent her grace and
such matters as her grace's marriage; which although in the present
company might be without danger, was an ill habit, which in these
times was like to bring divers persons into troubles.
"Hang it!" cried the eldest of his sons, who was of a well-pleasing
favor and exceeding goodly figure; "recusants be always in trouble,
whatsoever they do; both taxed for silence and checked for speech, as
the play hath it. For good Mr. Weston was racked for silence last week
till he fainted, for that he would not reveal what he had heard in
confession from one concerned in Ridolfi's plot; and as to my Lord
Morley, he hath been examined before the council, touching his having
said he would go abroad poorly and would return in glory, which he did
speak concerning his health; but they would have it meant treason."
"Methinks, Master Basil," said his father, "thou art not like to be
taxed for silence; unless indeed on the rack, which the freedom of thy
speech may yet bring thee to, an thou hast not more care of thy words.
See now, thy brother keeps his lips closed in modest silence."
"Ay, as if butter would not melt in his mouth," cried Basil, laughing.
And I then noticed the countenance of the younger brother, who was
fairer and shorter by a head than Basil, and had the most beautiful
eyes imaginable, and a high forehead betokening thoughtfulness. Mr.
Rookwood drew his chair further from the table, and conversed in a low
voice with Mrs. Ward, touching matters which I ween were of too
great import to be lightly treated of. I heard the name of Mr. Felton
mentioned in their discourse, and somewhat about the Pope's Bull, in
the affixing of which at the Bishop of London's gate he had lent a
hand; but my ears were not free to listen to them, for the young
gentlemen began to entertain me with divers accounts of the shows in
London; which, as they were some years older than myself, who was then
no better than a child, though tall of mine age, I took as a great
favor, and answered them in the best way I could. Basil spoke mostly
of the sights he had seen, and a fight between a lion and three dogs,
in which the dogs were victorious; and Hubert of books, which he said,
for his part, he had always a care to keep handsome and well bound.
"Ay," quoth his brother, "gilding them and stringing them like the
prayer-books of girls and gallants, which are carried to church but
for their outsides. I do hate a book with clasps, 'tis a trouble to
open them."
"A trouble thou dost seldom take," quoth Hubert. "Thou art ready
enough to unclasp the book of thy inward soul to whosoever will read
in it, and thy purse to whosoever begs or borrows of thee; but with
such clasps as shut in the various stores of thought which have issued
forth from men's minds thou dost not often meddle."
"Beshrew me if I do! The best prayer-book I take to be a pair of
beads; and the most entertaining reading, the 'Rules for the Hunting
of Deer;' which, by what I have heard from Sir Roger Ashlon, my Lord
Stafford hath grievously transgressed by assaulting Lord Lyttleton's
keepers in Teddesley Haye."
"What have you here?" Hubert asked, glancing at Mr. Fox's _Book of
Martyrs_, and another which the landlady had left on the table; _A
profitable New Year's Gift to all England._
"They are not mine," I answered, "nor such as I do care to read; but
this," I said, holding out Mr. Page's gift, which I had in my pocket,
"is a rare fund of entertainment and very full of pleasant tales."
"But," quoth he, "you should read the _Morte d'Arthur_ and the _Seven
Champions of Christendom."_
Which I said I should be glad to do when I had the good chance to meet
with them. He said, "My cousin Polly had a store of such pleasant
volumes, and would, no doubt, lend them to me. She has such a sharp
wit," he added, "that she is ever exercising it on herself or on
others; on herself by the bettering of her mind through reading; and
on others by such applications, of what she thus acquires as leaves
them no chance in discoursing with her but to yield to her superior
knowledge."
"Methinks," I said, "if that be her aim in reading, may be she will
not lend to others the means of sharpening their wits to encounter
hers."
At the which both of them laughed, and Basil said he hoped I might
prove a match for Mistress Polly, who carried herself too high, and
despised such as were slower of speech and less witty than herself.
"For my part," he cried, "I am of opinion that too much reading doth
lead to too much thinking, and too much thinking doth consume the
spirits; and often it falls out that while one thinks too much of his
doing, he leaves to do the effect of his thinking."
At the which Hubert smiled, and I bethought myself that if Basil was
no book-worm neither was he a fool. With such like discourse the
evening sped away, and Mr. Rookwood and his sons took their leave with
many civilities and pleasant speeches, such as gentlemen are wont to
address to ladies, and hopes expressed to meet again in London, and
good wishes for the safe ending of our journey thither.
Ah, me! 'tis passing strange to sit here and write in this little
chamber, after so many years, of that first meeting with those
brothers, Basil and Hubert; to call to mind how they did look and
speak, and of the pretty kind of natural affection there was
betwixt them in their manner to each other. Ah, me! the old trick of
sighing is coming over me again, which I had well-nigh corrected
myself of, who have more reason to give thanks than to complain. Good
Lord, what fools you be! sighing heart and watering eyes! As great
fools, I ween, as the Mayor of Coventry, whose foolish rhymes do keep
running in my head.
The day following we came to London, which being, as it were, the
beginning of a new life to me, I will defer to speak of until I find
myself, after a night's rest and special prayers unto that end, less
heavy of heart than at present.
CHAPTER VII.
Upon a sultry evening which did follow an exceeding hot day, with no
clouds in the sky, and a great store of dust on the road, we entered
London, that great fair of the whole world, as some have titled it.
When for many years we do think of a place we have not seen, a picture
forms itself in the mind as distinct as if the eye had taken
cognizance thereof, and a singular curiosity attends the actual vision
of what the imagination hath so oft portrayed. On this occasion my
eyes were slow servants to my desires, which longed to embrace in the
compass of one glance the various objects they craved to behold.
Albeit the sky was cloudless above our heads, I feared it would rain
in London, by reason of a dark vapor which did hang over it; but
Mistress Ward informed me that this appearance was owing to the smoke
of sea-coal, of which so great a store is used in the houses that the
air is filled with it. "And do those in London always live in that
smoke?" I inquired, not greatly contented to think it should be so;
but she said Mr. Congleton's house was not in the city, but in a very
pleasant suburb outside of it, close unto Holborn Hill and Ely Place,
the bishop's palace, in whose garden the roses were so plentiful that
in June the air is perfumed with their odor. I troubled her not with
further questions at that time, being soon wholly taken up with the
new sights which then did meet us at every step. So great a number of
gay horsemen, and litters carried by footmen with fine liveries, and
coaches drawn by horses richly caparisoned and men running alongside
of them, and withal so many carts, that I was constrained to give over
the guiding of mine own horse by reason of the confusion which the
noise of wheels and men's cries and the rapid motion of so many
vehicles did cause in me, who had never rode before in so great a
crowd.
At about six o'clock of the afternoon we did reach Ely Place, and
passing by the bishop's palace stopped at the gate of Mr. Congleton's
house, which doth stand somewhat retired from the high-road, and the
first sight of which did greatly content me. It is built of fair and
strong stone, not affecting fineness, but honorably representing a
firm stateliness, for it was handsome without curiosity, and homely
without negligence. At the front of it was a well-arranged ground
cunningly set with trees, through which we rode to the foot of the
stairs, where we were met by a gentleman dressed in a coat of black
satin and a quilted waistcoat, with a white beaver in his hand, whom I
guessed to be my good uncle. He shook Mistress Ward by the hand,
saluted me on both cheeks, and vowed I was the precise counterpart of
my mother, who at my age, he said, was the prettiest Lancashire witch
that ever he had looked upon. He seemed to me not so old as I did
suppose him to be, lean of body and something low of stature, with a
long visage and a little sharp beard upon the chin of a brown color; a
countenance not very grave, and, for his age, wanting the authority of
gray hairs. He conducted me to mine aunt's chamber, who was seated in
an easy-chair near unto the window, with a cat upon her knees and
a tambour-frame before her. She oped her arms and kissed me with
great affection, and I, sliding down, knelt at her feet and prayed her
to be a good mother to me, which was what my father had charged me to
do when I should come into her presence. She raised me with her hand
and made me sit on a stool beside her, and stroking my face gently,
gazed upon it, and said it put her in mind of both of my parents, for
that I had my father's brow and eyes, and my mother's mouth and
dimpling smiles.
"Mr. Congleton," she cried, "you do hear what this wench saith. I pray
you to bear it in mind, and how near in blood she is to me, so that
you may show her favor when I am gone, which may be sooner than you
think for."
I looked up into her face greatly concerned that she was like so soon
to die. Methought she had the semblance of one in good health and a
reasonable good color in her cheeks, and I perceived Mr. Congleton did
smile as he answered:
"I will show favor to thy pretty niece, good Moll, I promise thee, be
thou alive or be thou dead; but if the leeches are to be credited, who
do affirm thou hast the best strength and stomach of the twain, thou
art more like to bury me than I thee."
Upon which the good lady did sigh deeply and cast up her eyes and
lifted up her hands as one grievously injured, and he cried:
"Prithee, sweetheart, take it not amiss, for beshrew me if I be not
willing to grant thee to be as diseased as will pleasure thee, so that
thou wilt continue to eat and sleep as well as thou dost at the
present and so keep thyself from dying."
Upon which she said that she did admire how a man could have so much
cruelty as to jest and jeer at her ill-health, but that she would
spend no more of her breath upon him; and turning toward me she asked
a store of questions anent my father, whom for many years she had not
seen, and touching the manner of my mother's death, at the mention of
which my tears flowed afresh, which caused her also to weep; and
calling for her women she bade one of them bring her some hartshorn,
for that sorrow, she said, would occasion the vapors to rise in her
head, and the other she sent for to fetch her case of trinkets, for
that she would wear the ring her brother had presented her with some
years back, in which was a stone which doth cure melancholy. When the
case was brought she displayed before my eyes its rich contents, and
gifted me with a brooch set with turquoises, the wearing of which, she
said, doth often keep persons from falling into divers sorts of peril.
Then presently kissing me she said she felt fatigued, and would send
for her daughters to take charge of me; who, when they came, embraced
me with exceeding great affection, and carried me to what had been
their schoolroom and was now Mrs. Ward's chamber, who no longer was
their governess, they said, but as a friend abode in the house for to
go abroad with them, their mother being of so delicate a constitution
that she seldom left her room. Next to this chamber was a closet,
wherein Kate said I should lie, and as it is one I inhabited for a
long space of time, and the remembrance of which doth connect itself
with very many events which, as they did take place, I therein mused
on, and prayed or wept, or sometimes laughed over in solitude, I will
here set down what it was like when first I saw it.
The bed was in an alcove, closed in the day by fair curtains of
taffety; and the walls, which were in wood, had carvings above the
door and over the chimney of very dainty workmanship. The floor was
strewn with dried neatly-cut rushes, and in the projecting space where
the window was, a table was set, and two chairs with backs and seats
cunningly furnished with tapestry. In another recess betwixt the
alcove and the chimney stood a praying stool and a desk with a cushion
for a book to lie on. Ah, me! how often has my head rested on
that cushion and my knees on that stool when my heart has been too
full to utter other prayers than a "God ha' mercy on me!" which at
such times broke as a cry from an overcharged breast. But, oh! what a
vain pleasure I did take on that first day in the bravery of this
little chamber, which Kate said was to be mine own! With what great
contentment I viewed each part of it, and looked out of the window on
the beds of flowers which did form a mosaical floor in the garden
around the house, in the midst of which was a fair pond whose shaking
crystal mirrored the shrubs which grew about it, and a thicket beyond,
which did appear to me a place for pleasantness and not unfit to
flatter solitariness, albeit so close unto the city. Beyond were the
bishop's grounds, and I could smell the scent of roses coming thence
as the wind blew. I could have stood there many hours gazing on this
new scene, but that my cousins brought me down to sup with them in the
garden, which was not fairer in natural ornaments than in artificial
inventions. The table was set in a small banqueting-house among
certain pleasant trees near to a pretty water-work; and now I had
leisure to scan my cousins' faces and compare what I did notice in
them with what Mistress Ward had said the first night of our journey.
Kate, the eldest of the three, was in sooth a very fair creature,
proportioned without any fault, and by nature endowed with the most
delightful colors; but there was a made countenance about her mouth,
between simpering and smiling, and somewhat in her bowed-down head
which seemed to languish with over-much idleness, and an inviting look
in her eyes as if they would over-persuade those she spoke to, which
betokened a lack of those nobler powers of the mind which are the
highest gifts of womanhood. Polly's face fault-finding wits might
scoff at as too little for the rest of the body, her features as not
so well proportioned as Kate's, and her skin somewhat browner than
doth consist with beauty; but in her eyes there was a cheerfulness as
if nature smiled in them, in her mouth so pretty a demureness, and in
her countenance such a spark of wit that, if it struck not with
admiration, filled with delight. No indifferent soul there was which,
if it resisted making her its princess, would not long to have such a
playfellow. Muriel, the youngest of these sisters, was deformed in
shape, sallow in hue, in speech, as Mistress Ward had said, slow; but
withal in her eyes, which were deep-set, there was lacking neither the
fire which betokens intelligence, nor the sweetness which commands
affection, and somewhat in her plain face which, though it may not be
called beauty, had some of its qualities. Methought it savored more of
heaven than earth. The ill-shaped body seemed but a case for a soul
the fairness of which did shine through the foul lineaments which
enclosed it. Albeit her lips opened but seldom that evening, only
twice or thrice, and they were common words she uttered and fraught
with hesitation, my heart did more incline toward her than to the
pretty Kate or the lively Polly.
An hour before we retired to rest, Mr. Congleton came into the garden,
and brought with him Mr. Swithin Wells and Mr. Bryan Lacy, two
gentlemen who lived also in Holborn; the latter of which, Polly
whispered in mine ear, was her sister Kate's suitor. Talk was
ministered among them touching the queen's marriage with Monsieur;
which, as Mr. Rookwood had said, was broken off; but that day they had
heard that M. de la Motte had proposed to her majesty the Due
d'Alençon, who would be more complying, he promised, touching religion
than his brother. She inquired of the prince's age, and of his height;
to the which he did answer, "About your majesty's own height." But her
highness would not be so put off, and willed the ambassador to write
for the precise measurement of the prince's stature.
"She will never marry," quoth Mr. Wells, "but only amuse the French
court and her council with further negotiations touching this
new suitor, as heretofore anent the archduke and Monsieur. But I would
to God her majesty were well married, and to a Catholic prince; which
would do us more good than anything else which can be thought of."
"What news did you hear, sir, of Mr. Felton?" Mistress Ward asked.
Upon which their countenances fell; and one of them answered that that
gentleman had been racked the day before, but steadily refused, though
in the extremity of torture, to name his accomplices; and would give
her majesty no title but that of the Pretender; which they said was
greatly to be regretted, and what no other Catholic had done. But when
his sentence was read to him, for that he was to die on Friday, he
drew from his finger a ring, which had diamonds in it, and was worth
four hundred pounds, and requested the Earl of Sussex to give it to
the queen, in token that he bore her no ill-will or malice, but rather
the contrary.
Mr. Wells said he was a gentleman of very great heart and noble
disposition, but for his part he would as lief this ring had been
sold, and the money bestowed on the poorer sort of prisoners in
Newgate, than see it grace her majesty's finger; who would thus play
the hangman's part, who inherits the spoils of such as he doth put to
death. But the others affirmed it was done in a Christian manner, and
so greatly to be commended; and that Mr. Felton, albeit he was
somewhat rash in his actions, and by some titled Don Magnifico, by
reason of a certain bravery in his style of dress and fashion of
speaking, which smacked of Monsieur Traveller, was a right worthy
gentleman, and his death a blow to his friends, amongst whom there
were some, nevertheless, to be found who did blame him for the act
which had brought him into trouble. Mistress Ward cried, that such as
fell into trouble, be the cause ever so good, did always find those
who would blame them. Mr. Lacy said, one should not cast himself into
danger wilfully, but when occasion offered take it with patience.
Polly replied, that some were so prudent, occasions never came to
them. And then those two fell to disputing, in a merry but withal
sharp fashion. As he did pick his words, and used new-fangled terms,
and she spoke roundly and to the point, methinks she was the nimblest
in this encounter of wit.
Meanwhile Mr. Wells asked Mr. Congleton if he had had news from the
north, where much blood was spilt since the rising; and he apprehended
that his kinsmen in Richmondshire should suffer under the last orders
sent to Sir George Bowes by my Lord Sussex. But Mr. Congleton did
minister to him this comfort, that if they were noted wealthy, and had
freeholds, it was the queen's special commandment they should not be
executed, but two hundred of the commoner sort to lose their lives in
each town; which was about one to each five.
"But none of note?" quoth Mr. Wells.
"None which can pay the worth of their heads," Mr. Congleton replied.
"And who, then, doth price them?" asked Kate, in a languishing voice.
"Nay, sister," quoth Polly, "I warrant thee they do price themselves;
for he that will not pay well for his head must needs opine he hath a
worthless one."
Upon which Mr. Lacy said to Kate, "One hundred angels would not pay
for thine, sweet Kate."
"Then she must needs be an archangel, sir," quoth Polly, "if she be of
greater worth than one hundred angels."
"Ah, me!" cried Kate, very earnestly, "I would I had but half one
hundred gold-pieces to buy me a gown with!"
"Hast thou not gowns enough, wench?" asked her father. "Methought thou
wert indifferently well provided in that respect."
"Ah, but I would have, sir, such a velvet suit as I did see some
weeks back at the Italian house in Cheapside, where the ladies of the
court do buy their vestures. It had a border the daintiest I ever
beheld, all powdered with gold and pearls. Ruffiano said it was the
rarest suit he had ever made; and he is the Queen of France's tailor,
which Sir Nicholas Throgmorton did secretly entice away, by the
queen's desire, from that court to her own."
"And what fair nymph owns this rare suit, sweetest Kate?" Mr. Lacy
asked. "I'll warrant none so fair that it should become her, or rather
that she should become it, more than her who doth covet it."
"I know not if she be fair or foul," quoth Kate, "but she is the Lady
Mary Howard, one of the maids of honor of her majesty, and so may wear
what pleaseth her."
"By that token of the gold and pearls," cried Mr. Wells, "I doubt not
but 'tis the very suit anent which the court have been wagging their
tongues for the last week; and if it be so, indeed, Mistress Kate, you
have no need to envy the poor lady that doth own it."
Kate protested she had not envied her, and taxed Mr. Wells with
unkindness that he did charge her with it; and for all he could say
would not be pacified, but kept casting up her eyes, and the tears
streaming down her lovely cheeks. Upon which Mr. Lacy cried:
"Sweet one, thou hast indeed no cause to envy her or any one else,
howsoever rare or dainty their suits may be; for thy teeth are more
beauteous than pearls, and thine hair more bright than the purest
gold, and thine eyes more black and soft than the finest velvet, which
nature so made that we might bear their wonderful shining, which else
had dazzled us:" and so went on till her weeping was stayed, and then
Mr. Wells said:
"The lady who owned that rich suit, which I did falsely and
feloniously advance Mistress Kate did envy, had not great or long
comfort in its possession; for it is very well known at court, and
hence bruited in the city, what passed at Richmond last week
concerning this rare vesture. It pleased not the queen, who thought it
did exceed her own. And one day her majesty did send privately for it,
and put it on herself, and came forth into the chamber among the
ladies. The kirtle and border was far too short for her majesty's
height, and she asked every one how they liked her new fancied suit.
At length she asked the owner herself if it was not made too short and
ill-becoming; which the poor lady did presently consent to. Upon which
her highness cried: 'Why, then, if it become me not as being too
short, I am minded it shall never become thee as being too fine, so it
fitteth neither well.' This sharp rebuke so abashed the poor lady that
she never adorned her herewith any more."
"Ah," cried Mr. Congleton, laughing, "her majesty's bishops do come by
reproofs as well as her maids. Have you heard how one Sunday, last
April, my Lord of London preached to the queen's majesty, and seemed
to touch on the vanity of decking the body too finely. Her grace told
the ladies after the sermon, that if the bishop held more discourse on
such matters she would fit him for heaven, but he should walk thither
without a staff and leave his mantle behind him."
"Nay," quoth Mr. Wells, "but if she makes such as be Catholics taste
of the sharpness of the rack, and the edge of the axe, she doth then
treat those of her own way of thinking with the edge of her wit and
the sharpness of her tongue. 'Tis reported, Mr. Congleton, I know not
with what truth, that a near neighbor of yours has been served with a
letter, by which a new sheep is let into his pastures."
"What," cried Polly, "is Pecora Campi to roam amidst the roses, and go
in and out at his pleasure through the bishop's gate? The 'sweet lids'
have then danced away a large slice of the Church's acres. But what, I
pray you, sir, did her majesty write?"
"Even this," quoth her father, "I had it from Sir Robert
Arundell: 'Proud Prelate! you know what you were before I made you,
and what you are now. If you do not immediately comply with my
request, I will unfrock you, by God!--ELIZABETH R.'"
"Our good neighbor," saith Polly, "must show a like patience with Job,
and cry out touching his bishopric, 'The queen did give it; the queen
doth take it away; the will of the queen be done.'"
"He is like to be encroached upon yet further by yon cunning Sir
Christopher," Mr. Wells said; "I'll warrant Ely Place will soon be
Hatton Garden."
"Well, for a neighbor," answered Polly, "I'd as soon have the queen's
lids as her hedge-bishop, and her sheep as her shepherd. 'Tis not all
for love of her sweet dancer her majesty doth despoil him. She never,
'tis said, hath forgiven him that he did remonstrate with her for
keeping a crucifix and lighted tapers in her own chapel, and that her
fool, set on by such as were of the same mind with him, did one day
put them out."
In suchlike talk the time was spent; and when the gentlemen had taken
leave, we retired to rest; and being greatly tired, I slept heavily,
and had many quaint dreams, in which past scenes and present objects
were curiously blended with the tales I had read on the journey, and
the discourse I had heard that evening. When I awoke in the morning,
my thoughts first flew to my father, of whom I had a very passionate
desire to receive tidings. When my waiting-woman entered, with a
letter in her hand, I foolishly did fancy it came from him, which
could scarcely be, so soon after our coming to town; but I quickly
discerned, by the rose-colored string which it was bounden with, and
then the handwriting, that it was not from him, but from her whom,
next to him, I most desired to hear from, to wit, the Countess of
Surrey. That sweet lady wrote that she had an exceeding great desire
to see me, and would be more beholden to my aunt than she could well
express, if she would confer on her so great a benefit as to permit me
to spend the day with her at the Charter House, and she would send her
coach for to convey me there, which should never have done her so much
good pleasure before as in that service. And more to that effect, with
many kind and gracious words touching our previous meeting and
correspondence.
When I was dressed, I took her ladyship's letter to Mrs. Ward, who was
pleased to say she would herself ask permission for me to wait upon
that noble lady; but that her ladyship might not be at the charge of
sending for me, she would herself, if my aunt gave her license, carry
me to the Charter House, for that she was to spend some hours that day
with friends in the city, and "it would greatly content her," she
added, "to further the expressed wish of the young countess, whose
grandmother, Lady Mounteagle, and so many of her kinsfolk, were
Catholics, or at the least, good friends to such as were so." My aunt
did give leave for me to go, as she mostly did to whatsoever Mrs. Ward
proposed, whom she trusted entirely, with a singular great affection,
only bidding her to pray that she might not die in her absence, for
that she feared some peaches she had eaten the day before had
disordered her, and that she had heard of one who had died of the
plague some weeks before in the Tower. Mrs. Ward exhorted her to be of
good cheer, and to comfort herself both ways, for that the air of
Holborn was so good, the plague was not likely to come into it, and
that the kernels of peaches being medicinal, would rather prove an
antidote to pestilence than an occasion to it; and left her better
satisfied, insomuch that she sent for another dish of peaches for to
secure the benefit. Before I left, Kate bade me note the fashion of
the suit my Lady Surrey did wear, and if she had on her own hair, and
if she dyed it, and if she covered her bosom, or wore plaits, and if
her stomacher was straight and broad, or formed a long waist,
extending downward, and many more points touching her attire, which I
cannot now call to mind. As I went through the hall to the steps where
Mistress Ward was already standing, Muriel came hurrying toward me,
with a faint color coming and going in her sallow cheek, and twice she
tried to speak and failed. But when I kissed her she put her lips
close to my ear and whispered,
"Sweet little cousin, there be in London prisoners in a very bad
plight, in filthy dungeons, because of their religion. The noble young
Lady Surrey hath a tender heart toward such if she do but hear of
them. Prithee, sweet coz, move her to send them relief in food, money,
or clothing."
Then Mistress Ward called to me to hasten, and I ran away, but Muriel
stood at the window, and as we passed she kissed her hand, in which
was a gold angel, which my father had gifted me with at parting.
"Mrs. Ward," I said, as we went along, "my cousin Muriel is not fair,
and yet her face doth commend itself to my fancy more than many fair
ones I have seen; it is so kindly."
"I have even from her infancy loved her," she answered, "and thus much
I will say of her, that many have been titled saints who had not,
methinks, more virtue than I have noticed in Muriel."
"Doth she herself visit the prisoners she spoke of?"
"She and I do visit them and carry them relief when we can by any
means prevail with the gaolers from compassion or through bribing of
them to admit us. But it is not always convenient to let this be
known, not even at home, but I ween, Constance, as thou wilt have me
to call thee so, that Muriel saw in thee--for she has a wonderful
penetrative spirit--that thou dost know when to speak and when to keep
silence."
"And may I go with you to the prisons?" I asked with a hot feeling in
my heart, which I had not felt since I had left home.
"Thou art far too young," she answered. "But I will tell thee what
thou canst do. Thou mayst work and beg for these good men, and not be
ashamed of so doing. None may visit them who have not made up their
minds to die, if they should be denounced for their charity."
"But Muriel is young," I answered. "Hath she so resolved?"
"Muriel is young," was the reply; "but she is one in whom wisdom and
holiness have forestalled age. For two years that she hath been my
companion on such occasions, she has each day prepared for martyrdom
by such devout exercises as strengthen the soul at the approach of
death."
"And Kate and Polly," I asked, "are they privy to the dangers that you
do run, and have they no like ambition?"
"Rather the contrary," she answered; "but neither they nor any one
else in the house is fully acquainted with these secret errands save
Mr. Congleton, and he did for a long time refuse his daughter license
to go with me, until at last, by prayers and tears, she won him over
to suffer it. But he will never permit thee to do the like, for that
thy father hath intrusted thee to his care for greater safety in these
troublesome times."
"Pish!" I cried pettishly, "safety has a dull mean sound in it which I
mislike. I would I were mine own mistress."
"Wish no such thing, Constance Sherwood," was her grave answer.
"Wilfulness was never nurse to virtue, but rather her foe; nor ever
did a rebellious spirit prove the herald of true greatness. And now,
mark my words. Almighty God hath given thee a friend far above thee in
rank, and I doubt not in merit also, but whose faith, if report saith
true, doth run great dangers, and with few to advise her in these evil
days in which we live. Peradventure he hath appointed thee a work in a
palace as weighty as that of others in a dungeon. Set thyself to
it with thy whole heart, and such prayers as draw down blessings from
above. There be great need in these times to bear in remembrance what
the Lord says, that he will be ashamed in heaven before his angels of
such as be ashamed of him on earth. And many there are, I greatly
fear, who though they be Catholics, do assist the heretics by their
cowardice to suppress the true religion in this land; and I pray to
God this may never be our case. Yet I would not have thee to be rash
in speech, using harsh words, or needlessly rebuking others, which
would not become thy age, or be fitting and modest in one of inferior
rank, but only where faith and conscience be in question not to be
afraid to speak. And now God bless thee, who should be an Esther in
this house, wherein so many true confessors of Christ some years ago
surrendered their lives in great misery and torments, rather than
yield up their faith."
This she said as we stopped at the gate of the Charter House, where
one of the serving-men of the Countess of Surrey was waiting to
conduct me to her lodgings, having had orders to that effect. She left
me in his charge, and I followed him across the square, and through
the cloisters and passages which led to the gallery, where my lady's
chamber was situated. My heart fluttered like a frightened caged bird
during that walk, for there was a solemnity about the place such as I
had not been used to, and which filled me with apprehension lest I
should be wanting in due respect where so much state was carried on.
But when the door was opened at one end of the gallery, and my sweet
lady ran out to meet me with a cry of joy, the silly heart, like a
caught bird, nestled in her embrace, and my lips joined themselves to
hers in a fond manner, as if not willing to part again, but by fervent
kisses supplying the place of words, which were lacking, to express
the great mutual joy of that meeting, until at last my lady raised her
head, and still holding my hands, cried out as she gazed on my face:
"You are more welcome, sweet one, than my poor words can say. I pray
you, doff your hat and mantle, and come and sit by me, for 'tis a
weary while since we have met, and those are gone from us who loved us
then, and for their sakes we must needs love one another dearly, if
our hearts did not of themselves move us unto it, which indeed they
do, if I may judge of yours, Mistress Constance, by mine own."
Then we kissed again, and she passed her arm around my neck with so
many graceful endearments, in which were blended girlish simplicity
and a youthful yet matronly dignity, that I felt that day the love
which, methinks, up to that time had had its seat mostly in the fancy,
take such root in mine heart, that it never lost its hold on it.
At the first our tongues were somewhat tied by joy and lack of
knowledge how to begin to converse on the many subjects whereon both
desired to hear the other speak, and the disuse of such intercourse as
maketh it easy to discourse on what the heart is full of. Howsoever,
Lady Surrey questioned me touching my father, and what had befallen us
since my mother's death. I told her that he had left his home, and
sent me to London by reason of the present troubles; but without
mention of what I did apprehend to be his further intent. And she then
said that the concern she was in anent her good father the Duke of
Norfolk did cause her to pity those who were also in trouble.
"But his grace," I answered, "is, I hope, in safety at present, and in
his own house?"
"In this house, indeed," she did reply, "but a strait prisoner in Sir
Henry Neville's custody, and not suffered to see his friends without
her majesty's especial permission. He did send for his son and me last
evening, having obtained leave for to see us, which he had not done
since the day my lord and I were married again, by his order,
from the Tower, out of fear lest our first marriage, being made before
Phil was quite twelve years old, it should have been annulled by order
of the queen, or by some other means. It grieved me much to notice how
gray his hair had grown, and that his eyes lacked their wonted fire.
When we entered he was sitting in a chair, leaning backward, with his
head almost over the back of it, looking at a candle which burnt
before him, and a letter in his hand. He smiled when he saw us, and
said the greatest comfort he had in the world was that we were now so
joined together that nothing could ever part us. You see, Mistress
Constance," she said, with a pretty blush and smile, "I now do wear my
wedding-ring below the middle joint."
"And do you live alone with my lord now in these grand chambers?" I
said, looking round at the walls, which were hung with rare tapestry
and fine pictures.
"Bess is with me," she answered, "and so will remain I hope until she
is fourteen, when she will be married to my Lord William, my lord's
brother. Our Moll is likewise here, and was to have wedded my Lord
Thomas when she did grow up; but she is not like to live, the
physicians do say."
The sweet lady's eyes filled with tears, but, as if unwilling to
entertain me with her griefs, she quickly changed discourse, and spoke
of my coming unto London, and inquired if my aunt's house were a
pleasant one, and if she was like to prove a good kinswoman to me. I
told her how comfortable had been the manner of my reception, and of
my cousins' goodness to me; at the which she did express great
contentment, and would not be satisfied until I had described each of
them in turn, and what good looks or what good qualities they had;
which I could the more easily do that the first could be discerned
even at first sight, and touching the last, I had warrant from Mrs.
Ward's commendations, which had more weight than my own speerings,
even if I had been a year and not solely a day in their company. She
was vastly taken with what I related to her of Muriel, and that she
did visit and relieve poor persons and prisoners, and wished she had
liberty to do the like; and with a lovely blush and a modest
confusion, as of one who doth not willingly disclose her good deeds,
she told me all the time she could spare she did employ in making
clothes for such as she could hear of, and also salves and cordials
(such as she had learnt to compound from her dear grandmother), and
privately sent them by her waiting-maid, who was a young gentlewoman
of good family, who had lost her parents, and was most excellently
endowed with virtue and piety.
"Come to my closet, Miss Constance," she said, "and I doubt not but we
shall find Milicent at work, if so be she has not gone abroad to-day
on some such errand of charity." Upon which she led the way through a
second chamber, still more richly fitted up than the first, into a
smaller one, wherein, when she opened the door, I saw a pretty living
picture of two girls at a table, busily engaged with a store of
bottles and herbs and ointments, which were strewn upon it in great
abundance. One of them was a young maid, who was measuring drops into
a phial, with a look so attentive upon it as if that little bottle had
been the circle of her thoughts. She was very fair and slim, and had a
delicate appearance, which minded me of a snow-drop; and indeed, by
what my lady said, she was a floweret which had blossomed amidst the
frosts and cold winds of adversity. By her side was the most gleesome
wench, of not more than eight years, I ever did set eyes on; of a
fatness that at her age was comely, and a face so full of waggery and
saucy mirth, that but to look upon it drove away melancholy. She was
compounding in a cup a store of various liquids, which she said did
cure shrewishness, and said she would pour some into her nurse's
night-draught, to mend her of that disorder.
"Ah, Nan," she cried, as we entered, "I'll help thee to a taste of
this rare medicine, for methinks thou art somewhat shrewish also and
not so conformable to thy husband's will, my lady, as a good wife
should be. By that same token that my lord willed to take me behind
him on his horse a gay ride round the square, and, forsooth, because I
had not learnt my lesson, thou didst shut me up to die of melancholy.
Ah, me! My mother had a maid called Barbara--
'Sing willow, willow, willow.'
That is one of Phil's favorite songs. Milicent, methinks I will call
thee Barbara, and thou shalt sing with me--
'The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,--
Sing all a green willow;
Her hand on her bosom,'--
There, put thy hand in that fashion--
'her head on her knee,'--
Nay, prithee, thou must bend thy head lower--
'Sing willow, willow, willow.'"
"My lady," said the gentlewoman, smiling, "I promise you I dare not
take upon me to fulfil my tasks with credit to myself or your
ladyship, if Mistress Bess hath the run of this room, and doth prepare
cordials after her fashion from your ladyship's stores."
"Ah, Bess!" quoth my lady, shaking her finger at the saucy one; "I'll
deliver thee up to Mrs. Fawcett, who will give thee a taste of the
place of correction; and Phil is not here to-day to beg thee off. And
now, good Milicent, prithee make a bundle of such clothes as we have
in hand, and such comforts as be suitable to such as are sick and in
prison, for this sweet young lady hath need of them for some who be in
that sad plight."
"And, my lady," quoth the gentlewoman, "I would fain learn how to
dress wounds when the flesh is galled; for I do sometimes meet with
poor men who do suffer in that way, and would relieve them if I
could."
"I know," I cried, "of a rare ointment my mother used to make for that
sort of hurt; and if my Lady Surrey gives me license, I will remember
you, mistress, with the receipt of it."
My lady, with a kindly smile and expressed thanks, assented; and when
we left the closet, I greatly commending the young gentlewoman's
beauty, she said that beauty in her was the worst half of her merit.
"But, Mistress Constance," she said, when we had returned to the
saloon, "I may not send her to such poor men, and above all, priests,
who be in prison for their faith, as I hear, to my great sorrow, there
be so many at this time, and who suffer great hardships, more than can
be easily believed, for she is Protestant, and not through conforming
to the times, but so settled in her way of thinking, and earnest
therein, having been brought up to it, that she would not so much as
open a Catholic book or listen to a word in defence of papists."
"But how, then, doth she serve a Catholic lady?" I asked, with a
beating heart; and oh, with what a sad one did hear her answer, for it
was as follows:
"Dear Constance, I must needs obey those who have a right to command
me, such as his grace my good father and my husband; and they are both
very urgent and resolved that by all means I shall conform to the
times. So I do go to Protestant service; but I use at home my prayers,
as my grandmother did teach me; and Phil says them too, when I can get
him to say any."
"Then you do not hear mass," I said, sorrowfully, "or confess your
sins to a priest?"
