The Buccaneer Part 44

The beings of air, that, atom-like, float in the clearest ether, bathe in the liquid dew, or drink their nectar from the honey-bells of the wild heather bloom, called him their brother, and prated of their tricks in gay familiarity. Oh, world! art thou the self-same world that Shakspeare trod upon?

And there's another too, who stands alone in his sublimity--who dared the mysteries of Paradise, and communed with angels--angels both of h.e.l.l and heaven--a giant-master, yet a man of beauty, wisdom, simplicity, knowledge. Behold him as he sits, within the tapestried chamber at Hampton Court! 'Tis the same room in which the Protector sat last night; but how changed its aspect, just by the presence of that one man! How different is the feeling with which we regard men of great energy and men of great talent. Milton, blind--blind, powerless as to his actions, overwhelming in his genius, grasping all things and seeing into them, not with the eyes of flesh, but those of mind, altering the very atmosphere wherein we move, stilling the air that we may hear his oracles!

The room is one of most curious fas.h.i.+on, and hung with the oldest tapestry in England, lighted on either side by long and narrow windows, that are even now furnished as in the time of the old cardinal who built them. On the low seat formed within the wall the poet sat. Who would suffer a thought of the ambitious Wolsey or the sensual Henry to intrude where once they held gay revels and much minstrelsy in their most tyrant pastimes? Cromwell, the great Protector, even Cromwell is forgotten in the more glorious company of one both poor and blind! He sat, as we describe him, within the embrasure of the narrow window; the heat and brightness of the summer sun came full upon his head, the hair upon which was full and rich as ever, parted in the centre, and falling in waving curls quite to his shoulders; his eyes were fixed on vacancy, but their expression was as if communing with some secret spirit, enlivening thus his darkness; he seemed not old nor young, for the lines upon his face could not be considered wrinkles--tokens were they of care and thought--such care and such thought as Milton might know and feel.

He was habited with extraordinary exactness; his linen of the finest quality, and his vest and doublet put on with an evident attention to even minute appearance. His hands of transparent whiteness were clasped, as if he were attending to some particular discourse; he was alone in that vast chamber,--yet not alone, for G.o.d was with him--not in outward form, but in inward spirit. It was the Sabbath-day, and ever observed in the Protector's family with respect and reverence. The morning-meeting was over, and Cromwell in his closet, "wrestling," as he was wont to term it, "with sin." Silence reigned through all the courts--that due and reverend silence which betokens thoughtfulness, and attention to one of the Almighty's first commands--"Keep holy the Sabbath-day," given when he ordained that man should rest from his labours in commemoration that he himself set an example of repose after calling the broad earth into existence and beauty. The poet sat but for a little time in that wide silence; yet who would not give a large portion of their every-day existence to have looked on him for those brief moments, moments which for their full feeling might play the part of years in our life's calendar? Blessed holy time!--when we can look on genius, and catch the gems that fall from its lips! Yet Milton spoke not--he only looked; and still his looks were heavenward--turned towards that Heaven from whence they caught their inspiration. He heard the sound of coming footsteps, and loving quiet on that holy day, withdrew to his own chamber. How empty now appeared the tapestried hall! as when some great eclipse shuts to the golden portals of the sun, and steeps the earth in darkness!

Soon after Milton's departure, the Protector entered, in conversation with his secretary, Thurloe; and although it was the Sabbath, there was an air of anxiety and eagerness about him, which made his step more hurried, more abrupt than usual. He suddenly stopped, and said,--

"Pray G.o.d that Colonel Jones and the troop arrived in time! Lady Frances, methinks, must have known something--seen something--however, now all shall be investigated. Pray G.o.d they arrived in time!"

He then took from a large pocket-book a set of tablets, and having read therein for a few minutes, suddenly turning to Thurloe, exclaimed, "What! is this indeed the tenth?"

"Even so," replied the secretary.

