The Catholic World Volume Ii Part 46

A handful of young men, miserably scanty in numbers, alone responded to an appeal of so magnificent, so seductive an example; and of all the symptoms {302} of the decadence or transformation of European society, there is none more alarming, more humiliating, than that very paucity of their numbers. _Their small number honors them, but accuses us_, said, with too much truth, a brave man, who died at the very moment he was going to join them. But this small number sufficed for what La Moriciere sought, and for all that he regarded as possible. It sufficed to represent the honor of Catholic France in the midst of the cowardly abandonment of Europe. Above all, it sufficed to strip the lying mask from Piedmontese usurpation, and to spot with blood the hypocritical hands about to be placed on the shoulder and the white tunic of the Vicar of Jesus Christ.

This done, nothing remained for La Moriciere but to die as he has died. Death came suddenly, but it did not take him unprepared. It found him on foot, vigilant, decided, invincible, as when, in the times of his youth, he looked it every day in its face. It found him armed with a force and a faith it found not in him then. In seeing it approach he "unhooked his crucifix as he formerly unhooked his sword."

The word is from a bishop and it will remain: "She was sweet toward death, as she had been sweet toward life," said Bossuet of his Henrietta of England. He would have said of our hero, that he was strong against death, as he had been strong against life. He would have greeted with his immortal accents that death of the soldier which was also, and above all, the death of a saint. What more admirable or more complete! That last night after a day divided between private and public prayer, and the study of the history of the Church in which he will have a page--a page how resplendent! [Footnote 49] That word only to call a priest--that only cry to procure the grace of absolution--those rapid moments pa.s.sed while standing in solitude, the crucifix in his hand--and, in fine, the supreme moment which finds him in full adoration on his knees before his G.o.d!--can there be conceived a life more generously, more Christianly finished, a death more happy in its suddenness? Behold him saved from tasting, drop by drop, the bitterness of separation from his family--his n.o.ble wife, always so worthy of him, and whom G.o.d had given for his companion and his light, and his daughters, whom he adored with the tenderness and pa.s.sionate anxiety of an old soldier. Behold him transported at once from his obscure and wearisome idleness into eternal activity, into a splendor and a glory which no one can henceforth take from him! What a triumphant exit from his exile here below! What a triumphant entry into the heavenly country, the army of the elect, of the confessors of the faith, the chevaliers of Christ! _Te martyrum candidatus laudat exercitus._

[Footnote 49: It is well known that on Sunday, the eve of his death, he a.s.sisted for the last time at the Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, in the village church of Plouzel. He remained there kneeling through the whole office. On his return he read "_l'Histoire de l'Eglise_," by the Abbe Darras. It was his last reading. The volume was open, near his bed, when he rose to call a domestic to go for the parish priest, who barely arrived in time to receive his last sigh.]

How he now loves and esteems those fifteen years of human disgrace, during which divine grace invaded his soul, and led him through thorns and the cross, scoffs, jeers, disasters, bitterness, anguish, to the Christian coronation of his career!

"I will go," said the Bishop of Orleans, in speaking of the graves of the young soldiers of La Moriciere, immolated under his eyes in his last battle,--"I will go there, to cast a look toward heaven and demand the triumph of justice and eternal honor on the earth; I will go there to relieve my heart from its sadness and to strengthen my soul in its faintings. I will learn from them to keep burning within me zeal for the Church and zeal for souls,--to devote myself to the struggle of truth and justice, even to the last whisper of my voice and my last sigh."