"No," she answered, in a sad manner; "I once asked my Lady Lumley, who
is a good Catholic, if she could procure I should see a priest with
that intent at Arundel House; but she turned pale as a sheet, and said
that to get any one to be reconciled who had once conformed to
the Protestant religion, was to run danger of death; and albeit for
her own part she would not refuse to die for so good a cause, she
dared not bring her father's gray hairs to the block."
As we were holding this discourse--and she so intent in speaking, and
I in listening, that we had not heard the door open--Lord Surrey
suddenly stood before us. His height made him more than a boy, and his
face would not allow him a man; for the rest, he was
well-proportioned, and did all things with so notable a grace, that
nature had stamped him with the mark of true nobility. He made a
slight obeisance to me, and I noticed that his cheek was flushed, and
that he grasped the handle of his sword with an anger which took not
away the sweetness of his countenance, but gave it an amiable sort of
fierceness. Then, as if unable to restrain himself, he burst forth,
"Nan, an order is come for his grace to be forthwith removed to the
Tower, and I'll warrant that was the cause he was suffered to see us
yesterday. God send it prove not a final parting!"
"Is his grace gone?" cried the countess, starting to her feet, and
clasping her hands with a sorrowful gesture.
"He goes even now," answered the earl; and both went to the window,
whence they could see the coach in which the duke was for the third
time carried from his home to the last lodging he was to have on this
earth. Oh, what a sorrowful sight it was for those young eyes which
gazed on the sad removal of the sole parent both had left! How her
tears did flow silently like a stream from a deep fount, and his with
wild bursts of grief, like the gushings of a torrent over rocks! His
head fell on her shoulder, and as she threw her arms round him, her
tears wetted his hair. Methought then that in the pensive tenderness
of her downcast face there was somewhat of motherly as well as of
wifely affection. She put her arm in his, and led him from the room;
and I remained alone for a short time entertaining myself with sad
thoughts anent these two young noble creatures, who at so early an age
had become acquainted with so much sorrow, and hoping that the
darkness which did beset the morning of their lives might prove but as
the clouds which at times deface the sky before a brilliant sunshine
doth take possession of it, and dislodge these deceitful harbingers,
which do but heighten in the end by contrast the resplendency they did
threaten to obscure.
CHAPTER VIII.
After I had been musing a little while, Mistress Bess ran into the
room, and cried to some one behind her:
"Nan's friend is here, and she is mine too, for we all played in a
garden with her when I was little. Prithee, come and see her." Then
turning to me, but yet holding the handle of the door, she said: "Will
is so unmannerly, I be ashamed of him. He will not so much as show
himself."
"Then, prithee, come alone," I answered. Upon which she came and sat
on my knee, with her arm round my neck, and whispered in mine ear:
"Moll is very sick to-day; will you not see her, Mistress Sherwood?"
"Yea, if so be I have license," I answered; and she, taking me by the
hand, offered to lead me up the stairs to the room where she lay. I,
following her, came to the door of the chamber, but would not enter
till Bess fetched the nurse, who was the same had been at Sherwood
Hall, and who, knowing my name, was glad to see me, and with a curtsey
invited me in. White as a lily was the little face resting on a
pillow, with its blue eyes half shut, and a store of golden hair about
it, which minded me of the glories round angels' heads in my mother's
missal.
"Sweet lamb!" quoth the nurse, as I stooped to kiss the pale forehead.
"She be too good for this world. Ofttimes she doth babble in her sleep
of heaven, and angels, and saints, and a wreath of white roses
wherewith a bright lady will crown her."
"Kiss my lips," the sick child softly whispered, as I bent over her
bed. Which when I did, she asked, "What is your name? I mind your
face." When I answered, "Constance Sherwood," she smiled, as if
remembering where we had met. "I heard my grandam calling me last
night," she said; "I be going to her soon." Then a fit of pain came
on, and I had to leave her. She did go from this world a few days
after; and the nurse then told me her last words had been "Jesu!
Mary!"
That day I did converse again alone with my Lady Surrey after dinner,
and walked in the garden; and when we came in, before I left, she gave
me a purse with some gold pieces in it, which the earl her husband
willed to bestow on Catholics in prison for their faith. For she said
he had so tender and compassionate a spirit, that if he did but hear
of one in distress he would never rest until he had relieved him; and
out of the affection he had for Mr. Martin, who was one while his
tutor, he was favorably inclined toward Catholics, albeit himself
resolved to conform to the queen's religion. When Mistress Ward came
for me, the countess would have her shown into her chamber, and would
not be contented without she ordered her coach to carry us back to
Holborn, that we might take with us the clothes and cordials which she
did bestow upon us for our poor clients. She begged Mrs. Ward's
prayers for his grace, that he might soon be set at liberty; for she
said in a pretty manner, "It must needs be that Almighty God takes
most heed of the prayers of such as visit him in his affliction
in the person of poor prisoners; and she hoped one day to be free to
do so herself." Then she questioned of the wants of those Mistress
Ward had at that time knowledge of; and when she heard in what sore
plight they stood, it did move her to so great compassion, that she
declared it would be now one of her chiefest cares and pleasures in
life to provide conveniences for them. And she besought Mistress Ward
to be a good friend to her with mine aunt, and procure her to permit
of my frequent visits to Howard House, as the Charter House is now
often called: which would be the greatest good she could do her; and
that she would be most glad also if she herself would likewise favor
her sometimes with her company; which, "if it be not for mine own
sake, Mistress Ward," she sweetly said, "let it be for his sake who,
in the person of his afflicted priests, doth need assistance."
When we reached home, we hid what we had brought under our mantles,
and then in Mistress Ward's chamber, where Muriel followed us. When
the door was shut we displayed these jewelled stores before her
pleased eyes, which did beam with joy at the sight.
"Ah, Muriel," cried Mistress Ward, "we have found an Esther in a
palace; and I pray to God there may be other such in this town we ken
not of, who in secret do yet bear affection to the ancient faith."
Muriel said in her slow way: "We must needs go to the Clink to-morrow;
for there is there a priest whose flesh has fallen off his feet by
reason of his long stay in a pestered and infected dungeon. Mr. Roper
told my father of him, and he says the gaoler will let us in if he be
reasonably dealt with."
"We will essay your ointment, Mistress Sherwood," said Mistress Ward,
"if so be you can make it in time."
"I care not if I sit up all night," I cried, "if any one will buy me
the herbs I have need of for the compounding thereof." Which Muriel
said she would prevail on one of the servants to do.
The bell did then ring for supper; and when we were all seated, Kate
was urgent with me for to tell her how my Lady Surrey was dressed;
which I declared to her as follows: "She had on a brown juste au corps
embroidered, with puffed sleeves, and petticoat braided of a deeper
nuance; and on her head a lace cap, and a lace handkerchief on her
bosom."
"And, prithee, what jewels had she on, sweet coz?"
"A long double chain of gold and a brooch of pearls," I answered.
"And his grace of Norfolk is once more removed to the Tower," said Mr.
Congleton sorrowfully. "'Tis like to kill him soon, and so save her
majesty's ministers the pains to bring him to the block. His
physician, Dr. Rhuenbeck, says he is afflicted with the dropsy."
Polly said she had been to visit the Countess of Northumberland, who
was so grievously afflicted at her husband's death, that it was feared
she would fall sick of grief if she had not company to divert her from
her sad thoughts.
"Which I warrant none could effect so well as thee, wench," her father
said; "for, beshrew me, if thou wouldst not make a man laugh on his
way to the scaffold with thy mad talk. And was the poor lady of better
cheer for thy company?"
"Yea, for mine," Polly answered; "or else for M. de la Motte's, who
came in to pay his devoirs to her, for the first time, I take it,
since her lord's death. And after his first speech, which caused her
to weep a little, he did carry on so brisk a discourse as I never
noticed any but a Frenchman able to do. And she was not the worst
pleased with it that the cunning gentleman did interweave it with
anecdotes of the queen's majesty; which, albeit he related them with
gravity, did carry somewhat of ridicule in them. Such as of her
grace's dancing on Sunday before last at Lord Northampton's wedding,
and calling him to witness her paces, so that he might let
monsieur know how high and disposedly she danced; so that he would not
have had cause to complain, in case he had married her, that she was a
boiteuse, as had been maliciously reported of her by the friends of
the Queen of Scots. And also how, some days since, she had flamed out
in great choler when he went to visit her at Hampton Court; and told
him, so loud that all her ladies and officers could hear her
discourse, that Lord North had let her know the queen-mother and the
Duke of Guise had dressed up a buffoon in an English fashion, and
called him a Milor du Nord; and that two female dwarfs had been
likewise dressed up in that queen's chamber, and invited to mimic her,
the queen of England, with great derision and mockery. 'I did assure
her,' M. de la Motte said, 'with my hand on my heart, and such an
aggrieved visage, that she must needs have accepted my words as true,
that Milor North had mistaken the whole intent of what he had
witnessed, from his great ignorance of the French tongue, which did
render him a bad interpreter between princes; for that the
queen-mother did never cease to praise her English majesty's beauty to
her son, and all her good qualities, which greatly appeased her grace,
who desired to be excused if she, likewise out of ignorance of the
French language, had said aught unbecoming touching the queen-mother.'
'Tis a rare dish of fun, fit to set before a king, to hear this
Monsieur Ambassador speak of the queen when none are present but such
as make an idol of her, as some do."
"For my part," said her father, when she paused in her speech, "I
mislike men with double visages and double tongues; and methinks this
monseer hath both, and withal a rare art for what courtiers do call
diplomacy, and plain men lying. His speeches to her majesty be so
fulsome in her praise, as I have heard some say who are at court, and
his flattery so palpable, that they have been ashamed to hear it; but
behind her back he doth disclose her failings with an admirable
slyness."
"If he be sly," answered Polly, "I'll warrant he finds his match in
her majesty."
"Yea," cried Kate, "even as poor Madge Arundell experienced to her
cost."
"Ay," quoth Polly, "she catcheth many poor fish, who little know what
snare is laid for them."
"And how did her highness catch Mistress Arundell?" I asked.
"In this way, coz," quoth Polly: "she doth often ask the ladies round
her chamber, 'If they love to think of marriage?' and the wise ones do
conceal well their liking thereunto, knowing the queen's judgment in
the matter. But pretty, simple Madge Arundell, not knowing so deeply
as her fellows, was asked one day hereof, and said, 'She had thought
much about marriage, if her father did consent to the man she loved.'
'You seem honest, i' fait said the queen; 'I will sue for you your
father.' At which the dam was well pleased; and when father, Sir
Robert Arundell, came court, the queen questioned him his daughter's
marriage, and pressed him to give consent if the match were discreet.
Sir Robert, much astonished, said, 'He never had heard his daughter
had liking to any man; but he would give his free consent to what was
most pleasing to her highness's will and consent.' Then I will do the
rest,' saith the queen. Poor Madge was called in, and told by the
queen that her father had given his free consent. 'Then,' replied the
simple one, 'I shall be happy, an' it please your grace.' 'So thou
shalt; but not to be a fool and marry,' said the queen. 'I have his
consent given to me, and I vow thou shalt never get it in thy
possession. So go-to about thy business. I see thou art a bold one to
own thy foolishness so readily.'"
"Ah me!" cried Kate, "I be glad not to be a maid to her majesty; for I
would not know how to answer her grace if she should ask me a
like question; for if it be bold to say one hath a reasonable desire
to be married, I must needs be bold then, for I would not for two
thousand pounds break Mr. Lacy's heart; and he saith he will die if I
do not marry him. But, Polly, thou wouldst never be at a loss to
answer her majesty."
"No more than Pace her fool," quoth Polly, "who, when she said, as he
entered the room, 'Now we shall hear of our faults,' cried out, 'Where
is the use of speaking of what all the town doth talk of?'"
"The fool should have been whipped," Mistress Ward said.
"For his wisdom, or for his folly, good Mistress Ward?" asked Polly.
"If for wisdom, 'tis hard to beat a man for being wise. If for folly,
to whip a fool for that he doth follow his calling, and as I be the
licensed fool in this house--which I do take to be the highest
exercise of wit in these days, when all is turned upside down--I do
wish you all good-night, and to be no wiser than is good for your
healths, and no more foolish than suffices to lighten the heart;" and
so laughing she ran away, and Kate said in a lamentable voice,
"I would I were foolish, if it lightens the heart."
"Content thee, good Kate," I said; but in so low a voice none did
hear. And she went on,
"Mr. Lacy is gone to Yorkshire for three weeks, which doth make me
more sad than can be thought of."
I smiled; but Muriel, who had not yet oped her lips whilst the others
were talking, rising, kissed her sister, and said, "Thou wilt have,
sweet one, so great a contentment in his letters as will give thee
patience to bear the loss of his good company."
At the which Kate brightened a little. To live with Muriel was a
preachment, as I have often had occasion since to find.
On the first Sunday I was at London, we heard mass at the Portuguese
ambassador's house, whither many Catholics of his acquaintance
resorted for that purpose from our side of the city. In the afternoon
a gentleman, who had travelled day and night from Staffordshire on
some urgent business, brought me a letter from my father, writ only
four days before it came to hand, and about a week after my departure
from home. It was as follows:
"MINE OWN DEAR CHILD,--The bearer of this letter hath promised to do
me the good service to deliver it to thee as soon as he shall reach
London; which, as he did intend to travel day and night, I compute
will be no later than the end of this week, or on Sunday at the
furthest. And for this his civility I do stand greatly indebted to
him; for in these straitened times 'tis no easy matter to get
letters conveyed from one part of the kingdom to another without
danger of discovering that which for the present should rather be
concealed. I received notice two days ago from Mistress Ward's
sister of your good journey and arrival at London; and I thank God,
my very good child, that he has had thee in his holy keeping and
bestowed thee under the roof of my good sister and brother; so that,
with a mind at ease in respect to thee, my dear sole earthly
treasure, I may be free to follow whatever course his providence may
appoint to me, who, albeit unworthy, do aspire to leave all things
to follow him. And indeed he hath already, at the outset of my
wanderings, sweetly disposed events in such wise that chance hath
proved, as it were, the servant of his providence; and, when I did
least look for it, by a divine ordination furnished me, who so short
a time back parted from a dear child, with the company of one who
doth stand to me in lieu of her who, by reason of her tender sex and
age, I am compelled to send from me. For being necessitated, for the
preservation of my life, to make seldom any long stay in one place,
I had need of a youth to ride with me on those frequent journeys,
and keep me company in such places as I may withdraw unto for
quietness and study. So being in Stafford some few days back, I
inquired of the master of the inn where I did lay for one night, if
it were not possible to get in that city a youth to serve me as a
page, whom I said I would maintain as a gentleman if he had
learning, nurture, and behavior becoming such a person. He said his
son, who was a schoolmaster, had a youth for a pupil who carried
virtue in his very countenance; but that he was the child of a
widow, who, he much feared, would not easily be persuaded to part
from him. Thereupon I expressed a great desire to have a sight of
this youth and charged him to deal with his master so that he should
be sent to my lodgings; which, when he came there, lo and behold, I
perceived with no small amazement that he was no other than Edmund
Genings, who straightway ran into my arms, and with much ado
restrained himself from weeping, so greatly was he moved with
conflicting passions of present joy and recollected sorrow at this
our unlooked-for meeting; and truly mine own contentment therein was
in no wise less than his. He told me that his mother's poverty
increasing, she had moved from Lichfield, where it was more bitter
to her, by reason of the affluence in which she had before lived in
that city, to Stafford, where none did know them; and she dwelt in a
mean lodging in a poor sort of manner. And whereas he had desired to
accept the offer of a stranger, with a view to relieve his mother
from the burden of his support, and maybe yield her some assistance
in her straits, he now passionately coveted to throw his fortune
with mine, and to be entered as a page in my service. But though she
had been willing before, from necessity, albeit averse by
inclination, to part with him, when she knew me it seemed awhile
impossible to gain her consent. Methinks she was privy to Edmund's
secret good opinion of Catholic religion, and feared, if he should
live with me, the effect thereof would follow. But her necessities
were so sharp, and likewise her regrets that he should lack
opportunities for his further advance in learning, which she herself
was unable to supply, that at length by long entreaty he prevailed
on her to give him license for that which his heart did prompt him
to desire for his own sake and hers. And when she had given this
consent, but not before, lest it should appear I did seek to bribe
her by such offers to so much condescension as she then evinced, I
proposed to assist her in any way she wished to the bettering of her
fortunes, and said I would do as much whether she suffered her son
to abide with me or no: which did greatly work with her to conceive
a more favorable opinion of me than she had heretofore held, and to
be contented he should remain in my service, as he himself so
greatly desired. After some further discourse, it was resolved that
I should furnish her with so much money as would pay her debts and
carry her to La Rochelle, where her youngest son was with her
brother, who albeit he had met with great losses, would
nevertheless, she felt assured, assist her in her need. Thus has
Edmund become to me less a page than a pupil, less a servant than a
son. I will keep a watchful eye over his actions, whom I already
perceive to be tractable, capable, willing to learn, and altogether
such as his early years did promise he should be. I thank God, who
has given me so great a comfort in the midst of so great trials, and
to this youth in me a father rather than a master, who will ever
deal with him in an honorable and loving manner, both in respect to
his own deserts and to her merits, whose prayers have, I doubt not,
procured this admirable result of what was in no wise designed, but
by God's providence fell out of the asking a simple question in an
inn and of a stranger.
"And now, mine only and very dear child, I commend thee to
God's holy keeping; and I beseech thee to be as mindful of
thy duty to him as thou hast been
(and most especially of late) of thine to me; and imprint
in thy heart those words of holy writ, 'Not to fear those
that kill the body, but cannot destroy the soul;' but
withal, in whatever is just and reasonable, and not
clearly against Catholic religion, to observe a most exact
obedience to such as stand to thee at present in place of
thy unworthy father, and who, moreover, are of such virtue
and piety as I doubt not would move them rather to give
thee an example how to suffer the loss of all things for
Christ his sake than to offend him by a contrary
disposition. I do write to my good brother by the same
convenience to yield him and my sister humble thanks for
their great kindness to me in thee, and send this written
in haste; for I fear I shall not often have means
hereafter. Therefore I desire Almighty God to protect,
bless, and establish thee. So in haste, and _in
visceribus Christi_, adieu."
The lively joy I received from this letter was greater than I can
rehearse, for I had now no longer before my eyes the sorrowful vision
of my dear father with none to tend and comfort him in his wanderings;
and no less was my contentment that Edmund, my dearly-loved playmate,
was now within reach of his good instructions, and free to follow that
which I was persuaded his conscience had been prompting him to seek
since he had attained the age of reason.
I note not down in this history the many visits I paid to the Charter
House that autumn, except to notice the growing care Lady Surrey did
take to supply the needs of prisoners and poor people, and how this
brought her into frequent occasions of discourse with Mistress Ward
and Muriel, who nevertheless, as I also had care to observe, kept
these interviews secret, which might have caused suspicion in those
who, albeit Catholic, were ill-disposed to adventure the loss of
worldly advantages by the profession of what Protestants do term
perverse and open papistry. Kate and Polly were of this way of
thinking--prudence was ever the word with them when talk of religion
was ministered in their presence; and they would not keep as much as a
prayer-book in their chambers for fear of evil results. They were
sometimes very urgent with their father for to suffer them to attend
Protestant service, which they said would not hinder them from hearing
mass at convenient times, and saying such prayers as they listed; and
Polly the more so that a young gentleman of good birth and high
breeding, who conformed to the times, had become a suitor for her
hand, and was very strenuous with her on the necessity of such
compliance, which nevertheless her father would not allow of. Much
company came to the house, both Protestant and Catholic; for my aunt,
who was sick at other times, did greatly mend toward the evening. When
I was first in London for some weeks, she kept me with her at such
times in the parlor, and encouraged me to discourse with the visitors;
for she said I had a forwardness and vivacity of speech which, if
practised in conversation, would in time obtain for me as great a
reputation of wit as Polly ever enjoyed. I was nothing loth to study
in this new school, and not slow to improve in it. At the same time I
gave myself greatly to the reading of such books as I found in my
cousins' chambers; amongst which were some M. de la Motte had lent to
Polly, marvellous witty and entertaining, such as _Les Nouvelles de la
Reine de Navarre_ and the _Cents Histoires tragiques;_ and others done
in English out of French by Mr. Thomas Fortescue; and a poem, writ by
one Mr. Edmund Spenser, very beautiful, and which did so much bewitch
me, that I was wont to rise in the night to read it by the light of
the moon at my casement window; and the _Morte d' Arthur_, which Mr.
Hubert Rookwood had willed me to read, whom I met at Bedford, and
which so filled my head with fantastic images and imagined scenes,
that I did, as it were, fall in love with Sir Launcelot, and
would blush if his name were but mentioned, and wax as angry if his
fame were questioned as if he had been a living man, and I in a
foolish manner fond of him.
This continued for some little time, and methinks, had it proceeded
further, I should have received much damage from a mode of life with
so little of discipline in it, and so great incitements to faults and
follies which my nature was prone to, but which my conscience secretly
reproved. And among the many reasons I have to be thankful to Mistress
"Ward, that never-to-be-forgotten friend, whose care restrained me in
these dangerous courses, partly by compulsion through means of her
influence with my aunt and her husband, and partly by such admonitions
and counsel as she favored me with, I reckon amongst the greatest
that, at an age when the will is weak, albeit the impulses be good,
she lent a helping hand to the superior part of my soul to surmount
the evil tendencies which bad example on the one hand, and weak
indulgence on the other, fostered in me, whose virtuous inclinations
had been, up to that time, hedged in by the strong safeguards of
parental watchfulness. She procured that I should not tarry, save for
brief and scanty spaces of time, in my aunt's parlor when she had
visitors, and so contrived that it should be when she herself was
present, who, by wholesome checks and studied separation from the rest
of the company, reduced my forwardness with just restraints such as
became my age. And when she discovered what books I read, oh, with
what fervent and strenuous speech she drove into my soul the edge of a
salutary remorse; with what tearful eyes and pleading voice she
brought before me the memory of my mother's care and my father's love,
which had ever kept me from drinking such empoisoned draughts from the
well-springs of corruption which in our days books of entertainment
too often prove, and if not altogether bad, yet be such as vitiate the
palate and destroy the appetite for higher and purer kinds of mental
sustenance. Sharp was her correction, but withal so seasoned with
tenderness, and a grief the keenness of which I could discern was
heightened by the thought that my two elder cousins (one time her
pupils) should be so drawn aside by the world and its pleasures as to
forget their pious habits, and minister to others the means of such
injury as their own souls had sustained, that every word she uttered
seemed to sink into my heart as if writ with a pen of fire; and mostly
when she thus concluded her discourse:
"There hath been times, Constance, when men, yea and women also, might
play the fool for a while, without so great danger as now, and dally
with idle folly like children who do sport on a smooth lawn nigh to a
running stream, under their parents' eyes, who, if their feet do but
slip, are prompt to retrieve them. But such days are gone by for the
Catholics of this land. I would have thee to bear in mind that 'tis no
common virtue--no convenient religion--faces the rack, the dungeon, and
the rope; that wanton tales and light verses are no _viaticum_ for a
journey beset with such perils. And thou--thou least of all--whose
gentle mother, as thou well knowest, died of a broken heart from the
fear to betray her faith--thou, whose father doth even now gird
himself for a fight, where to win is to die on a scaffold--shouldst
scorn to omit such preparation as may befit thee to live, if it so
please God, or to die, if such be his will, a true member of his holy
Catholic Church. O Constance, it doth grieve me to the heart that thou
shouldst so much as once have risen from thy bed at night to feed thy
mind with the vain words of profane writers, in place of nurturing thy
soul by such reasonable exercises and means as God, through the
teaching of his Church, doth provide for the spiritual growth of his
children, and by prayer and penance make ready for coming conflicts.
Bethink thee of the many holy priests, yea and laymen also, who be in
uneasy dungeons at this time, lying on filthy straw, with chains
on their bruised limbs, but lately racked and tormented for their
religion, whilst thou didst offend God by such wanton conduct. Count
up the times thou hast thus offended; and so many times rise in the
night, my good child, and say the psalm 'Miserere,' through which we
do especially entreat forgiveness for our sins."
I cast myself in her arms, and with many bitter tears lamented my
folly; and did promise her then, and, I thank God, ever after did keep
that promise, whilst I abode under the same roof with her, to read no
books but such as she should warrant me to peruse. Some days after she
procured Mr. Congleton's consent, who also went with us, to carry me
to the Marshalsea, whither she had free access at that time by reason
of her acquaintanceship with the gaoler's wife, who, when a maid, had
been a servant in her family, and who, having been once Catholic, did
willingly assist such prisoners as came there for their religion.
There we saw Mr. Hart, who hath been this long while confined in a
dark cell, with nothing but boards to lie on till Mistress Ward gave
him a counterpane, which she concealed under her shawl, and the gaoler
was prevailed on by his wife not to take from him. He was cruelly
tortured some time since, and condemned to die on the same day as Mr.
Luke Kirby and some others on a like charge, that he did deny the
queen's supremacy in spiritual matters; but he was taken off the
sledge and returned to prison. He did take it very quietly and
patiently; and when Mr. Congleton expressed a hope he might soon be
released from prison, he smiled and said:
"My good friend, my crosses are light and easy; and the being deprived
of all earthly comfort affords a heavenly joy, which maketh my prison
happy, my confinement merciful, my solitude full of blessings. To God,
therefore, be all praise, honor, and glory, for so unspeakable a
benefit bestowed upon his poor, wretched, and unworthy servant."
So did he comfort those who were more grieved for him than he for
himself; and each in turn we did confess; and after I had disburdened
my conscience in such wise that he perceived the temper of my mind,
and where to apply remedies to the dangers the nature of which his
clearsightedness did foresee, he thus addressed me:
"The world, my dear daughter, soon begins to seem insipid, and all its
pleasures grow bitter as gall; all the fine shows and delights it
affords appear empty and good for nothing to such as have tasted the
happiness of conversing with Christ, though it be amidst torments and
tribulations, yea and in the near approach of death itself. This joy
so penetrates the soul, so elevates the spirit, so changes the
affections, that a prison seems not a prison but a paradise, death a
goal long time desired, and the torments which do accompany it jewels
of great price. Take with thee these words, which be the greatest
treasure and the rarest lesson for these times: 'He that loveth his
life in this world shall lose it, and he that hateth it shall find
it;' and remember the devil is always upon the watch. Be you also
watchful. Pray you for me. I have a great confidence that we shall see
one another in heaven, if you keep inviolable the word you have given
to God to be true to his Catholic Church and obedient to its precepts,
and he gives me the grace to attain unto that same blessed end."
These words, like the sower's seed, fell into a field where thorns
oftentimes threatened to choke their effect; but persecution, when it
arose, consumed the thorns as with fire, and the plant, which would
have withered in stony ground, bore fruit in a prepared soil.
As we left the prison, it did happen that, passing by the gaoler's
lodge, I saw him sitting at a table drinking ale with one whose back
was to the door. A suspicion came over me, the most unlikely in the
world, for it was against all credibility, and I had not seen so much
as that person's face; but in the shape of his head and the manner of
his sitting, but for a moment observed, there was a resemblance
to Edmund Genings, the thought of which I could not shake off. When we
were walking home, Mr. Congleton said Mr. Hart had told him that a
short time back a gentleman had been seized, and committed to close
confinement, whom he believed, though he had not attained to the
certainty thereof, to be Mr. Willisden; and if it were so, that much
trouble might ensue to many recusants, by reason of that gentleman
having dealt in matters of great importance to such persons touching
lands and other affairs whereby their fortunes and maybe their lives
might be compromised. On hearing of this, I straightway conceived a
sudden fear lest it should be my father and not Mr. Willisden was
confined in that prison; and the impression I had received touching
the youth who was at table with the gaoler grew so strong in
consequence, that all sorts of fears founded thereon ran through my
mind, for I had often heard how persons did deceive recusants by
feigning themselves to be their friends, and then did denounce them to
the council, and procured their arrest and oftentimes their
condemnation by distorting and false swearing touching the speech they
held with them. One Eliot in particular, who was a man of great
modesty and ingenuity of countenance, so as to defy suspicion (but a
very wicked man in more ways than one, as has been since proved), who
pretended to be Catholic, and when he did suspect any to be a Jesuit,
or a seminary priest, or only a recusant, he would straightway enter
into discourse with him, and in an artful manner cause him to betray
himself; whereupon he was not slow to throw off the mask, whereby
several had been already brought to the rope. And albeit I would not
credit that Edmund should be such a one, the evil of the times was so
great that my heart did misgive me concerning him, if indeed he was
the youth whom I had espied on such familiar terms with that ruffianly
gaoler. I had no rest for some days, lacking the means to discover the
truth of that suspicion; for Mrs. Ward, to whom I did impart it, dared
not adventure again that week to the Marshalsea, by reason of the
gaoler's wife having charged her not to come frequently, for that her
husband had suddenly suspected her to be a recusant, and would by no
means allow of her visits to the prisoners; but that when he was drunk
she could sometimes herself get his keys and let her in, but not too
often. Mr. Congleton would have it the prisoner must be Mr. Willisden
and no other, and took no heed of my fears, which he said had no
reasonable grounds, as I had not so much as seen the features of the
youth I took to be my father's page. But I could by no means be
satisfied, and wept very much; and I mind me how, in the midst of my
tears that evening, my eyes fell on the frontispiece of a volume of
the _Morte d' Arthur_ which had been loosened when the book was in my
chamber, and in which was picture of Sir Launcelot, the present mirror
of my fancy. I had pinned it to my curtain, and jewelled it as a
treasure and fund of foolish musings, even after yielding up, with
promise to read no more therein, the book which had once held it. And
thus were kept alive the fantastic imaginings wherewith I clothed a
creature conceived in a writer's brain, whose nobility was the
offspring of his thoughts and the continual entertainment of mine own.
But, oh, how just did I now find the words of a virtuous friend, and
how childish my folly, when the true sharp edge of present fear
dispersed these vapory clouds, even as the keen blast of a north wind
doth drive away a noxious mist! The sight of the dismal dungeon that
day visited, the pallid features of that true confessor therein
immured, his soul-piercing words, and the apprehensions which were
wringing my heart--banished of a sudden an idle dream engendered by
vain readings and vainer musings, and Sir Launcelot held henceforward
no higher, or not so high, a place in my esteem as the good Sir
Guy of Warwick, or the brave Hector de Valence.
A day or two after, my Lady Surrey sent her coach for me; and I found
her in her dressing-room seated on a couch with her waiting-women and
Mistress Milicent around her, who were displaying a great store of
rich suits and jewels and such-like gear drawn from wardrobes and
closets, the doors of which were thrown open, and little Mistress Bess
was on tiptoe on a stool afore a mirror with a diamond necklace on,
ribbons flaring about her head, and a fan of ostrich-feathers in her
hand.
"Ah, sweet one," said my lady, when I came in, "thou must needs be
surprised at this show of bravery, which ill consorts with the
mourning of our present garb or the grief of our hearts; but, i'
faith, Constance, strange things do come to pass, and such as I would
fain hinder if I could."
"Make ready thine ears for great news, good Constance," cried Bess,
running toward me encumbered with her finery, and tumbling over sundry
pieces of head-gear in her way, to the waiting-woman's no small
discomfiture. "The queen's majesty doth visit upon next Sunday the
Earl and Countess of Surrey; and as her highness cannot endure the
sight of dool, they and their household must needs put it off and
array themselves in their costliest suits; and Nan is to put on her
choicest jewels, and my Lady Bess must be grand too, to salute the
queen."
"Hush, Bessy," said my lady; and leading me into the adjoining
chamber, "'tis hard," quoth she, holding my hand in hers,--"'tis hard
when his grace is in the Tower and in disgrace with her majesty, and
only six weeks since our Moll died, that she must needs visit this
house, where there be none to entertain her highness but his grace's
poor children; 'tis hard, Constance, to be constrained to kiss the
hand which threatens his life who gave my lord his, and mostly to
smile at the queen's jesting, which my Lord Arundel saith we must of
all things take heed to observe, for that she as little can endure
dool in the face as in the dress."
A few tears fell from those sweet eyes upon my hand, which she still
held, and I said, "Comfort you, my sweet lady. It must needs be that
her majesty doth intend favor to his grace through this visit. Her
highness would never be minded to do so much honor to the children if
she did not purpose mercy to the father."
"I would fain believe it were so," said the countess, thoughtfully;
"but my Lord Arundel and my Lady Lumley hold not, I fear, the same
opinion. And I do hear from them that his grace is much troubled
thereat, and hath written to the Earl of Leicester and my Lord
Burleigh to lament the queen's determination to visit his son, who is
not of age to receive her." [Footnote 1]
[Footnote 1: Calendar of State Papers, Domestic Series, 1547 to
1580: "Duke of Norfolk to the Earl of Leicester and Lord Burleigh;
laments the queen's determination to visit his son's house, who is
not of age to receive her."]
"And doth my Lord of Surrey take the matter to heart?"
"My lord's disposition doth incline him to conceive hope where others
see reason to fear," she replied. "He saith he is glad her majesty
should come to this house, and that he will take occasion to petition
her grace to release his father from the Tower; and he hath drawn up
an address to that effect, which is marvellous well expressed; and,
since 'tis written, he makes no more doubt that her majesty will
accede to it than if the upshot was not yet to come, but already past.
And he hath set himself with a skill beyond his years, and altogether
wonderful in one so young, to prepare all things for the queen's
reception; so that when his grandfather did depute my Lord Berkeley
and my Lady Lumley to assist us (he himself being too sick to go out
of his house) in the ordering of the collation in the banqueting-room,
and the music wherewith to greet her highness on her arrival, as well
as the ceremonial to be observed during her visit, they did find that
my lord had so disposedly and with so great taste ordained the
rules to be observed, and the proper setting forth of all things, that
little remained for them to do. And he will have me to be richly
dressed, and to put on the jewels which were his mother's, which,
since her death, have not been worn by the two Duchesses of Norfolk
which did succeed her. Ah me, Mistress Constance, I often wish my lord
and I had been born far from the court, in some quiet country place,
where there are no queens to entertain, and no plots which do bring
nobles into so great dangers."
"Alack," I cried, "dear lady, 'tis not the highest in the land that be
alone to suffer. Their troubles do stand forth in men's eyes; and when
a noble head is imperilled all the world doth know of it; but blood is
spilt in this land, and torments endured, which no pen doth chronicle,
and of which scant mention is made in palaces."
"There is a passion in thy speech," my lady said, "which betrayeth a
secret uneasiness of heart. Hast thou had ill news, my Constance?"
"No news," I answered, "but that which my fears do invent and
whisper;" and then I related to her the cause of my disturbance, which
she sought to allay by kind words, which nevertheless failed to
comfort me.
Before I left she did propose I should come to the Charter House on
the morning of the queen's visit, and bring Mistress Ward and my
cousins also, as it would pleasure them to stand in the gallery and
witness the entertainment, and albeit my heart was heavy, methought it
was an occasion not to be overpast to feast my eyes with the sight of
majesty, and to behold that great queen who doth hold in her hands her
subjects' lives, and who, if she do but nod, like the god of the
heathen which books do speak of, such terrible effects ensue, greater
than can be thought of; and so I gave my lady mine humble thanks, and
also for that she did gift me with a dainty hat and a well-embroidered
suit to wear on that day; which, when Kate saw, she fell into a
wonderful admiration of the pattern, and did set about to get it
copied afore the day of the royal visit to Howard House. As I returned
to Holborn in my lady's coach there was a great crowd in the Cornhill,
and the passage for a while arrested by the number of persons on their
way to what is now called the Royal Exchange, which her majesty was to
visit in the evening. I sat very quietly with mine eyes fixed on the
foot-passengers, not so much looking at their faces as watching their
passage, which, like the running of a river, did seem endless. But at
last it somewhat slackened, and the coach moved on, when, at the
corner of a street, nigh unto a lamp over a shop, which did throw a
light on his face, I beheld Edmund Genings. Oh, how my heart did beat,
and with what a loud cry I did call to the running footmen to stop!