"Then have I business which requires immediate attention," said his Highness. "Behold! I had nearly forgotten both the promise and the appointment; but spare nor haste nor trouble! Under the archway, at the left-hand side of Gray's Inn, after you pa.s.s the house whose corners are bound with white stones, the walls being of red brick--under that arch you will see a man--now mark me--a man wearing a green cloak, the collar being of velvet; and, to distinguish him the more perfectly, you will perceive that his hat is banded by a small blue riband, of the narrowest breadth: his left hand will be uncovered, and placed upon his breast, and on its centre finger will be a broad hoop ring of jet. Be there exactly as the clock of St. Paul's strikes three-quarters past four; and speak thou no word, nor make sign, except to put this bill into his hand, which, as thou seest, is for twenty thousand pounds, payable to the bearer at Genoa."

"Is it your Highness's pleasure that I take no receipt?"

"It is not needed--you can return hither by the evening meal."

The secretary bowed, and withdrew; and at the same moment, the trampling of many horses sounded in the paved court-yard; and looking from the window, Cromwell beheld the arrival of Colonel Jones, and his prisoner, Sir Willmott Burrell.

CHAPTER III.

The base and guilty bribes of guiltier men Shall be thrown back, and Justice look as when She loved the earth, and feared not to be sold For that which worketh all things to it, gold.

BEN JONSON.

"The course of justice must not be delayed, although it be the Sabbath,"

said the Protector; and, having hastily ascertained that his officer had arrived at Cecil Place in time to prevent the intended marriage, he immediately ordered that Colonel Jones and Sir Willmott Burrell should be at once ushered into his presence. At the same time he despatched one of his pages to command the attendance of Mana.s.seh Ben Israel.

When the knight entered, he was received by Cromwell with his usual show of courtesy. He appeared, however, with a downcast look, his hands folded over his bosom, and his mind made up to the approaching contest with one whom he well knew to be as profound and accomplished a dissimulator as himself, when dissimulation was the weapon wherewith he designed to fight.

Sir Willmott briefly apologised for his travel-worn and soiled habiliments, and displayed a due portion of surprise and indignation at being torn from his bride in the midst of the marriage ceremony. The Jew trembled with agitation, and would have interrupted the Protector's more slow, but not less sure, proceedings, had he not been prevented by a timely check from Cromwell, who bent his brow towards him with a peculiar and warning expression.

"It cannot be supposed, Sir Willmott," he observed, in a calm, and even friendly tone, "but that I regret exceedingly being compelled to trouble you in this manner, and at such a time. You will be made aware that I have been called upon to perform a double duty; first, to my worthy and excellent friend Mana.s.seh Ben Israel, with the nature of whose suspicions (it maketh a Christian soul shudder to think upon it) you are already acquainted--and next, to the lady who was about to become your wife. Her Highness has long and truly loved her; and she is, moreover, somewhat related (although only after the Episcopalian fas.h.i.+on) to my most beloved daughter. I was, therefore, bound to have especial care concerning the maiden's bridal."

"The Lady Frances Cromwell could have informed your Highness that Mistress Constantia was, of her own free will, a party to the ceremony."

"I do not dispute it. Now our business is to satisfy the mind of our friend here, as to your alleged conduct towards his only child. It is a n.o.ble matter in our laws, and one that we may well be proud of, that, by G.o.d's blessing, every man is considered innocent until he be proven guilty. The Lord forbid that I should lay aught of sin unto your charge!--you, who have appeared at all times a sure and a safe prop unto our Commonwealth. Doubtless you saw the lady--Zillah: say you not, worthy Rabbi, that the maiden's name was Zillah?"

"Even so," replied the Jew, with a bitter sigh; "she was named after her mother."

"You, doubtless, saw her, and, struck by her beauty, which we hear was most marvellous, paid her more courtesy than was quite fitting in a betrothed man. But Satan lays many snares for the unwary, and beauty is a peril that few men altogether escape. Verily, it is of the evil one.

But there are excuses; at least there may be excuses, especially in such a land as France, where temptation a.s.sumes every seducing form; and a young woman, like this lady, might have been easily led to believe your courtliness to be that of the heart, whereas it was only that of the manner."

