by Mrs. West
CHAP. XX.
I charge thee, fling away ambition; By that sin fell the angels; how can man then (The image of his Maker) hope to win by it? Corruption gains not more than honesty.
Shakspeare.
Among the victims whom the crimes and fears of Lord Bellingham madesupremely wretched, we must rank his amiable and repentant son, who,languishing to cleanse his house from the foul stain of usurpation, hadlong resolved to do justice to his injured uncle, and to relinquish hissurreptitious honours to Eustace, anticipating the friendship of thatnoble youth, and the hand of Isabel as the best rewards he couldreceive. No bridal transport, no yearnings of grateful friendship, nocordial thrill of conscious integrity now cheered the gloom of hisfuture prospects. The father had sinned beyond all possibility of theson's atoning for his crimes. Was it possible for Colonel Evellin orConstantia to bear his sight? Could Isabel ever plight her faith to theson of her brother's murderer? These agonizing forebodings were soonconfirmed by the receipt of the following letter:--
"Dear Arthur,
"It is impossible for me to leave the secret chamber to bid you farewel. I can sometimes tranquillize my father. I trust in heaven his life will be preserved, and his reason restored. I know you are innocent, and I know too that I shall always love you; but my heart forebodes we must meet no more in this world. I do not bid you forget me--No; I will implore your daily prayers, for I have great need of patience and fortitude. Solicit for me earnestly at the throne of grace, and thus shew your affection to
Isabel Evellin."
"Our sweet Constantia looks like a virgin-martyr, beautiful andresigned. She bids me say she shall always love her kind friend Arthur.Surely you might write to her, and mention what course you mean topursue."
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It would be difficult to say, whether this letter gave De Vallance morepain or pleasure. Hope seldom deserts the lover who knows he is beloved.But why did he feel delight at hearing Isabel acknowledge her heartwould ever be devoted to him? Could affection burst the cinctures of thegrave, and re-animate the corpse which his father had prematurely sentto that dark mansion? Should he not rather have wished her to determineto tear his image from her heart, and be happy in a second choice? I aimto recommend practical and praise-worthy self-denial, not that romanticstrain of extravagant sentiment which enjoins impossibilities andcommends absurdities. Arthur's reflections told him that in treasuringthe remembrance of Isabel, even in his heart-of-heart, he invaded noone's right, and broke no divine precept. He measured the feelings ofhis mistress by his own. "Whatever," said he, "may betide me in life, ofgood or ill fortune, the idea of this virtuous, this heroical maid,shall restrain the arrogance of prosperity, or prevent my sinking underthe weight of calamity. I will bring her to my mind's eye, restrainingher tears for her murdered brother; supporting her wretched father,imbecile alike in mind and body; consoling the friend of her youth,widowed in her virgin love; and let me add, following her plightedArthur with pious prayers and devoted affection. If I have now no motiveto action in the hope of possessing virtue personified in my Isabel, Istill have the incentive of proving myself worthy of her constantattachment."
Determined never more to return to his parents, the sight of whom wouldhave been almost as terrible to him as to the unhappy family with whomhe had so long sojourned, if the remorseless Countess and usurping Earlhad dared to invade the privacy of their sorrows, De Vallance resolvedto leave England, and engage in the service of his exiled King. Shouldprudential motives cause the King to decline making use of his sword,the war which had for twenty years subsisted between France and Spainwould furnish him with employment, and he resolved rather to end hisdays as a mercenary soldier than to remain in England a rebel to hisPrince, and the acknowledged heir of usurped greatness.
Avoiding all expostulation, or indeed all chance of further intercoursewith his parents, he removed from Ribblesdale with the utmost privacy.Changing his clothes and assuming a disguise which altered hisappearance, he shaped his course toward Liverpool, from whence he hopedto procure a passage to France. He had not proceeded far before heovertook Jobson, who, unable to support the sight of Colonel Evellin'sdistress, had determined to go back to Pembroke, and gain from Dr. Lloyda more minute account of the death of Eustace. De Vallance agreed toaccompany him and take ship at Milford Haven. Jobson was proud of againserving a loyal gentleman, and Arthur was resolved, for his latemaster's sake, to assist and protect the brave trooper. "I'll do anything to serve your honour," said Jobson; "but I hope you will not beoffended. My tongue is a little unruly, and apt to slip out now andthen. So if, when I don't intend it, I should say harsh things of thecursed rogue who murdered Mr. Eustace, forgetting that he passes foryour honour's father, I hope you will not think me less dutifullydisposed to you. For Mrs. Isabel long ago told me you was come over tothe right side, and would rather fight for a King without a coat to hisback, than such upstarts as Old Noll and the Parliament, though all overgold fringe and black velvet. I tell you what, Master Sedley, My LordSedley I believe I ought to say----"
"My name is Arthur de Vallance," replied he; "I have no right to anytitle."