And we will go, and the great and dear bishop will come with us;--we {303} will go and ask, and learn all that we lack, near that grave opened on the barren heath in Bretagne, at the foot of an unrecognized cross, where lie the remains of the immortal chief of those victims--of him who, as Duguesclin, Duguesclin his countryman, had well deserved to sleep among the kings at Saint-Denis. So long as there shall be a Christian France, that distant and solitary tomb will appear to the soul clothed with a solemn grandeur and a touching majesty. Far from the intoxications of the battle-field, far from the theatre of his struggles and his successes, under that mound of earth which will cover to the day of judgment that brave heart and that victorious arm,--there, there with love it will go to invoke that great soul, betrayed by fortune and magnified by sacrifice. It is there that it will admire without reserve the warrior, the statesman, who preserved unstained his honor--the honor of the soldier, of the citizen, and of the Christian. It is there that it will be needful to go to learn the emptiness of human hopes, and at the same time that there is even in this world true greatness and real virtue. That grave will tell us how necessary it is to despise iniquitous victories, and to serve in the army of justice against the army of fortune; to protest against enervating indolence, against servile compliances, against the idolatry of Success; to place above the poor tinsel of a false greatness fidelity to convictions deserted, to the torn flag of liberty denied, to friends persecuted, to the proscribed, and to the vanquished. That tomb will teach us, in the confusion and instability of the present, to preserve before all things integrity of character, which makes all the power and all the value of the man here below. But from that tomb will come forth at the same time a harder and a more necessary lesson still. It will teach us how to be gentle and strong in adversity; to find calm and joy in suffering; to bear it without depression and without sourness; to consent, where need is, to be only a useless servant, and to gain thus eternal life. Yes, all this will be revealed by the grave of him who will not be forgotten, because he united in his life things too often separated; because he was not only a great captain, a great servant of his country, a faithful soldier of liberty, an honest man, a great citizen, but also a great Christian, an humble and brave Christian, who loved his soul, and has saved it.

CH. DE MONTALEMBERT.

------ {304}

From The Month.

CONSTANCE SHERWOOD.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.

CHAPTER XVII.

When I had been a short time in my Lady Lumley's chamber, my Lord Arundel sent for his granddaughter, who was wont, she told me, at that hour to write letters for him; and I stayed alone with her ladys.h.i.+p, who, as soon as Lady Surrey left us, thus broke forth in her praise:

"Hath any one, think you. Mistress Sherwood, ever pictured or imagined a creature more n.o.ble, more toward in disposition, more virtuous in all her actions, of greater courage in adversity or patience under ill-usage than this one, which G.o.d hath sent to this house to cheer two lonely hearts, whilst her own is well-nigh broken?"

"Oh, my Lady Lumley!" I exclaimed, "I fear some new misfortune hath befallen this dear lady, who is indeed so rare a piece of goodness that none can exceed in describing her deserts. Hitherto she hath condescended to impart her sorrows to her poor friend; but to-day she shut up her griefs in her own bosom, albeit I could read unspoken suffering in every lineament of her sweet countenance."

"G.o.d forgive me," her ladys.h.i.+p replied, "if in speaking of her wrongs I should entertain over-resentful feelings toward her ungracious husband, whom once I did love as a mother, and very loth hath my heart been to condemn him; but now, if it were not that I myself received him in my arms what time he was born, whose life was the cause of my sweet young sister's death, I should doubt he could be her son."

"What fresh injury," I timidly asked, "hath driven Lady Surrey from her house?"

"_Her_ house no longer," quoth Lady Lumley. "She hath no house, no home, no husband worthy of the name, and only an old man nigh unto the grave, alas! and a poor feeble woman such as I am to raise a voice in her behalf, who is spurned by one who should have loved and cherished her, as twice before G.o.d's altar he vowed to do. Oh," cried the poor lady, weeping, "she hath borne all things else with a sweet fort.i.tude which angels looking down on her must needs have wondered at. She would ever be excusing this faithless husband with many pretty wiles and loving subterfuges, making, sweet sophist, the worst appear the better reason. 'Men must needs be pardoned,' she would say, when my good father waxed wroth at his ill-usage of her, 'for such outward neglect as many practice in these days toward their wives, for that it was the fas.h.i.+on at the court to appear unhusbandly; but if women would be patient, she would warrant them their love should be requited at last.' And when news came that Phil had sold an estate for to purchase--G.o.d save the mark!--a circlet of black pearls for the queen; and Lord Arundel swore he should leave him none of his lands but what by act of parliament he was compelled to do, she smiled winsomely, and said: 'Yea, my lord, I pray you, let my dear Phil be a poor man as his father wished him to be, and then, if it please G.o.d, we may live in a cottage and be happy.' And so turned away his anger by soft words, for he {305} laughed and answered: 'Heaven help thee. Nan! but I fear that cottage must needs be Arundel Castle, for my hands are so tied therein that thy knavish husband cannot fail to inherit it. And beshrew me if I would either rob thee of it, mine own good Nan, or its old walls of thy sweet presence when I shall be dead.' And so she always pleaded for him, and never lost heart until ... Oh, Mistress Sherwood, I shall never forget the day when her uncle, Francis Dacre--wisely or unwisely I know not, but surely meaning well--gave her to read in this house, where she was spending a day, a letter which had fallen into his hands, I wot not how, in the which Philip--G.o.d forgive him!--expressed some kind of doubt if he was truly married to her or not. Some wily wretch had, I ween, whispered to him, in an evil hour, this accursed thought. When she saw this mis...o...b.. written in his hand she straightway fell down in a swoon, which recovering from, the first thing she did was to ask for her cloak and hat, and would have walked alone to her house if I had not stayed her almost by force, until Lord Arundel's coach could be got ready for her. In less than two hours she returned with so wan and death-like a countenance that it frighted me to see her, and for some time she would not speak of what had pa.s.sed between her lord and herself; only she asked for to stay always in this house, if it should please her grandfather, and not to part from us any more. At the which speech I could but kiss her, and with many tears protest that this should be the joyfullest news in the world to Lord Arundel and to me, and what he would most desire, if it were not for her grief, which, like an ill wind, yet did blow us this good.