But the noise of the street was so great they did not hear me, and I
saw him turn and pursue his way down another street toward the river.
My good uncle, when he heard I had verily seen my father's new page in
the city, gave more heed to my suspicions, and did promise to go
himself unto the Marshalsea on the next day, and seek to verify the
name of the prisoner Mr. Hart had made mention of.
CHAPTER IX.
On the next morning Mr. Congleton called me into the library from the
garden, where I was gathering for Muriel a few of such hardy flowers
as had survived the early frost. She was wont to carry them with her
to the prisons; for it was one of her kindly apprehensions of the
sufferings of others to divide the comfort wherewith things seemingly
indifferent do affect those that be shut out of all kinds of
enjoyments; and where a less tender nature should have been content to
provide necessaries, she, through a more delicate acquaintanceship and
light touch, as it were, on the strings of the human heart, ever
bethought herself when it was possible to minister if but one minute's
pleasure to those who had often well-nigh forgotten the very taste of
it. And she hath told me touching that point of flowers, how it had
once happened that the scent of some violets she had concealed in her
bosom with a like intent did move to tears an aged man, who for many
years past had not seen, no not so much as one green leaf in his
prison; which tears, he said, did him more good than anything else
which could have happened to him.
I threw down on a bench the chrysanthemums and other bold blossoms I
had gathered, and running into the house, opened the door of the
library, where, lo and behold, to my no small agitation and amaze, I
discovered Edmund Genings, who cried out as I entered:
"O my dear master's daughter and well-remembered playmate, I do greet
you with all mine heart; and I thank God that I see you in so good a
condition, as I may with infinite gladness make report of to
your good father, who through me doth impart to you his paternal
blessing and most affectionate commendations."
"Edmund," I cried, scarce able to speak for haste, "is he in London?
is he in prison?"
"No, forsooth," quoth Mr. Congleton.
"No, verily," quoth Edmund; both at the same time.
"Thy fears, silly wench," added the first, "have run away with thy
wits, and I do counsel thee another time to be at more pains to
restrain them; for when there be so many occasions to be afraid of
veritable evils, 'tis but sorry waste to spend fears on present
fancies."
By which I did conjecture my uncle not to be greatly pleased with
Edmund's coming to his house, and noticed that he did fidget in his
chair and ever and anon glanced at the windows which opened on the
garden in an uneasy manner.
"And wherefore art thou then in London?" I asked of Edmund; who thus
answered:
"Because Mr. James Fenn, who is also called Williesden, was taken and
committed close prisoner to the Marshalsea a short time back; which,
when my dear master did hear of, he was greatly disturbed and
turmoiled thereby, by reason of weighty matters having passed betwixt
him and that gentleman touching lands belonging to recusants, and that
extraordinary damage was likely to ensue to several persons of great
merit, if he could not advertise him in time how to answer to those
accusations which would be laid against him; and did seek if by any
means he could have access to him; but could find no hope thereof
without imminent danger not to himself only, but to many beside, if he
had come to London and been recognized."
"Wherein he did judge rightly," quoth my uncle; and then Edmund--
"So, seeing my master and others of a like faith with him in so great
straits touching their property and their lives also, I did most
earnestly crave his licence, being unknown and of no account in the
world, and so least to be suspected, to undertake this enterprise,
which he could not himself perform; which at last he did grant me,
albeit not without reluctance. And thus resolved I came to town."
"And has your hope been frustrated?" Mr. Congleton asked. To whom
Edmund--"I thank God, the end hath answered my expectations. I
committed the cause to him to whom nothing is impossible, and
determined, like a trusty servant, to do all that in me did lie
thereunto. And thinking on no other means, I took up my abode near to
the prison, hoping in time to get acquainted with the keeper; for
which purpose I had to drink with him each day, standing the cost,
beside paying him well, which I was furnished with the means to do. At
last I did, by his means, procure to see Mr. Fenn, and not only come
to speak to him, but to have access to his cell three or four times
with pen and ink and paper to write his mind. So I have furnished him
with the information he had need of, and likewise brought away with me
such answers to my master's questions as should solve his doubts how
to proceed in the aforesaid matters."
"God reward thee, my good youth," Mr. Congleton said, "for this thing
which thou hast done; for verily, under the laws lately set forth,
recusants be in such condition that, if not death, beggary doth stare
them in the face, and no remedy thereunto except by such assistance as
well-disposed Protestants be willing to yield to them."
"And where doth my father stay at this present time?" I asked; and
Edmund answered:
"Not so much as to you, Mistress Constance, am I free to reply to that
question; for when I left, 'Edmund,' quoth my master, 'it is a part of
prudence in these days to guard those that be dear to us from dangers
ensuing on what men do call our perversity; and as these new laws
enact that he which knoweth any one which doth hear mass, be it
ever so privately, or suffers a priest to absolve him, or performs any
other action appertaining to Catholic religion, and doth not discover
him before some public magistrate within the space of twenty days next
following, shall suffer the punishment of high treason, than which
nothing can be more horrible; and that neither sex nor age be a cause
of exemption from the like penalties, so that father must accuse son,
and sister brother, and children their parents;--it is, I say, a
merciful part to hide from our friends where we do conceal ourselves,
whose consciences do charge us with these novel crimes, lest theirs be
also burdened with the choice either to denounce us if called upon to
testify thereon, or else to speak falsely. Therefore I do charge thee,
my son Edmund' (for thus indeed doth my master term me, his unworthy
servant), 'that thou keep from my good child, and my dear sister, and
her no less dear husband, the knowledge of my present, but indeed
ever-shifting, abode; and solely inform them, by word of mouth, that I
am in good health, and in very good heart also, and do most earnestly
pray for them, that their strength and patience be such as the times
do require.'"
"And art thou reconciled, Edmund?" I asked, ever speaking hastily and
beforehand with prudence. Mr. Congleton checked me sharply; whereupon,
with great confusion, I interrupted my speech; but Edmund, albeit not
in words yet by signs, answered my question so as I should be
certified it was even as I hoped. He then asked if I should not be
glad to write a letter to my father,--which he would carry to him, so
that it was neither signed nor addressed,--which letter I did sit down
to compose in a hurried manner, my heart prompting my pen to utter
what it listed, rather than weighing the words in which those
affectionate sentiments were expressed. Mr. Congleton likewise did
write to him, whilst Edmund took some food, which he greatly needed;
for he had scarce eaten so much as one comfortable meal since he had
been in London, and was to ride day and night till he reached his
master. I wept very bitterly when he went away; for the sight of him
recalled the dear mother I had lost, the sole parent whose company I
was likewise reft of, and the home I was never like to see again. But
when those tears were stayed, that which at the time did cause sadness
ministered comfort in the retrospect, and relief from worse fears made
the present separation from my father more tolerable. And on the next
Sunday, when I went to the Charter House, with my cousins and Mistress
Ward, I was in such good cheer that Polly commended my prating; which
she said for some days had been so stayed that she had greatly feared
I had caught the infectious plague of melancholy from Kate, whom she
vowed did half kill her with the sound of her doleful sighing since
Mr. Lacy was gone, which she said was a dismal music brought into
fashion by love-sick ladies, and such as she never did intend to
practise; "for," quoth she, "I hold care to be the worst enemy in
life; and to be in love very dull sport, if it serve not to make one
merry." This she said turning to Sir Ralph Ingoldby, the
afore-mentioned suitor for her hand, who went with us, and thereupon
cried out, "Mercy on us, fair mistress, if we must be merry when we be
sad, and by merriment win a lady's love, the lack of which doth so
take away merriment that we must needs be sad, and so lose that which
should cure sadness;" and much more he in that style, and she
answering and making sport of his discourse, as was her wont with all
gentlemen.
When we reached the house, Mrs. Milicent was awaiting us at the door
of the gallery for to conduct us to the best place wherein we could
see her majesty's entrance. There were some seats there and other
persons present, some of which were of Polly's acquaintance, with whom
she did keep up a brisk conversation, in which I had occasion to
notice the sharpness of her wit, in which she did surpass any woman I
have since known, for she was never at a loss for an answer; as when
one said to her--
"Truly, you have no mean opinion of yourself, fair mistress."
"As one shall prize himself," quoth she, "so let him look to be valued
by others."
And another: "You think yourself to be Minerva."
Whereupon she: "No, sir, not when I be at your elbow;" meaning he was
no Ulysses.
And when one gentleman asked her of a book, if she had read it:
"The epistle," she said, "and no more."
"And wherefore no more," quoth he, "since that hath wit in it?"
"Because," she answered, "an author who sets all his wit in his
epistle is like to make his book resemble a bankrupt's doublet."
"How so?" asked the gentleman.
"In this wise," saith she, "that he sets the velvet before, though the
back be but of buckram."
"For my part," quoth a foppish young man, "I have thoughts in my mind
should fill many volumes."
"Alack, good sir," cries she, "is there no type good enough to set
them in?"
He, somewhat nettled, declares that she reads no books but of one
sort, and doats on _Sir Bevis and Owlglass_, or _Fashion's Mirror_,
and such like idle stuff, wherein he himself had never found so much
as one word of profitable use or reasonable entertainment.
"I have read a fable," she said, "which speaks of a pasture in which
oxen find fodder, hounds, hares, storks, lizards, and some animals
nothing."
"To deliver you my opinion," said a lady who sat next to Polly's
disputant, "I have no great esteem for letters in gentlewomen. The
greatest readers be oft the worst doers."
"Letters!" cries Polly; "why, surely they be the most weighty things
in creation; for so much as the difference of one letter mistaken in
the order in which it should stand in a short sentence doth alter the
expression of a man's resolve in a matter of life and death."
"How prove you that, madam?" quoth the lady.
"By the same token," answered Polly, "that I once did hear a gentleman
say, 'I must go die a beggar,' who willed to say, 'I must go buy a
dagger.'"
They all did laugh, and then some one said, "There was a witty book of
emblems made on all the cardinals at Rome, in which these scarlet
princes were very roughly handled. Bellarmine, for instance, as a
tiger fast chained to a post, and a scroll proceeding from the beast's
mouth--'Give me my liberty; you shall see what I am.' I wish," quoth
the speaker, "he were let loose in this island. The queen's judges
would soon constrain him to eat his words."
"Peradventure," answered Polly, "his own words should be too good food
for a recusant in her majesty's prisons."
"Maybe, madam, you have tasted of that food," quoth the aforesaid
lady, "that you be so well acquainted with its qualities."
Then I perceived that Mistress Ward did nudge Polly for to stay her
from carrying on a further encounter of words on this subject; for, as
she did remind us afterward, many persons had been thrown into prison
for only so much as a word lightly spoken in conversation which should
be supposed even in a remote manner to infer a favorable opinion of
Catholic religion; as, for instance, a bookseller in Oxford, for a
jest touching the queen's supremacy in ecclesiastical matters, had
been a short time before arrested, pilloried, whipped, and his ears
nailed to a counter, which with a knife he had himself to cut through
to free himself; which maybe had not been taken much notice of, as
nothing singular in these days, the man being a Catholic and of no
great note, but that much talk had been ministered concerning a
terrible disease which broke out immediately after the passing of that
sentence, by which the judge which had pronounced it, the jury, and
many other persons concerned in it, had died raving mad; to the no
small affright of the whole city. I ween, howsoever, no nudging should
have stopped Polly from talking, which indeed was a passion with her,
but that a burst of music at that time did announce the queen's
approach, and we did all stand up on the tiptoe of expectation to see
her majesty enter.
My heart did beat as fast as the pendulum of a clock when the cries
outside resounded, "Long live Queen Elizabeth!" and her majesty's
voice was distinctly heard answering, "I thank you, my good people;"
and the ushers crying out, "La Royne!" as the great door was thrown
open; through which we did see her majesty alight from her coach,
followed by many nobles and lords, and amongst them one of her
bishops, and my Lord and my Lady Surrey, kneeling to receive her on
the steps, with a goodly company of kinsfolks and friends around them.
Oh, how I did note every lineament of that royal lady, of so great
power and majesty, that it should seem as if she were not made of the
same mould as those of whom the Scriptures do say, that dust they are,
and to dust must they return. Very majestic did she appear; her
stature neither tall nor low, but her air exceedingly stately. Her
eyes small and black, her face fair, her nose a little hooked, and her
lips narrow. Upon her head she had a small crown, her bosom was
uncovered; she wore an oblong collar of gold and jewels, and on her
neck an exceeding fine necklace. She was dressed in white silk
bordered with pearls, and over it a mantle of black silk shot with
silver threads; her train, which was borne by her ladies, was very
long. When my lord knelt, she pulled off her glove, and gave him her
right hand to kiss, sparkling with rings and jewels; but when my lady,
in as sweet and modest a manner as can be thought of, advanced to pay
her the same homage, she did withdraw it hastily and moved on. I can
even now, at this distance of time, call to mind the look of that
sweet lady's face as she rose to follow her majesty, who leant on my
lord's arm with a show of singular favor, addressing herself to him in
a mild, playful, and obliging manner. How the young countess's cheek
did glow with a burning blush, as if doubting if she had offended in
the manner of her behavior, or had anyways merited the repulse she had
met with! How she stood for one moment irresolute, seeking to catch my
lord's eye, so as to be directed by him; and failing to do so, with a
pretty smile, but with what I, who loved her, fancied to be a
quivering lip, addressed herself to the ladies of the queen, and
conducted them through the cloisters to the garden, whither her
highness and my lord had gone.
In a brief time Mistress Milicent came to fetch us to a window which
looked on the square, where a great open tent was set for a collation,
and seats all round it for the concert which was to follow. As we went
along, I took occasion to ask of her the name of a waiting-gentleman,
who ordered about the servants with no small alacrity, and met her
majesty with many bows and quirks and a long compliment in verse.
"Tis Mr. Churchyard," she said; "a retainer of his grace's, and a poet
withal."
"Not a _grave_ one, I hope," said Polly.
"Nay," answered the simple gentlewoman, "but one well versed in
pageants and tournaments and suchlike devices, as well as in writing
of verses and epigrams very fine and witty. Her majesty doth sometimes
send for him when any pageant is on hand."
"Ah, then, I doubt not," quoth Polly, "he doth take himself to be no
mean personage in the state, and so behaves accordingly."
Pretty Milicent left us to seek for Mistress Bess, whom she had charge
of that day; and now our eyes were so intent on watching the spectacle
before us that even Polly for a while was silent. The queen did sit at
table with a store of noblemen waiting on her; and a more goodly sight
and a rarer one is not to be seen than a store of men famed for so
much bravery and wit and arts of state, that none have been found to
surpass them in any age, who be so loyal to a queen and so reverent to
a woman as these to this lady, who doth wear the crown of so great a
kingdom, so that all the world doth hold it in respect, and her hand
sought by so many great princes. But all this time I could not
perceive that she so much as once did look toward my Lady Surrey, or
spoke one single word to her or to my Lady Lumley, or little Bess, and
took very scanty notice also of my Lady Berkeley, his grace's sister,
who was a lady of so great and haughty a stomach, and of speech so
eloquent and ready, that I have heard the queen did say, that albeit
Lady Berkeley bent her knee when she made obeisance to her, she could
very well see she bent not her will to love or serve her, and that she
liked not such as have a man's heart in a woman's body. 'Tis said that
parity breedeth not affection, or affinity respect, of which saying
this opinion of the queen's should seem a notable example. But to see
my Lady Surrey so treated in her own husband's father's house worked
in me such effects of choler, mingled with sadness, that I could
scarce restrain my tears. Methought there was a greater nobleness and
a more true queenly greatness in her meek and withal dignified
endurance of these slights who was the subject, than in the sovereign
who did so insult one who least of all did deserve it. What the queen
did, others took pattern from; and neither my Lord Burleigh, nor my
Lord Leicester, or Sir Christopher Hatton, or young Lord Essex (albeit
my lord's own friend ), or little Sir John Harrington, her majesty's
godson, did so much as speak one civil word or show her the least
attention; but she did bear herself with so much sweetness, and,
though I knew her heart was full almost to bursting, kept up so brave
an appearance that none should see it except such as had their own
hearts wounded through hers, that some were present that day who since
have told me that, for promise of future distinction and true nobility
of aspect and behavior, they had not in their whole lives known one to
be compared with the young Countess of Surrey.
Polly did point out to us the aforesaid noblemen and gentlemen, and
also Dr. Cheney, the bishop of Gloucester, who had accompanied her
majesty, and M. de la Motte, the French ambassador, whom she did seem
greatly to favor; but none that day so much as my Lord Surrey, on whom
she let fall many gracious smiles, and used playful fashions with him,
such as nipping him once or twice on the forehead, and shaking her
fan, as if to reprove him for his answers to her questions, which
nevertheless, if her countenance might be judged of, did greatly
content her; albeit I once observed her to frown (and methought, then,
what a terror doth lie in a sovereign's frown) and speak sharply to
him; at the which a high color came into his cheek, and rose up even
to his temples, which her majesty perceiving, she did again use the
same blandishments as before; and when the collation was ended, and
the concert began, which had been provided for her grace's
entertainment, she would have him sit at her feet, and gave him so
many tokens of good-will, that I heard Sir Ralph Ingoldby, who was
standing behind me, say to another gentleman:
"If that young nobleman's father is like to be shorter by the head,
his father's son is like to have his own raised higher than ever his
father's was, so he doth keep clear of papistry and overmuch fondness
for his wife, which be the two things her majesty doth most abhor
in her courtiers."
My heart moving me to curiosity, I could not forbear to ask:
"I pray you, sir, wherefore doth not her majesty like her courtiers to
love their wives?"
At the which question he laughed, and said:
"By reason, Mistress Constance, that when they be in that case they do
become stayers at home, and wait not on her majesty with a like
diligence as when they are unmarried, or leastways love not their
ladies. The Bible saith a man cannot serve God and mammon. Now her
grace doth opine men cannot serve the queen and their wives also."
"Then," I warmly cried, "I hope my Lord Surrey shall never serve the
queen!"
"I' faith, say it not so loud, young Mistress Papist," said Sir Ralph,
laughing, "or we shall have you committed for high treason. Some are
in the Tower, I warrant you, for no worse offence than the uttering of
such like rash words. How should you fancy to have your pretty ears
bored with a rougher instrument than Master Anselm's the jeweller?"
And so he; but Polly, who methinks was not well pleased that he should
notice mine ears, which were little and well-shaped, whereas hers were
somewhat larger than did accord with her small face, did stop his
further speech with me by asking him if he were an enemy to papists;
for if so, she would have naught to say to him, and he might become a
courtier to the queen, or any one else's husband, for anything she did
care, yea, if she were to lose her ears for it.
And he answered, he did very much love some papists, albeit he hated
papistry when it proved not conformable to reason and the laws of the
country.
And so they fell to whispering and suchlike discourses as lovers hold
together; and I, being seated betwixt this enamored gentleman and the
wall on the other side, had no one then to talk with. But if my tongue
and mine ears also, save for the music below, were idle, not so mine
eyes; for they did stray from one point to another of the fair
spectacle which the garden did then present, now resting on the queen
and those near unto her, and anon on my Lady Surrey, who sat on a
couch to the left of her majesty's raised canopy, together with Lady
Southwell, Lady Arundell (Sir Robert's wife), and other ladies of the
queen, and on one side of her the bishop of Gloucester, whom, by
reason of his assiduous talking with her, I took more special note of
than I should otherwise have done; albeit he was a man which did
attract the eye, even at the first sight, by a most amiable suavity of
countenance, and a sweet and dignified behavior both in speech and
action such as I have seldom observed greater in any one. His manners
were free and unconstrained; and only to look at him converse, it was
easy to perceive he had a most ready wit tempered with benevolence. He
seemed vastly taken with my Lady Surrey; and either had not noticed
how others kept aloof from her, or was rather moved thereby to show
her civility; for they soon did fall into such eager, and in some sort
familiar, discourse, as it should seem to run on some subject of like
interest to both. Her color went and came as the conversation
advanced; and when she spoke, he listened with such grave suavity,
and, when she stayed her speech, answered in so obliging a manner, and
seemed so loth to break off, that I could not but admire how two
persons, hitherto strangers to each other, and of such various ages
and standing, should be so companionable on a first acquaintanceship.
When the queen rose to depart, in the same order in which she came,
every one kneeling as she passed, I did keenly watch to see what
visage she would show to my Lady Surrey, whom she did indeed this time
salute; but in no gracious manner, as one who looks without looking,
notices without heeding, and in tendering of thanks thanketh
not. As my lord walked by her majesty's side through the cloisters to
the door, he suddenly dropped on one knee, and drawing a paper from
his bosom, did present it to her highness, who started as if
surprised, and shook her head in a playful manner--(oh, what a cruel
playfulness methought it was, who knew, as her majesty must needs also
have done, what that paper did contain)--as if she would not be at that
time troubled with such grave matters, and did hand it to my Lord
Burleigh; then gave again her hand to my lord to kiss, who did kneel
with a like reverence as before; but with a shade of melancholy in his
fair young face, which methought became it better than the smiles it
had worn that day.
After the queen had left, and all the guests were gone save such few
as my lord had willed to stay to supper in his private apartments, I
went unto my lady's chamber, where I found Mistress Milicent, who said
she was with my lord, and prayed me to await her return; for that she
was urgent I should not depart without speaking with her, which was
also what I greatly desired. So I took a book and read for the space
of an hour or more, whilst she tarried with my lord. When she came in,
I could see she had been weeping. But her women being present, and
likewise Mistress Bess, she tried to smile, and pressed my hand,
bidding me to stay till she was rid of her trappings, as she did term
them; and, sitting down before her mirror,--though I ween she never
looked at her own face, which that evening had in it more of the
whiteness of a lily than the color of the rose,--she desired her women
to unbraid her hair, and remove from her head the diamond circlet, and
from her neck the heavy gold chain with a pearl cross, which had
belonged to her husband's mother. Then stepping out of her robe, she
put on a silk wrapper, and so dismissed them, and likewise little
Bess, who before she went whispered in her ear:
"Nan, methinks the queen is foul and red-haired, and I should not care
to kiss her hand for all the fine jewels she doth wear."
And so hugged her round the neck and stopped her mouth with kisses.
When they were gone,
"Constance," quoth she, "we be full young, I ween, for the burden laid
upon us, my lord and me."
"Ay, sweet one," I cried; "and God defend thou shouldst have to carry
it alone;" for my heart was sore that she had had so little favor
shown to her and my lord so much. A faint color tinged her cheek as
she replied:
"God knows I should be well cotent that Phil should stand so well in
her majesty's good graces as should be convenient to his honor and the
furtherance of his fortunes, if so be his father was out of prison;
and 'tis little I should reck of such slights as her highness should
choose to put upon me, if I saw him not so covetous of her favor that
he shall think less well of his poor Nan hereafter by reason of the
lack of her majesty's good opinion of her, which was so plainly showed
to-day. For, good Constance, bethink thee what a galling thing it is
to a young nobleman to see his wife so meanly entreated; and for her
majesty to ask him, as she did, if the pale-faced chit by his side,
when she arrived, was his sister or his cousin. And when he said it
was his wife who had knelt with him to greet her majesty"--"Wife!"
quoth the queen; "i' faith, I had forgotten thou wast married--if
indeed that is to be called a marriage which children do contract
before they come to the age of reason; and said she would take
measures for that a law should be passed which should make such
foolish marriages unlawful. And when my lord tried to tell her we had
been married a second time a few months since, she pretended not to
hear, and asked M. de la Motte if, in his country, children were made
to marry in their infancy. To which he gave answer, that the like
practice did sometimes take place in France; and that he had
himself been present at a wedding where the bridegroom was whipped
because he did refuse to open the ball with the bride. At the which
her majesty very much laughed, and said she hoped my lord had not been
so used on his wedding-day. I promise you Phil was very angry; but the
wound these jests made was so salved over with compliments, which
pleasantly tickle the ears when uttered by so great a queen, and marks
of favor more numerous than can be thought of, in the matter of
inviting him to hunt with her in Marylebone and Greenwich park, and
telling him he deserved better treatment than he had, as to his
household and setting forward in the world, that methinks the scar was
not long in healing; albeit in the relating of these passages the pain
somewhat revived. But what doth afflict me the most is the refusal her
highness made to read my lord's letter, lamenting the unhappy position
of the duke his father, and hoping the queen, by his means and those
of other friends, should mitigate her anger. I would have had Phil not
only go down on his knees as he did, but lie on the threshold of the
door, so that she should have walked over the son's body if she
refused to show mercy to the father; but he yet doth greatly hope from
the favor showed him that he may sue her majesty with better effect
some other time; and I pray God he may be right."
Here did the dear lady break off her speech, and, hiding her face in
her hands, remained silent for a short space; and I, seeing her so
deeply moved, with the intent to draw away her thoughts from painful
musings, inquired of her if the good entertainment she had found in
conversing with the bishop had been attributable to his witty
discourse, or to the subjects therein treated of.
"Ah, good Constance," she answered, "our talk was of one whom you have
often heard me speak of--Mr. Martin's friend, Master Campion,
[Footnote 2] who is now beyond seas at Douay, and whom this bishop
once did hold to be more dear to him than the apple of his eye. He
says his qualifications were so excellent, and he so beloved by all
persons in and outside of his college at Oxford, that none more so;
and that he did himself see in him so great a present merit and
promise of future excellence, that it had caused him more grief than
anything else which had happened to him, and been the occasion of his
shedding more tears than he had ever thought to have done, when he who
had received from him deacon's orders, and whom he had hoped should
have been an honor and a prop to the Church of England, did forsake it
and fly in the face of his queen and his country: first, by going into
Ireland; and then, as he understood, beyond seas, to serve the bishop
of Rome, against the laws of God and man. But that he did yet so
dearly affection him that, understanding we had sometimes tidings of
Mr. Martin, by whose means he had mostly been moved to this lamentable
defection, he should be contented to hear somewhat of his whilom son,
still dear to him, albeit estranged. I told him we did often see
Master Campion when Mr. Martin was here; and that, from what I had
heard, both were like to be at Douay, but that no letters passed
between Mr. Martin and ourselves; for that his grace did not allow of
such correspondence since he had been reconciled and gone beyond seas.
Which the bishop said was a commendable prudence in his grace, and the
part of a careful father; and added, that then maybe he knew more of
what had befallen Master Campion than I did; for that he had a long
epistle from him, so full of moving arguments and pithy remonstrances
as might have shaken one not well grounded and settled in his
religion, and which also contained a recital of his near arrest in
Dublin, where the queen's officers would have arrested him, if a
friend had not privately warned him of his danger. And I do know, good
Constance, who that friend was; for albeit I would not tell the
bishop we had seen Master Campion since he was reconciled, he, in
truth, was here some months ago: my lord met him in the street,
disguised as a common travelling man, and brought him into the garden,
whither he also called me; and we heard then from him how he would
have been taken in Ireland, if the viceroy himself, Sir Henry Sydney,
who did greatly favor him,--as indeed all who know him incline to do,
for his great parts, and nobleness of mind and heart, and withal most
attractive manners,--had not sent him a message, in the middle of the
night, to the effect that he should instantly leave the city, and take
measures for to escape abroad. So, under the name of Patrick, and
wearing the livery of the Earl of Kildare, he travelled to a port
twenty miles from Dublin, and there embarked for England. The queen's
officers, coming on board the ship whereon he had taken his passage,
before it sailed, searched it all over; but through God's mercy, he
said, and St. Patrick's prayers, whose name he had taken, no one did
recognize him, and he passed to London; and the day after, my lord
sent him over to Flanders. So much as the bishop did know thereon, he
related unto me, and stinted not in his praise of his great merits,
and lamentations for what he called his perversion; and hence he took
occasion to speak of religion. And when I said I had been brought up
in the Catholic religion, albeit I now conformed to the times, he said
he would show me the way to be Catholic and still obey the laws, and
that I might yet believe for the most part what I had learnt from my
teachers, so be I renounced the Pope, and commended my saying the
prayers I had been used to; which, he doubted not, were more pleasing
to God than such as some ministers do recite out of their own heads,
whom he did grieve to hear frequented our house, and were no better
than heretics, such as Mr. Fox and Mr. Fulke and Mr. Charke, and the
like of them. But what did much content me was, that he mislikes the
cruel usage recusants do meet with; and he said, not as if boasting of
it, but to declare his mind thereon, that he had often sent them alms
who suffered for their conscience' sake, as many do at this time. But
that I was to remember many Protestants were burnt in the late queen's
time, and that if Papists were not kept under by strict laws, the like
might happen again."
[Footnote 2: State Papers.]
"You should have told him," I cried, who had been silent longer than I
liked, "that Protestants are burnt also in this reign, by the same
token that some Anabaptists did so suffer a short time back, to your
Mr. Fox's no small disgust, who should will none but Catholics to be
put to death."
"Content thee, good Constance," my lady answered; "I be not so
furnished with arguments as thou in a like case wouldst be. So I only
said, I would to God none were burnt, or hanged, or tortured any more
in this country, or in the world at all, for religion; and my lord of
Gloucester declared he was of the same mind, and would have none so
dealt with, if he could mend it, here or abroad. Then the queen rising
to go, our discourse came to an end; but this good bishop says he will
visit me when he next doth come to London, and make that matter plain
to me how I can remain Catholic, and obey the queen, and content his
grace."
"Then he will show you," I cried, "how to serve God and the world,
which the gospel saith is a thing not to be thought of, and full of
peril to the soul."
My Lady Surrey burst into tears, and I was angered with myself that I
had spoken peradventure over sharply to her who had too much trouble
already; but it did make me mad to see her so beset that the faith
which had been once so rooted in her, and should be her sure and only
stay in the dangerous path she had entered on, should be in such wise
shaken as her words did indicate. But she was not angered, the
sweet soul; and drawing me to herself, laid her head on my bosom, and
said:
"Thou art a true friend, though a bold one; and I pray God I may never
lack the benefit of such friendship as thine, for he knoweth I have
great need thereof."
And so we parted with many tender embraces, and our hearts more
strictly linked together than heretofore.
CHAPTER X.
In the month of November of the same year in which the queen did visit
Lord and Lady Surrey at the Charter House, a person, who mentioned not
his name, delivered into the porter's hands at our gate a letter for
me, which I found to be from my good father, and which I do here
transcribe, as a memorial of his great piety toward God, and tender
love for me his unworthy child.
"MY DEARLY BELOVED DAUGHTER (so he),--Your comfortable letter has
not a little cheered me; and the more so that this present one is
like to be the last I shall be able to write on this side of the
sea, if it so happen that it shall please God to prosper my intent,
which is to pass over into Flanders at the first convenient
opportunity: for the stress of the times, and mine own earnest
desire to live within the compass of a religious life, have moved me
to forsake for a while this realm, and betake myself to a place
which shall afford opportunity and a sufficiency of leisure for the
prosecution of my design. The comfortable report Edmund made of thy
health, increased height, and good condition, as also of thy
exceeding pleasant and affectionate behavior to him, as deputed from
thy poor father to convey to thee his paternal blessing, together
with such tokens as a third person may exhibit of that most natural
and tender affection which he bears to thee, his sole child, whom
next to God he doth most entirely value and love,--of which charge
this good youth assured me he did acquit himself as my true son in
Christ, which indeed he now is,--and my good brother's letter and
thine, which both do give proof of the exceeding great favor shown
toward thee in his house, wherein he doth reckon my Constance not so
much a niece (for such be his words) as a most cherished daughter,
whose good qualities and lively parts have so endeared her to his
family, that the greatest sorrow which could befal them should be to
lose her company; which I do not here recite for to awaken in thee
motions of pride or a vain conceit of thine own deserts, but rather
gratitude to those whose goodness is so great as to overlook thy
defects and magnify thy merits;--Edmund's report, I say, coupled with
these letters, have yielded me all the contentment I desire at this
time, when I am about to embark on a perilous voyage, of which none
can foresee the course or the end; one in which I take the cross of
Christ as my only staff; his words, "Follow me," for my motto; and
his promise to all such as do confess him before men, as the assured
anchor of my hope.
"Our ingenuous youth informed thee (albeit I doubt not in such wise
as to conceal, if it had been possible, his own ability, which, with
his devotedness, do exceed praise) how he acquitted both me and
others of much trouble and imminent danger by his fortunate despatch
with that close prisoner. I had determined to place him with some of
my acquaintance, lest perhaps he should return, not without some
danger of his soul, to his own friends; but when he understood my
resolution, he cried out with like words to those of St. Lawrence,
'Whither goeth my master without his servant? Whither goeth my
father without his son?' and with tears distilling from his eyes, he
humbly entreated he might go together with me, saying, as it were
with St. Peter, 'Master, I am ready to go with you to prison,
yea to death;' but, forecasting his future ability, as also to try
his spirit a little further, I made him answer it was impossible; to
which our Edmund replied, 'Alas! and is it impossible? Shall my
native soil restrain free will? or home-made laws alter devout
resolutions? Am I not young? Can I not study? May I not in time get
what you now have got--learning for a scholar? yea, virtue for a
priest, perhaps; and so at length obtain that for which you now are
ready? Direct me the way, I beseech you; and let me, if you please,
be your precursor. Tell me what I shall do, or whither I must go;
and for the rest, God, who knows my desire, will provide and supply
the want. Can it be possible that he who clothes the lilies of the
field, and feeds the fowls of the air, will forsake him who forsakes
all to fulfil his divine precept, "Seek first the kingdom of God and
his justice, and all other things shall be given to you?"' Finally,
he ended, to my no small admiration, by reciting the words of our
Saviour, 'Whosoever shall forsake home, or brethren, or sisters, or
father, or mother, for my sake and the gospel's, shall receive a
hundredfold and possess life everlasting.'
"By these impulses, often repeated with great fervor of spirit, I
perceived God Almighty's calling in him, and therefore at last
condescended to let him take his adventures, procuring him
commendations to such friends beyond seas as should assist him in
his purpose, and furnishing him with money sufficient for such a
journey; not judging it to be prudent to keep him with me, who have
not ability to warrant mine own passage; and so noted a recusant,
that I run a greater risk to be arrested in any port where I embark.
And so, in all love and affection, we did part; and I have since had
intelligence, for the which I do return most humble and hearty
thanks to God, that he hath safely crossed the seas, and has now
reached a sure harbor, where his religious desires may take effect.
And now, daughter Constance, mine own good child, fare thee well!
Pray for thy poor father, who would fain give thee the blessing of
the elder as of the younger son--Jacob's portion and Esau's also.
But methinks the blessings of this world be not at the present time
for the Catholics of this land; and so we must needs be content, for
our children as for ourselves (and a covetous man he is which should
not therewith be satisfied), with the blessings our Lord did utter
on the mountain, and mostly with that in which he doth say, 'Blessed
are ye when men shall persecute you, and revile you, and say all
manner of evil against you falsely, for my name's sake; for great is
your reward in heaven.'
"Your loving father in natural affection and ten thousand times more
in the love of Christ, H. S."
Oh, what a gulf of tenfold separation did those words "beyond seas"
suggest betwixt that sole parent and his poor child! Thoughts travel
not with ease beyond the limits which nature hath set to this isle;
and what lies beyond the watery waste wherewith Providence hath
engirdled our shores offers no apt images to the mind picturing the
invisible from the visible, as it is wont to do with home-scenes,
where one city or one landscape beareth a close resemblance to
another. And if, in the forsaking of this realm, so much danger did
lie, yea, in the very ports whence he might sail, so that I, who
should otherwise have prayed that the winds might detain him, and the
waves force him back on his native soil, was constrained to supplicate
that they should assist him to abandon it,--how much greater,
methought, should be the perils of his return, when, as he indeed
hoped, a mark should be set on him which in our country dooms men to a
cruel death! Many natural tears I shed at this parting, which until
then had not seemed so desperate and final; and for a while
would not listen to the consolations which were offered by the good
friends who were so tender to me, but continued to wander about in a
disconsolate manner in the garden, or passionately to weep in my own
chamber, until Muriel, the sovereign mistress of comfort to others,
albeit ever ailing in her body, and contemned by such as dived not
through exterior deformity into the interior excellences of her soul,
with sweet compulsion and authoritative arguments drawn from her
admirable faith and simple devotion, rekindled in mine the more noble
sentiments sorrow had obscured, not so much through diverting, as by
elevating and sweetening, my thoughts to a greater sense of the
goodness of God in calling my father, and peradventure Edmund also, to
so great an honor as the priesthood, and never more honorable than in
these days, wherein it oftentimes doth prove the road to martyrdom.