"Bless your honourable nature," said Jobson. "Poor Mr. Eustace, I find,ought to have been My Lord, but as that traitor shot him to get him outof the way, I don't see why you should not be Lord Sedley rather thanone of Old Noll's tinkers should, who are sure to catch up all the goodthings they can lay hold of."
Arthur smote his breast, and with agony reflected, that however his soulabhorred the foul crime, he must (as his father was created a peer bythe late King) reap the advantage of it. The horror of thisconsideration was alleviated by considering that on the death ofBellingham he should have power to rescue Evellin from the protractedmisery of a life of concealment, and Isabel from terror, poverty, and arenunciation of even common comforts. While he was engrossed bymeditating plans for their immediate relief, Jobson went on, unobserved,raving against the degradation of serving upstarts, and resolving tostand by true gentlemen while he had a drop of blood in his veins.
The remittances which De Vallance had received from his tenants, enabledhim to purchase horses and other necessaries for himself and Jobson.Assuming the name of Herbert, he gave himself out to be a gentlemantravelling with his servant on a tour of pleasure. They reached Pembrokein safety, but the pious intentions of Jobson were frustrated; he couldneither pluck a tuft of grass from his master's grave, nor recover Fidoto console Constantia. Dr. Lloyd had left the town, and no one knewwhere the remains of Eustace were deposited. The graves of hisfellow-victims were pointed out by the attentive piety of the youngmaidens, who adorned them with garlands of flowers, which (according tothe custom of the country) were renewed every Sabbath. On that day theyduly knelt beside the spot, and with awful veneration kept alive theirown attachment to the cause for which these officers suffered, byrepeating the Lord's prayer.
It was a matter of the deepest concern to Jobson that the grave ofEustace was not pointed out and adorned with similar honours. He beganto conceive an implacable aversion to Dr. Lloyd for not having given hima public interment. "Is it not enough," said he to De Vallance, "to makepoor Mr. Eustace walk? One of these gentlemen, to be sure, was a finecorny-faced cavalier, who paid for many a jug of Welsh ale that I drankto His Majesty's health, and the other was a stout desperate lieutenant,that would fight and swear with any body; but not one of them was halfso handsome, sweet-speaking, well-born a gentleman as Mr. Eustace."
De Vallance did not apprehend that posthumous honours soothed theseparated spirit; and had he not been standing on the awful spot whichconsummated his father's crimes, he would have smiled at the retentionof these old pagan ideas respecting the state of the departed. Hequestioned the by-standers whether any thing was known respecting theinterment of young Evellin. Some said there was a private funeralhuddled up in a strange way; but an old woma
n whispered that it wassuspected the Doctor had made him into a skeleton, and being troubled inconscience afterwards for the wicked act had fled the country. Absurd asthis suggestion was, it suited the pre-conceived prejudices of Jobson,and in future afforded De Vallance some relief, by diverting part of hiscompanion's curses to another object than Lord Bellingham; for inJobson's estimation there was little difference between the General whocondemned, and the surgeon who dissected his master. Nor was hesatisfied about Fido's safety, when he found Dr. Lloyd had beenparticularly careful to take the spaniel with him. "Ah, the bloodyknave," said he, "I know he will cut the poor dog up in his experiments,as he calls them, and then sell his skin. That Doctor is a Jew to theback-bone. If I had gone to him with my lame knee, he would have had myleg off directly to put in pickle, and have made me wear a wooden oneinstead of it. But sweet Isabel fomented it till it was well, and now Ican ride on horseback as well as ever. Bless her kind heart! I do hopeshe and Your Honour will come together at last. Aye, and I know shewishes so too. 'Jobson,' said she, as she bade me farewel, 'if ever youcan serve the worthy son of a wicked father, do it for my sake.'"
The reflections of De Vallance on the mysterious circumstances ofEustace's interment took a different train from those of Jobson; but ashis thoughts never could pursue any other subject when the magic name ofIsabel spell-bound them to the secret chamber, where filial piety tendedits uncomplaining captive, we will follow their course, and return tothe Beaumont family.