'Yea,' she answered, with the deepest sigh which can be thought of, 'a cold, withering blast which driveth me from the shelter which should be mine! I have heard it said that when Cardinal Wolsey lay a-dying he cried, "It were well with me now if I had served my G.o.d with the like zeal with which I have served my king," or some words of that sort.

Oh, my Lady Lumley!' the poor child exclaimed, 'if I had not loved Philip more than G.o.d and his Church, methinks I should not thus be cast off!' 'Cast off,' I cried; 'and has my graceless nephew, then, been so wicked?' 'Oh, he is changed,' she answered--'he is changed.

In his eyes, in his voice, I found not Philip's looks, nor Philip's tones. Nought but harshness and impatience to dismiss me. The queen, he said, was coming to rest at his house on her way to the city, and he lacked leisure to listen to my complaints. Then I felt grief and anger rise in my breast with such vehemency that I charged him, maybe too suddenly, with the doubt he had expressed in his letter to my Lord Oxford. His face flushed deeply; but drawing up haughtily, as one aggrieved, he said the manner of our marrying had been so unusual that there were some, and those persons well qualified to judge, who mis...o...b..ed if there did not exist a flaw in its validity. That he should himself be loth to think so, but that to seek at that moment to prove the contrary, when his fortunes hung on a thread, would be to ruin him.'

"There she paused, and clasped her hands together as if scarce able to proceed; but soon raising her head, she related in a pa.s.sionate manner how her heart had then swelled well-nigh to bursting, pride and tenderness restraining the utterance of such resentful thoughts as rose in her when she remembered his father's last letter, wherein he said his chief prop and stay in his fallen estate should be the wife he had bestowed on him; of her own lands sold for the supply of his prodigal courtiers.h.i.+p; of her long patience and pleading for him to others; and this his present treatment of her, which no wife could brook, even if of mean birth and virtue, much loss one his equal in condition, as well dowered as any in the land, {306} and as faithful and tender to him as he did prove untoward to her. But none of these reproaches pa.s.sed her lips; for it was an impossible thing to her, she said, to urge her own deserts, or so much as mention the fortune she had brought him. Only twice she repeated, 'Ruin your fortunes, my lord! ruin your fortunes! G.o.d help me, I had thought rather to mend them!' And then, when he tried to answer her in some sort of evading fas.h.i.+on, as if unsaying, and yet not wholly denying his former speech, she broke forth (and in the relation of this scene the pa.s.sion of her grief renewed itself) in vehement adjurations, which seemed somewhat to move him, not to be so unjust to her or to himself as to leave that in uncertainty which so nearly touched both their honors; and if the thought of a mutual love once existing between them, and a firm bond of marriage relied on with unshaken security, and his father's dying blessing on it, and the humble duty she had shown him from the time she had borne his name, sufficed not to resolve him thereunto, yet for the sake of justice to one fatherless and brotherless as herself, she charged him without delay to make that clear which, left uncertain, concerned her more nearly than fortune or state, and without which no, not one day, would she abide in his house. Then the sweet soul said she hoped, from his not ungracious silence and the working of his features, which visibly revealed an inward struggle, that his next words should have been of comfort to her; but when she had drawn nigh to him, and, taking his hand, called him by his name with so much of reproachful endearment as could be expressed in the utterance of it, a gentleman broke into the room crying out: 'My lord, my lord, the trumpets do sound! The queen's coach is in sight.' Upon which, she said that, with a muttered oath, he started up and almost thrust her from him, saying, 'For G.o.d's sake, be gone!' And by a back-door,' she added, 'I went out of mine own house into the street, where I had left my Lord Arundel's coach, and crept into it, very faint and giddy, the while the queen's coach did enter the court with gay banners waving, and striking-up of music, and the people crying out, "G.o.d bless the queen!" I cry G.o.d mercy for it,' she said, 'but I could not say amen.'