In December of that year my Lord and my Lady Surrey, by the Duke of
Norfolk's desire, removed for some weeks to Kenninghall for change of
air, and also Lady Lumley, his grace judging them to be as yet too
young to keep house alone. My lord's brothers and Mistress Bess, with
her governess, were likewise carried there. Lady Surrey wrote from
that seat, that, were it not for the duke's imprisonment and constant
fears touching his life, she should have had great contentment in that
retirement, and been most glad to have tarried there, if it had
pleased God, so long as she lived, my lord taking so much pleasure in
field-sports, and otherwise so companionable, that he often offered to
ride with her; and in the evenings they did entertain themselves with
books, chiefly poetry, and sometimes played at cards. They had but few
visitors, by reason of the disgrace and trouble his grace was in at
that time; only such of their neighbors as did hunt and shoot with the
earl her husband; mostly Sir Henry Stafford and Mr. Rookwood's two
sons, whom she commended; the one for his good qualities and honest
carriage, and the other for wit and learning; as also Sir Hammond
l'Estrange, a gentleman who stayed no longer away from Kenninghall,
she observed, than thereunto compelled by lack of an excuse for
tarrying if present, or returning when absent. He often procured to be
invited by my lord, who used to meet him out of doors, and frequently
carried him back with him to dine or to sup, and often both.
"And albeit" (so my lady wrote) "I doubt not but he doth set a
reasonable value on my lord's society,--who, although young enough to
be his son, is exceedingly conversable and pleasant, as every one who
knows him doth testify,--and mislikes not, I ween, the good cheer, or
the wine from his grace's cellar; yet I warrant thee, good Constance,
'tis not for the sake only of our poor company or hospitable table
that this good knight doth haunt us, but rather from the passion I
plainly see he hath conceived for our Milicent since a day when he
hurt his arm by a fall not far from hence, and I procured she should
dress it with that rare ointment of thine, which verily doth prove of
great efficacy in cases where the skin is rubbed off. Methinks the
wound in his arm was then transplanted into his heart, and the good
man so bewitched with the blue eyes and dove-like countenance of his
chirurgeon, that he has fallen head-over-ears in love, and is, as I
hope, minded to address her in a lawful manner. His wound did take an
exceeding long time in healing, to the no small discredit of thy
ointment; for he came several days to have it dressed, and I could not
choose but smile when at last our sweet practitioner did ask him, in
an innocent manner, if the wound did yet smart, for indeed she could
see no appearance in it but what betokened it to be healed. He
answered, 'There be wounds, Mistress Milicent, which smart, albeit no
outward marks of such suffering do show themselves.' 'Ay,' quoth
Milicent, 'but for such I be of opinion further dressing is needless;
and with my lady's licence, I will furnish you, sir, with a liquid
which shall strengthen the skin, and so relieve the aching, if so you
be careful to apply it night and morning to the injured part, and to
cork the bottle after using it.' 'My memory is so bad, fair
physician,' quoth the knight, 'that I am like to forget the
prescription.' She answered, he should stand the bottle so as it
should meet his eyes when he rose, and then he must needs remember it.
"And so broke off the discourse. But when he is here I notice how his
eyes do follow her when she sets the table for primero, or works at
the tambour-frame, or plays with Bess, to whom he often talks as she
sits on _her_ knees, who, if I mistake not, shall be, one of these
days, Lady l'Estrange, and is as worthy to be so well married as any
girl in the kingdom, both as touching her birth and her exceeding
great virtue and good disposition. He is an extreme Protestant, and
very bitter against Catholics; but as she, albeit mild in temper, is
as firmly settled in the new religion as he is, no difference will
exist between them on a point in which 'tis most of all to be desired
husbands and wives should be agreed. Thou mayst think that I have been
over apt to note the signs of this good knight's passion, and to draw
deductions from such tokens as have appeared of it, visible maybe to
no other eyes than mine; but, trust me, Constance, those who do
themselves know what 'tis to love with an engrossing affection are
quick to mark the same effects in others. When Phil is in the room, I
find it a hard matter at times to restrain mine eyes from gazing on
that dear husband, whom I do so entirely love that I have no other
pleasure in life but in his company. And not to seem to him or to
others too fond, which is not a beseeming thing even in a wife, I
study to conceal my constant thinking on him by such devices as
cunningly to provoke others to speak of my lord, and so appear only to
follow whereunto my own desire doth point, or to propose questions,--a
pastime wherein he doth excel,--and so minister to mine own pride in
him without direct flattery, or in an unbecoming manner setting forth
his praise. And thus I do grow learned in the tricks of true
affection, and to perceive in such as are in love what mine own heart
doth teach me to be the signals of that passion."
So far my lady; and not long after, on the first day of February, I
had a note from her, written in great distraction of mind at the
Charter House, where she and all his grace's children had returned in
a sudden manner on the hearing that the queen had issued a warrant for
the duke's execution on the next Monday. Preparations were made with
the expectation of all London, and a concourse of many thousands to
witness it, the tread of whose feet was heard at night, like to the
roll of muffled drums, along the streets; but on the Sunday, late in
the night, the queen's majesty entered into a great misliking that the
duke should die the next day, and sent an order to the sheriffs to
forbear until they should hear further. His grace's mother, the
dowager countess, and my Lady Berkeley his sister (now indeed lowering
her pride to most humble supplication), and my Lord Arundel from his
sick-bed, and the French ambassador, together with many others, sued
with singular earnestness to her majesty for his life, who, albeit she
had stayed the execution of his sentence, would by no means recall it.
I hasted to the Charter House, Mistress Ward going with me, and both
were admitted into her ladyship's chamber, with whom did sit that day
the fairest picture of grief I ever beheld--the Lady Margaret Howard,
who for some months had resided with the Countess of Sussex, who was a
very good lady to her and all these afflicted children. Albeit Lady
Surrey had often greatly commended this young lady, and styled her so
rare a piece of perfection that no one could know and not admire
her, the loveliness of her face, nobility of her figure, and
attractiveness of her manners exceeded my expectations. The sight of
these sisters minded me then of what Lady Surrey had written when they
were yet children, touching my Lord Surrey, styling them "two twin
cherries on one stalk;" and methought, now that the lovely pair had
ripened into early maturity, their likeness in beauty (though
differing in complexion) justified the saying. Lady Margaret greeted
us as though we had not been strangers, and in the midst of her great
and natural sorrow showed a grateful sense of the share we did take in
a grief which methinks was deeper in her than in any other of these
mourners.
Oh, what a period of anxious suspense did follow that first reprieve!
what alternations of hope and fear! what affectionate letters were
exchanged between that loving father and good master and his sorrowful
children and servants; now writing to Mr. Dyx, his faithful steward:
"Farewell, good Dyx! your service hath been so faithful unto me, as
I am sorry that I cannot make proof of my good-will to recompense
it. I trust my death shall make no change in you toward mine, but
that you will faithfully perform the trust that I have reposed in
you. Forget me, and remember me in mine. Forget not to counsel and
advise Philip and Nan's unexperienced years; the rest of their
brothers' and sisters' well-doing resteth much upon their virtuous
and considerate dealings. God grant them his grace, which is able to
work better in them than my natural well-meaning heart can wish unto
them. Amen. And so, hoping of your honesty and faithfulness when I
am dead, I bid you this my last farewell. T. H."
Now to another trusty friend and honest dependent:
"Good friend George, farewell. I have no other tokens to send my
friends but my books; and I know how sorrowful you are, amongst the
rest, for my hard hap, whereof I thank God; because I hope his
merciful chastisement will prepare me for a better world. Look well
throughout this book, and you shall find the name of duke very
unhappy. I pray God it may end with me, and that others may speed
better hereafter. But if I might have my wish, and were in as good a
state as ever you knew me, yet I would wish for a lower degree. Be a
friend, I pray you, to mine; and do my hearty commendations to your
good wife and to gentle Mr. Dennye. I die in the faith that you have
ever known me to be of. Farewell, good friend.
"Yours dying, as he was living,
"NORFOLK."
These letters and some others did pass from hand to hand in that
afflicted house; and sometimes hope and sometimes despair prevailed in
the hearts of the great store of relatives and friends which often
assembled there to confer on the means of softening the queen's anger
and moving her to mercy; one time through letters from the king of
France and other princes, which was an ill shot, for to be so
entreated by foreign potentates did but inflame her majesty's anger
against the duke; at others, by my Lord Sussex and my Lord Arundel, or
such persons in her court as nearly approached her highness and could
deal with her when she was merry and chose to condescend to their
discourse. But the wind shifts not oftener than did the queen's mind
at that time, so diverse were her dispositions toward this nobleman,
and always opposed to such as appeared in those who spoke on this
topic, whether as pressing for his execution, or suing for mercy to be
extended to him. I heard much talk at that time touching his grace's
good qualities: how noble had been his spirit; how moderate his
disposition; how plain his attire; how bountiful his alms.
As the fates of many do in these days hang on the doom of one, much
eagerness was shown amongst those who haunted my uncle's house to
learn the news afloat concerning the issue of the duke's affair. Some
Catholics of note were lying in prison at that time in Norwich, most
of them friends of these gentlemen; of which four were condemned to
death at that time, and one to perpetual imprisonment and loss of all
his property for reconcilement; but whilst the Duke of Norfolk was yet
alive, they held the hope he should, if once out of prison, recover
the queen's favor and drive from their seats his and their mortal
enemies, my Lords Burleigh and Leicester. And verily the axe was held
suspended on the head of that duke for four months and more, to the
unspeakable anguish of many; and, amongst others, his aged and
afflicted mother, the Dowager Countess of Surrey, who came to London
from the country to be near her son in this extremity. Three times did
the queen issue a warrant for his death and then recalled it; so that
those trembling relatives and well-wishers in and out of his house did
look each day to hear the fatal issue had been compassed, In the month
of March, when her majesty was sick with a severe inflammation and
agonizing pain, occasioned, some said, by poison administered by
papists, but by her own physicians declared to arise from her contempt
of their prescriptions, there was a strange turmoil, I ween, in some
men's breasts, albeit silent as a storm brewing on a sultry day. Under
their breath, and with faces shaped to conceal the wish which bred the
inquiry, they asked of the queen's health; whilst others tore their
hair and beat their breasts with no affected grief, and the most part
of the people lamented her danger. Oh, what five days were those when
the shadow of death did hover over that royal couch, and men's hearts
failed them for fear, or else wildly whispered hopes such as they
durst not utter aloud,--not so much as to a close friend,--lest the
walls should have ears, or the pavement open under their feet! My God,
in thy hands lie the issues of life and death. Thou dost assign to
each one his space of existence, his length of days. Thy ways are not
as our ways, nor thy thoughts as our thoughts. She lived who was yet
to doom so many princely heads to the block, so many saintly forms to
the dungeon and the rack. She lived whose first act was to stretch
forth a hand yet weakened by sickness to sign, a fourth time, a
warrant for a kinsman's death, and once again recalled it. Each day
some one should come in with various reports touching the queen's
dispositions. Sometimes she had been heard to opine that her dangers
from her enemies were so great that justice must be done. At others
she vehemently spoke of the nearness of blood to herself, of the
superiority in honor of this duke; and once she wrote to Lord Burleigh
(a copy of this letter Lord Surrey saw in Lord Oxford's hands), "that
she was more beholden to the hinder part of her head than she dared
trust the forward part of the same;" and expressed great fear lest an
irrevocable deed should be committed. But she would not see Lord
Surrey, or suffer him to plead in person for his father's life. Yet
there were good hopes amongst his friends he should yet be released,
till one day--I mind it well, for I was sitting with Lady Surrey,
reading out loud to her, as I was often used to do--my Lord Berkeley
burst into the chamber, and cried, throwing his gloves on the table
and swearing a terrible oath:
"That woman has undone us!"
"What, the queen?" said my lady, white as a smock.
"Verily a queen," he answered gloomily. "I warrant you the Queen of
Scots hath ended as she did begin, and dragged his grace into a pit
from whence I promise you he will never now rise. A letter writ in her
cipher to the Duke of Alva hath been intercepted, in which that
luckless royal wight, ever fatal to her friends as to herself,
doth say, 'that she hath a strong party in England, and lords who
favor her cause; some of whom, albeit prisoners, so powerful, that the
Queen of England should not dare to touch their lives.' Alack! those
words, 'should not dare,' shall prove the death-warrant of my noble
brother. Cursed be the day when he did get entangled in that popish
siren's plots!"
"Speak not harshly of her, good my lord," quoth Lady Surrey, in her
gentle voice. "Her sorrows do bear too great a semblance to our own
not to bespeak from us patience in this mishap."
"Nan," said Lord Berkeley, "thou art of too mild a disposition. 'Tis
the only fault I do find with thee. Beshrew me, if my wife and thee
could not make exchange of some portion of her spirit and thy meekness
to the advantage of both. I warrant thee Phil's wife should hold a
tight hand over him."
"I read not that precept in the Bible, my lord," quoth she, smiling.
"It speaketh roundly of the duty of wives to obey, but not so much as
one word of their ruling."
"Thou hadst best preach thy theology to my Lady Berkeley," he
answered; "and then she--"
"But I pray you, my lord, is it indeed your opinion that the queen
will have his grace's life?"
"I should not give so much as a brass pin, Nan, for his present chance
of mercy at her hands," he replied sadly. And his words were justified
in the event.
Those relentless enemies of the duke, my Lords Burleigh and Leicester,
--who, at the time of the queen's illness, had stood three days and
three nights without stirring from her bedside in so great terror lest
she should die and he should compass the throne through a marriage
with the Queen of Scots, that they vowed to have his blood at any cost
if her majesty did recover,--so dealt with parliament as to move it to
send a petition praying that, for the safety of her highness and the
quieting of her realm, he should be forthwith executed. And from that
day to the mournful one of his death, albeit from the great reluctance
her majesty had evinced to have him despatched, his friends, yea unto
the last moment, lived in expectancy of a reprieve; he himself made up
his mind to die with extraordinary fortitude, not choosing to
entertain so much as the least hope of life.
One day at that time I saw my Lady Margaret mending some hose, and at
each stitch she made with her needle tears fell from her eyes. I
offered to assist her ladyship; but she said, pressing the hose to her
heart, "I thank thee, good Constance; but no other hands than mine
shall put a stitch in these hose, for they be my father's, who hath
worn them with these holes for many months, till poor Master Dyx
bethought himself to bring them here to be patched and mended, which
task I would have none perform but myself. My father would not suffer
him to procure a new pair, lest it should be misconstrued as a sign of
his hope or desire of a longer life, and with the same intent he
refuseth to eat flesh as often as the physicians do order; 'for,'
quoth he, 'why should I care to nourish a body doomed to such near
decay?'" Then, after a pause, she said, "He will not wear clothes
which have any velvet on them, being, he saith, a condemned person."
Lady Surrey took one of the hose in her hand, but Lady Margeret, with
a filial jealousy, sadly smiling, shook her head: "Nay, Nan," quoth
she, "not even to thee, sweet one, will I yield one jot or tittle of
this mean, but, in relation to him who doth own these poor hose,
exalted labor." Then she asked her sister if she had heard of the
duke's request that Mr. Fox, his old schoolmaster, should attend on
him in the Tower, to whom he desired to profess that faith he did
first ground him in.
And my Lady Surrey answered yea, that my lord had informed her of
it, and many other proofs beside that his grace sought to
prepare for death in the best manner he could think of.
"Some ill-disposed persons have said," quoth Lady Margaret, "that it
is with the intent to propitiate the queen that my father doth show
himself to be so settled in his religion, and that he is not what he
seems; but tis a slander on his grace, who hath been of this way of
thinking since he attained to the age of reason, and was never at any
time reconciled, as some have put forth."
This was the last time I did see these afflicted daughters until long
after their father's death, who was beheaded in the chapel of the
Tower shortly afterward. When the blow fell which, striking at him,
struck a no less fatal blow to the peace and well-doing of his
children, they all left the Charter House, and removed for a time into
the country, to the houses of divers relatives, in such wise as before
his death the duke had desired. A letter which I received from Lady
Surrey a few weeks after she left London doth best serve to show the
manner of this disposal, and the temper of the writer's mind at that
melancholy time.
"My OWN DEAR CONSTANCE,--It may like you to hear that your afflicted
friend is improved in bodily health, and somewhat recovered from the
great suffering of mind which the duke, their good father's death,
has caused to all his poor children--mostly to Megg and Phil and me;
for their brothers and my sister are too young greatly to grieve. My
Lord Arundel is sorely afflicted, I hear, and hath writ a very
lamentable letter to our good Lady Sussex concerning this sad
mishap. My Lady Berkeley and my Lady Westmoreland are almost
distracted with grief for the death of a brother they did singularly
love. That poor lady (of Westmoreland) is much to be pitied, for
that she is parted from her husband, maybe for ever, and has lost
two fair daughters in one year.
"My lord hath shown much affection for his father, and natural
sorrow in this sad loss; and when his last letters written a short
time before he suffered, and addressed "To my loving children,"
specially the one to Philip and Nan, reached his hands, he wept so
long and bitterly that it seemed as if his tears should never cease.
My lord is forthwith to make his chief abode at Cambridge for a year
or two; and Meg and I, with Lady Sussex, and I do hope Bess
also--albeit his grace doth appear in his letter to be otherwise
minded. But methinks he apprehended to lay too heavy a charge on
her, who is indeed a good lady to us all in this our unhappy
condition, and was loth Megg should be out of my company.
"The parting with my lord is a sore trial, and what I had not looked
to; but God's will be done; and if it be for the advantage of his
soul, as well as the advancement of his learning, he should reside
at the university, it should ill befit me to repine. And now
methinks I will transcribe, if my tears do not hinder me, his
grace's letters, which will inform thee of his last wishes better
than I could explain them; for I would have thee know how tender and
forecasting was his love for us, and the good counsel he hath left
unto his son, who, I pray to God, may always follow it. And I would
have thee likewise note one point of his advice, which indeed I
should have been better contented he had not touched upon, forasmuch
as his having done so must needs hinder that which thy fond love for
my poor self, and resolved adherence to what he calls 'blind
papistry,' doth so greatly prompt thee to desire; for if on his
blessing he doth charge us to beware of it, and then I should move
my lord to so much neglect of his last wishes as at any time to be
reconciled, bethink thee with what an ill grace I should urge on
him, in other respects, obedience to his commands, which indeed are
such as do commend themselves to any Christian soul as most wise and
profitable. And now, breaking off mine own discourse to
transcribe his words--a far more noble and worthy employment of my
pen--and praying God to bless thee, I remain thy tender and loving
friend,
"ANN SURREY."
"The Duke of Norfolk's letters to his children:
"DEAR CHILDREN,--This is the last letter that ever I think to write
to you; and therefore, if you loved me, or that you will seem
grateful to me for the special love that I have ever borne unto you,
then remember and follow these my last lessons. Oh, Philip, serve
and fear God, above all things. I find the fault in myself, that I
have (God forgive me!) been too negligent in this point. Love and
make much of your wife; for therein, considering the great adversity
you are now in, by reason of my fall, is your greatest present
comfort and relief, beside your happiness in having a wife which is
endued with so great towardness in virtue and good qualities, and in
person comparable with the best sort. Follow these two lessons, and
God will bless you; and without these, as you may see by divers
examples out of the Scripture, and also by ordinary worldly proof,
where God is not feared, all goeth to wreck; and where love is not
between the husband and wife, there God doth not prosper. My third
lesson is, that you show yourself loving and natural to your
brothers and sister and sister-in-law. Though you be very young in
years, yet you must strive with consideration to become a man; for
it is your own presence and good government of yourself that must
get friends; and if you take that course, then have I been so
careful a father unto you, as I have taken such order as you, by
God's grace, shall be well able, beside your wife's lands, to
maintain yourself like a gentleman. Marry! the world is greedy and
covetous; and if the show of the well government of yourself do not
fear and restrain their greedy appetite, it is like that, by
undirect means, they will either put you from that which law layeth
upon you, or else drive you to much trouble in trying and holding
your right. When my grandfather died, I was not much above a year
elder than you are now; and yet, I thank God, I took such order with
myself, as you shall reap the commodity of my so long passed travel,
if you do now imitate the like. Help to strengthen your young and
raw years with good counsel. I send you herewith a brief schedule,
whom I wish you to make account of as friends, and whom as servants;
and I charge you, as a father may do, to follow my direction
therein; my experience can better tell what is fit for you than your
young years can judge of. I would wish you for the present to make
your chief abode at Cambridge, which is the place fittest for you to
promote your learning in; and beside, it is not very far hence,
whereby you may, within a day's warning, be here to follow your own
causes, as occasion serveth. If, after a year or two, you spend some
time in a house of the law, there is nothing that will prove more to
your commodity, considering how for the time you shall have
continual business about your own law affairs; and thereby also, if
you spend your time well, you shall be ever after better able to
judge in your own causes. I too late repent that I followed not this
course that now I wish to you; for if I had, then my case perchance
had not been in so ill state as now it is.
"When God shall send you to those years as that it shall be fit for
you to keep house with your wife (which I had rather were sooner,
than that you should fall into ill company), then I would wish you
to withdraw yourself into some private dwelling of your own. And if
your hap may be so good as you may so live without being called to
higher degree, oh, Philip, Philip, then shall you enjoy that blessed
life which your woful father would fain have done, and never could
be so happy. Beware of high degree. To a vain-glorious, proud
stomach it seemeth at the first sweet. Look into all
chronicles, and you shall find that in the end it brings heaps of
cares, toils in the state, and most commonly in the end utter
overthrow. Look into the whole state of the nobility in times past,
and into their state now, and then judge whether my lessons be true
or no. Assure yourself, as you may see by the book of my accounts,
and you shall find that my living did hardly maintain my expenses;
for all the help that I had by Tom's lands, and somewhat by your
wife's and sister's-in-law, I was ever a beggar. You may, by the
grace of God, be a great deal richer and quieter in your low degree,
wherein I once again wish you to continue. They may, that shall wish
you the contrary, have a good meaning; but believe your father, who
of love wishes you best, and with the mind that he is at this
present fully armed to God, who sees both states, both high and low,
as it were even before his eyes. Beware of the court, except it be
to do your prince service, and that, as near as you can, in the
lowest degree, for that place hath no certainty; either a man, by
following thereof, hath too much of worldly pomp, which, in the end,
throws him down headlong, or else he liveth there unsatisfied;
either that he cannot attain for himself that he would, or else that
he cannot do for his friends as his heart desireth. Remember these
notes, and follow them; and then you, by God's help, shall reap the
commodity of them in your old years.
"If your brothers may be suffered to remain in your company, I would
be most glad thereof, because continuing together should still
increase love between you. But the world is so catching of
everything that falls, that Tom being, as I believe, after my death,
the queen's majesty's ward, shall be begged by one or another. But
yet you are sure to have your brother William left still with you,
because, poor boy, he hath nothing to feed cormorants withal; to
whom you will as well be a father as a brother; for upon my blessing
I commit him to your charge to provide for, if that which I have
assured him by law shall not be so sufficient as I mean it. If law
may take place, your sister-in-law will be surely enough conveyed to
his behoof, and then I should wish her to be brought up with some
friend of mine; as for the present I allow best of Sir Christopher
Heydon, if he will so much befriend you as to receive her to sojourn
with him; if not there in some other place, as your friends shall
best allow of. And touching the bestowing of your wife and Megg, who
I would be loth should be out of your wife's company; for as she
should be a good companion for Nan, so I commit Megg of especial
trust to her. I think good, till you keep house together, if my Lady
of Sussex might be entreated to take them to her as sojourners,
there were no place so fit considering her kindred unto you, and the
assured friend that I hope you shall find of her; beside she is a
good lady. If it will not be so brought to pass, then, by the advice
of your friends, take some other order; but in no case I would wish
you to keep any house except it be together with your wife.
"Thus I have advised you as my troubled memory can at present suffer
me. Beware of pride, stubbornness, taunting, and sullenness, which
vices nature doth somewhat kindle in you; and therefore you must
with reason and discretion make a new nature in yourself. Give not
your mind too much and too greedily to gaming; make a pastime of it,
and no toil. And lastly, delight to spend some time in reading of
the Scriptures; for therein is the whole comfort of man's life; all
other things are vain and transitory; and if you be diligent in
reading of them, they will remain with you continually, to your
profit and commodity in this world, and to your comfort and
salvation in the world to come, whither, in grace of God, I am now
with joy and consolation preparing myself. And, upon my blessing,
beware of blind papistry, which brings nothing but bondage to men's
consciences. Mix your prayers with fasting, not thinking
thereby to merit; for there is nothing that we ourselves can do that
is good,--we are but unprofitable servants; but fast, I say, thereby
to tame the wicked affection of the mind, and trust only to be saved
by Christ's precious blood; for without a perfect faith therein,
there is no salvation. Let works follow your faith; thereby to show
to the world that you do not only say you have faith, but that you
give testimony thereof to the full satisfaction of the godly. I
write somewhat the more herein, because perchance you have
heretofore heard, or perchance may hereafter hear, false bruits that
I was a papist; [Footnote 3] but trust unto it, I never, since I
knew what religion meant (I thank God) was of other mind than now
you shall hear that I die in; although (I cry God mercy) I have not
given fruits and testimony of my faith as I ought to have done; the
which is the thing that I do now chiefliest repent.
[Footnote 3: There would seem to be no doubt that the Duke of
Norfolk was a sincere Protestant. The strenuous advice to his
children to beware of Popery affords evidence of it. Greatly,
however, as it would have tended to their worldly prosperity to
have followed their father's last injunctions in this respect, all
but one of those he thus counselled were subsequently reconciled
to the Catholic Church.
The Duke's letters in this chapter are all authentic. See the Rev.
M. Tierney's History of Arundel, and the Appendix to Nott's
edition of Lord Surrey's poems.]
"When I am gone, forget my condemning, and forgive, I charge you, my
false accusers, as I protest to God I do; but have nothing to do
with them if they live. Surely, Bannister dealt no way but honestly
and truly. Hickford did not hurt me in my conscience, willingly; nor
did not charge me with any great matter that was of weight otherways
than truly. But the Bishop of Ross, and specially Barber, did
falsely accuse me, and laid their own treasons upon my back. God
forgive them, and I do, and once again I will you to do; bear no
malice in your mind. And now, dear Philip, farewell. Read this my
letter sometimes over; it may chance make you remember yourself the
better; and by the same, when your father is dead and rotten, you
may see what counsel I would give you if I were alive. If you follow
these admonitions, there is no doubt but God will bless you; and I,
your earthly father, do give you God's blessing and mine, with my
humble prayers to Almighty God that it will please him to bless you
and your good Nan; that you may both, if it be his will, see your
children's children, to the comfort of you both; and afterward that
you may be partakers of the heavenly kingdom. Amen, amen. Written by
the hand of your loving father. T. H."
"And to Tom his grace did write:
"Tom, out of this that I have written to your brother, you may learn
such lessons as are fit for you. That I write to one, that I write
to all, except it be somewhat which particularly touches any of you.
To fear and serve God is generally to you all; and, on my blessing,
take greatest care thereof, for it is the foundation of all
goodness. You have, even from your infancy, been given to be
stubborn. Beware of that vice, Tom, and bridle nature with wisdom.
Though you be her majesty's ward, yet if you use yourself well to my
Lord Burleigh, he will, I hope, help you to buy your own wardship.
Follow your elder brother's advice, who, I hope, will take such a
course as may be to all your comforts. God send him grace so to do,
and to you too! I give you God's blessing and mine, and I hope he
will prosper you."
"And to Will he saith (whom methinks his heart did incline to, as
Jacob's did to Benjamin):
"Will, though you be now young, yet I hope, if it shall please God
to send you life, that you will then consider of the precepts
heretofore written to your brethren. I have committed the charge of
your bringing-up to your elder brother; and therefore I charge you
to be obedient to him, as you would have been to me if I had been
living. If you shall have a liking to my daughter-in-law, Bess
Dacres, I hope you shall have it in your own choice to marry her. I
will not advise you otherways than yourself, when you are of fit
years, shall think good; but this assure yourself, it will be a good
augmentation to your small living, considering how chargeable the
world groweth to be. As you are youngest, so the more you ought to
be obedient to your elders. God send you a good younger brother's
fortune in this world, and his grace, that you may ever be his, both
in this world and in the world to come."
"To me, his unworthy daughter, were these lines written, which I be
ashamed to transcribe, but that his goodness doth appear in his good
opinion of me rather than my so poor merits:
"Well-beloved Nan, that hath been as dear to me as if you had been
my own daughter, although, considering this ill hap that has now
chanced, you might have had a greater marriage than now your husband
shall be; yet I hope that you will remember that, when you were
married, the case was far otherways; and therefore I hope your
dutiful dealings shall be so to your husband, and your sisterly love
to your brothers-in-law and sister-in-law, as my friends that shall
see it may think that my great affection to you was well bestowed.
Thanks be to God, you have hitherto taken a good course; whereby all
that wish you well take great hope rather of your going forward
therein than backward--which God forbid! I will request no more at
your hands, now that I am gone, in recompense of my former love to
you, but that you will observe my three lessons: to fear and serve
God, flying idleness; to love faithfully your husband; and to be
kind to your brothers and sisters--specially committing to your care
mine only daughter Megg, hoping that you will not be a sister-in-law
to her, but rather a natural sister, yea even a very mother; and
that as I took care for the well bestowing of you, so you will take
care for the well bestowing of her, and be a continual caller on
your husband for the same. If this mishap had not chanced, you and
your husband might have been awhile still young, and I would, by
God's help, have supplied your wants. But now the case is changed,
and you must, at your years of fifteen, attain to the consideration
and discretion of twenty; or else, if God send you to live in your
age, you shall have cause to repent your folly in youth, beside the
endangering the casting away of those who do wholly depend upon your
two well-doings. I do not mistrust that you will be mindful of my
last requests; and so doing God bless you, and send you to be old
parents to virtuous children, which is likeliest to be if you give
them good example. Farewell! for this is the last that you shall
ever receive from your loving father. Farewell, my dear Nan!"
"And to his own sweet Megg he subjoined in the same letter these
words:
"Megg, I have, as you see, committed you to your loving sister. I
charge you therefore, upon my blessing, that you obey her in all
things, as you would do me or your own mother, if we were living;
and then I doubt not but by her good means you shall be in fit time
bestowed to your own comfort and contentment. Be good; no babbler,
and ever be busied and doing of somewhat; and give your mind to
reading in the Bible and such other good books, whereby you may
learn to fear God; and so you shall prove, by his help, hereafter
the better wife, and a virtuous woman in all other respects. If you
follow these my lessons, then God's blessing and mine I give you,
and pray that you may both live and die his servant. Amen."
When I read these letters, and my Lady Surrey's comments upon them,
what pangs seized my heart! Her messenger was awaiting an
answer, which he said must be brief, for he had to ride to Bermondsey
with a message for my Lord Sussex, and had been long delayed in the
city. I seized a pen, and hastily wrote:
"Oh, my dear and honored lady, what grief, what pain, your letter
hath caused me! Forgive me if, having but brief time in which to
write a few lines by your messenger, I dwell not on the sorrow which
doth oppress you, nor on the many excellences apparent in those
farewell letters, which give token of so great virtue and wisdom in
the writer, that one should be prompted to exclaim he did lack but
one thing to be perfect, that being a true faith,--but rather
direct my answer to that passage in yours which doth work in me such
regret, yea such anguish of heart, as my poor words can ill express.
For verily there can be no greater danger to a soul than to be lured
from the profession of a true Catholic faith, once firmly received
and yet inwardly held, by deceptive arguments, whereby it doth
conceal its own weakness under the garb of respect for the dead and
duty to the living. For, I pray you, mine own dear lady, what
respect and what duty is owing to men which be not rather due to him
who reads the heart, and will ask a strict account of such as,
having known his will, yet have not done it? Believe me, 'tis a
perilous thing to do evil that good may come. Is it possible you
should resolve never to profess that religion which, in your
conscience, you do believe to be true, nor to move your lord
thereunto, for any human respect, however dear and sacred? I hope
other feelings may return, and God's hand will support, uphold, and
never fail you in your need. I beseech him to guard and keep you in
the right way.
"Your humble servant and truly loving poor friend,
"CONSTANCE SHERWOOD."
CHAPTER XI.
During the two years which followed the Duke of Norfolk's death I did
only see my Lady Surrey once, which was when she came to Arundel
House, on a visit to her lord's grandfather; and her letters for a
while were both scanty and brief. She made no mention of religion, and
but little of her husband; and chiefly touched on such themes as Lady
Margaret's nuptials with Mr. Sackville (Lord Dorset's heir) and
Mistress Milicent's with Sir Hammond l'Estrange. She had great
contentment, she wrote, to see them both so well married according to
their degree; but that for herself she did very much miss her good
sister's company and her gentlewoman's affectionate services, who
would now reside all the year at her husband's seat in Norfolk; but
she looked when my lord and herself should be at Kenninghall, when he
left the university, that they might yet, being neighbors, spend some
happy days together, if it so pleased God. Once she wrote in exceeding
great joy, so that she said she hardly knew how to contain herself,
for that my lord was coming in a few days to spend the long vacation
at Lord Sussex's house at Bermondsey. But when she wrote again,
methought--albeit her letter was cheerful, and she did jest in it
somewhat more than was her wont--that there was a silence touching her
husband, and her own contentment in his society, which betokened a
reserve such as I had not noticed in her before. About that time it
was bruited in London that my Lord Surrey had received no small
detriment by the bad example he had at Cambridge, and the liberty
permitted him.
And now, forsaking for a while the theme of that noble pair, whose
mishaps and felicities have ever saddened and rejoiced mine heart
almost equally with mine own good or evil fortune, I here purpose to
set down such occurrences as should be worthy of note in the more
obscure sphere in which my lot was cast.
When I was about sixteen, my cousin Kate was married to Mr. Lacy;
first in a secret manner, in the night, by Mr. Plasden, a priest, in
her father's library, and the next day at the parish church at
Holborn. Methinks a fairer bride never rode to church than our Kate.
Her mother went with her, which was the first time she had been out of
doors for a long space of time, for she feared to catch cold if the
wind did blow from the north or the east; and if from the south she
feared it should bring noxious vapors from the river; and the west,
infection from the city, and so stayed at home for greater safety. But
on Kate's wedding day we did all protest the wind blew not at all, so
that from no quarter of the sky should mischief arise; and in a closed
litter, which she reckoned to be safer than a coach, she consented to
go to church.
"Marry, good wife," cried Mr. Congleton, when she had been magnifying
all the dangers she mostly feared, "thou dost forget the greatest of
all in these days, which doth hold us all by the neck, as it were. For
hearing mass, as we did in this room last night, we do all run the
risk of being hanged, which should be a greater peril methinks than a
breath of foul air."
She, being in a merry mood, replied: "Twittle twattle, Mr. Congleton;
the one may be avoided, the other not. 'Tis no reason I should get a
cold to-day because I be like to be hanged to-morrow."
"I' faith," cried Polly, "my mother hath well parried your thrust,
sir; and methinks the holy Bishop of Rochester was of the same mind
with her."
"How so, Polly?" quoth her father; and she, "There happened a false
rumor to rise suddenly among the people when he was in the prison, so
I have heard Mr. Roper relate, that he should be brought to execution
on a certain day; wherefore his cook, that was wont to dress his
dinner and carry it daily unto him, hearing of his execution, dressed
him no dinner at all that day. Wherefore, at the cook's next repair
unto him, he demanded the cause why he brought him not his dinner.