The rabbi stood aghast, his friend Cromwell talked in a tone so much more moderate than he had expected--he knew not what to think. Even Burrell, who had antic.i.p.ated a thunder-storm, was deceived by the calm; and, after considering a moment that the Protector would not speak thus if he had really received any communication from Hugh Dalton, replied, breathing freely for the first time since he received the mandate to appear at Hampton Court,--

"It is possible she might have been led to such belief, though, as I have before a.s.sured her father, I had no intention so to mislead his daughter. It is very hard to be suspected of a crime so base; and----"

"But innocence wears a robe of such pure light," interrupted the Protector, "that it will s.h.i.+ne in the darkest night, as yours will, if you are innocent. Know you how the fair Jewess became possessed of this picture? Nay, I should hesitate to think harshly of you, even if you had given it to her, which you might have done in pure friendliness, although the world--it is a harsh and ill-judging world--might condemn you on such ground. But we have ourselves suffered so much from its wrong judgment, as to have learned mercy towards others. Friends.h.i.+p, excellent, right, true friends.h.i.+p, may exist between man and woman in our advanced--ay, and in our young years. Why should it not? Or, as the picture is of excellent painting, and the young lady, it would seem, desired accomplishment in that useless art, you might have lent it her as a study--or----"

"I certainly did not give it," replied Burrell; "but I have some idea of having lent it, with sundry Flemish drawings. Your Highness may remember that several gentlemen, attached to the emba.s.sy at Paris, came away hastily. I was one of those."

Hereupon the Rabbi would have spoken, for he remembered how Sir Willmott had told him that the picture was not his; but the Protector again stayed him, seeking to entangle Burrell in a web of his own weaving.

"You visited the lady frequently?"

"Not very frequently. I told Mana.s.seh Ben Israel, when first he injured me by this most unjust suspicion, that I did not often see her, and when I did, it was to ascertain if there were any letters she desired to transmit to England."

"Not from the carnal desire of paying her homage?"

"How could your Highness suppose it was?"

"You but now confessed she might so have interpreted your civilities.

But--know you aught of one Hugh Dalton, a free-trader?"

"Know--know--know, your Highness? I know him for a most keen villain!"

replied the Master of Burrell warmly.

"Indeed!--But you scorned not to employ him."

Burrell was silent; for, though he had journeyed full fifty miles, he had not been able to form any plan of defence, if Cromwell should really be aware of the arrangements entered into in the cavern of the Gull's Nest Crag. Such he now dreaded was the fact, not only from the appearance of a paper the Protector drew forth, but from the fact that the seeming calmness was fading from his brow. All that remained was stoutly to deny its being in his hand-writing: it was a case that finesse could in no way serve.

"Did your Highness mean that I employed this man?" he said at last, with a clever mingling of astonishment and innocence in his voice and manner.

During a brief pause that followed, the eye of Cromwell was, as it were, nailed upon his countenance.

"I do mean, Sir Willmott Burrell, that you scorned not to employ this man. Know you this hand-writing?"

Sir Willmott's worst fears were confirmed.

"Permit me," he said, glancing over the doc.u.ment; then, looking from it with most marvellous coolness, he raised his eyes, exclaiming, "Sir, there is a plot for my destruction! This hand-writing is so well feigned, that I could have sworn it my own, had I not known the total impossibility that it could so be!"

"I have seen your hand-writing before:--write now, sir."

Burrell obeyed--took the pen in his hand, and Cromwell noted that it trembled much.

"Sir Willmott, I believe you in general place your paper straight?"

"Please your Highness, I do; but I am not cool--not collected enough to act as calmly as at my own table. The knowledge in whose presence I sit, might agitate stronger nerves than mine. Behold, sir, the villain counterfeited well; the _W_ is exact, even in the small hair-stroke--the _tt_'s are crossed at the same distance, and the _ll_'s are of the height of mine:--a most villanous, but most excellent counterfeit!"

"Which?" inquired the Protector: "which mean ye is the counterfeit--the writing or the writer?---- Without there!--Call in Robin Hays. Sir Willmott Burrell, Sir Willmott Burrell! the Lord deliver me from such as thou art!" he continued, swelling and chafing himself into anger, 'p.r.i.c.king the sides of his intent,' that so he might overwhelm the dastard knight. "We doubted, sir, at first, but we doubt no longer. Sir, you have robbed that old man of his daughter! You have, by so doing, perjured your own soul, and brought most foul dishonour upon England. I once heard you talk of patriotism: a true patriot loves his country too well to commit a dishonourable action! Sir, I have learned that you were married to the Jewish girl."