Now she is resolved," my Lady Lumley continued, "never to set her foot again in any of her husband's houses, except he doth himself entreat her to it, and makes that matter clear touching his belief in the validity of their marriage; and methinks she is right therein. My Lord Arundel hath written to remonstrate with his grandson touching his ill-usage of his lady, and hath also addressed her majesty thereupon.

But all the comment she did make on his letter, I have been told, was this: 'That she had heard my Lord Arundel was in his dotage; and verily she did now hold it to be so, for that she had never received a more foolish letter; and she did pity the old white horse, which was now only fit to be turned out to gra.s.s;' and other biting jests, which, when a sovereign doth utter them, carry with them a rare poignancy."

Then my Lady Lumley wiped her eyes, and bade me to be of good cheer, and not to grieve overmuch for Lady Surrey's troubles (but all the while her own tears continued to flow), for that she had so n.o.ble and religious a disposition, with germs of so much virtue in it, that she thought her to be one of those souls whom Almighty G.o.d draws to himself by means of such trials as would sink common natures; and that she had already marked how, in much prayer, ever-increasing good works, and reading of books which treat of wholesome doctrine and instruction, she presently recalled the teachings of her childhood, and took occasion, when any Catholics came to the house, to converse with them touching religion. Then, with many kind expressions, she dismissed me; and on the stairs, as I went out, I met {307} Lady Surrey, who noticed mine eyes to be red with weeping, and, embracing me, said:

"I ween Lady Lumley hath been no hider of my griefs, good Constance, and, i' faith, I am obliged to her if she hath told thee that which I would fain not speak of, even to thee, dear wench. There are sorrows best borne in silence; and since the last days we talked together mine have grown to be of that sort. And so farewell for to-day, and may G.o.d comfort thee in thy n.o.bler troubles, and send his angels to thine aid."

When I returned to Holborn, Mistress Ward met me with the news that she had been to the prison, and heard that Mr. Watson was to be strenuously examined on an approaching day--and it is well known what that doth signify--touching the names of the persons which had harbored him since his coming to England. And albeit he was now purposed steadily to endure extreme torments sooner than to deny his faith or injure others, she did so much apprehend the weakness of nature should betray him, that her resolve was taken to attempt the next day, or rather on the following night, to further his escape. But how, she asked, could my father be dealt with in time touching that matter? I told her I was to see him on the morrow, by means of an order from Sir Francis Walsingham, and should then lay before him the issues offered unto his election. She said she was very much contented to hear it; and added, she must now secure boatmen to a.s.sist in the escape who should be reliable Catholic men; and if in this she did succeed, she feared not to fail in her design.

At the hour I had fixed upon with Hubert, on the next day, he came to carry me to the prison at Bridewell. Mistress Ward prevailed on Mr.

Congleton to go thither with us, for she was loth to be seen there in company with known persons, and added privily in mine ear, "The more so at a time when it may happen I should get into trouble touching the matter I have in hand." When we reached the place, Hubert presented to the gaoler Sir Francis's letter, which was also signed by the governor, and I was forthwith conducted to my father's cell. When I entered it, and advanced toward that dear prisoner, I dared not in the man's presence to show either the joy or grief I felt at that meeting, but stood by his side like one deprived of the power of speech, and only struggling to restrain my tears. I feared we should not have been left alone, and then this interview should have proved of little use or comfort; but after setting for me a chair, which he had sent for--for there was only one small bench in the cell--this officer withdrew, and locked the door on me and that dear parent, whose face was very white and wan, but who spoke in as cheerful and kind a manner as can be thought of, albeit taxing me with wilfulness for that I had not complied with his behest that none should come to visit him. I would not have the chair which had been sent for me--for I did hold it to be an unbecoming thing for a daughter to sit down in her father's presence (and he a priest), who had only a poor bench to rest his limbs on--but placed myself on the ground at his feet; which at first he misliked, but afterward said it should be as I pleased. Then, after some affectionate speeches, wherein his great goodness toward me was shown, and my answers to them, which disburthened my heart of some of the weight which oppressed it, as did likewise the shedding of a few tears on his hand, which was clasped in mine, I spoke, in case time should press, of Sir Francis's offer, and the condition thereunto attached, which I did with a trembling voice, and yet such indifferent tones as I could affect, as if showing no leaning to one way of thinking or the other, touching his acceptance of these terms. In the brief time which did elapse between my speaking and his reply, methinks I had an equal fear lest he should {308} a.s.sent or dissent therein--filial love mightfully prompting me to desire his acceptance of this means of deliverance, yet coupled with an apprehension that in that case he should stand one degree less high in the favor of G.o.d and the eyes of men. But I was angered with myself that I should have mine own thoughts therein, or in any way form a judgment forestalling his, which peradventure would see no evil in this concession; and forecasting also the consequences which should ensue if he refused, I resolved to move him thereunto by some such words as these: "My dearly beloved father, if it be possible, I pray you yield this small matter to those that seek to save your life. Let the minister come to satisfy Sir Francis, and all shall be well, yea, without your speaking one word, or by so much as one look a.s.senting to his arguments."