'Sir,' said the cook, 'it was commonly talked all over the town that
you should have died to-day, and therefore I thought it but vain to
dress anything for you.' 'Well,' quoth the bishop merrily, 'for all
that report, thou seest me yet alive; and therefore, whatsoever news
thou shalt hear of me hereafter, prithee let me no more lack my
dinner, but make it ready; and if thou see me dead when thou comest,
then eat it thyself. But I promise thee, if I be alive, by God's
grace, to eat never a bit the less.'"
"And on the day he was verily executed," said Mistress Ward, "when the
lieutenant came to fetch him, he said to his man, 'Reach me my furred
tippet, to put about my neck.' 'O my lord!' said the lieutenant, 'what
need you be so careful of your health for this little time, being not
much above in hour?' 'I think no otherwise,' said this blessed father;
'but yet, in he mean time, I will keep myself as well as I can; for I
tell you truth, though I have, I thank our Lord, a very good desire
and a willing mind to die at this present, and so I trust of his
infinite mercy and goodness he will continue it, yet I will not
willingly hinder my health one minute of an hour, but still prolong
the same as long as I can by such reasonable ways as Almighty God hath
provided for me.'" Upon which my good aunt fastened her veil about her
head, and said the holy bishop was the most wise saint and
reasonablest martyr she had yet heard of.
Kate was dressed in a kirtle of white silk, her head attired with an
habiliment of gold, and her hair, brighter itself than gold, woven
about her face in cunningly wrought tresses. She was led to church
between two gentlemen--Mr. Tresham and Mr. Hogdson--friends of the
bridegroom, who had bride-laces and rosemary tied about their silken
sleeves. There was a fair cup of silver gilt carried before her,
wherein was a goodly branch of rosemary, gilded very fair, and hung
about with silken ribbons of all colors. Musicians came next; then a
group of maidens bearing garlands finely gilded; and thus we passed on
to the church. The common people at the door cheered the bride, whose
fair face was a passport to their favor; but as Muriel crept along,
leaning on my arm, I caught sound of murmured blessings.
"Sweet saint," quoth an aged man, leaning on his staff, near the
porch, "I ween thine espousals be not of earth." A woman, with a child
in her arms, whispered to her as she past, "He thou knowest of is
dead, and died praying for thee." A man, whose eyes had watched her
painfully ascending the steps, called her an angel; whereupon a beggar
with a crutch cried out, "Marry, a lame angel!" A sweet smile was on
her face as she turned toward him; and drawing a piece of silver from
her pocket, she bestowed it on him, with some such words as
these--that she prayed they might both be so happy, albeit lame, as to
hobble to heaven, and get there in good time, if it should please God.
Then he fell to blessing her so loud, that she hurried me into the
church, not content to be thanked in so public a manner.
After the ceremony, we returned in the same order to Ely Place. The
banquet which followed, and the sports succeeding it, were conducted
in a private and somewhat quiet fashion, and not many guests invited,
by reason of the times, and Mr. Congleton misliking to draw notice to
his house, which had hitherto been but little molested, partly for
that Sir Francis Walsingham had a friendship for him, and also for his
sister, Lady Egerton of Ridley, which procured for them greater favor,
in the way of toleration, than is extended to others; and likewise the
Portuguese ambassador was his very good friend, and his chapel open to
us at all times; so that priests did not need to come to his house for
the performance of any religious actions, except that one of the
marriage, which had taken place the night before in his library.
Howsoever, he was very well known to be a recusant, for that neither
himself, nor any belonging to him, attended Protestant worship; and
Sir Francis sometimes told him that the clemency with which he was
treated was shown toward him with the hope that, by mild courses, he
might be soon brought to some better conformity.
Mr. Lacy's house was in Gray's Inn Lane, a few doors from Mr. Swithin
Wells's; and through this proximity an intimate acquaintanceship did
arise between that worthy gentleman and his wife and Kate's friends.
He was very good-natured, pleasant in conversation, courteous, and
generous; and Mrs. Wells a most virtuous gentlewoman. Although he (Mr.
Swithin) much delighted in hawking, hunting, and other suchlike
diversions, yet he so soberly governed his affections therein, as to
be content to deprive himself of a good part of those pleasures, and
retire to a more profitable employment of training up young gentlemen
in virtue and learning; and with such success that his house has been,
as it were, a fruitful seminary to many worthy members of the Catholic
Church. Among the young gentlemen who resided with him at that time
was Mr. Hubert Rookwood, the youngest of the two sons of Mr. Rookwood,
of Euston, whom I had seen at the inn at Bedford, when I was
journeying to London. We did speedily enter into a somewhat close
acquaintanceship, founded on a similarity of tastes and agreeable
interchange of civilities, touching the lending of books and likewise
pieces of music, which I did make fair copies of for him, and which we
sometimes practiced in the evening; for he had a pleasant voice and an
aptness to catch the trick of a song, albeit unlearned in the art,
wherein he styled me proficient; and I, nothing loth to impart my
knowledge, became his instructor, and did teach him both to sing and
play the lute. He was not much taller than when I had seen him before;
but his figure was changed, and his visage had grown pale, and his
hair thick and flowing, especially toward the back of the head,
discovering in front a high and thoughtful forehead. There was a great
deal of good young company at that time in Mr. Wells's house; for some
Catholics tabled there beside those that were his pupils, and others
resorted to it by reason of the pleasant entertainment they found in
the society of ingenuous persons, well qualified, and of their own
religion. I had most days opportunities of conversing with Hubert,
though we were never alone; and, by reason of the friendship which had
existed between his father and mine, I allowed him a kindness I did
not commonly afford to others.
Mr. Lacy had had his training in that house, and, albeit his natural
parts did not title him to the praise of an eminent scholar, he had
thence derived a great esteem for learning, a taste for books, of the
which he did possess a great store (many hundred volumes), and a
discreet manner of talking, though something tinctured with
affectation, inasmuch as he should seem to be rather enamored of the
words he uttered, than careful of the substance. Hubert was wont
to say that his speech was like to the drawing of a leaden sword out
of a gilded sheath. He was a very virtuous young man; and his wife had
never but one complaint to set forth, which was that his books took up
so much of his time that she was almost as jealous of them as if they
had been her rivals. She would have it he did kill himself with study;
and, in a particular manner, with the writing of the life of one
Thomas à Kempis, which was a work he had had a long time on hand. One
day she comes into his library, and salutes him thus: "Mr. Lacy, I
would I were a book; and then methinks you would a little more respect
me." Polly, who was by, cried out, "Madam, you must then be an
almanac, that he might change every year;" whereat she was not a
little displeased. And another time, when her husband was sick, she
said, if Mr. Lacy died, she would burn Thomas a Kempis for the killing
of her husband. I, hearing this, answered that to do so were a great
pity; to whom she replied, "Why, who was Thomas a Kempis?" to which I
answered, "One of the saintliest men of the age wherein he lived."
Wherewith she was so satisfied, that she said, then she would not do
it for all the world.
Methinks I read more in that one year than in all the rest of my life
beside. Mine aunt was more sick than usual, and Mistress Ward so taken
up with the nursing of her, that she did not often leave her room.
Polly was married in the winter to Sir Ralph Ingoldby, and went to
reside for some months in the country. Muriel prevailed on her father
to visit the prison with her, in Mistress Ward's stead, so that
sometimes they were abroad the whole of the day; by reason of which, I
was oftener in Gray's Inn Lane than at home, sometimes at Kate's
house, and sometimes at Mistress Wells's mansion, where I became
infected with a zeal for learning, which Hubert's example and
conversation did greatly invite me to. He had the most winning tongue,
and the aptest spirit in the world to divine the natural inclinations
of those he consorted with. The books he advised me to read were
mostly such as Mistress Ward, to whom I did faithfully recite their
titles, accounted to be not otherwise than good and profitable, having
learned so much from good men she consulted thereon, for she was
herself no scholar; but they bred in me a great thirst for knowledge,
a craving to converse with those who had more learning than myself,
and withal so keen a relish for Hubert's society, that I had no
contentment so welcome as to listen to his discourse, which was
seasoned with a rare kind of eloquence and a discursive fancy, to
which, also, the perfection of his carriage, his pronunciation of
speech, and the deportment of his body lent no mean lustre. Naught
arrogant or affected disfigured his conversation, in which did lie so
efficacious a power of persuasion, and at times, when the occasion
called for it, so great a vehemency of passion, as enforced admiration
of his great parts, if not approval of his arguments. I made him at
that time judge of the new thoughts which books, like so many keys
opening secret chambers in the mind, did unlock in mine; and I mind me
how eagerly I looked for his answers--how I hung on his lips when he
was speaking, not from any singular affection toward his person, but
by reason of the extraordinary fascination of his speech, and the
interest of the themes we discoursed upon; one time touching on the
histories of great men of past ages, at another on the changes wrought
in our own by the new art of printing books, which had produced such
great changes in the world, and yet greater to be expected. And as he
was well skilled in the Italian as well as the French language, I came
by his means to be acquainted with many great writers of those
nations. He translated for me sundry passages from the divine play of
Signor Dante Alighieri, in which hell and purgatory and heaven
are depicted, as it were by an eye-witness, with so much pregnancy of
meaning and force of genius, that it should almost appear as if some
special revelation had been vouchsafed to the poet beyond his natural
thoughts, to disclose to him the secrets of other spheres. He also
made me read a portion of that most fine and sweet poem on the
delivery of the holy city Jerusalem, composed by Signor Torquato
Tasso, a gentleman who resided at that time at the court of the Duke
of Ferrara, and which one Mr. Fairfax has since done into English
verse. The first four cantos thereof were given to Mr. Wells by a
young gentleman, who had for a while studied at the University of
Padua. This fair poem, and mostly the second book thereof, hath
remained imprinted in my memory with a singular fixity, by reason that
it proved the occasion of my discerning for the first time a special
inclination on Hubert's side toward myself, who thought nothing of
love, but was only glad to have acquired a friend endowed with so much
wit and superior knowledge, and willing to impart it. This book, I
say, did contain a narration which bred in me so great a resentment of
the author's merits, and so quick a sympathy with the feigned subjects
of his muse, that never before or since methinks has a fiction so
moved me as the story of Olindo and Sophronisba.
Methinks this was partly ascribable to a certain likeness between the
scenes described by the poet and some which take place at this time in
our country. In the maiden of high and noble thoughts, fair, but
heedless of her beauty, who stood in the presence of the soldan, once
a Christian, then a renegade, taking on herself the sole guilt,--O
virtuous guilt! O worthy crime!--of which all the Christians were
accused, to wit, of rescuing sacred Mary's image from the hands of the
infidels who did curse and blaspheme it, and, when all were to die for
the act of one unknown, offered herself a ransom for all, and with a
shamefaced courage, such as became a maid, and a bold modesty
befitting a saint--a bosom moved indeed, but not dismayed, a fair but
not pallid cheek--was content to perish for that the rest should
live;--in her, I say, I saw a likeness in spirit to those who suffer
nowadays for a like faith with hers, not at the hands of infidels, but
of such whose parents did for the most part hold that same belief
which they do now make out to be treason.
Hubert, observing me to be thus moved, smiled, and asked if, in the
like case, I should have willed to die as Sophronisba.
"Yes," I answered, "if God did give me grace;" and then, as I uttered
the words, I thought it should not be lawful to tell a lie, not for to
save all the lives in the world; which doubt I imparted to him, who
laughed and said he was of the poet's mind, who doth exclaim, touching
this lie, "O noble deceit! worthier than truth itself!" and that he
thought a soul should not suffer long in purgatory for such a sin.
"Maybe not," I answered; "yet, I ween, there should be more faith in a
sole commitment to God of the events than in doing the least evil so
that good should come of it."
He said, "I marvel, Mistress Constance, what should be your thoughts
thereon if the life of a priest was in your hands, and you able to
save him by a lie."
"Verily," I answered, "I know not, Master Rookwood; but I have so much
trust in Almighty God that he would, in such a case, put words into my
mouth which should be true, and yet mislead evil-purposed men, or that
he shall keep me from such fearful straits, or forgive me if, in the
stress of a great peril, I unwittingly should err."
"And I pray you," Hubert then said, as if not greatly caring to pursue
the theme, "what be your thought concerning the unhappy youth Olindo,
who did so dote on this maiden that, fearful of offending there where
above all he desired to please, had, greatly as he loved, little
hoped, nothing asked, and not so much as revealed his passion until a
common fate bound both to an equal death?"
"I thought not at all on him," I answered; "but only on Sophronisba."
At which he sighed and read further: "That all wept for her who,
albeit doomed to a cruel death, wept not for herself, but in this wise
secretly reproved the fond youth's weeping: 'Friend,' quoth she,
'other thoughts, other tears, other sighs, do beseem this hour. Think
of thy sins, and God's great recompense for the good. Suffer for his
sole sake, and torment shall be sweet. See how fair the heavens do
show, the sun how bright, as it were to cheer and lure us onward!'"
"Ah!" I exclaimed, "shame on him who did need to be so exhorted, who
should have been the most valiant, being a man!" To the which he
quickly replied:
"He willed to die of his own free will rather than to live without her
whom he jewelled more than life: but in the matter of grieving love
doth make cowards of those who should else have been brave."
"Me thinks, rather," I answered, "that in noble hearts love's effects
should be noble."
"Bethink you, Mistress Constance," he then asked, "that Sophronisba
did act commendably, insomuch that when an unlooked-for deliverance
came, she refused not to be united in life to him that had willed to
be united to her in death."
"You may think me ungrateful, sir," answered; "but other merits
methinks than fondness for herself should have won so great a heart."
"You be hard to content, Mistress Constance," he answered somewhat
resentfully. "To satisfy you, I perceive one should have a hard as
well as a great heart."
"Nay," I cried, "I praise not hardness, but love not softness either.
You that be so learned, I pray you find the word which doth express
what pleaseth me in a man."
"I know not the word," he answered; "I would I knew the substance of
your liking, that I might furnish myself with it."
Whereupon our discourse ended that day; but it ministered food to my
thoughts, and I fear me also to a vain content that one so gifted with
learning and great promise of future greatness should evince something
of regard beyond a mutual friendship for one as ignorant and young as
I then was.
Some months after Kate's marriage, matters became very troublesome, by
reason of the killing of a great store, as was reported, of French
Huguenots in Paris on St. Bartholomew's day, and afterward in many
cities of France, which did consternate the English Catholics for more
reasons than one, and awoke so much rage in the breasts of
Protestants, that the French ambassador told Lady Tregony, a friend,
of Mistress Wells, that he did scarce venture to show his face; and
none, save only the queen herself, who is always his very good friend,
would speak to him. I was one evening at the house of Lady Ingoldby,
Polly's mother-in-law, some time after this dismal news had been
bruited, and the company there assembled did for the most part
discourse on these events, not only as deploring what had taken place,
and condemning the authors thereof,--which, indeed, was what all good
persons must needs have done,--but took occasion thence to use such
vile terms and opprobrious language touching Catholic religion, and
the cruelty and wickedness of such as did profess it, without so much
as a thought of the miseries inflicted on them in England, that--albeit
I had been schooled in the hard lesson of silence--so strong a passion
overcame me then, that I had well nigh, as the Psalmist saith, spoken
with my tongue, yea, young as I was, uttered words rising hot from my
heart, in the midst of that adverse company, which I did know, them to
be, if one had not at that moment lifted up his voice, whose
presence I had already noted, though not acquainted with his name; a
man of reverent and exceedingly benevolent aspect; aged, but with an
eye so bright, and silvery hair crowning a noble forehead, that so
much excellence and dignity is seldom to be observed in any one as was
apparent in this gentleman.
"Good friends," he said, and at the sound of his voice the speakers
hushed their eager discoursing, "God defend I should in any way differ
with you touching the massacres in France; for verily it has been a
lamentable and horrible thing that so many persons should be killed,
and religion to be the pretence for it; but to hear some speak of it,
one should think none did suffer in this country for their faith, and
bloody laws did not exist, whereby Papists are put to death in a
legal, cold-blooded fashion, more terrible, if possible, than the
sudden bursts of wild passions and civil strife, which revenge for
late cruelties committed by the Huguenots, wherein many thousand
Catholics had perished, the destruction of churches, havoc of fierce
soldiery, and apprehension of the like attempts in Paris, had stirred
up to fury; so that when the word went forth to fall on the leaders of
the party, the savage work once begun, even as a fire in a city built
of wood, raged as a madness for one while, and men in a panic struck
at foes, whose gripe they did think to feel about their throats."
Here the speaker paused an instant. This so bold opening of his speech
did seem to take all present by surprise, and almost robbed me of my
breath; for it is well known that nowadays a word, yea a piece of a
word, or a nod of the head, whereby any suspicion may arise of a
favorable disposition toward Catholics, is often-times a sufficient
cause for a man to be accused and cast into prison; and I waited his
next words (which every one, peradventure from curiosity, did likewise
seem inclined to hear) with downcast eyes, which dared not to glance
at any one's face, and cheeks which burned like hot coals.
"It is well known," quoth he, "that the sufferings which be endured by
recusants at this time in our country are such, that many should
prefer to die at once than to be subjected to so constant a fear and
terror as doth beset them. I speak not now of the truth or the falsity
of their religion, which, if it be ever so damnable and wicked, is no
new invention of their own, but what all Christian people did agree
in, one hundred years ago; so that the aged do but abide by what they
were taught by undoubted authority in their youth, and the young have
received from their parents as true. But I do solely aver that Papists
are subjected to a thousand vexations, both of bonds, imprisonments,
and torments worse than death, yea and oftentimes to death itself; and
that so dreadful, that to be slain by the sword, or drowned, yea even
burned at the stake, is not so terrible; for they do hang a man and
then cut him down yet alive, and butcher him in such ways--plucking out
his heart and tearing his limbs asunder--that nothing more horrible can
be thought of."
"They be traitors who are so used," cried one gentleman, somewhat
recovering from the surprise which these bold words had caused.
"If to be of a different religion from the sovereign of the country be
a proof of treason," continued the venerable speaker, "then were the
Huguenots, which have perished in France, a whole mass and nest of
traitors."
A gentleman seated behind me, who had a trick of sleeping in his
chair, woke up and cried out, "Not half a one, sirs; not so much as
half a one is allowed," meaning the mass, which he did suppose to have
been spoken of.
"And if so, deserved all to die,' continued the speaker.
"Ay, and so they do, sir," quoth the sleeper. "I pray you let them all
be hanged." Upon which every one laughed, and the aged gentleman
also; and then he said,
"Good my friends, I ween 'tis a rash thing to speak in favor of
recusants nowadays, and what few could dare to do but such as cannot
be suspected of disloyalty to the queen and the country, and who,
having drunk of the cup of affliction in their youth, even to the
dregs, and held life for a long time as a burden which hath need to be
borne day by day, until the wished for hour of release doth come--and
the sooner, the more welcome--have no enemies to fear, and no object
to attain. And if so be that you will bear with me for a few moments,
yea, if ye procure me to be hanged to-morrow" (this he said with a
pleasant smile; and, "Marry, fear not, Mr. Roper," and "I' faith,
speak on, sir," was bruited round him by his astonished auditors), "I
will recite to you some small part of the miseries which have been
endured of late years by such as cannot be charged with the least
thought of treason, or so much as the least offence against the laws,
except in what touches the secret practice of their religion. Women
have, to my certain knowledge, been hung up by the hands in prisons
(which do overflow with recusants, so that at this time there
remaineth no room for common malefactors), and cruelly scourged, for
that they would not confess by which priest they had been reconciled
or absolved, or where they had heard mass. Priests are often tortured
to force them to declare what they hear in confession, who harbor
priests and Papists, where such and such recusants are to be found,
and the like questions; and in so strenuous a manner, that needles
have been thrust under their nails, and one man, not long since, died
of his racking. O sirs and gentle ladies, I have seen with mine own
eyes a youth, the son of one of my friends--young Mark Typper, born of
honest and rich parents, skilful in human learning, having left his
study for a time, and going home to see his friends--whipped through
the streets of London, and burnt in the ear, because, forsooth, a
forward judge, to whom he had been accused as a Papist, and finding no
proof thereof, condemned him as a vagabond. And what think you, good
people, of the death of Sir Robert Tyrwit's son, who was accused for
hearing of a mass at the marriage of his sister, and albeit at the
time of his arrest in a grievous fever, was pulled out of the house
and thrust into prison, even as he then was, feeble, faint, and
grievously sick? His afflicted parents entreat, make intercession, and
use all the means they can to move the justices to have consideration
of the sick; not to heap sorrow upon sorrow, nor affliction on the
afflicted; not to take away the life of so comely a young gentleman,
whom the physicians come and affirm will certainly die if he should be
removed. All this is nothing regarded. They lay hold on the sick man,
pull him away, shut him up in prison, and within two days next after
he dies. They bury him, and make no scruple or regard at all. O sirs,
bethink you what these parents do feel when they hear Englishmen speak
of the murders of Protestants in France as an unheard of crime. If, in
these days, one in a family of recusants doth covet the inheritance of
an elder brother--yea, of a father--he hath but to conform to the now
established religion (I leave you to think with how much of piety and
conscience), and denounce his parent as a Papist, and straightway he
doth procure him to be despoiled, and his lands given up to him. Thus
the seeds of strife and bitter enmity have been sown broadcast through
the land, the bands of love in families destroyed, the foundations of
honor and beneficence blown up, the veins and sinews of the common
society of men cut asunder, and a fiendly force of violence and a
deadly poison of suspicion used against such as are accused of no
other crime than their religion, which they yet adhere to; albeit
their fortunes be ruined by fines and their lives in constant
jeopardy from strenuous laws made yet more urgent by private malice.
My friends, I would that not one hair of the head of so much as one
Huguenot had been touched in France; that not one Protestant had
perished in the flames in the late queen's reign, or in that of her
present majesty; and also that the persecution now framed in this
country against Papists, and so handled as to blind men's eyes and
work in them a strange hypocrisy, yea and in some an innocent belief
that freedom of men's souls be the offspring of Protestant religion,
should pass away from this land. I care not how soon (as mine honored
father-in-law, and in God too, I verily might add, was wont to say),--I
care not how soon I be sewn up in a bag and cast into the Thames, if
so be I might first see religious differences at an end, and men of
one mind touching God's truth."
Here this noble and courageous speaker ceased, and various murmurs
rose among the company. One lady remarked to her neighbor: "A
marvellous preacher that of seditious doctrines, methinks."
And one gentleman said that if such talk were suffered to pass
unpunished in her majesty's subjects, he should look to see massing
and Popery to rear again their heads in the land.
And many loudly affirmed none could be Papists, or wish them well, and
be friends to the queen's government, and so it did stand to reason
that Papists were traitors.
And another said that, for his part, he should desire to see them less
mercifully dealt with; and that the great clemency shown to such as
did refuse to come to church, by only laying fines on them, and not
dealing so roundly as should compel them to obedience, did but
maintain them in their obstinacy; and he himself would as lief shoot
down a seminary priest as a wolf, or any other evil beast.
I noticed this last speaker to be one of those who had spoken with
most abhorrence of the massacres in France.
One lady called out in a loud voice that Papists, and such as take
their part, among which she did lament to see Mr. Roper, should be
ashamed so much as to speak of persecution; and began to relate the
cruelties practised upon Protestants twenty years back, and the
burning at Oxford of those excellent godly men, the bishops of London
and Worcester.
Mr. Roper listened to her with an attentive countenance, and then
said:
"I' faith, madam, I cannot choose but think Dr. Latimer, if it be he
you speak of, did somewhat approve of such a method of dealing with
persons obstinate touching religion, when others than himself and
those of his own way of thinking were the subjects of it, if we judge
by a letter he wrote in 1538 to his singular good friend the Lord
Privy Seal Cromwell, at the time he was appointed to preach at the
burning at Smithfield of Friar Forest of Greenwich, a learned divine I
often did converse with in my young years."
"What wrote the good bishop?" two or three persons asked; and the lady
who had spoken before said she should warrant it to be something
pious, for a more virtuous Protestant never did live than this holy
martyr.
Whereupon Mr. Roper: "This holy bishop did open his discourse right
merrily, for in a pleasant manner he thus begins his letter: 'And,
sir, if it be your pleasure, as it is, that I shall play the fool in
my customable manner when Forest shall suffer, I would wish my stage
stood near unto Forest; for I would endeavor myself so to content the
people that therewith I might also convert Forest, God so helping.'
And further on he doth greatly lament that the White Friars of
Doncaster had access to the prisoner, and through the fault of the
sheriff or jailers, or both, he should be allowed to hear mass and
receive the sacrament, by which he is rather comforted in his way than
discouraged. And _such is his foolishness_, this good doth
humbly say, that if Forest would abjure his religion, he should yet
(for all his past obstinacy) wish him pardoned. O sirs, think you that
when at Oxford this aged man, seventeen years after, did see the
flames gather round himself, that he did not call to mind what time he
preached, playing the fool, as he saith, before a man in like agonies,
and never urged so much as one word against his sentence?"
"Marry, if he did not," said one, whom I take to have been Sir
Christopher Wray, who had been a silent listener until then, "if his
conscience pricked him not thereon, it must needs have been by the
same rule as the lawyer used to the countryman, who did put to him
this question: 'Sir, if my cow should stray into your field and feed
there one whole day, what should be the law touching compensation
therefor?' 'Marry, friend, assuredly to pay the damage to the full,
which thou art bounden at once to do.' 'Ay,' quoth the countryman;
'but 'tis your cow hath strayed into my field.' Upon which, 'Go to, go
to,' cries the lawyer; 'for I warrant thee that doth altogether alter
the law.'"
Some smiled, and others murmured at this story; and meanwhile one of
the company, who from his dress I perceived to be a minister, and
moreover to hold some dignity in the Protestant Church, rose from his
place, and crossing the room, came up to Mr. Roper (for that bold
speaker was no other than Sir Thomas More's son-in--law, whose great
charity and goodness I had often heard of), and, shaking hands with
him, said: "I be of the same mind with you, friend Roper, in every
word you have uttered tonight. And I pray to God my soul may be with
yours after this life, and our end in heaven, albeit I should not sail
there in the same boat with thou."
"Good Mr. Dean," quoth Mr. Roper, "I do say amen to your prayer." and
then he added somewhat in a low voice, and methinks it was that there
is but one ship chartered for safety in such a voyage.
At the which the other shook his head and waved his hand, and then
calling to him a youth not more than twelve or thirteen years old, his
son, he did present him to Mr. Roper. I had observed this young
gentleman to listen, with an eagerness betokening more keenness for
information than is usually to be found in youths of his years, to the
discourses held that evening. His father told Mr. Roper that this his
son's parts and quick apprehension in learning did lead him to hope he
should be one day, if it pleased God, an ornament to the church. Mr.
Roper smiled as he saluted the youth, and said a few words to him,
which he answered very readily. I never saw again that father or that
son. The one was Dr. Mathews, whom the queen made Bishop of Durham;
and the other, Toby Mathews, his son, who was reconciled some years
ago, and, as I have heard from some, is now a Jesuit.
The venerable aspect of the good Mr. Roper so engaged my thoughts,
that I asked Lady Tregony, by whose side I was sitting, if she was
acquainted with him, and if his virtue was as great as his appearance
was noble. She smiled, and answered that his appearance, albeit
honorable and comely, was not one half so honorable as his life had
been, or so comely as his mind. That he had been the husband of Sir
Thomas More's never-to-be-forgotten daughter, Margaret, whose memory
he so reverently did cherish that he had never so much as thought of a
second marriage; and of late years, since he had resigned the office
of sub-notary in the Queen's Bench to his son, he did give his whole
substance and his time to the service of the poor, and especially to
prisoners, by reason of which he was called the staff of the
sorrowful, and sure refuge of the afflicted. Now, then, I looked on
the face of this good aged man with a deeper reverence than
heretofore. Now I longed to be favored with so much of his
notice as one passing word. Now I watched for an opportunity to
compass my desire, and I thank God not without effect; for I do count
it as a chief blessing to have been honored, during the remaining
years of this virtuous gentleman's life, with so much of his
condescending goodness, that if the word friendship may be used in
regard to such affectionate feelings as can exist between one verging
on four-score years of age and of such exalted merit, and a foolish
creature yet in her teens, whom he honored with his notice, it should
be so in this instance; wherein on the one side a singular reverence
and humble great affection did arise almost on first acquaintance, and
on the other so much benignity and goodness shown in the pains taken
to cultivate such good dispositions as had been implanted in this
young person's heart by careful parents, and to guard her mind against
the evils of the times, that nothing could be greater.
Mr. Roper chancing to come near us, Lady Tregony said somewhat, which
caused him to address me in this wise:
"And are there, then, maidens in these days not averse to the sight of
gray hairs, and who mislike not to converse with aged men?"
This was said with so kindly a smile that timidity vanished, and
confidence took its place.
"Oh, sir," I cried, "when I was not so much as five years old, my good
father showed me a picture of Sir Thomas More, and told me he was a
man of such angelic wit as England never had the like before, nor is
ever like to have again, and of a most famous and holy memory; and
methinks, sir, that you, being his son-in-law, who knew his doings and
his mind so well, and lived so long in his house, must needs in many
things resemble him."
"As to his doings and his mind," Mr. Roper replied, "no man living
knoweth them so well, and if my mean wit, memory, and knowledge could
serve me now, could declare so much thereof. But touching resemblance,
alas! there was but one in all the world that represented the likeness
of his virtues and perfections; one whom he loved in a particular
manner, and who was worthiest of that love more than any creature God
has made."
Here the good man's voice faltered a little, and he made a stop in his
discourse; but in a little while said that he had thought it behoved
him to set down in writing such matters concerning Sir Thomas's life
as he could then call to remembrance, and that he would lend me the
manuscript to read, which I did esteem an exceeding great favor, and
one I could not sufficiently thank him for. Then he spoke somewhat of
the times, which were waxing every day more troublesome, and told me
he often called to mind a conversation he once had with Sir Thomas,
walking along the side of the Thames at Chelsea, which he related in
these words:
"'Now would to God, my son Roper,' quoth Sir Thomas, 'I were put in a
sack, and presently cast into the Thames, upon condition that three
things were well established throughout Christendom.' 'And what mighty
things are those, sir?' I asked. Whereupon he: 'Wouldst thou know, son
Roper, what they be?' 'Yea, marry, sir, with a good will, if it please
you,' quoth I. 'I' faith, son, they be these,' he said: 'The first is
that, whereas the most part of Christian princes are at mortal wars,
they were all at peace; the second that, whereas the church of Christ
is at present sorely afflicted with so many heresies, it were settled
in perfect uniformity of religion; the third that, where the matter of
the king's marriage is now come in question, it were, to the glory of
God and the quietness of all parties, brought to a good conclusion.'
'Ay, sir,' quoth I, 'those were indeed three things greatly to be
desired; but'--I continued with a certain joy--'where shall one see a
happier state than in this realm, that has so Catholic a prince that
no heretic durst show his face; so virtuous and learned a
clergy; so grave and sound a nobility; and so loving, obedient
subjects, all in one faith agreeing together?' 'Truth it is indeed,
son Roper,' quoth he; and in all degrees and estates of the same went
far beyond me in commendation thereof. 'And yet, son Roper, I pray
God,' said he, 'that some of us, as high as we seem to sit on the
mountains, treading heretics under our feet like ants, live not the
day that we would gladly be at league and composition with them, to
let them have their churches quietly to themselves, so that they would
be contented to let us have ours quietly to ourselves.' After I had
told him many considerations why he had no cause to say so: 'Well,'
said he, 'I pray God, son Roper, some of us will live not to see that
day.' To whom I replied: 'By my troth, sir, it is very desperately
spoken.' These vile terms, I cry God mercy, did I give him, who,
perceiving me to be in a passion, said merrily unto me, 'It shall not
be so; it shall not be so.' In sixteen years and more, being in the
house conversing with him, I could not perceive him to be so much as
once out of temper."
This was the first of many conversations I held, during the years I
lived in Holborn, with this worthy gentleman, who was not more pleased
to relate, than I to hear, sundry anecdotes concerning Sir Thomas
More, his house, and his family.
Before he left me that day, I did make bold to ask him if he feared
not ill consequences from the courageous words he had used in a mixed,
yea rather, with few exceptions, wholly adverse, company.
"Not much," he answered. "Mine age; the knowledge that there are those
who would not willingly see me roughly handled, and have power to
prevent it; and withal no great concern, if it should be so, to have
my liberty constrained, yea, my life shortened by a few years, or
rather days,--doth move me to a greater freedom of speech than may
generally be used, and a notable indifference to the results of such
freedom."
Having whispered the like fears I had expressed to him to Lady
Tregony, she did assure me his confidence was well based, and that he
had connexions which would by no means suffer him to be thrown into
prison, which should be the fate of any one else in that room who had
spoken but one half, yea one tenth part, as boldly as he had ventured
on.
CHAPTER XII.
It was some time before I could restore myself to my countenance,
after so much moving discourse, so as to join with spirit in the
sports and the dancing which did ensue among the young people that
evening. But sober thoughts and painful themes after a while gave
place to merriment; and the sound of music, gay tattle, and cheerful
steps lured me to such enjoyment as youth is wont to take in these
kinds of pastimes. It was too much my wont to pursue with eagerness
the present humor, and drink deeply of innocent pleasure wherein no
harm should exist if enjoyed with moderation. But like in a horse on
whose neck the bridle is cast, what began in a gentle ambling ends in
wild gallopping; so lawful merriment, if unrestrained, often ends in
what is unbeseeming, and in some sort blameable. So this time, when
dancing tired, a ring was formed for conversation, and the choice of
the night's pastime yielded to my discretion; alack, rather to my
imprudence and folly, methinks I might style it. I chose that
arguments should be held by two persons of the company, turn by turn,
and that a judge should be named to allot a reward to the worthiest,
and a penance to the worst. This liked them all exceedingly, and by
one consent they appointed me to be judge, and to summon such as
should dispute. There were there two young gentlemen which
haunted our house, and Lady Ingoldby's also. One was Martin Tregony,
Lady Tregony's nephew, an ill-favored young man, with manners worse
than his face, and so apish and foppish in his dress and behavior,
that no young woman could abide him, much less would receive his
addresses, or if she did entertain him in conversation, it was to make
sport of his so great conceit. He had an ill-natured kind of wit, more
sharp than keen, more biting than sarcastic. He studied the art of
giving pain, and oftentimes did cause shamefaced merit to blush. The
other was Mr. Thomas Sherwood, who, albeit not very near in blood to
my father, was, howsoever, of the same family as ourselves. He had
been to the English College in Douay, and had brought me tidings a
short time back of my father and Edmund Genings' safe arrival thither,
and afterward came often to see us, and much frequented Lady Tregony's
house. He had exceedingly good parts, but was somewhat diffident and
bashful. Martin Tregony was wont to make him a mark, as it were, of
his ill-natured wit, and did fancy himself to be greatly his superior
in sharpness, partly because Mr. Sherwood's disposition was retiring,
and partly that he had too much goodness and sense to bandy words with
so ill-mannered a young man. I pray you who read this, could aught be
more indiscreet than, in a thoughtless manner, to have summoned these
two to dispute? which nevertheless I did, thinking some sport should
arise out of it, to see Master Martin foisted in argument by one he
despised, and also from his extravagant gestures and affected
countenances. So I said:
"Master Tregony, your task shall be to dispute with Master Sherwood;
and this the theme of your argument, 'The Art of Tormenting.' He who
shall describe the nicest instances of such skill, when exercised by a
master toward his servant, a parent to his child, a husband to his
wife, a wife to her husband, a lover to his mistress, or a friend to
his friend, shall be proclaimed victorious; and his adversary submit
to such penance as the court shall inflict."
Master Sherwood shook his head for to decline to enter these lists;
but all the young gentlemen and ladies cried, he should not be
suffered to show contempt of the court, and forced him to stand up.
Master Martin was nothing loth, and in his ill-favored countenance
there appeared a made smile, which did indicate an assurance of
victory; so he began:
"The more wit a man hath, the better able he shall be at times to
torment another; so I do premise, and at the outset of this argument
declare, that to blame a man for the exercise of a talent he doth
possess is downright impiety, and that to wound another by the
pungency of home-thrusts in conversation is as just a liberty in an
ingenious man, as the use of his sword in a battle is to a soldier."