I dared not to meet his eyes, which he fixed on me, but kept kissing his hand whilst he said: "Daughter Constance, labor not to move me in this matter; for far above all other things I may have to suffer, nothing would touch me so near, or be so grievous to me, as to see you, my well-beloved child, try to persuade me unto that which in respect of my soul I will never consent to. For, I pray you, first as regards religion, can I suffer any to think, albeit I should give no cause for it but silence, that my faith is in any wise shaken, which peradventure would prove a stumbling-block to others? or, touching truth and honesty, shall I accept life and freedom on some such supposition as that I am like to change my religion, when I should as soon think to cast myself into h.e.l.l of mine own free will as to deny one point of Catholic belief? No, no, mine own good child; 'tis a narrow path which doth lead to heaven, and maybe it shall prove exceeding narrow for me ere I reach its end, and not over easy to the feet or pleasant to the eye; but G.o.d defend I should by so much as one hair's-breadth overpa.s.s a narrowness which tendeth to so good a conclusion; and verily, to be short, my good child, tender my thanks to Sir Francis Walsingham--who I doubt not meaneth excellently well by me--and to young Master Rookwood, who hath dealt with him therein; but tell them I am very well pleased with my present abode as long as it shall please G.o.d to keep me in this world; and when he willeth me to leave it, believe me, daughter Constance, the quickest road to heaven shall be the most pleasing to me."

His manner was so resolved that I urged him no further, and only heaved a deep sigh. Then he said, kindly: "Come, mine own good child, give me so much comfort as to let me hear that thou art of the same way of thinking in this matter as thy unworthy but very resolved father."

"My dear father," I replied, "methinks I never loved you so well, or honored you one half so much as now, when you have cast off all human consolation, yea, and a certain hope of deliverance, rather than give occasion to the enemies of our faith to boast they had prevailed on you, in ever so small a matter, to falter in the open profession thereof; and I pray G.o.d, if ever I should be in a like plight, I may not prove myself to be otherwise than your true child in spirit as in nature. As to what shall now follow your refusal, it lieth in G.o.d's hands, and I know he can deliver you, if he doth will it, from this great peril you are in."

"There's my brave wench," quoth he then, laying his scarred hand on my head; "thy mother had a prophetic spirit, I ween, when she said of thee when yet a puling girl, 'As her days, so shall her strength be.'

Verily G.o.d is very good, who hath granted us these moments of peaceful converse in a place where we had once little thought for to meet."

As I looked upon him, sitting on a poor bench in that comfortless cell, his n.o.ble fair visage oldened by hards.h.i.+ps and toils rather than years, his eyes so full of peace, yea of contentment, that {309} joy seemed to beam in them, I thought of the words of Holy Writ, which do foretell which shall be said hereafter of the just by such as have afflicted them and taken away their labors: "There are they whom we had some time in derision and for a parable of reproach. We fools esteemed their life madness and their end without honor. Behold, how they are numbered with the children of G.o.d, and their lot amongst the saints."

At that time a knock against the wall was heard, and my father set his ear against it, counting the number of such knocks; for it was Mr.

Watson, he said, beginning to converse with him in their wonted fas.h.i.+on. "I will tell him I am engaged," quoth he, in his turn tapping in the same manner. "But peradventure he hath somewhat to communicate," I said.