Mr. Sherwood upon this replied, that he did allow a public
disputation, appointed by meet judges, to come under the name of a
fair battle; but even in a battle (he said) generous combatants aim
not so much at wounding their adversaries, as to the disarming of
them; and that he who in private conversation doth make a weapon of
his tongue is like unto the man who provokes another to a single
combat, which for Christians is not lawful, and pierces him easily who
has less skill in wielding the sword than himself.
"Marry, sir," quoth Master Martin, "if you do bring piety into your
discourse, methinks the rules of just debate be not observed; for it
is an unfair thing for to overrule a man with arguments he doth not
dare to reply to under pain of spiritual censures."
"I cry you mercy, Master Martin," quoth the other; "you did bring in
_im_piety, and so methought piety should not be excluded." At the which
we all applauded, and Martin began to perceive his adversary to be
less contemptible than he had supposed.
"Now to the point," I cried; "for exordiums be tedious. I pray you,
gentlemen, begin, and point out some notable fashion wherewith a
master might torment his servant."
Upon which quoth Martin: "If a man hath a sick servant, and doth note
his fancy to be set on some indulgence not of strict necessity, and
should therefore deny it to him, methinks that should be a rare
opportunity to exercise his talent."
"Nay," cried Master Sherwood, "a nicer one, and ever at hand
afterward, should be to show kindness once to a dependent when sick,
and to use him ten times the worse for it when he is well, upbraiding
him for such past favors, as if one should say: 'Alack, be as kind as
you will, see what return you do meet with!'"
This last piece of ingenuity was allowed by the court to surpass the
first. "Now," I cried, "what should be the greatest torment a parent
could inflict on a child?"
Martin answered: "If it should be fond of public diversion, to confine
it in-doors. If retirement suits its temper, to compel it abroad. If
it should delight in the theatre, to take it to see a good play, and
at the moment when the plot shall wax most moving, to say it must be
tired, and procure to send it home. Or, in more weighty matters,--a
daughter's marriage, for instance,--to detect if the wench hath set her
heart on one lover, and if so, to keep from her the knowledge of this
gentleman's addresses; and when she hath accepted another, to let her
know the first had sued for her hand, and been dismissed."
Here all the young gentlewomen did exclaim that Master Sherwood could
by no means think of a more skilful torment than this should prove. He
thought for an instant, and then said:
"It should be a finer and more delicate torment to stir up in a young
gentlewoman's mind suspicions of one she loved, and so work on her
natural passions of jealousy and pride, that she should herself, in a
hasty mood, discard her lover; and ever after, when the act was not
recallable, remind her she herself had wrought her own unhappiness,
and wounded one she loved."
"Yea, that should be worse than the first torment," all but one young
lady cried out; who, for her part, could better endure, she said, to
have injured herself than to be deceived, as in the first case.
"Then do come husbands," quoth Mr. Martin; "and I vow," he cried, "I
know not how to credit there be such vile wretches in the world as
should wish to torment their wives; but if such there be, methinks the
surest method they may practise is, to loving wives to show
indifferency; to such as be jealous, secrecy; to such as be pious,
profaneness; and the like in all the points whereon their affections
are set."
"Alack!" cried Mistress Frances Bellamy, "what a study the man hath
made of this fine art! Gentlewomen should needs beware of such a one
for a husband. What doth Master Sherwood say?"
Whereupon he: "Methinks the greatest torment a husband might inflict
on a worthy wife should be to dishonor her love by his baseness; or if
he had injured her, to doubt her proneness to forgive."
"And wives," quoth Mistress Southwell,--"what of their skill therein,
gentlemen?"
"It be such," cried Martin, "as should exceed men's ability thereof to
speak. The greatest instance of talent of this sort I have witnessed
is in a young married lady, whose husband is very willing to stay in
his house or go abroad, or reside in town, or at his seat in the
country, as should most please her, so she would let him know her
wishes. But she is so artful in concealing them, that the poor man can
never learn so much as should cause him to guess what they may be; but
with a meek voice she doth reply to his asking, 'An it please you,
sir, let it be as you choose, for you very well know I never do
oppose your will.' Then if he resolve to leave town, she maketh not
much ado till they have rode twenty or thirty miles out of London.
Then she doth begin to sigh and weep, for that she should be a most
ill-used creature, and her heart almost broken for to leave her
friends, and be shut up for six months in a swamp, for such she doth
term his estate; and if she should not have left London that same day,
she should have been at the Lord Mayor's banquet, and seen the French
princes, which, above all things, she had desired. But some husbands
be so hard-hearted, if they can hunt and hawk, 'tis little count they
make of their wives' pleasures. Then when she hath almost provoked the
good man to swear, she hangeth down her head and saith, 'Content you,
sir--content you; 'tis your good fortune to have an obedient wife.'
And so mopes all the time of the journey."
Whilst Martin was speaking, I noted a young gentlewoman who did deeply
blush whilst he spoke, and tears came into her eyes. I heard afterward
she had been lately married, and that he counterfeited her voice in so
precise a manner, so that all such as knew her must needs believe her
to be the wife he spoke of; and that there was so much of truth in the
picture he had drawn, as to make it seem a likeness, albeit most
unjust toward one who, though apt to boast of her obedience, and to
utter sundry trifling complaints, was a fond wife and toward lady to
her dear husband; and that this malice in Mr. Tregony, over and above
his wonted spite, was due to her rejection of his hand some short time
before her marriage. Master Sherwood, seeing the ungracious
gentleman's ill-nature and the lady's confusion, stood up the more
speedily to reply, and so cut him short. "I will relate," he said, "a
yet more ingenious practice of tormenting, which should seem the
highest proof of skill in a wife, albeit also practised by husbands,
only not so aptly, or peradventure so often. And this is when one hath
offered to another a notable insult or affront, so to turn the tables,
even as a conjuror the cards he doth handle, that straightway the
offended party shall seem to be the offender, and be obliged to sue
forgiveness for that wherein he himself is hurt. I pray you, gentlemen
and ladies, can anything more ingenious than this practice be thought
on?"
All did admit it to be a rare example of ability in tormenting; but
some objected it was not solely exercised by wives and husbands, but
that friends, lovers, and all sorts of persons might use it. Then one
gentleman called for some special instance of the art in lovers. But
another said it was a natural instinct, and not an art, in such to
torment one another, and likewise their own selves, and proposed the
behavior of friends in that respect as a more new and admirable theme.
"Ah," quoth Master Martin, with an affected wave of his hand, "first
show me an instance of a true friendship betwixt ladies, or a sincere
affection betwixt gentlemen; and then it will be time for to describe
the arts whereby they do plague and torment each other."
Mr. Sherwood answered, "A French gentleman said, a short time since,
that it should be a piece of commendable prudence to live with your
friend as looking that he should one day be your enemy. Now we be
warranted, by Master Tregony's speech, to conclude his friendships to
be enmities in fair disguise; and the practices wherewith friends
torment each other no doubt should apply to this case also; and so his
exceptions need in no wise alter the theme of our argument. I pray
you, sir, begin, and name some notable instance in which, without any
apparent breach of friendship, the appearance of which is in both
instances supposed, one may best wound his friend, or, as Mr. Tregony
hath it, the disguised object of his hatred."
I noticed that Master Martin glanced maliciously at his
adversary, and then answered, "The highest exercise of such ability
should be, methinks, to get possession of a secret which your friend,
_or disguised enemy_, has been at great pains to conceal, and to let
him know, by such means as shall hold him in perpetual fear, but never
in full assurance of the same, that you have it in your power to
accuse him at any time of that which should procure him to be thrown
into prison, or maybe hanged on a gibbet."
A paleness spread over Master Sherwood's face, not caused, I ween, by
fear so much as by anger at the meanness of one who, from envy and
spite, even in the freedom of social hours, should hint at secrets so
weighty as would touch the liberty, yea, the life, of one he called
his friend; and standing up, he answered, whilst I, now too late
discerning mine own folly in the proposing of a dangerous pastime,
trembled in every limb.
"I know," quoth he,--"I know a yet more ingenious instance of the
skill of a malicious heart. To hang a sword over a friend's head, and
cause him to apprehend its fall, must needs be a well-practised
device; but if it be done in so skilful a manner that the weapon shall
threaten not himself alone, but make him, as it were, the instrument
of ruin to others dearer to him than his own life,--if, by the
appearance of friendship, the reality of which such a heart knoweth
not, he hath been to such confidence as shall be the means of sorrow
to those who have befriended him in another manner than this false
friend, this true foe,--the triumph is then complete. Malice and hatred
can devise naught beyond it."
Martin's eyes glared so fearfully, and his voice sounded so hoarse, as
he hesitated in answering, that, in a sort of desperation, I stood up,
and cried, "Long enough have these two gentlemen had the talk to
themselves. Verily, methinks there be no conqueror, but a drawn game
in this instance."
But a murmur rose among the company that Master Sherwood was
victorious, and Master Tregony should do penance.
"What shall it be?" was asked; and all with one voice did opine Master
Sherwood should name it, for he was as much beloved as Master Tregony
was misliked. He (Sherwood), albeit somewhat inwardly moved, I ween,
had restrained his indignation, and cried out merrily, "Marry, so will
I! Look me in the face, Martin, and give me thy hand. This shall be
thy penance."
The other did so; but a fiendly look of resentment was in his eyes;
and methinks Thomas Sherwood must needs have remembered the grasp of
his hand to forgive it, I doubt not, even at the foot of the scaffold.
From that day Martin Tregony conceived an implacable hatred for Master
Sherwood, whom he had feigned a great friendship for on his first
arrival in London, because he hoped, by his means and influence with
his aunt, to procure her to pay his debts. But after he had thrown off
the mask, he only waited for an opportunity to denounce him, being
privy to his having brought a priest to Lady Tregony's house, who had
also said mass in her chapel. So one day meeting him in the streets,
he cried out, "Stop the traitor! stop the traitor!" and so causing him
to be apprehended, had him before the next justice of the peace;
where, when they were come, he could allege nothing against him, but
that he suspected him to be a Papist. Upon which he was examined
concerning his religion, and, refusing to admit the queen's
church-headship, he was cast into a dungeon in the Tower. His lodgings
were plundered, and £25, which he had amassed, as I knew, who had
assisted him to procure it, for the use of his aged and sick father,
who had been lately cast into prison in Lancaster, was carried off
with the rest. He was cruelly racked, we heard, for that he would not
reveal where he had heard mass; and kept in a dark filthy hole,
where he endured very much from hunger, stench, and cold. No one being
allowed to visit him--for the Tower was not like some other prisons
where Mistress Ward and others could sometimes penetrate--or afford
him any comfort, Mr. Roper had, by means of another prisoner, conveyed
to his keeper some money for his use; but the keeper returned it the
next day, because the lieutenant of the Tower would not suffer him to
have the benefit of it. All he could be prevailed upon to do was to
lay out one poor sixpence for a little fresh straw for him to lie on.
About six months after, he was brought to trial, and condemned to die,
for denying the queen's supremacy, and was executed at Tyburn,
according to sentence, being cut down whilst he was yet alive,
dismembered, bowelled, and quartered.
Poor Lady Tregony's heart did almost break at this his end and her
kinsman's part in it; and during those six months--for she would not
leave London whilst Thomas Sherwood was yet alive--I did constantly
visit her, almost every day, and betwixt us there did exist a sort of
fellowship in our sorrow for this worthy young man's sufferings; for
that she did reproach herself for lack of prudence in not sufficient
distrust of her own nephew, whom now she refused to see, at least, she
said, until he had repented of his sin, which he, glorying in, had
told her, the only time they had met, he should serve her in the same
manner, and if he could ever find out she heard mass, should get her a
lodging in the Tower, and for himself her estate in Norfolk, whither
she was then purposing to retire, and did do so after Master
Sherwood's execution. For mine own part, as once before my father's
apprehended danger had diverted my mind from childish folly, so did
the tragical result of an entertainment, wherein I had been carried
away by thoughtless mirth, somewhat sicken me of company and sports. I
went abroad not much the next year; only was often at Mr. Wells's
house, and in Hubert's society, which had become so habitual to me
that I was almost persuaded the pleasure I took therein proceeded from
a mutual inclination, and I could observe with what jealousy he
watched any whom I did seem to speak with or allow of any civility at
their hands. Even Master Sherwood he would jalouse, if he found me
weeping over his fate; and said he was happier in prison, for whom
such tears did flow, than he at liberty, for whom I showed no like
regard. "Oh," I would answer, "he is happy because, Master Rookwood,
his sufferings are for his God and his conscience' sake, and not such
as arise from a poor human love. Envy him his faith, his patience, his
hope, which make him cry out, as I know he doth, 'O my Lord Jesu! I am
not worthy that I should suffer these things for thee;' and not the
compassionate tears of a paltry wench that in some sort was the means
to plunge him in these straits."
In the spring of the year which did follow, I heard from my father,
who had been ordained at the English College at Rheims, and was on the
watch, he advertised me, for an opportunity to return to England, for
to exercise the sacred ministry amongst his poor Catholic brethren.
But at which port he should land, or whither direct his steps, if he
effected a safe landing, he dared not for to commit to paper. He said
Edmund Genings had fallen into a most dangerous consumption, partly by
the extraordinary pains he took in his studies, and partly in his
spiritual exercises, insomuch that the physicians had almost despaired
of his recovery, and that the president had in consequence resolved to
send him into England, to try change of air. That he had left Rheims
with great regret, and went on his journey, as far as Havre de Grace,
and, after a fortnight's stay in that place, having prayed to God very
heartily for the recovery of his health, so that he might return, and,
without further delay, continue his studies for the priesthood,
he felt himself very much better, almost as well as ever he was in his
life; upon which he returned to his college, and took up again, with
exceeding great fervor, his former manner of life; "and," my father
added, "his common expression, as often as talk is ministered of
England and martyrdom there, is this: _'Vivamus in spe! Vivamus in
spe!_'"
This letter did throw me into an exceeding great apprehension that my
father might fall into the hands of the queen's officers at any time
he should land, and the first news I should hear of him to be that he
was cast into prison. And as I knew no Catholic priest could dwell in
England with out he did assume a feigned name, and mostly so one of
his station, and at one time well noted as a gentleman and a recusant,
I now never heard of any priest arrested in any part of England but I
feared it should be him.
Hubert Rookwood was now more than ever at Mr. Lacy's house, and in his
library, for they did both affection the same pursuits, albeit with
very different abilities; and I was used to transcribe for them divers
passages from manuscripts and books, taking greater pleasure, so to
spend time, than to embroider in Kate's room, the compass of whose
thoughts became each day more narrow, and her manner of talk more
tasteless. Hubert seemed not well pleased when I told him my father
had been ordained abroad. I gathered this from a troubled look in his
eyes, and an increasing paleness, which betokened, to my now observant
eyes, emotions which he gave not vent to in words at all, or leastways
in any that should express strong resentment. His silence always
frighted me more than anger in others. He had acquired a great
influence over me, and, albeit I was often ill at ease in his company,
I ill brooked his absence. He was a zealous Catholic, and did adduce
arguments and proofs in behalf of his religion with rare ability. Some
of his writings which I copied at that time had a cogency and
clearness in their reasons and style, which in my poor judgment
betokened a singular sharp understanding and ingenuity of learning;
but in his conversation, and writings also, was lacking the fervency
of spirit, the warmth of devout aims, the indifferency to worldly
regards, which should belong to a truly Christian soul, or else the
nobleness and freedom of speech which some do possess from natural
temper. But his attainments were far superior to those of the young
men I used to see at Mr. Wells's, and such as gave him an
extraordinary reputation amongst the persons I was wont to associate
with, which contributed not a little to the value I did set on his
preference, of which no proofs were wanting, save an open paying of
his addresses to me, which by reason of his young age and mine, and
the poorness of his prospects, being but a younger son of a country
gentleman, was easy of account. He had a great desire for wealth and
for all kind of greatness, and used to speak of learning as a road to
it.
In the spring of that year, my Lord Surrey left Cambridge, and came to
live at Howard House with his lady. They were then both in their
eighteenth years, and a more comely pair could not be seen. The years
that had passed since she had left London had greatly matured her
beauty. She was taller of stature than the common sort, and very fair
and graceful. The earl was likewise tall, very straight, long-visaged,
but of a pleasant and noble countenance. I could not choose but admire
her perfect carriage, toward her lord, her relatives, and her
servants; the good order she established in her house; the care she
took of her sister's education, who in two years was to be married to
Lord William Howard; and her great charity to the poor, which she then
began to visit herself, and to relieve in all sorts of ways, and was
wont to say the angels of that old house where God had been served by
so many prayers and alms must needs assist her in her care for
those in trouble. My lord appeared exceedingly fond of her then. One
day when I was visiting her ladyship, he asked me if I had read the
life of that sweet holy Queen Elizabeth of Hungary; and as I said I
had not met with it, he gifted me with a copy fairly printed and well
ornamented, which Mr. Martin had left behind him when he went beyond
seas, and said:
"Mistress Sherwood, see if in this book you find not the likeness of a
lady which you mislike not any more than I do. Beshrew me, but I fear
I may find some day strange guests in mine house if she do copy the
pattern herein set down; and so I will e'en send the book out of the
house, for my lady is too good for me already, and I be no fitting
husband for a saint, which a very little more of virtue should make
her."
And so he laughing, and she prettily checking his wanton speech, and
such sweet loving looks and playful words passing between them as
gladdened my heart to see.
Some time after, I found one day my Lady Surrey looking somewhat grave
and thoughtful. She greeted me with an affectionate kiss, and said,
"Ah, sweet Constance, I be glad thou art come; for methinks we shall
soon leave London."
"So soon?" I answered.
"Not _too_ soon, dear Constance," she said somewhat sadly.
I did look wistfully in her sweet face. Methought there was trouble in
it, and doubt if she should further speak or not; for she rested her
head on her hand, and her dark eyes did fix themselves wistfully on
mine, as if asking somewhat of me, but what I knew not. "Constance,"
she said at last, "I have no mother, no sister of mine own age, no
brother, no ghostly father, to speak my mind to. Methinks it should
not be wrong to unbosom my cares to thee, who, albeit young, hast a
thoughtful spirit, and, as I have often observed, an aptness to give
good counsel. And then thou art of that way of thinking wherein I was
brought up, and though in outward show we now do differ, I am not
greatly changed therein, as thou well knowest."
"Alack!" I cried, "too well I do know it, dear lady; and, albeit my
tongue is silent thereon, my heart doth grieve to see you comfortless
of that which is the sole source of true comfort."
"Tis not that troubles me," she answered, a little impatiently. "Thou
art unreasonable, Constance. My duty to my lord shapes my outward
behavior; but I have weighty cares, nevertheless. Dost thou mind that
passage in the late duke our father's letter to his son and me?--that
we should live in a lower degree, and out of London and from the
court. Methinks a prophetic spirit did move him thus to write. My lord
has a great heart and a generous temper, and loves to spend money in
all sorts of ways, profitable and unprofitable, as I too well observe
since we have been in London. And the queen sent him a store of
messages by my Lord Essex, and others of his friends, that she was
surprised not to see him at court; and that it was her highness's
pleasure he should wait upon her, and she shall show him so much favor
as he deserves, and such like inducements."
"And hath my lord been to court?" I asked.
"Yea, he hath been," she answered, sighing deeply. "He hath been
forced to kiss the hand which signed his father's death-warrant.
Constance, it is this which doth so pain me, that her majesty should
think he hath in his heart no resentment of that mishap. She said to
my Lady Berkeley some days since, when she sued for some favor at her
hands, 'No, no, my Lady Berkeley; you love us not, and never will. You
cannot forgive us your brother's death.' Why should her grace think a
son hath less resentment of a father's loss than a sister?"
Willing to minister comfort to her touching that on which I did,
nevertheless, but too much consent to her thinking, I said, "In my
lord's case, he must have needs appeared to mislike the queen
and her government if he stayed away from court, and his duty to his
sovereign compelleth him to render her so much homage as is due to her
majesty."
"Yea," cried my lady, "I be of the same mind with thee, that if my
lord do live in London he is in a manner forced to swim with the tide,
and God only knoweth into what a flood of troubles he may thus be led.
But I have prevailed on him to go to Kenninghall, and there to enjoy
that retired life his father passionately wished him to be contented
with. So I do look, if it please God, to happy days when we leave this
great city, where so many and great dangers beset us."
"Have you been to court likewise, dear lady?" I asked; and she
answered,
"No; her majesty doth deny me that privilege which the wife of a
nobleman should enjoy without so much as the asking for it. My Lord
Arundel and my Lord Sussex are mad thereon, and swear 'tis the gipsy's
doing, as they do always title Lord Leicester, and a sign of his
hatred to my lord. But I be not of their mind; for methinks he doth
but aid my lord to win the queen's favor by the slights which are put
on his wife, which, if he doth take patiently, must needs secure for
him such favor as my Lord Leicester should wish, if report speaks
truly, none should enjoy but himself."
"But surely," I cried, "my lord's spirit is too noble to stomach so
mean a treatment of his lady?"
A burning blush spread over the countess's face, and she answered,
"Constance, nobility of soul is shaped into action by divers motives
and influences. And, I pray thee, since his father's death and the
loss of his first tutor, who hath my lord had to fashion the aims of
his eager spirit to a worthy ambition, and teach him virtuous
contentment with a meaner rank and lower fortunes than his birth do
entitle him to? He chafes to be degraded, and would fain rise to the
heights his ancestors occupied; and, alas! the ladder which those who
beset him--for that they would climb after him--do ever set before his
eyes is the queen's majesty's favor. 'Tis the breath of their
nostrils, the perpetual theme of their discourse. Mine ears sometimes
ache with the sound of their oft-repeated words."
Then she broke off her speech for an instant, but soon asked me if to
consult fortune-tellers was not a sin.
"Yea," I answered, "the Church doth hold it to be unlawful."
"Ah!" she replied, "I would to God my lord had never resorted to a
person of that sort, which hath filled his mind with an apprehension
which will work us great evil, if I do mistake not."
"Alas!" I said, "hath my lord been so deluded?"
"Thou hast heard, I ween," my lady continued, "of one Dr. Dee, whom
the queen doth greatly favor, and often charge him to cast her
horoscope. Some time ago my lord was riding with her majesty and the
most part of her court near unto this learned gentleman's house at
Mortlake, which her highness, taking notice of, she must needs propose
to visit him with all her retinue, in order, she said, to examine his
library and hold conference with him. But learning that his wife had
been buried only four hours, her majesty would not enter, but desired
my Lord Leicester to take her down from her horse at the church-wall
at Mortlake and to fetch the doctor unto her, who did bring out for
her grace's inspection his magic-glass, of which she and all those
with her did see some of the properties. Several of the noblemen
thereunto present were greatly contented and delighted with this
cunning witchery, and did agree to visit again, in a private manner,
this learned man, for to have their nativities calculated; and my
lord, I grieve to say, went with them. And this cheat or wizard, for
methinks one or other of those names must needs belong to him,
predicted to my lord that he should be in great danger to be
overthrown by a woman. And, I ween, good Constance, there was a
craft in this most deep and deceptive, for doth it not tend, whichever
way it be understood, to draw and urge onward my lord to a careful
seeking to avoid this danger by a diligent serving and waiting on her
majesty, if she be the woman like to undo him, or else to move him to
the thought that his marriage--as I doubt not many endeavor to
insinuate into his mind--should be an obstacle to her favor such as
must needs mar his fortunes? Not that my lord hath breathed so much as
one such painful word in my hearing, or abated in his kind behavior;
but there are others who be not slow to hint so much to myself; and, I
pray you, shall they not then deal with him in the same manner, albeit
he is too noble and gentle to let me hear of it? But since that day he
is often thoughtful when we are alone, and his mind ever running on
means to propitiate her majesty, and doth send her many presents, the
value of which should rather mark them as gifts from one royal person
to another than from a subject to his prince. O Constance, I would
Kenninghall were a thousand miles from London, and a wild sea to run
between it and the court, such as could with difficulty be crossed;
but 'tis vain wishing; and I thank God my lord should be willing to
remove there, and so we shall be in quiet."
"God send it!" I answered; "and that you, my sweet lady, may find
there all manner of contentment." Then I asked her ladyship if she had
tidings of my Lady l'Estrange.
"Yea," she answered; "excellent good tidings, for that she was a
contented wife to a loving husband. Sir Hammond," she said, "hath a
most imperious temper, and, as I hear, doth not brook the least
contradiction; so that a woman less mild and affectionate than
Milicent should not, I ween, live at peace with him. But her sweet
temper doth move her to such strict condescension to his humors, that
she doth style herself most fortunate in marriage and a singular happy
wife. Dost mind Master Chaucer's tale of the patient Grizzel, which
Phil read to me some years back, soon after our first marriage, for to
give me a lesson on wifely duty, and which I did then write to thee
the story of?"
"Yea, well," I cried; "and that I was so angered at her patience,
which methought was foolish, yea, wicked in its excess, that it did
throw me into a passion."
My lady laughed and said, indeed she thought so too; but Milicent, in
her behavior and the style of her letters, did mind her so much of
that singular obedient wife, that she did sometimes call her Grizzel
to her face. "She is now gone to reside with her husband," she said,
"at a seat of his not very far from Lynn. 'Tis a poor and wild
district; and the people, I hear, do resort to her in great numbers
for assistance in the way of medicine and surgery, and for much help
of various sorts. She is greatly contented that her husband doth in
nowise impede her in these charitable duties, but rather the contrary.
She is a creature of such natural good impulses and compassionate
spirit that must needs show kindness to all who do come in her way."
Then my lady questioned me touching Muriel and Mistress Ward, and Kate
and Polly, who were now both married; and I told her Kate had a fair
son and Polly a little daughter, like to prove as sharp as her mother
if her infant vivacity did not belie her. As to Muriel and her guide
and friend, I told her ladyship that few were like to have speech with
them, save such as were in so destitute a condition that nothing could
exceed it. Now that my two elder cousins had left home, mine uncle's
house was become a sort of refuge for the poor, and an hospital for
distressed Catholics.
"And thou, Constance," my lady said, "dost thou not think on
marriage?"
I smiled and answered I did sometimes; but had not yet met with any
one altogether conformable to my liking.
"Not Mr. Hubert Rookwood?" she said smiling; "I have been told he
haunts Mrs. Lacy's house, and would fain be admitted as Mistress
Sherwood's suitor."
"I will not deny," I answered, "but that he doth testify a vast regard
for me, or that he is a gentleman of such great parts and exceedingly
winning speech that a gentlewoman should be flattered to be addressed
by him; but, dear lady," I continued, opening my heart to her, "albeit
I relish greatly his society, mine heart doth not altogether incline
to his suit; and Mr. Congleton hath lately warned me to be less free
in allowing of his attentions than hath hitherto been my wont; for, he
said, his means be so scanty, that it behoveth him not to think of
marriage until his fortunes do improve; and that his father would not
be competent to make such settlements as should be needful in such a
case, or without which he should suffer us to marry. As Hubert had
never opened to me himself thereon in so pointed a fashion as to
demand an answer from me, I was somewhat surprised at mine uncle's
speech; but I found he had often ministered talk of his passion for
me--for so he termed it--to Kate and her husband."
"And did it work in thee, sweet one, no regrets," my lady asked, "that
the course of this poor gentleman's true love should be marred by his
lack of wealth?"
"In truth no, dear lady," I replied; "except that I did notice, with
so much of pain as a good heart must needs feel in the sufferings of
another, that he was both sad and wroth at the change in my manner.
And indeed I had always seen--and methinks this was the reason that my
heart inclined not warmly toward his suit--that his affection was of
that sort that doth readily breed anger; and that if he had occasion
to misdoubt a return from me of such-like regard as he professed, his
looks of love sometimes changed into a scowl, or something nearly
resembling one. Yet I had a kindness toward him, yea, more than a
kindness, an attachment, which methinks should have led me to
correspond to his affection so far as to be willing to marry him, if
mine uncle had not forbade me to think on it; but since he hath laid
his commands upon me on that point, methinks I have experienced a
freedom of soul and a greater peace than I had known for some time
past."
"'Tis well then as it is," my lady said; and after some further
discourse we parted that day.
It had been with me even as I had said to her. My mind had been more
at ease since the contending would and would not, the desire to please
Hubert and the fear to be false in so doing, had been stayed,--and
mostly since he had urged me to entertain him as a friend, albeit
defended to receive him as a lover. And that peace lasted until a
day--ay, a day which began like other days with no perceptible
presentiment of joy or sorrow, the sun shining as brightly, and no
more, at its rise than on any other morning in June; and the
thunder-clouds toward noon overshadowing its glory not more darkly
than a storm is wont to do the clear sky it doth invade; nor yet
evening smiling again more brightly and peacefully than is usually
seen when nature's commotion is hushed, and the brilliant orb of day
doth sink to rest in a bed of purple glory; and yet that day did
herald the greatest joys, presage the greatest anguish, mark the most
mighty beginnings of most varied endings that can be thought of in the
life of a creature not altogether untried by sorrow, but on the brink
of deeper waters than she had yet sounded, on the verge of such
passages as to have looked forward to had caused her to tremble with a
two-fold resentment of hope and of fear, and to look back to doth
constrain her to lay down her pen awhile for to crave strength to
recount the same.
CHAPTER XIII.
One day there was a great deal of company at Mistress Wells's house,
which was the only one I then haunted, being as afore said, somewhat
sickened of society and diversions. The conversation which was mostly
ministered amongst such as visited there related to public affairs and
foreign countries, and not so much as in some other houses to private
scandals and the tattle of the town. The uncertainty I was in
concerning my father's present abode and his known intent soon to
cross over the sea from France worked in me a constant craving for
news from abroad, and also an apprehensive curiosity touching reports
of the landing of seminary priests at any of the English ports. Some
would often tarry at Mr. Wells's house for a night who had lately come
from Rheims or Paris, and even Rome, or leastways received letters
from such as resided in those distant parts. And others I met there
were persons who had friends at court; and they often related
anecdotes of the queen and the ministers, and the lords and ladies of
her household, which it also greatly concerned me to hear of, by
reason of my dearest friend having embarked her whole freight of
happiness in a frail vessel launched on that stormy sea of the court,
so full of shoals and quicksands, whereby many a fair ship was daily
chanced to be therein wrecked.
Nothing notable of this kind had been mentioned on the day I speak of,
which, howsoever, proved a very notable one to me. For after I had
been in the house a short time there came there one not known, and yet
it should seem not wholly unknown to me; for that I did discover in
his shape and countenance something not unfamiliar, albeit I could not
call to mind that I had ever seen this gentleman before. I asked his
name of a young lady who sat near to me, and she said she thought he
should be the elder brother of Mr. Hubert Rookwood, who was lodging in
the house, and that she heard he tabled there also since he had come
to town, and that he was a very commendable person, above the common
sort, albeit not one of such great parts as his brother. Then I did
instantly take note of the likeness between the brothers which had
made the elder's face not strange to me, as also perhaps that one
sight of him I had at Bedford some years before. Their visages were
very like; but their figures and mostly their countenances different.
I cannot say wherein that great differency did lie; but methinks every
one must have seen, or rather felt it. Basil was the tallest and the
handsomest of the twain. I will not be so great a prodigal of time as
to bestow it on commendations of his outward appearance whose inward
excellences were his chiefest merit. Howsoever, I be minded to set
down in this place somewhat touching his appearance; as it may so
happen that some who read this history, and who have known and loved
Basil in his old years, should take as much pleasure in reading as I
do in writing the description of his person, and limning as it were
the resemblance of him at a period in this history wherein the
hitherto separate currents of his life and mine do meet, like a noble
river and a poor stream, for to flow onward in the same channel.
Basil Rookwood was of a tall stature, and well-proportioned shape in
all parts. His hair of light brown, very thickly set, and of a sunny
hue, curled with a graceful wave. His head had many becoming motions.
His mouth was well-made, and his lips ruddy. His forehead not very
high, in which was a notable dissemblance from his brother. His nose
raised and somewhat sharply cut. His complexion clear and rosy; his
smile so full of cheer and kindliness that it infected others with
mirthfulness. He was very nimble and active in all his movements, and
well skilled in riding, fencing, and dancing. I pray you who have
known him in his late years, can you in aught, save in a never-altered
sweetness mixing with the dignity of age, trace in this picture a
likeness to Basil, your Basil and mine?
I care not, in writing this plain showing of mine own life, to use
such disguises as are observed in love-stories, whereby the reader is
kept ignorant of that which is to follow until in due time the course
of the tale doth unfold it. No, I may not write Basil's name as that
of a stranger. Not for the space of one page; nay, not with so much as
one stroke of my pen can I dissemble the love which had its dawn on
the day I have noted. It was sudden in its beginnings, yet steady in
its progress. It deepened and widened with the course of years, even
as a rivulet doth start with a lively force from its source, and,
gathering strength as it flows, grows into a broad and noble river. It
was ardent but not idolatrous; sudden, as I have said, in its rise,
but not unconsidered. It was founded on high esteem on the one side,
on the other an inexpressible tenderness and kindness. Religion,
honor, and duty were the cements of this love. No blind dotage; but a
deathless bond of true sympathy, making that equal which in itself was
unequal; for, if a vain world should have deemed that on the one side
there did appear some greater brilliancy of parts than showed in the
other, all who could judge of true merit and sound wisdom must needs
have allowed that in true merit Basil was as greatly her superior whom
he honored with his love, as is a pure diamond to the showy setting
which encases it.
Hubert presented to me his brother, who, when he heard my name
mentioned, would not be contented till he had got speech of me; and
straightway, after the first civilities had passed between us, began
to relate to me that he had been staying for a few days before coming
to town at Mr. Roper's house at Richmond, where I had often visited in
the summer. It so befel that I had left in the chamber where I slept
some of my books, on the margins of which were written such notes as I
was wont to make whilst reading, for so Hubert had advised me, and his
counsel in this I found very profitable; for this method teaches one
to reflect on what he reads, and to hold converse as it were with
authors whose friendship and company he thus enjoys, which is a source
of contentment more sufficient and lasting than most other pleasures
in this world.
Basil chanced to inhabit this room, and discovered on an odd by-shelf
these volumes so disfigured, or, as he said, so adorned; and took such
delight in the reading of them, but mostly in the poor reflections an
unknown pen had affixed to these pages, that he rested not until he
had learnt from Mr. Roper the name of the writer. When he found she
was the young girl he had once seen at Bedford, he marvelled at the
strong impulse he had toward her, and pressed the venerable gentleman
with so many questions relating to her that he feared he should have
wearied him but his inquiries met with such gracious answers that he
perceived Mr. Roper to be as well pleased with the theme of his
discourse as himself, and as glad to set forth her excellences (I
be ashamed to write the words which should indeed imply the speaker to
have been in his dotage, but for the excuse of a too great kindness to
an unworthy creature) as he had to listen to them. And here I must
needs interrupt my narrative to admire that one who was no scholar,
yea, no great reader at any time, albeit endowed with excellent good
sense and needful information, should by means of books have been
drawn to the first thoughts of her who was to enjoy his love which
never was given to any other creature but herself. But I pray you,
doth it not happen most often, though it is scarce to be credited,
that dissemblance in certain matters doth attract in the way of love
more than resemblance? That short men do choose tall wives; lovers of
music women who have no ear to discern one tune from another; scholars
witless housewives; retired men ambitious helpmates; and gay ladies
grave husbands? This should seem to be the rule, otherways the
exception; and a notable instance of the same I find in the first
motions which did incline Basil to a good opinion of my poor self.
But to return. "Mistress Sherwood," quoth Basil, "Mr. Roper did not
wholly praise you; he recited your faults as well as your virtues."
I answered, it did very much content me he should have done so, for
that then more credit should be given to his words in that wherein he
did commend me, since he was so true a friend as to note my defects.
"But what," quoth he, archly smiling, "if the faults he named are such
as pleased me as well as virtues?"