"No," he answered, "for in that case he would have knocked three times at first, for on this signal we have agreed." Smiling, he added, "We do confess to each other in this way. 'Tis somewhat tedious, I do admit; but thanks be to G.o.d we lack not leisure here for such duties."

Then I briefly told him of Mistress Ward's intent to procure Mr.

Watson's escape.

"Ay," he said, "I am privy to it, and I do pray G.o.d it may succeed. It should be to me the greatest joy in the world to hear that good man was set free, or made free by any good means."

"Then," I added, "will you not join in the attempt, if so be she can convey to you a cord? and the same boat should carry you both off."

"Nay," he replied; "for more reasons than one I am resolved against that in mine own case which in Mr. Watson's I do commend. This enterprise must needs bring that good woman, Mrs. Ward, into some sort of danger, which she doth well to run for his sake, and which he doth not wrong to consent unto, she being of a willing mind to encounter it. For if the extremity of torture should extort the admissions they do seek from him, many should then grievously suffer, and mostly his own soul. But I have that trust in G.o.d, who hath given me in all my late perils what nature had verily not furnished me with, an undaunted spirit to meet sufferings with somewhat more than fort.i.tude, with a very great joy such as his grace can only bestow, that he will continue to do so, whatever straits I do find myself in; and being so minded, I am resolved not again by mine own doing to put mine own and others' lives in jeopardy; but to take what he shall send in the ordinary course of things, throwing all my care on him, without whose knowledge and will not so much as one hair of our heads doth fall to the ground. But I am glad to be privy to the matter in hand for Mr.

Watson, so as to pray for him this day and night, and also for that n.o.ble soul who doth show herself so true a Christian in her care for his weal and salvation."

Then, changing to other themes, he inquired of me at some length touching the pa.s.sages of my life since he had parted with me, and my dispositions touching the state of life I was about to embrace, concerning which he gave me the most profitable instructions which can be thought of, and rules of virtue, which, albeit imperfectly observed, have proved of so great and wholesome guidance to my inexperienced years that I do stand more indebted to him for this fine advice, there given me, than for all other benefits besides. He then spoke of Edmund Genings, who, by a special dispensation of the Pope, had lately been ordained priest, being but twenty-three years of age, and said the preparation he had made for receiving this holy order was very great, and the impression the greatness of the charge made upon his mind so strong, that it produced a wonderful effect in his very body, affecting for a time his health. He was infirmarian at Rheims, and labored among the sick students, a very model of piety and {310} humility; but _vivamus in spe_ was still, as heretofore, his motto, and that hope in which he lived was to be sent upon the English mission. These, my father said, were the last tidings he had heard of him. His mother he did believe was dead, and his younger brother had left La Roch.e.l.le and was in Paris, leading a more gay life than was desirable. "And now I pray you, mine own dear honored father," I said, "favor me, I beseech you, with a recital of your own haps since you landed in England, and I ceased to receive letters from you." He condescended to my request, in the words which do follow:

"Well, my good child, I arrived in this country one year and five months back, having by earnest suit and no small difficulty obtained from my superiors to be sent on the English mission; for by reason of the weakness of my health, and some use I was of in the college, owing to my acquaintances.h.i.+p with the French and the English languages, Dr.

Allen was loth to permit my departure. I crossed the seas in a small merchant-vessel, and landed at Lynn. The port-officers searched me to the skin, and found nothing on me; but one Sledd, an informer, which had met me in an inn at Honfleur, where I had lodged for some days before sailing for England, had taken my marks very precisely; and arriving in London some time before I landed in Norfolk, having been stayed by contrary winds in my longer pa.s.sage, he there presented my name and marks; upon which the queen's council sent to the searchers of the ports. These found the said marks very apparent in me; but for the avoiding of charges, the mayor of the place, one Mr. Alc.o.c.k, and Rawlins the searcher, requested a gentleman which had landed at the same time with me, and who called himself Haward, to carry me as a prisoner to the lord-lieutenant of the county. He agreed very easily thereunto; but as soon as we were out of the town, 'I cannot,' says this gentleman, 'in conscience, nor will not, being myself a Catholic, deliver you, a Catholic priest, prisoner to the lord-lieutenant. But we will go straight to Norwich, and when we come there, s.h.i.+ft for yourself, as I will do for myself.'

"Coming to Norwich, I went immediately to one of the gaols, and conferred with a Catholic, a friend of mine, which by chance I found out to be there imprisoned for recusancy. I recounted to him the order of my apprehension and escape; and he told me that in conscience I could not make that escape, and persuaded me I ought to yield myself prisoner; whereupon I went to my friend Haward, whom, through the aforesaid Catholic prisoner, I found to be no other than Dr. Ely, a professor of canon and civil law at Douay. I requested him to deliver to me the mayor's letter to the lord-lieutenant. 'Why, what will you do with it?' said he. 'I will go,' I said, 'and carry it to him, and yield myself a prisoner; for I am not satisfied I can make this escape in conscience, having had a contrary opinion thereon.' And I told him what that prisoner I had just seen had urged. 'Why,' said Haward, 'this counsel which hath been given you proceedeth, I confess, from a zealous mind; but I doubt whether it carrieth with it the weight of knowledge. You shall not have the letter, nor you may not in conscience yield yourself to the persecutors, having so good means offered to escape their cruelty.' But as I still persisted in my demand, 'Well,' said Mr. Haward, 'seeing you will not be turned by me from this opinion, let us go first and consult with such a man,' and he named one newly come over, who was concealed at the house of a Catholic not very far off. This was a man of singular wit aid learning, and of such rare virtues that I honored and reverenced him greatly, which Mr. Haward perceiving, he said, with a smile, 'If he be of your opinion, you shall have the letter, and go in G.o.d's name!'

When we came {311} to him, he utterly disliked of my intention, and dissuaded me from what he said was a fond cogitation. So being a.s.suaged, I went quietly about my business, and travelled for the s.p.a.ce of more than a year from one Catholic house to another in Norfolk and Suffolk, ministering the sacraments to recusants, and reconciling many to the Church, which, from fear or lack of instruction or spiritual counsel, or only indifferency, had conformed to the times. Methinks, daughter Constance, for one such year a man should be willing to lay down a thousand lives, albeit, or rather because, as St. Paul saith, he be 'in journeyings often, in perils from his own nation, in perils from false brethren' (oh, how true and applicable do these words prove to the Catholics of this land!), 'in perils in the city, in perils of the wilderness, in perils of the sea.' And if it pleases G.o.d now to send me labors of another sort, so that I may be in prisons frequently, in stripes above measure, and, finally, in death itself, his true servant,--oh, believe me, my good child, the right fair house I once had, with its library and garden and orchard, and everything so handsome about us, and the company of thy sweet mother, and thy winsome childish looks of love, never gave me so much heartfelt joy and comfort as the new similitude I experience, and greater I hope to come, to my loved and only Master's sufferings and death!"

At this time of his recital my tears flowed abundantly; but with an imparted sweetness, which, like a reflected light, shone from his soul on mine. But to stay my weeping he changed his tone, and said with good cheer:

"Come now, my wench, I will presently make thee merry by the recital of a strait in which I once found myself, and which maketh me to laugh to think on it, albeit at the time, I warrant thee, it was like to prove no laughable matter. It happened that year I speak of that I was once secretly sent for by a courtlike gentleman of good wealth that had lived in much bravery, and was then sick and lying in great pain.

He had fallen into a vehement agitation and deep study of the life to come; and thereupon called for a priest--for in mind and opinion he was Catholic--that he might learn from him to die well. According to the custom of the Church, I did admonish him, among other things, that if he had any way hurt or injured any man, or unjustly possessed other men's goods, he should go about by-and-by to make rest.i.tution according to his ability. He agreed to do so, and called to mind that he had taken away something from a certain Calvinist, under pretence of law indeed, but not under any good a.s.surance for a Catholic conscience to trust to. Therefore, he took order for rest.i.tution to be made, and died. The widow, his wife, was very anxious to accomplish her husband's will; but being afraid to commit the matter to any one, her perplexed mind was entangled in briers of doubtfulness. She one day declared her grief unto me, and beseeched me, for G.o.d's sake, to help her with my counsel and travail. So, seeing her distress, I proffered to put myself in any peril that might befall in the doing of this thing; but, indeed, persuaded myself that no man would be so perverse as of a benefit to desire revengement. Therefore committing the matter to G.o.d, I mounted on horseback, and away I went on my journey. When I came to the town where the man did dwell to whom the money was to be delivered, I set up my horse in the next inn, that I might be readier at hand to scape immediately after my business was despatched. I then went to the creditor's house, and called the man forth alone, taking him by the hand and leading him aside from the company of others. Then I declared to him that I had money for him, which I would deliver into his hands with this condition, that he inquired no further either who sent or who brought it unto him, or what {312} the cause and matter was, but only receive the money and use it as his own. The old fellow promised fair, and with a good will gave his word faithfully so to do, and with many thanks sent me away.