"Then," I replied, "methinks, sir, the fault should be rather in you
than in her who doth commit them, for she may be ignorant, or else
subject to some infirmity of temper; but to commend faults should be a
very dangerous error."
"But will you hear," quoth he, "your faults as Mr. Roper recited
them?"
"Yea, willingly," I answered, "and mend them also if I can."
"Oh, I pray you mend them not," he cried.
At which I laughed, and said he should be ashamed to give such wanton
advice. And then he:
"Mr. Roper declares you have so much inability to conceal your
thoughts that albeit your lips should be forcibly closed, your eyes
would speak them so clearly that any one who listed should read them."
"Methinks," I said, willing to excuse myself like the lawyer in the
gospel, "that should not be my fault, who made not mine own eyes."
"Then he also says, that you have so sharp an apprehension of wrongs
done to others, that if you hear of an injustice committed, or some
cruel treatment of any one, you are so moved and troubled, that he has
known you on such occasions to shed tears, which do not flow with a
like ease for your own griefs. Do you cry mercy to this accusation,
Mistress Sherwood?"
"Indeed," I answered, "God knoweth I do, and my ghostly father also.
For the strong passions of resentment touching the evil usage our
Catholics do meet with work in me so mightfully, that I often am in
doubt if I have sinned therein. And concerning mine own griefs, they
have been but few as yet, so that 'tis little praise I deserve for not
overmuch resentment in instances wherein, if others are afflicted, I
have much ado to restrain wrath."
"Ah," he said, "methinks if you answer in so true and grave a manner
my rude catechizing. Mistress Sherwood, I be not bold enough to
continue the inventory of your faults."
"I pray you do," I answered; for I felt in my soul an unusual liking
for his conversation, and the more so when, leaving off jesting, he
said, "The last fault Mr. Roper did charge you with was lack of
prudence in matters wherein prudence is most needed in these days."
"Alas!" I exclaimed; "for that also do I cry mercy; but indeed, Master
Rookwood, there is in these days so much cowardice and time-serving
which doth style itself prudence, that methinks it might sometimes
happen that a right boldness should be called rashness."
Raising my eyes to his, I thought I saw them clouded by a misty dew;
and he replied, "Yea, Mistress Constance, and if it is so, I had
sooner that myself and such as I have a friendship for should have to
cry mercy on their death-beds for too much rashness in stemming the
tide, than for too much ease in yielding to it. And now," he added,
"shall I repeat what Mr. Roper related of your virtues?"
"No," I answered, smiling. "For if the faults he doth charge me with
be so much smaller than the reality, what hope have I that he should
speak the truth in regard to my poor merits?"
Then some persons moving nearer to where we were sitting, some general
conversation ensued, in which several took part; and none so much to
my liking as Basil, albeit others might possess more ready tongues and
a more sparkling wit. In all the years since I had left my home, I had
not found so much contentment in any one's society. His mind and mine
were like two instruments with various chords, but one key-note, which
maintained them in admirable harmony. The measure of our agreement
stood rather in the drift of our desires and the scope of our
approval, than in any parity of tastes or resemblance of disposition.
Acquaintanceship soon gave way to intimacy, which bred a mutual
friendship that in its turn was not slow to change into a warmer
feeling. We met very often. It seemed so natural to him to affection
me, and to me to reciprocate his affection, that if our love began
not, which methinks it did, on that first day of meeting, I know not
when it had birth. But if it be difficult precisely to note the
earliest buddings of the sweet flower love, it was easy to discern the
moment when the bitter root of jealousy sprang up in Hubert's heart.
He who had been suspicious of every person whose civilities I allowed
of, did not for some time appear to mislike the intimacy which had
arisen betwixt his brother and me. I ween from what he once said, when
on a later occasion anger loosened his tongue, that he held him in
some sort of contempt, even as a fox would despise a nobler animal
than himself. His subtle wit disdained his plainness of speech. His
confiding temper he derided; and he had methinks no apprehension that
a she-wit, as he was wont to call me, should prove herself so witless
as to prefer to one of his brilliant parts a man notable for his
indifferency to book learning, and to his smooth tongue and fine
genius the honest words and unvarnished merits of his brother.
Howsoever, one day he either did himself notice some sort of
particular kindness to exist between us, or he was advertised thereof
by some of the company we frequented, and I saw him fix his eyes on us
with so arrested a persistency, and his frame waxed so rigid, that
methought Lot's wife must have so gazed when she turned toward the
doomed city. I was more frighted at the dull lack of expression in his
face than at a thousand frowns or even scowls. His eyes were reft of
their wonted fire; the color had flown from his lips; his always pale
cheek was of a ghastly whiteness; and his hand, which was thrust in
his bosom, and his feet, which seemed rooted to the ground, were as
motionless as those of a statue. A shudder ran through me as he stood
in this guise, neither moving nor speaking, at a small distance from
me. I rose and went away, for his looks freezed me. But the next time
I met him this strangeness of behavior had vanished, and I almost
misdoubted the truth of what I had seen. He was a daily witness, for
several succeeding weeks, of what neither Basil nor I cared much
to conceal--the mutual confidence and increasing tenderness of
affection, which was visible in all our words and actions at that
time, which was one of greater contentment than can be expressed. That
summer was a rare one for fineness of the weather and its great store
of sun-shiny days. We had often pleasant divertisements in the
neighborhood of London, than which no city is more famous for the
beauty of its near scenery. One while we ascended the noble river
Thames as far as Richmond, England's Arcadia, whose smooth waters,
smiling meads, and hills clad in richest verdure, do equal whatsoever
poets have ever sung or painters pictured. Another time we disported
ourselves in the gardens of Hampton, where, in the season of roses,
the insects weary their wings over the flower-beds--the thrifty bees
with the weight of gathered honey--and the gay butterflies, idlers as
ourselves, with perfume and pleasure. Or we went to Greenwich Park,
and underneath the spreading trees, with England's pride of shipping
in sight, and barges passing to and fro on the broad stream as on a
watery highway, we whiled away the time in many joyous pastimes.
On an occasion of this sort it happened that both brothers went with
us, and we forecasted to spend the day at a house in the village of
Paddington, about two miles from London, where Mr. Congleton's sister,
a lady of fortune, resided. It stood in a very fair garden, the gate
of which opened on the high road; and after dinner we sat with some
other company which had been invited to meet us under the large cedar
trees which lined a broad gravel-walk leading from the house to the
gate. The day was very hot, but now a cooling air had risen, and the
young people there assembled played at pastimes, in which I was
somewhat loth to join; for jesting disputations and framing of
questions and answers, an amusement then greatly in fashion, minded
one of that fatal encounter betwixt Martin Tregony and Thomas
Sherwood, the end of which had been the death of the one and a fatal
injury to the soul of the other. Hubert was urgent with me to join in
the arguments proposed; but I refused, partly for the aforesaid
reason, and methinks, also, because I doubted that Basil should acquit
himself so admirably as his brother in these exercises of wit, wherein
the latter did indeed excel, and I cared not to shine in a sport
wherein he took no part. So I set myself to listen to the disputants,
albeit with an absent mind; for I had grown to be somewhat thoughtful
of late, and to forecast the future with such an admixture of hope and
fear touching the issue of those passages of love I was engaged in,
that the trifles which entertained a disengaged mind lacked ability to
divert me. I ween Polly, if she had been then in London, should have
laughed at me for the symptoms I exhibited of what she styled the
sighing malady.
A little while after the contest had begun, a sound was heard at a
distance as of a trampling on the road, but not discernible as yet
whether of men or horses' feet. There was mixed with it cries of
hooting and shouts, which increased as this sort of procession (for so
it should seem to be) approached. All who were in the garden ran to
the iron railing for to discover the cause. From the houses on both
sides the road persons came out and joined in the clamor. As the crowd
neared the gate where we stood, the words, "Papists--seditious
priests--traitors," were discernible, mixed with oaths, curses, and
such opprobrious epithets as my pen dares not write. At the hearing of
them the blood rushed to my head, and my heart began to beat as if it
should burst from the violence with which it throbbed; for now the mob
was close at hand, and we could see the occasion of their yells and
shoutings. About a dozen persons were riding without bridle or spur or
other furniture, on lean and bare horses, which were fastened one
to the other's tails, marching slowly in a long row, each man's feet
tied under his horse's belly and his arms bound hard and fast behind
him. A pursuivant rode in front and cried aloud that those coming
behind him were certain papists, foes to the gospel and enemies to the
commonwealth, for that they had been seized in the act of saying and
hearing mass in disobedience to the laws. And as he made this
proclamation, the rabble yelled and took up stones and mud to cast at
the prisoners. One man cried out, "Four of them be vile priests." O ye
who read this, have you taken heed how, at some times in your lives,
in a less space than the wink of an eye, thought has outrun sight? So
did mine with lightning speed apprehend lest my father should be one
of these. I scanned the faces of the prisoners as they passed, but he
was not amongst them; however I recognized, with a sharp pain, the
known countenance of the priest who had shriven my mother on her
death-bed. He looked pale and worn to a shadow, and hardly able to sit
on his horse. I sunk down on my knees, with my head against the
railings, feeling very sick. Then the gate opened, and with a strange
joy and trembling fear I saw Basil push through the mob till he stood
close to the horse's feet where the crowd had made a stoppage. He
knelt and took off his hat, and the lips of the priests moved, as they
passed, for to bless him. Murmurs rose from the rabble, but he took no
heed of them. Till the last horseman had gone by he stood with his
head uncovered, and then slowly returned, none daring to touch him.
"Basil, dear Basil!" I cried, and, weeping, gave him my hand. It was
the first time I had called him by his name. Methinks in that moment
as secure a troth-plight was passed between us as if ten thousand
bonds had sealed it. When, some time afterward, we moved toward the
house, I saw Hubert standing at the door with the same stony rigid
look which had frighted me once before. He said not one word as I
passed him. I have since heard that a lady, endowed with more
sharpness than prudence or kindness, had thus addressed him on this
occasion: "Methinks, Master Hubert Rookwood, that you did perform your
part excellently well in that ingenious pastime which procured us so
much good entertainment awhile ago; but beshrew me if your brother did
not exceed you in the scene we have just witnessed, and if Mistress
Sherwood's looks do not belie her, she thought so too. I ween his
tragedy hath outdone your comedy." Then he (well-nigh biting his lips
through, as the person who related it to me observed) made answer: "If
this young gentlewoman's taste be set on tragedy, then will I promise
her so much of it another day as should needs satisfy her."
This malicious lady misliked Hubert, by reason of his having denied
her the praise of wit, which had been reported to her by a third
person. She was minded to be revenged on him, and so the shaft
contained in her piercing jest had likewise hit those she willed not
to injure. It is not to be credited how many persons have been ruined
in fortune, driven into banishment, yea, delivered over to death, by
careless words uttered without so much as a thought of the evil which
should ensue from them.
And now upon the next day Basil was to leave London. Before he went he
said he hoped not to be long absent, and that Mr. Congleton should
receive a letter, if it pleased God, from his father; which, if it
should be favorably received, and I willed it not to be otherwise,
should cause our next meeting to be one of greater contentment than
could be thought of.
I answered, "I should never wish otherwise than that we should meet
with contentment, or will anything that should hinder it." Which he
said did greatly please him to hear, and gave him a comfortable hope
of a happy return.
He conversed also with Mistress Ward touching the prisoners we had
seen the day before, and left some money with her in case she should
find means to see and assist them, which she strove to do with the
diligence used by her in all such managements. In a few days she
discovered Mr. Watson to be in Bridewell, also one Mr. Richardson in
the Marshalsea, and three laymen in the Clink. Mr. Watson had a sister
who was a Protestant, and by her means she succeeded in relieving his
wants, and dealt with the gaolers at the other prisons so as to convey
some assistance to the poor men therein confined, whose names she had
found out.
One morning when I was at Kate's house Hubert came there; and she, the
whole compass of whose thoughts was now circled in her nursery, not
minding the signs I made she should not leave us alone, rose and said
she must needs go and see if her babe was awake, for Hubert must see
him, and he should not go away without first he had beheld him walk
with his new leading-strings, which were the tastefullest in the world
and fit for a king's son; and that she doubted not we could find good
enough entertainment in each other's company, or in Mr. Lacy's books,
which must be the wittiest ever written, if she judged by her
husband's fondness for them. As soon as the door was shut on her,
Hubert began to speak of his brother, and to insinuate that my
behavior to himself was changed since Basil had come to London, which
I warmly denied.
"If," I said, "I have changed--"
"_If_," he repeated, stopping my speaking with an ironical and
disdainful smile, and throwing into that one little word as he uttered
it more of meaning than it would seem possible it should express.
"Yes!" I continued, angered at his defiant looks. "Yes, if my behavior
to you has changed, which, I must confess, in some respects it has,
the cause did lie in my uncle's commands, laid on me before your
brother's coming to London. You know it, Master Rookwood, by the same
token that you charged me with unkindness for not allowing of your
visits, and refusing to read Italian with you, some weeks before ever
he arrived."
"You have a very obedient disposition, madam," he answered in a
scornful manner, "and I doubt not have attended with a like readiness
to the behest to favor the _elder_ brother's suit as to that which
forbade the receiving of the younger brother's addresses."
"I did not look upon you as a suitor," I replied.
"No!" he exclaimed, "and not as on a lover? Not as on one whose lips,
borrowing words from enamored poets twenty times in a day, did avow
his passion, and was entertained on your side with so much good-nature
and apparent contentment with this mode of disguised worship, as
should lead him to hope for a return of his affection? But why
question of that wherein my belief is unshaken? I know you love me,
Constance Sherwood, albeit you peradventure love more dearly my
brother's heirship of Euston and its wide acres. Your eyes deceived
not, nor did your flushing cheek dissemble, when we read together
those sweet tales and noble poems, wherein are set forth the dear
pains and tormenting joys of a mutual love. No, not if you did take
your oath on it will I believe you love my brother!"
"What warrant have you, sir," I answered with burning cheek, "to
minister such talk to one who, from the moment she found you thought
of marriage, did plainly discountenance your suit?"
"You were content, then, madam, to be worshipped as an idol," he
bitterly replied, "if only not sued for in marriage by a poor man."
My sin found me out then, and the hard taunt awoke dormant pangs in my
conscience for the pleasure I had taken and doubtless showed in the
disguised professions of an undisguised admiration; but anger yet
prevailed, and I cried, "Think you to advance your interest in my
friendship, sir, by such language and reproaches as these?"
"Do you love my brother?" he said again, with an implied contempt
which made me mad.
"Sir," I answered, "I entertain for your brother so great a respect
and esteem as one must needs feel toward one of so much virtue and
goodness. No contract exists between us; nor has he made me the tender
of his hand. More than that it behoves you not to ask, or me to
answer."
"Ah! the offer of marriage is then the condition of your regard, and
love is to follow, not precede, the settlements, I' faith, ladies are
very prudent in these days; and virtue and goodness the new names for
fortune and lands. Beshrew me, if I had not deemed you to be made of
other metal than the common herd. But whatever be the composition of
your heart, Constance Sherwood, be it hard as the gold you set so much
store on, or, like wax, apt to receive each day some new impress, I
will have it; yea, and keep it for my own. No rich fool shall steal it
from me."
"Hubert Rookwood," I cried in anger, "dare not so to speak of one
whose merit is as superior to thine as the sun outshines a
torchlight."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, turning pale with rage, "if I thought thou didst
love him!" and clenched his hand with a terrible gesture, and ground
his teeth. "But 'tis impossible," he added bitterly smiling. "As soon
would I believe Titania verily to doat on the ass's head as for thee
to love Basil!"
"Oh!" I indignantly replied, "you do almost constrain me to avow that
which no maiden should, unasked, confess. Do you think, sir, that
learning and scholarship, and the poor show of wit that lies in a
ready tongue, should outweigh honor, courage, and kindliness of heart?
Think you that more respect should be paid to one who can speak, and
write also, if you will, fair sounding words, than to him who in his
daily doings shows forth such nobleness as others only inculcate, and
God only knoweth if ever they practise it?"
"Lady!" he exclaimed, "I have served you long; sustained torments in
your presence; endured griefs in your absence; pining thoughts in the
day, and anguished dreams in the night; jealousies often in times
past, and now--"
He drew in his breath; and then not so much speaking the word
"despair" as with a smothered vehemence uttering it, he concluded his
vehement address.
I was so shaken by his speech that I remained silent: for if I had
spoken I must needs have wept. Holding my head with both hands, and so
shielding my eyes from the sight of his pale convulsed face, I sat
like one transfixed. Then he again: "These be not times, Mistress
Sherwood, for women to act as you have done; to lift a man's heart one
while to an earthly heaven, and then, without so much as a thought, to
cast him into a hellish sea of woes. These be the dealings which drive
men to desperation; to attempt things contrary to their own minds, to
religion, and to honesty; to courses once abhorred--"
His violence wrung my heart then with so keen a remorse that I cried
out, "I cry you mercy, Master Rookwood, if I have dealt thus with you;
indeed I thought not to do it. I pray you forgive me, if unwittingly,
albeit peradventure in a heedless manner, I have done you so much
wrong as your words do charge me with." And then tears I could not
stay began to flow; and for awhile no talk ensued. But after a little
time he spoke in a voice so changed and dissimilar in manner, that I
looked up wholly amazed.
"Sweet Constance," he said, "I have played the fool in my customable
fashion, and by such pretended slanders of one I should rather incline
to commend beyond his deserts, if that were possible, than to give him
vile terms, have sought--I cry you mercy for it--to discover your
sentiments, and feigned a resentment and a passion which indeed has
proved an excellent piece of acting, if I judge by your tears. I pray
you pardon and forget my brotherly device. If you love Basil--as I
misdoubt not he loves you--where shall a more suitable match be found,
or one which every one must needs so much approve? Marry, sweet lady;
I will be his best man when he doth ride to church with you, and cry
'Amen' more loudly than the clerk. So now dart no more vengeful
lightnings from thine eyes, sweet one; and wipe away the pearly drops
my unmannerly jesting hath caused to flow. I would not Basil had
wedded a lady in love with his pelf, not with himself."
"I detest tricks," I cried, "and such feigning as you do confess to. I
would I had not answered one word of your false discourse."
Now I wept for vexation to have been so circumvented and befooled as
to own some sort of love for a man who bad not yet openly addressed
me. And albeit reassured in some wise, touching what my conscience had
charged me with when I heard Hubert's vehement reproaches, I
misdoubted his present sincerity. He searched my face with a keen
investigation, for to detect, I ween, if I was most contented or
displeased with his late words. I resolved, if he was false, I would
be true, and leave not so much as a suspicion in his mind that I did
or ever had cared for him. But Kate, who should not have left us
alone, now returned, when her absence would have been most profitable.
She had her babe in her aims, and must needs call on Hubert to praise
its beauty and list to its sweet crowing. In truth, a more winsome,
gracious creature could not be seen; and albeit I had made an
inpatient gesture when she entered, my arms soon eased hers of their
fair burthen, and I set to playing with the boy, and Hubert talking
and laughing in such good cheer, that I began to credit his passion
had been feigning, and his indifferency to be true, which contented me
not a little.
A few days afterward Mr. Congleton received a letter, in the evening,
when we were sitting in my aunt's room, and a sudden fluttering in my
heart whispered it should be from Basil's father. Mine eyes affixed
themselves on the cover, which had fallen on the ground, and then
travelled to my uncle's face, wherein was a smile which seemed to say,
"This is no other than what I did expect." He put it down on the
table, and his hand over it. My aunt said he should tell us the news
he had received, to make us merry; for that the fog had given her the
vapors, and she had need of some good entertainment.
"News!" quoth he. "What news do you look for, good wife?"
"It would not be news, sir," she answered, "if I expected it."
"That is more sharp than true," he replied. "There must needs come
news of the queen of France's lying-in; but I pray you how will it be?
Shall she live and do well? Shall it be a prince or a princess?"
"Prithee, no disputings, Mr. Congleton," she said. "We be not playing
at questions and answers."
"Nay, but thou dost mistake," he cried out, laughing. "Methinks we
have here in hand some game of that sort if I judge by this letter."
Then my heart leapt, I knew not how high or how tumultuously; for I
doubted not now but he had received the tidings I hoped for.
"Constance," he said, "hast a mind to marry?"
"If it should please you, sir," I answered; "for my father charged me
to obey you."
"Good," quoth he. "I see thou art an obedient wench. And thou wilt
marry who I please?"
"Nay, sir; I said not that."
"Oh, oh!" quoth he. "Thou wilt marry so as to please me, and yet--"
"Not so as to displease myself, sir," I answered.
"Come," he said, "another question. Here is a gentleman of
fortune and birth, and excellent good character, somewhat advanced in
years indeed, but the more like to make an indulgent husband, and to
be prudent in the management of his affairs, hath heard so good a
report from two young gentlemen, his sons, of thy abilities and proper
behavior, that he is minded to make thee a tender of marriage, with so
good a settlement on his estate in Suffolk as must needs content any
reasonable woman. Wilt have him, Conny?"
"Who, sir?" I asked, waxing, I ween, as red as a field-poppy.
"Mr. Rookwood, wench--Basil and Hubert's father."
Albeit I knew my uncle's trick of jesting, my folly was so great just
then, hope and fear working in me, that I was seized with fright, and
from crimson turned so white, that he cried out:
"Content thee, child! content thee! 'Tis that tall strapping fellow
Basil must needs make thee an offer of his hand; and by my troth,
wench, I warrant thee thou wouldst go further and fare worse; for the
gentleman is honorably descended, heir-apparent to an estate worth
yearly, to my knowledge, three thousand pounds sterling, well disposed
in religion, and of a personage without exception. Mr. Rookwood
declares he is more contented with his son's choice than if he married
Mistress Spencer, or any other heiress; and beshrew me, if I be not
contented also."
Then he bent his head close to mine ear, and whispered, "And so art
thou, methinks, if those tell-tale eyes of thine should be credited.
Yea, yea, hang down thy head, and stammer 'As you please, sir!' And
never so much as a _Deo gratias_ for thy good fortune! What thankless
creatures women be!" I laughed and ran out of the room before mine
aunt or Mistress Ward had disclosed their lips; for I did long to be
in mine own chamber alone, and, from the depths of a heart over full
of, yea overflowing with, such joy as doth incline the knees to bend
and the eyes to raise themselves to the Giver of all good--he whom
all other goodness doth only mirror and shadow forth--pour out a hymn
of praise for the noble blessing I had received. For, I pray you,
after the gift of faith and grace for to know and love God, is there
aught on earth to be jewelled by a woman like to the affection of a
good man; or a more secure haven for her to anchor in amid the present
billows of life, except that of religion, to which all be not called,
than an honorable contract of marriage, wherein reason, passion, and
duty do bind the soul in a triple cord of love?
And oh! with what a painful tenderness I thought in that moving hour
on mine own dear parents--my mother, now so many years dead; my
father, so parted from his poor child, that in the most weighty
concernment of her life--the disposal of her in marriage--his consent
had to be presumed; his authority, for so he had with forecasting care
ordained, being left in other hands. But albeit a shade of melancholy
from such a retrospect as the mind is wont to take of the past, when
coming events do cast, as it should seem, a new light on what has
preceded them, I could not choose but see, in this good which had
happened to me, a reward to him who had forsaken all things--lands,
home, kindred, yea his only child, for Christ's dear sake. It minded
me of my mother's words concerning me, when she lay dying, "Fear not
for her."
I was somewhat loth to return to mine aunt's chamber, and to appear in
the presence of Kate and Polly, who had come to visit their mother,
and, by their saucy looks when I entered, showed they were privy to
the treaty in hand. Mine aunt said she had been thinking that she
would not go to church when I was married, but give me her blessing at
home; for she had never recovered from the chilling she had when Kate
was married, and had laid abed on Polly' wedding-day, which she
liked better. Mistress Ward had great contentment, she said, that I
should have so good an husband. Kate was glad Basil was not too fond
of books, for that scholars be not as conversable as agreeable
husbands should be. Polly said, for her part, she thought the less wit
a man had, the better for his wife, for she would then be the more
like to have her own way. But that being her opinion, she did not
wholly wish me joy; for she had noticed Basil to be a good thinker,
and a man of so much sense, that he would not be ruled by a wife more
than should be reasonable. I was greatly pleased that she thus
commended him, who was not easily pleased, and rather given to despise
gentlemen than to praise them. I kissed her, and said I had always
thought her the most sensible woman in the world. She laughed, and
cried, "That was small commendation, for that women were the
foolishest creatures in the world, and mostly such as were in love."
Ah me! The days which followed were full of sweet waiting and pleasant
pining for the effects of the letter mine uncle wrote to Mr. Rookwood,
and looking for one Basil should write himself, when licence for to
address me had been yielded to him. When it came, how unforeseen, how
sad were the contents! Albeit love was expressed in every line, sorrow
did so cover its utterance, that my heart overflowed through mine
eyes, and I could only sigh and weep that the beginning of so fair a
day of joy should have set in clouds of so much grief. Basil's father
was dead. The day after he wrote that letter, the cause of all our
joy, he fell sick and never bettered any more, but the contrary: time
was allowed him to prepare his soul for death, by all holy rites and
ghostly comforts. One of his sons was on each side of his bed when he
died; and Basil closed his eyes.
CHAPTER XIV.
Basil came to London after the funeral, and methought his sadness then
did become him as much as his joyfulness heretofore. His grief was
answerable to the affection he had borne unto his father, and to that
gentlemen's most excellent deserts. He informed Mr. Congleton that in
somewhat less than one year he should be of age, and until then his
wardship was committed to Sir Henry Stafford. It was agreed betwixt
them, that in respect of his deep mourning and the greater commodity
his being of age would afford for the drawing up of settlements, our
marriage should be deferred until he returned from the continent in a
year's time. Sir Henry was exceeding urgent he should travel abroad
for the bettering as he affirmed of his knowledge of foreign
languages, and acquirement of such useful information as should
hereafter greatly benefit him; but methinks, from what Basil said, it
was chiefly with the end that he should not be himself troubled during
his term of guardianship with proceedings touching his ward's
recusancy, which was so open and manifest, no persuasions dissuading
him from it, that he apprehended therefrom to meet with difficulties.
So with heavy hearts and some tears on both sides, a short time after
Mr. Rookwood's death, we did part, but withal with so comfortable a
hope of a happy future, and so great a security of mutual affection,
that the pangs of separation were softened, and a not unpleasing
melancholy ensued. We forecasted to hold converse by means of letters,
of which he made me promise I should leastways write two for his one;
for he argued, as I always had a pen in my hand, it should be no
trouble to me to write down my thoughts as they arose, but as for
himself, it would cost him much time and labor for to compose such a
letter as it would content me to receive. But herein he was too
modest; for, indeed, in everything he wrote, albeit short and
mostly devoid of such flowers of the fancy as some are wont to scatter
over their letters, I was always excellently well pleased with his
favors of this kind.
Hubert remained in London for to commence his studies in a house of
the law; but when my engagement with his brother became known, he left
off haunting Mr. Lacy's house, and even Mr. Wells's, as heretofore.
His behavior was very mutable; at one time exceedingly obliging, and
at another more strange and distant than it had yet been; so that I
did dread to meet him, not knowing how to shape mine own conduct in
his regard; for if on the one hand I misliked to appear estranged from
Basil's brother, yet if I dealt graciously toward him I feared to
confirm his apprehension of some sort of unusual liking on my part
toward himself.
One month, or thereabouts, after Basil had gone to France, Lady Surrey
did invite me to stay with her at Kenninghall, which greatly delighted
me, for it was a very long time then since I had seen her. The reports
I heard of her lord's being a continual waiter on her majesty, and
always at court, whereas she did not come to London so much as once in
the year, worked in me a very uneasy apprehension that she should not
be as happy in her retirement as I should wish. I long had desired to
visit this dear lady, but durst not be the first to speak of it. Also
to one bred in the country from her infancy, the long while I had
spent in a city, far from any sights or scents of nature, had created
in me a great desire for pure air and green fields, of which the
neighborhood of London had afforded only such scanty glimpses as
served to whet, not satisfy, the taste for such-like pleasures. So
with much contentment I began my journey into Norfolk, which was the
first I had taken since that long one from Sherwood Hall to London
some years before. A coach of my Lord Surrey's, with two new pairs of
horses, was going from the Charter-house to Kenninghall, and a
chamber-woman of my lady's to be conveyed therein; so for conveniency
I travelled with her. We slept two nights on the road (for the horses
were to rest often), in very comfortable lodgings; and about the
middle of the third day we did arrive at Kenninghall, which is a place
of so great magnitude and magnificence, that to my surprised eyes it
showed more like unto a palace, yea, a cluster of palaces, than the
residence of a private though illustrious nobleman. The gardens which
we passed along-side of, the terraces adorned with majestic trees, the
woods at the back of the building, which then wore a gaudy dress of
crimson and golden hues,--made my heart leap for joy to be once more
in the country. But when we passed through the gateway, and into one
court and then another, methought we left the country behind, and
entered some sort of city, the buildings did so close around us on
every side. At last we stopped at a great door, and many footmen stood
about me, and one led me through long galleries and a store of empty
chambers; I forecasting in my mind the while how far it should be to
the gardens I had seen, and if the birds could be heard to sing in
this great house, in which was so much fine tapestry, and pictures in
high-gilt frames, that the eye was dazzled with their splendor. A
little pebbly brook or a tuft of daisies would then have pleased me
more than these fine hangings, and the grass than the smooth carpets
in some of the rooms, the like of which I had never yet seen. But
these discontented thoughts vanished quickly when my Lady Surrey
appeared; and I had nothing more to desire when I received her
affectionate embrace, and saw how joyful was her welcome. Methought,
too, when she led me into the chamber wherein she said her time was
chiefly spent, that its rich adornment became her, who had verily a
queenly beauty, and a presence so sweetly majestic that it alone
was sufficient to call for a reverent respect from others even in her
young years. There was an admirable simplicity in her dress; so that I
likened her in my mind, as she sat in that gilded room, to a pare fair
diamond enchased in a rich setting. In the next chamber her
gentlewoman and chambermaids were at work--some at frames, and others
making of clothes, or else spinning; and another door opened into her
bed-chamber, which was very large, like unto a hall, and the canopy of
the bed so high and richly adorned that it should have beseemed a
throne. The tapestry on the wall, bedight with fruits and flowers,
very daintily wrought, so that nature itself hath not more fair hues
than therein were to be seen.
"When my lord is not at home, I mislike this grand chamber, and do lie
here," she said, and showed me an inner closet; which I perceived to
be plainly furnished, and in one corner of it, which pleased me most
for to see, a crucifix hung against the wall, over above a
kneeling-stool. Seeing my eyes did rest on it, she colored a little,
and said it had belonged to Lady Mounteagle, who had gifted her with
it on her death-bed; upon which account she did greatly treasure the
possession thereof.
I answered, it did very much content me that she should set store on
what had been her grandmother's, for verily she was greatly indebted
to that good lady for the care she had taken of her young years; "but
methinks," I added, "the likeness of your Saviour which died for you
should not need any other excuse for the prizing of it than what
arises from its being what it is, his own dear image."
She said she thought so too; but that in the eyes of Protestants she
must needs allege some other reason for the keeping of a crucifix in
her room than that good one, which nevertheless in her own thinking
she allowed of.
Then she showed me mine own chamber, which was very commodious and
pleasantly situated, not far from hers. From the window was to be seen
the town of Norwich, and an extensive plain intersected with trees;
and underneath the wall of the house a terrace lined with many fair
shrubs and strips of flower-beds, very pleasing to the eye, but too
far off for a more familiar enjoyment than the eyesight could afford.
When we had dined, and I was sitting with my lady in her dainty
sitting-room, she at her tambour-frame, and I with a piece of
patch-work on my knees which I had brought from London, she began
forthwith to question me touching my intended marriage, Mr. Rookwood's
death, and Basil's going abroad, concerning which she had heard many
reports. I satisfied her thereon; upon which she expressed great
contentment that my prospects of happiness were so good; for all which
knew Basil thought well on him, she said; and mostly his neighbors,
which have the chiefest occasions for to judge of a man's disposition.
And Euston, she thought, should prove a very commendable residence,
albeit the house was small for so good an estate; but capable, she
doubted not, of improvements, which my fine taste would bestow on it;
not indeed by spending large sums on outward show, but by small
adornments and delicate beautifying of a house and gardens, such as
women only do excel in; the which kind of care Mr. Rookwood's seat had
lacked for many years. She also said it pleased her much to think that
Basil and I should agree touching religion, for there was little
happiness to be had in marriage where consent doth not exist in so
important a matter. I answered, that I was of that way of thinking
also. But then this consent must be veritable, not extorted; for in so
weighty a point the least shadow of compulsion on the one side, and
feigning on the other, do end by destroying happiness, and virtue
also, which is more urgent. She made no answer; and I then asked her
if she liked Kenninghall more than London, and had found in a
retired life the contentment she had hoped for. She bent down her head
over her work-frame, so as partly to conceal her face; but how
beautiful what was to be seen of it appeared, as she thus hid the
rest, her snowy neck supporting her small head, and the shape of her
oval cheek just visible beneath the dark tresses of jet-black hair!
When she raised that noble head methought it wore a look of becoming,
not unchristian, pride, or somewhat better than should be titled
pride; and her voice betokened more emotion than her visage betrayed
when she said, "I am more contented, Constance, to inhabit this my
husband's chiefest house than to dwell in London or anywhere else.
Where should a wife abide with so much pleasure as in a place where
she may be sometimes visited by her lord, even though she should not
always be so happy as to enjoy his company? My Lord Arundel hath often
urged me to reside with him in London, and pleaded the comfort my Lady
Lumley and himself, in his declining years, should find in my filial
care; but God helping me--and I think in so doing I fulfill his
will--naught shall tempt me to leave my husband's house till he doth
himself compel me to it; nor by resentment of his absence lose one day
of his dear company I may yet enjoy."
"O my dear lady," I exclaimed, "and is it indeed thus with you? Doth
my lord so forget your love and his duty as to forsake one he should
cherish as his most dear treasure?"
"Nay, nay," she hastily replied; "Philip doth not forsake me; a little
neglectful he is" (this she said with a forced smile), "as all the
queen's courtiers must needs be of their wives; for she is so
exacting, that such as stand in her good graces cannot be stayers at
home, but ever waiters on her pleasure. If Philip doth only leave
London or Richmond for three or four days, she doth suspect the cause
of his absence; her smiles are turned to frowns, and his enemies
immediately do take advantage of it. I tried to stay in London one
while this year, after Bess was married; but he suffered so much in
consequence from the loss of her good graces when she heard I was at
the Charter-house, that I was compelled to return here."
"And hath my lord been to see you since?" I eagerly asked.
"Once," she answered; "for three short days. O Constance, it was a
brief, and, from its briefness, an almost painful joy, to see him in
his own princely home, and at the head of his table, which he doth
grace so nobly; and when he went abroad saluted by every one with so
much reverence, that he should be taken to be a king when he is here;
and himself so contented with this show of love and homage, that his
face beamed with pleasant smiles; and when he observed what my poor
skill had effected in the management of his estates, which do greatly
suffer from the prodigalities of the court, he commended me with so
great kindness as to say he was not worthy of so good a wife."
I could not choose but say amen in mine own soul to this lord's true
estimation of himself, and of her, one hair of whose head did, in my
thinking, outweigh in merit his whole frame; but composed my face lest
she should too plainly read my resentment that the like of her should
be so used by an ungrateful husband.
"Alas," she continued, "this joy should be my constant portion if an
enemy robbed me not of my just rights. 'Tis very hard to be hated by a
queen, and she so great and powerful that none in the compass of her
realm can dare to resent her ill treatment. I had a letter from my
lord last week, in which he says if it be possible he will soon visit
me again; but he doth add that he has so much confidence in my
affection, that he is sure I would not will him to risk that which may
undo him, if the queen should hear of it. 'For, Nan,' he writes, 'I
resemble a man scrambling up unto a slippery rock, who, if he
gaineth not the topmost points, must needs fall backward into a
precipice; for if I lose but an inch of her majesty's favor, I am like
to fall as my fathers have done, and yet lower. So be patient, good
Nan, and bide the time when I shall have so far ascended as to be in
less danger of a rapid descent, in which thine own fortunes would be
involved."
She folded this letter, which she had taken out of her bosom, with a
deep sigh, and I doubt not with the same thought which was in mine own
mind, that the higher the ascent, the greater doth prove the peril of
an overthrow, albeit to the climber's own view the further point doth
seem the most secured. She then said she would not often speak with me
touching her troubles; but we should try to forget absent husbands and
lovers, and enjoy so much pleasure in our mutual good company as was
possible, and go hawking also and riding on fine days, and be as merry
as the days were long. And, verily, at times youthful spirits assumed
the lead, and like two wanton children we laughed sometimes with
hearty cheer at some pleasantry in which my little wit but fanciful
humor did evince itself for her amusement. But the fair sky of these
sunshiny hours was often overcast by sudden clouds; and weighty
thoughts, ill assorting with soaring joylity, wrought sad endings to
merry beginnings. I restrained the expression of mine own sorrow at my
father's uncertain fate and Basil's absence, not to add to her
heaviness; but sometimes, whilst playing in some sort the fool to make
her smile, which smiles so well became her, a sharp aching of the
heart caused me to fail in the effort; which when she perceived, her
arm was straightway thrown round my neck, and she would speak in this
wise:
"O sweet jester! poor dissembler! the heart will have its say, albeit
not aided by the utterance of the tongue. Believe me, good Constance,
I am not unmindful of thy griefs, albeit somewhat silent concerning
them, as also mine own; for that I eschew melancholy themes, having a
well-spring of sorrow in my bosom which doth too readily overflow if
the sluices be once opened."
Thus spake this sweet lady; but her unconscious tongue, following the
current of her thoughts more frequently than she did credit, dwelt on
the theme of her absent husband; and on whichever subject talk was
ministered between us, she was ingenious to procure it should end with
some reference to this worshipped object. But verily, I never
perceived her to express, in speaking of that then unworthy husband,
but what, if he had been present, must needs have moved him to regret
his negligent usage of an incomparable, loving, and virtuous wife,
than to any resentment of her complaints, which were rather of others
who diverted his affections from her than of him, the prime cause of
her grief. One day that we walked in the pleasaunce, she led the way
to a seat which she said during her lord's last visit he had commended
for the fair prospect it did command, and said it should be called "My
Lady's Arbor."
"He sent for the head-gardener," quoth she, "and charged him to plant
about it so many sweet flowers and gay shrubs as should make it in
time a most dainty bower fit for a queen. These last words did, I
ween, unwittingly escape his lips, and, I fear me, I was too shrewish;
for I exclaimed, 'O no, my lord; I pray you let it rather be
_un_fitted for a queen, if so be you would have me to enjoy it!' He
made no answer, and his countenance was overcast and sad when he
returned to the house. I misdoubted my hasty speech had angered him;
but when his horse came to the door for to carry him away to London
and the court, he said very kindly, as he embraced me, 'Farewell, dear
heart! mine own good Nan!' and in a letter he since wrote he inquired
if his orders had been obeyed touching his sweet countess's
pleasure-house."
I always noticed Lady Surrey to be very eager for the coming of the
messenger which brought letters from London mostly twice in the week,
and that in the untying of the strings which bound them her hand
trembled so much that she often said, "Prithee, Constance, cut this
knot. My fingers be so cold I have not so much patience as should
serve to the undoing thereof."
One morning I perceived she was more sad than usual after the coming
of this messenger. The cloud on her countenance chased away the joy I
had at a letter from Basil, which was written from Paris, and wherein
he said he had sent to Rheims for to inquire if my father was yet
there, for in that case he should not so much fail in his duty as to
omit seeking to see him; and so get at once, he trusted, a father and
a priest's blessing."
"What ails you, sweet lady?" I asked, seeing her lips quiver and her
eyes to fill with tears.
"Nothing should ail me," she answered more bitterly than was her wont.
"It should be, methinks, the part of a wife to rejoice in her
husband's good fortune; and here is one that doth write to me that my
lord's favor with the queen is so great that nothing greater can be
thought of: so that some do say, if he was not married he would be
like to mount, not only to the steps, but on to the throne itself.
Here should be grand news for to rejoice the heart of the Countess of
Surrey. Prithee, good wench, why dost thou not wish thy poor friend
joy?"
I felt so much choler that any one should write to my lady in this
fashion, barbing with cruel malice, or leastways careless lack of
thought, this wanton arrow, that I exclaimed in a passion it should be
a villain had thus written. She smiled in a sad manner and answered:
"Alas, an innocent villain I warrant the writer to be, for the letter
is from my Bess, who has heard others speak of that which she doth
unwittingly repeat, thinking it should be an honor to my lord, and to
me also, that he should be spoken of in this wise. But content thee;
'tis no great matter to hear that said again which I have had hints of
before, and am like to hear more of it, maybe."
Then hastily rising, she prepared to go abroad; and we went to a lodge
in the park, wherein she harbored a great store of poor children which
lacked their parents; and then to a barn she had fitted up for to
afford a night's lodging to travellers; and to tend sick
people--albeit, saving herself, she had no one in her household at
that time one half so skilful in this way as my Lady l'Estrange. I
ween this was the sole place wherein her thoughts were so much
occupied that she did for a while forget her own troubles in curing
those of others. A woman had stopped there the past night, who, when
we went in, craved assistance from her for to carry her to her native
village, which was some fifteen miles north of Norwich. She was
afraid, she said, for to go into the town; for nowadays to be poor was
to be a wicked person in men's eyes; and a traveller without money was
like to be whipt and put into the stocks for a vagabond, which she
should die of if it should happen to her, who had been in the service
of a countess, and had not thought to see herself in such straits,
which she should never have been reduced to if her good lady had not
been foully dealt with. Lady Surrey, wishing, I ween, by some sort of
examination, to detect the truth of her words, inquired in whose
service she had lived.
"Madam," she answered, "I was kitchen maid in the Countess of
Leicester's house, and never left her service till she was murthered
some years back by a black villain in her household, moved by a
villain yet more black than himself."
"Murthered!" my lady exclaimed. "It was bruited at the time that lady
had died of a fall."
"Ay, marry," quoth the beggar, shaking her head, "I warrant you,
ladies, that fall was compassed by more hands than two, and more minds
than one. But it be not safe for to say so; as Mark Hewitt could
witness if he was not dead, who was my sweetheart and a scullion at
Cumnor Place, and was poisoned in prison for that he offered to give
evidence touching his lady's death which would have hanged some which
deserved it better than he did--albeit he had helped to rob a coach in
Wales after he had been discharged, as we all were, from the old
place. Oh, if folks dared to tell all they do know, some which ride at
the queen's side should swing on a gibbet before this day
twelvemonth."
Lady Surrey sat down by this woman; and albeit I pulled her by the
sleeve and whispered in her ear to come away--for methought her talk
was not fitting for her to hear, whose mind ran too much already on
melancholy themes--she would not go, and questioned this person very
much touching the manner of Lady Leicester's life, and what was
reported concerning her death. This recital was given in a homely but
withal moving manner, which lent a greater horror to it than more
studied language should have done. She said her lady bad been ill some
time and never left her room; but that one day, when one of her lord's
gentlemen had come from London, and had been examining of the house
with the steward for to order some repairing of the old walls and
staircases, and the mason had been sent for also late in the evening,
a so horrible shriek was heard from the part of the house wherein the
countess's chamber was, that it frighted every person in the place, so
that they did almost lose their senses; but that she herself had run
to the passage on which the lady's bed-chamber did open, and saw some
planking removed, and many feet below the body of the countess lying
quite still, and by the appearance of her face perceived her to be
gone. And when the steward came to look also (this the woman said,
lowering her voice, with her hollow eyes fixed on Lady Surrey's
countenance, which did express fear and sorrow), "I'll warrant you, my
lady, he did wear a murtherer's visage, and I noticed that the corpse
bled at his approach. But methinketh if that earl which rides by the
queen's side, and treads the world under his feet, had then been nigh,
the mangled form should have raised itself and the cold dead lips
cried out, 'Thou art the man!' Marry, when poor folks do steal a
horse, or a sheep, or shoot the fallow-deer in a nobleman's park, they
straightway do suffer and lose their life; but if a lord which is a
courtier shall one day choose to put his wife out of his way for the
bettering of his fortunes, even though it be by a foul murther, no
more ado is made than if he had shot a pigeon in his woods."
Then changing her theme, she asked Lady Surrey to dress a wound in her
leg, for that she did hear from some in that place that she often did
use such kindness toward poor people. Without such assistance, she
said, to walk the next day would be very painful. My lady straightway
began to loosen the bandages which covered the sore, and inquired how
long a time it should be since it had been dressed.
"Four days ago," the beggar answered, "Lady l'Estrange had done her so
much good as to salve the wound with a rare ointment which had greatly
assuaged the pain, until much walking had inflamed it anew."
We both did smile; and my lady said she feared to show herself less
skilful than her old pupil; but if the beggar should be credited, she
did acquit herself indifferently well of her charitable task; and the
bounty she bestowed upon her afterward, I doubt not, did increase her
patient's esteem of her ability. But I did often wish that evening my
lady had not heard this woman's tale, for I perceived her to harp upon
it with a very notable persistency; and when I urged no credit should
attach itself to her report, and it was most like to be untrue,
she affirmed that some similar surmises had been spoken of at the time
of Lady Leicester's death; and that Lord Sussex and Lord Arundel had
once mentioned, in her hearing, that the gypsy was infamed for his
wife's death, albeit never openly accused thereof. She had not taken
much heed of their discourse at the time, she said; but now it came
back into her mind with a singular distinctness, and it was passing
strange she should have heard from an eye-witness the details of this
tragedy. She should, she thought, write to her husband what the woman
had related; and then she changed her mind, and said she would not.
All my pleadings to her that she should think no more thereon were
vain. She endeavored to speak of other subjects, but still this one
was uppermost in her thoughts. Once, in the midst of an argument
touching the uses of pageants, which she maintained to be folly and
idle waste, but which I defended, for that they sometimes served to
exercise the wit and memory of such as contrive them, carrying on the
dispute in a lively fashion, hoping thus to divert her mind, she broke
forth in these exclamations: "Oh, what baneful influences do exist in
courts, when men, themselves honorable, abhor not to company with such
as be accused of foul crimes never disproved, and if they will only
stretch forth their blood-stained hands to help them to rise, disdain
not to clasp them!"
Then later, when I had persuaded her to play on the guitar, which she
did excellently well, she stopped before the air was ended to ask if I
did know if Lady Leicester was a fair woman, and if her husband was at
any time enamored of her. And when I was unable to resolve these
questions, she must needs begin to argue if it should be worse never
to be loved, or else to lose a husband's affection; and then asked me,
if Basil should alter in his liking of me, which she did not hold to
be possible, except that men be so wayward and inconstant that the
best do sometimes change, if I should still be glad he had once loved
me.
"If he did so much alter," I answered, "as no longer to care for me,
methinks I should at once cast him out of my heart; for then it would
not have been Basil, but a fancied being coined by mine own
imaginings, I should have doted on."
"Tut, tut!" she cried; "thou art too proud. If thou dost speak truly,
I misdoubt that to be love which could so easily discard its object."
"For my part," I replied, somewhat nettled, "I think the highest sort
of passion should be above suspecting change in him which doth inspire
it, or resenting a change which should procure it freedom from an
unworthy thrall."
"I ween," she answered, "we do somewhat misconceive each one the
other's meaning; and moreover, no parallel can exist between a wife's
affection and a maiden's liking." Then she said she hoped the poor
woman would stay another day, so that she might speak with her again;
for she would fain learn from her what was Lady Leicester's behavior
during her sorrowful years, and the temper of her mind before her so
sudden death.
"Indeed, dear lady," I urged, "what likelihood should there be that a
serving-wench in her kitchen should be acquainted with a noble lady's
thoughts?"
"I pray God," my lady said, "our meanest servants do not read in our
countenance, yea in the manner of our common and indifferent actions,
the motions of our souls when we be in such trouble as should only be
known to God and one true friend."
Lady Surrey sent in the morning for to inquire if the beggar was gone.
To my no small content she had departed before break of day. Some days
afterward a messenger from London brought to my lady, from Arundel
House, a letter from my Lady Lumley, wherein she urged her to
repair instantly to London, for that the earl, her grandfather, was
very grievously sick, and desired for to see her. My lady resolved to
go that very day, and straightway gave orders touching the manner of
her journey, and desired her coach to be made ready. She proposed that
the while she was absent I should pay a visit to Lady l'Estrange,
which I had promised for to do before I left Norfolkshire; "and then,"
quoth my lady, "if my good Lord Arundel doth improve in his health, so
that nothing shall detain me at London, I will return to my
banishment, wherein my best comfort shall ever be thy company, good
Constance. But if peradventure my lord should will me to stay with
him" (oh, how her eyes did brighten! and the fluttering of her heart
could be perceived in her quick speech and the heaving of her bosom as
she said these words), "I will then send one of my gentlewomen to
fetch thee from Lynn Court to London; and if that should happen, why
methinks our meeting may prove more merry than our parting."
She then dispatched a messenger on horseback to Sir Hammond
l'Estrange's house, which did return in some hours with a very
obliging answer; for his lady did write that she almost hoped my Lady
Surrey would be detained in London, if so be it would not discontent
her, and so she should herself have the pleasure of my company for a
longer time, which was what she greatly desired.
For some miles, when she started, I rode with my lady in her coach,
and then mounted on a horse she had provided for my commodity, and,
accompanied by two persons of her household, went to Sir Hammond
l'Estrange's seat. It stood in a bleak country without scarce so much
as one tree in its neighborhood, but a store of purple heath, then in
flower, surrounding it on all sides. As we approached unto it, I for
the first time beheld the sea. The heath had minded me of Cannock
Chase and my childhood. I ween not what the sea caused me to think of;
only I know that the waves which I heard break on the shore had, to my
thinking, a wonderful music, so exceeding sweet and pleasant to mine
ears that one only sound of it were able to bring, so it did seem to
me, all the hearts of this world asleep. Yet although I listed
thereunto with a quiet joy, and mine eyes rested on those vasty depths
with so much contentment, as if perceiving therein some image of the
eternity which doth await us, the words which rose in my mind, and
which methinks my lips also framed, were these of Holy Writ: "Great as
the sea is thy destruction." If it be not that some good angel
whispered them in mine ear for to temper, by a sort of forecasting of
what was soon to follow, present gladness, I know not what should have
caused so great a dissimilarity between my then thinking and the words
I did unwittingly utter.
Lady l'Estrange met me on the steps of her house, which was small, but
such as became a gentleman of good fortune, and lacking none of the
commodities habitual to such country habitations. The garden at the
back of it was a true labyrinth of sweets; and an orchard on one side
of it, and a wood of fir-trees beyond the wall, shielded the shrubs
which grew therein from the wild sea-blasts. Milicent was delighted
for to show me every part of this her home. The bettering of her
fortunes had not wrought any change in the gentle humility of this
young lady. The attractive sweetness of her manner was the same,
albeit mistress of a house of her own. She set no greater store on
herself than she had done at the Charter-house, and paid her husband
as much respect and timid obedience as she had ever done her mistress.
Verily, in his presence I soon perceived she scarce held her soul to
be her own; but studied his looks with so much diligence, and framed
each word she uttered to his liking with so much ingenuity, that
I marvelled at the wit she showed therein, which was not very apparent
in other ways. He was a tall man, of haughty carriage and
well-proportioned features. His eyes were large and gray; his nose of
a hawkish shape; his lips very thin. I never in any face did notice
the signs of so set a purpose or such unyielding lineaments as in this
gentleman. Milicent told me he was pious, liberal, an active
magistrate, and an exceeding obliging and indulgent husband; but
methought her testimony on this score carried no great weight with it,
for that her meekness would read the most ordinary kindnesses as rare
instances of goodness. She seemed very contented with her lot; and I
heard from Lady Surrey's waiting-maid (which she had sent with me from
Kenninghall) that all the servants in her house esteemed her to be a
most virtuous and patient lady; and so charitable, that all who knew
her experience her bounty. On the next day she showed me her garden,
her dairy, poultry-yard, and store-room; and also the closet where she
kept the salves and ointments for the dressing of wounds, which she
said she was every morning employed in for several hours. I said, if
she would permit me, I would try to learn this art under her
direction, for that nothing could be thought of more useful for such
as lived in the country, where such assistance was often needed. Then
she asked me if I was like to live in the country, which, from my
words, she hoped should be the case; and I told her, if it pleased
God, in one year I would be married to Mr. Rookwood, of Euston Hall;
which she was greatly rejoiced to learn.
Then, as we walked under the trees, talk ensued between us touching
former days at the Charter-house; and when the sun was setting amidst
gold and purple clouds, and the wind blew freshly from the sea, whilst
the barking of Sir Hammond's dogs, and the report of his gun as he
discharged it behind the house, minded me more than ever of old
country scenes in past time, my thoughts drew also future pictures of
what mine own home should be, and the joy with which I should meet
Basil, when he returned from the field-sports in which he did so much
delight. And a year seemed a long time to wait for so much happiness
as I foresaw should be ours when we were once married. "If Lady
l'Estrange is so contented," I thought, "whose husband is somewhat
churlish and stem, if his countenance and the reports of his neighbors
are to be credited, how much enjoyment in her home shall be the
portion of my dear Basil's wife! than which a more sweet-tempered
gentleman cannot be seen, nor one endued with more admirable qualities
of all sorts, not to speak of youth and beauty, which are perishable
advantages, but not without attractiveness."
Mrs. l'Estrange, an unmarried sister of Sir Hammond, lived in the
house, and some neighbors which had been shooting with him came to
supper. The table was set with an abundance of good cheer; and
Milicent sat at the head of it, and used a sweet cordiality toward all
her guests, so that every one should seem welcome to her hospitality;
but I detected looks of apprehension in her face, coupled with hasty
glances toward her husband, if any one did bring forward subjects of
discourse which Sir Hammond had not first broached, or did appear in
any way to differ with him in what he himself advanced. Once when Lord
Burleigh was mentioned, one of the gentleman said somewhat in
disparagement of this nobleman, as if he should have been to blame in
some of his dealings with the parliament, which brought a dark cloud
on Sir Hammond's brow. Upon which Milicent, the color coming into her
cheeks, and her voice trembling a little, as she seemed to cast about
her for some subject which should turn the current of this talk, began
to tell what a store of patients she had seen that day, and to
describe them, as if seeking to stop the mouths of the disputants.
"One," quoth she, "hath been three times to me this week to have his
hands dressed, and I be verily in doubt what his station should be. He
hath a notable appearance of good breeding, albeit but poorly
apparelled, and his behavior and discourse should show him to be a
gentleman. The wounds of his hands were so grievously galled for want
of proper dressing, when he first came, I feared they should mortify,
and the curing of them to exceed my poor skill. The skin was rubbed
off the whole palms, as if scraped off by handling of ropes. A more
courageous patient could not be met with. Methought the dressing
should have been very painful, but he never so much as once did wince
under it. He is somewhat reserved in giving an account of the manner
in which he came by those wounds, and answered jestingly when I
inquired thereof. But to-morrow I will hear more on it, for I charged
him to come for one more dressing of his poor hands."
"Where doth this fellow lodge?" Sir Hammond asked across the table in
a quick eager manner.
"At Master Rugeley's house, I have heard," quoth his wife.
Then his fist fell on the table so that it shook.
"A lewd recusant, by God!" he cried. "I'll be sworn this is the popish
priest escaped out of Wisbeach, for whom I have this day received
orders to make diligent search. Ah, ah! my lady hath trapped the
Jesuit fox."
I looked at Milicent, and she at me. O my God, what looks those were!
CHAPTER XV.
Then methought was witnessed (I speak of the time when Sir Hammond
l'Estrange made the savage speech which caused his lady and me to
exchange affrighted looks) a rare instance of the true womanly courage
which doth sometimes lie at the core of a timid heart. The meek wife,
which dared not so much as to lift up her eyes to her lord if he did
only frown, or to oppose his will in any trifling matter; whose color
I had seen fly from her cheek if he raised his voice, albeit not in
anger against herself, now in the presence of those at table, with a
face as pale as ashes, but a steady voice, and eyes fixed on him, thus
addressed her husband:
"Sir, since we married I have never opposed your will, or in anything
I wot of offended you, or ever would if I could help it. Do not,
therefore, displeasure me so much, I beseech you, in this grave
instance, as to make me an instrument in the capture. And God knoweth
what should follow of one which came to me for help, and to whom the
service I rendered him would prove the means of his ruin if you
persist therein."
"Go to, madam, go to," cries Sir Hammond; "your business doth lie with
poor people, mine with criminals. Go your way, and intrude not
yourself in weightier matters than belong to your sex."
"Sir," she answers, braving his frowning looks, albeit her limbs began
to tremble, "I humbly crave your patience; but I will not leave you,
neither desist from my suit, except thereunto compelled by force. I
would to God my tongue had been plucked out rather than that it should
utter words which should betray to prison, yea, perhaps to death, the
poor man whose wounds I tended."
The cloud on Sir Hammond's brow waxed darker as she spoke. He glanced
at me, and methinks perceived my countenance to be as much disturbed
as his lady's. A sudden thought, I ween, then passed through his mind;
and with a terrible oath he swore that he misliked this strenuous
urging in favor of a vile popish priest, and yet more the manner of
this intercession.
"Heaven shield, madam," he cried, "you have not companied with
recusants so as to become infected with a lack of zeal for the
Protestant religion!"
The color returned for a moment to Lady l'Estrange's cheeks as she
answered:
"Sir, I have never, from the time my mother did teach me my prayers,
been of any other way of thinking than that wherein she then
instructed me, or so much as allowed myself one thought contrary to
true Protestant religion; or ever lent an ear, and with God's help
never will, to what papists do advance; but nevertheless, if this
priest do fall into any grievous trouble through my speeches, I shall
be a most unhappy woman all my life."
And then the poor soul, rising from her seat, went round to her
husband's side, and, kneeling, sought to take his hands, beseeching
him in such moving and piteous terms to change his purpose as I could
see did visibly affect some present. But I also noticed in Sir
Hammond's face so resolved an intent as if nothing in earth or heaven
should alter it. A drowning wretch would as soon have moved a
rock to advance toward him as she succeeded in swerving his will by
her entreaties.
A sudden thought inspired me to approach her where she had sunk down
on her knees at her husband's feet, he seeking angrily to push her
away. I took her by the hand and said:
"I pray you, dear lady, come with me. These be indeed matters wherein,
as Sir Hammond saith, women's words do not avail."
Both looked at me surprised; and she, loosing her hold of him,
suffered me to lead her away. We went into the parlor, Mrs. l'Estrange
following us. But as I did try to whisper in her ear that I desired to
speak with her alone, the bell in the dining-room began to ring
violently; upon which she shuddered and cried out:
"Let me go back to him, Mistress Sherwood. I'll warrant you he is
about to send for the constables; but beshrew me if I die not first at
his feet; for if this man should be hung, peace will be a stranger to
me all my life."
Mistress l'Estrange essayed to comfort her; but failing therein, said
she was very foolish to be so discomposed at what was no fault of
hers, and she should think no more thereon, for in her condition to
fret should be dangerous; and if people would be priests and papists
none could help if they should suffer for it. And then she left the
parlor somewhat ruffled, like good people sometimes feel when they
perceive their words to have no effect. When we were alone, "Lady
l'Estrange," I said, "where is Master Rugeley's house?"
"One mile, or thereabouts, across the heath," she answered.
"And the way to it direct?" I asked.
"Yea, by the footpath," she replied; "but much longer by the high
road."
I went to the window and opened the shutter and the lattice also. The
moon was shining very brightly.
"Is it that cottage near to the wood?" I inquired, pointing to a
thatched roof nigh unto the darksome line of trees against the sky.
"Yea," she answered, "how near it doth seem seen in this light!
Constance, what think you to do?" she exclaimed, when I went to her
cupboard and took out the keys she had showed me that morning opened
the doors of the kitchen garden and the orchard.
"Did you not say," I answered, "that the gentleman now in so great
peril did lodge with Master Rugeley?"
"Would you go there?" she said, looking aghast. "Not alone; you durst
not do it!"
"Twenty times over," I answered, "for to save a man's life, and he--he
a--" But there I stopped; for it was her fellow-creature she desired
to save. Her heart bled not like mine for the flock which should be
left without a shepherd; and albeit our fears were the same, we felt
not alike. I went into the hall, and she pursued me--one-half striving
to stay me from my purpose, one-half urging me to fulfil it; yet
retracting her words as soon as uttered.
"When I issue from the door of the orchard unto the heath," I said,
the while wrapping round me a cloak with a hood to it, "and pursue the
path in front, by what token may I find Master Rugeley's house if the
moon should be obscured?"
"Where two roads do meet," she said, "at the edge of the heath, a tall
oak doth stand near to a gate; a few steps to the right should then
lead to it. But verily, Mistress Constance, I be frightened to let you
go; and oh, I do fear my husbands's anger."
"Would you, then, have a man die by your means?" I asked, thinking for
to cure one terror by another, as indeed it did; for she cried,
"Nay, I will speed you on your way, good Constance; and show so brave
a face during your absence as God shall help me to do; yea, and open
the door for you myself, if my husband should kill me for it!"
Then she took the keys in her hand, and glided like unto a pale ghost
before me through the passage into the hall, so noiselessly that I
should have doubted if aught of flesh and blood could have moved so
lightly, and undid the bars of the back door without so much as a
sound. Then she would fetch some thick shoes for me to wear, which I
did entreat her not to stay me for; but nothing else would content the
poor soul, and, as she had the keys in her hand, I was forced to wait
her return with so much impatience as may be guessed. I heard the
voices of the gentlemen still carousing after supper; and then a
servant's below in the hall, who said the constables had been sent
for, and a warrant issued for the apprehension of a black papist at
Master Rugeley's. Then Milicent returned, and whilst I put on the
shoes she had brought, and she was tying with trembling fingers the
hood of my cloak, the rustling of Mrs. l'Estrange's silk gown was
heard on the stair above our heads, from whence we were like to be
seen; and, fear awakening contrivance, I said aloud,
"Oh, what a rare pastime it should be to dress as a ghost, and
frighten the good lady your sister-in-law! I pray you get me some
white powder to pale my face. Methinks we need some kind of sport to
drive away too much thinking on that dismal business in hand."
The steps over our head sounded more hurried, and we heard the door of
the parlor close with a bang, and the lattice also violently shut.
"Now," I whispered, "give me the keys, good Lady l'Estrange, and go to
your sister yourself. Say I was ashamed to have been overheard to plan
so rank a piece of folly (and verily you will be speaking no other
than the truth), and that you expect I shall not so much as show my
face in the parlor this evening; and lock also my chamber-door, that
none may for a surety know me for to be absent."
"Yea," answered the poor lady, with so deep a sigh as seemed to rend
her heart; "but, God forgive me, I never did think to hide anything
from my husband! And who shall tell me if I be doing right or wrong?"
I could not stay, though I grieved for her; and the sound of her voice
haunted me as I went through the garden, and then the orchard, unto
the common, locking the doors behind me. When this was done, I did
breathe somewhat more freely, and began to run along the straight path
amidst the heath. I wot not if my speed was great--the time seemed
long; yet methinks I did not slacken my pace once, but rather
increased it, till, perceiving the oak, and near it the gate Lady
l'Estrange had mentioned, I stopped to consider where to turn; and
after I had walked a little to the right I saw a cottage and a light
gleaming inside. Then my heart beat very fast; and when I knocked at
the door I felt scarce able to stand. I did so three times, and no
answer came. Then I cried as loudly as I could, "Master Rugeley, I
beseech you open the door." I heard some one stirring within, but no
one came. Then I again cried out, "Oh, for our Blessed Lady's sake,
some one come." At last the lattice opened, and a man's head appeared.
"Who are you?" he said, in a low voice.
"A friend," I answered, in a whisper; "a Catholic. Are yon Master
Rugeley?"
"Yea," he answered.
"Oh, then, if Mr. Tunstall is here, hide him quickly, or send him
away. I am a friend of Lady l'Estrange's and staying in her house. Sir
Hammond hath received tidings that a priest is in this neighborhood,
and a warrant is issued for to apprehend him. His lady unwittingly,
and sorely troubled she is thereat, showed by her speeches touching
your guest, that he is like to be Mr. Tunstall; and the constables
will soon be here."
"Thank you," he replied whom I was addressing; "but Mr. Tunstall is
not the name of my friend."
Then I feared he did take me for a spy, and I cried out, greatly
moved, "As I do hope to go to heaven one day, and not to hell,
Master Rugeley, I speak the truth, and my warning is an urgent one."
Then I heard some one within the house, who said, "Open the door,
Master Rugeley. I should know that voice. Let the speaker in."
Methought I, too, knew the voice of the person who thus spoke. The
door was opened, and I entered a room dimly lighted by one candle.
"Oh, for God's sake," I cried, "if a priest is here, hide him
forthwith."
"Are you a Catholic, my child?"
I looked up to the person who put this question to me, and gave a
sudden cry, I know not whether of terror or joy; for great as was the
change which the lapse of years, and great inward and outward changes,
had wrought in his aspect, I saw it was my father.
"I am Constance," I cried; "Constance Sherwood! Oh, my dear father!"
and then fell at his feet weeping.
After an instant's, astonishment and fixed gazing on my face, he
recognized me, who was, I doubt not, more changed than himself, and
received me with a great paternal kindness and the tenderest greeting
imaginable, yet tempered with reserve and so much of restraint as
should befit one who, for Christ's sake, had dissevered himself from
the joys, albeit not from the affections, of the natural heart.
"Oh, my good child, my own dear Constance," he said; "hath God in his
bounty given thy poor father a miraculous sight of thee before his
death, or art thou come verily in flesh and blood to warn him of his
danger?"
"My dear and honored father," I replied, "time presses; peril is
indeed at hand, if you and Mr. Tunstall are the same person."
"The wounds in my hands," he answered, "must prove me such, albeit now
healed by the care of that good Samaritan, Lady l'Estrange. But
prithee, my good child, whence comest thou?"
"Alas!" I said; "and yet not alas, if God should be so good to me as
by my means to save you, I am Sir Hammond's guest, being a friend of
his lady's. I came there yesterday."
"Oh, my good child, I thought not to have seen thee in these thy
grown-up years. Master Rugeley," he added, turning to his host, "this
is the little girl I forsook four years ago, for to obtain the
hundredfold our Lord doth promise."
"My very dear father," I said, "joy is swallowed up in fear. God help
me, I came to warn a stranger (if so be any priest in these times
should be a stranger to a Catholic), and I find you."
"Oh, but I am mightfully pleased," quoth he, "to see thee, my child,
even in this wise, and to hear thee speak like a true daughter of Holy
Church. And Lady l'Estrange is then thy friend?"
"Yea, my dear father; but for God and our lady's sake hide yourself. I
warrant yon the constables may soon be here. Master Rugeley, where can
he be concealed, or whither fly, and I with him?"
"Nay, prithee not so fast," quoth he. "Flight would be useless; and in
the matter of hiding, one should be more easily concealed than two;
beside that, the hollow of a tree, which Master Rugeley will, I ween,
appoint me for a bed-chamber to-night, should hardly lodge us both
with comfort."
"Oh, sir," said Rugeley, "do not tarry."
"For thy sake, no; not for more than one minute, Thomas; but ere I
part from this wench, two questions I must needs ask her."
Then he drew me aside and inquired what facilities I continued to have
in London for the exercise of Catholic religion, and if I was punctual
in the discharge of my spiritual duties. When I had satisfied him
thereon, he asked if the report was true which he heard from a
prisoner for recusancy in Wisbeach Castle, concerning my troth-plight
with Mr. Rookwood.
"Yea," I said, "it is true, if so be you now do add your consent to
it."
He answered he should do so with all his heart, for he knew him to be
a good Catholic and a virtuous gentleman; and as we might lack the
opportunity to receive his blessing later, he should now give it unto
me for both his most dear children. Which he did, laying his hand on
my head with many fervent benisons, couched in such words as these,
that he prayed for us to be stayed up with the shore of God's grace in
this world; and after this transitory life should end, to ascend to
him, and appear pure and unspotted before his glorious seat. Then he
asked me if it was Lady l'Estrange who had detected him; whereupon I
briefly related to him what had occurred, and how sore her grief was
therein.
"God bless her," he answered; "and tell her I do thank her and pray
for her with all mime heart."
And more he would have added, but Master Rugeley opened the door
impatiently. So, after kissing once more my father's hand, I went
away, compelled thereunto by fears for his safety, if he should not at
once conceal himself.
Looking back, I saw him and his guide disappear in the thicket, and
then, as I walked on toward Lynn Court, it did almost seem to me as if
the whole of that brief but pregnant interview should have been a
dream; nor could I verily persuade myself that it was not a half
habitant of another world I had seen and spoken with rather than mine
own father; and in first thinking on it I scarcely did fully apprehend
the danger he was in, so as to feel as much pain as I did later, when
the joy and astonishment of that unexpected meeting had given way to
terrifying thoughts. Ever and anon I turned round to gaze on the dark
wood wherein his hopes of safety did lie, and once I knelt down on the
roadside to pray that the night should be also dark and shield his
escape. But still the sense of fear was dulled, and woke not until the
sound of horses' feet on the road struck on my ear, and I saw a party
of men riding across the common. The light in the cottage was
extinguished, but the cruel moon shone out then more brightly than
heretofore. Now I felt so sick and faint that I feared to sink down on
the path, and hurried through the orchard-door and the garden to the
house. When I had unlocked the back door and stood in the hall where a
lately kindled fire made a ruddy light to glow, I tried again to think
I had been dreaming, like one in a nightmare strives to shake off an
oppressive fancy. I could not remain alone, and composed my
countenance for to enter the parlor, when the door thereof opened and
Mrs. l'Estrange came out, who, when she perceived me standing before
her, gave a start, but recovering herself, said, good-naturedly:
"Marry, if this be not the ghost we have been looking for; now
ashamed, I ween, to show itself. I hope, Mistress Sherwood, you do not
haunt quiet folks in their beds at night; for I do, I warn you,
mislike living ghosts, and should be disposed to throw a jug of water
at the head of such a one." And laughing, she took my hand in a kind
manner, which when she did, almost a cry broke from her: "How now,
Milicent! she is as cold as a stone figure. Where has she been
chilling herself?"
Milicent pressed forward and led me to my chamber, wherein a fire had
been lighted, and would make me drink a hot posset. But when I thought
of the cold hollow of a tree wherein my father was enclosed, if it
pleased God no worse mishap had befallen him, little of it could I
force myself to swallow, for now tears had come to my relief, and
concealing my face in the pillow of the bed whereon for weariness I
had stretched myself, I wept very bitterly.
"Is that poor man gone from Rugeley's house?" Milicent whispered.
Alas! she knew not who that poor man was to me, nor with what anguish
I answered: "He is not in the cottage, I hope; but God only
knoweth if his pursuers shall not discover him." The thought of what
would then follow overcame me, and I hid my face with mine hands.
"Oh, Constance," she exclaimed, "was this poor man known to thee, that
thy grief is so great, whose conscience doth not reproach thee as mine
doeth?"
I held out my hand to her without unshading my face with the other,
and said: "Dear Milicent! thou shouldst not sorrow so mach for thine
own part in this sore trial. It was not thy fault. He said so. He
blest thee, and prays for thee."
Uncomforted by my words, she cried again, what she had so often
exclaimed that night, "If this man should die, my happiness is over."
Then once more she asked me if I know this priest, and I was froward
with her (God forgive me, for the suspense and fear overthrew better
feelings for a moment), and I cried, angrily, "Who saith he is a
priest? Who can prove it?"
"Think you so?" she said joyfully; "then all should be right."