With all the speed I was able to make, I hastened to mine host's house, for to catch hold of my horse and fly away. But forthwith the deceitful old fellow betrayed me, and sent men after to apprehend me, not supposing me this time to be a priest, but making the surmise against me that forsooth I was not a man but a devil, which had brought money of mine own making to bewitch him. All the people of the town, when they heard the rumor, confirmed the argument, with this proof among others, that I had a black horse, and gave orders for to watch the animal diligently, whether he did eat hay as other horses, or no. As for me, they put a horse-lock about my leg, shut me up close in a strong chamber, and appointed a fellow to be with me continually, night and day, which should watch if I did put off my boots at any time, and if my feet were like horses' feet, or that I was cloven-footed, or had feet slit and forked as beasts have; for this they affirmed to be a special mark whereby to know the devil when he lieth lurking under the shape and likeness of a man. Then the people a.s.sembled about the house in great numbers, and proffered money largely that they might see this monster with their own eyes; for by this time they were persuaded that I was indeed an ill spirit, or the very devil. 'For what man was ever heard of,' said they, 'which, if he had the mind, understanding, and sense of a man, would, of his own voluntary will, and without any respect or consideration at all, give or proffer such a sum of money to a man utterly unknown?' G.o.d knowcth what should have ensued if some hours later it had not chanced that Sir Henry Stafford did ride into the town, and, seeing a great concourse of people at the door of the inn, he stopped to inquire into the cause; which when it was related to him, he said he was a magistrate, and should himself examine, face to face, this limb of Satan. So I was taken before him into the parlor; and being alone with him, and knowing him to be well-disposed in religion, albeit conforming to the times, I explained in a general manner what sort of an errand had brought me to that place. Methinks he guessed me to be a priest, although he said nothing thereon, but only licensed me to depart and go away whither I would, himself letting me out of the house through a back-door. I have heard since that he harangued the people from the balcony, and told them, that whilst he was examining me a strong smell of sulphur had come into the chamber, and a pack of devils carried me off through the window into the air; and he doubted not I had by that time returned to mine own lodging in h.e.l.l. Which he did, I knew, for to prevent their pursuing me and using such violence as he might not have had means to hinder."

"It was not, then," I asked, "on this occasion you were apprehended and taken to Wisbeach?"

"No," he answered; "nor indeed can I be said to have been apprehended at all, for it happened in this wise that I became a prisoner. I was one day in Norwich, whither I had gone to baptize a child, and, as Providence would have it, met with Haward, by whose means I had been set at liberty one year before. After ordinary salutations, he said to me, 'Mr. Tunstall' (for by that name only he knew me), 'the host of the inn where you were taken last year says I have undone him, by suffering the prisoner I had promised to deliver to escape; for he having been my surety with the mayor, he is threatened with eight months' imprisonment, or the payment of a large fine. He hath come to this town for to seek me, and hath seized upon me on this charge; so that I be only at liberty for six hours, for I {313} promised that I would bring you to him by four o'clock (a Catholic merchant yielding him security thereof), or else that I should deliver him my body again. 'I am content,' he said, 'so that I have one of you two.' So either you, Mr. Tunstall, or I, must needs go to prison. You know my state and condition, and may guess how I shall be treated, if once I appear under my right name before them. You know, also, your own state. Now, it is in your choice whether of us shall go; for one must go; there is no remedy; and to force you I will not, for I had rather sustain any punishment whatsoever.' 'Now G.o.d be blessed,' I cried, 'that he hath thrown me in your way at this time, for I should never while I lived have been without scruple if you had gone to prison in my stead. Nothing grieveth me in this but that I have not finished off some business I had in this town touching a person in some distress of mind.' 'Why,' said Haward, 'it is but ten o'clock yet; you may despatch your business by four of the clock, and then you may go to the sign of the Star and inquire for one Mr. Andrews, the lord-lieutenant's deputy, and to him you may surrender yourself.' 'So I will,' I said; and so we parted. At four of the clock I surrendered myself, and was straightway despatched to Wisbeach Castle, where I remained for three months. A message reached me there that a Catholic which had led a very wicked life, and was lying on his death-bed, was almost beside himself for that he could get no priest to come to him.