The pious Isabel with unwearied magnanimity persevered in the dutieswhich her painful situation required. Her nights were uniformly spent inthe chamber where her father was concealed, and her days were dividedbetween him and the sad Constantia, who, ever pining for her Eustace,seemed to have no wish but to share his grave. Isabel tried to diverther thoughts to the consoling reflection that his honour was restored,his reputation cleared from the foul charge of treason and theaccusations of Monthault; his name inscribed on the roll of England'sloyal worthies, and the consecrating seal of death fixed on his memory.Dr. Beaumont endeavoured to make her wishes aspire to that happier worldwhere she would rejoin him. He talked of the "order, nature, number, andobedience of angels[1];" and of her dear Eustace as now joined to theirblessed society. He told her, that her lover and herself were stillmembers of the same family, she suffering, he glorified. He pointed outto her those texts of Scripture which imply recognition in Heaven, andin particular mentioned the hope expressed by St. Paul, of presentinghis Colossian converts to his Lord, and the Apostles sitting on thronesto judge the tribes of Israel, who therefore must be respectively knownas disciples and countrymen. Sometimes he would try to excite emulation,by pointing out the conduct of Isabel, who endured a similar afflictionin the destruction of her fondest hopes, but whose spirits weresupported by constant bodily exertion, while her mental faculties wereno less exercised by fresh contrivances, at once to amuse her father,and to add to the security of his retreat. These efforts, he said, gavesuch an energy to her mind, that she was able to give instead ofrequiring consolation. Dr. Beaumont attempted to revive his daughter'staste for the beauties of nature; shewed her the rich variety ofmountains, dales, woods, lakes, and rivers, which embellished thevicinity of her native village, and especially that most exhilarating ofterrestrial objects, the sun rising to enlighten a world which bursts athis approach into splendid beauty.
Constantia listened, reproved her own weakness, and wept. Yet the piousadmonitions of her father, and the example of her cousin, assisted bythe meliorating influence of time, had a gradual though slow effect, inchanging grief into meek resignation. Her lute, long endeared by theremembrance of Eustace, was now attuned to deplore the death of him whohad restored her the treasure. When sorrow can flow in poesy, it becomesmore plaintive than agonizing; and possibly the reader will be pleasedto see that the long-protracted years of Constantia's anguish weresoothed by those alleviations, which, in mercy to man, are permittedimperceptibly to soften the ravages of death.
It is thus that afflicted survivors, in talking and meditating on thosewho are gone before them to the unseen world, derive an enjoyment frommusing on the past, and from anticipating in the future what the presentis not able to afford.
CONSTANTIA TO ISABEL.
And dost thou mourn the sad estate Of widow'd love? then silent be; And hark! while for my murder'd mate I wake the lute's soft melody.
How dear to me the midnight moon, As through the clouds she sails along, For then with spirits I commune, And Eustace listens to my song.
Oh, not to her who wildly mourns Her noble lover basely slain-- Oh, not to her the morn returns With pleasure laughing in her train.
So look'd it once, when Eustace sung Of plighted love's perennial joys, Now silent is that tuneful tongue, That graceful form the worm destroys.
In vain the feather'd warblers soar, Mid floods of many colour'd light; I hear them not, but still deplore The eye of Beauty quench'd in night.
How in the battle flam'd his crest, Refulgent as the morning star: But ruthless murder pierc'd that breast, Which met unhurt the storm of war.
My Love, "how beautiful, how brave;" Still, still, her oaths thy Constance keeps; The laurel decks the victor's grave, O'er thine the faithful willow weeps.
The disturbed state of England at this time permitted no long indulgenceof domestic sorrow. "Griefs of an hour's age did hiss the speaker," andpity and sympathy often claimed the falling tear, which had been wrungforth by "own distress." Ribblesdale was again disturbed by the march ofhostile troops. The young King had yielded to the solicitations of hisScottish subjects, and transported himself to that country. Lessscrupulous than his father, he swore to observe the conditions of theircovenant; and in return, they promised to give him their crown, andassist him to recover the English diadem. No sooner was the Royalstandard displayed on the hills of Caledonia, than the welcome signalrevived the hopes and unsheathed the swords of the southern Loyalists.The brave Earl of Derby left his retreat in the isle of Man, to spendthe remains of his noble fortune in his Master's cause; and, as theevent proved, to sacrifice his life. He returned eagerly to Lancashire,and collecting what forces the fallen interests of his family couldsupply, waited the commands of his Sovereign.
In the mean time the indefatigable Cromwell hastened from Ireland; andassuming the command which Fairfax had refused to accept, marched theEnglish forces into Scotland, and defeated the covenanters, who, underpretence of restoring the young King, actually held him prisoner,compelling him to act in such subservience to their designs as tosacrifice those, who, without any sinister views, risked their lives inhis support. The humiliation of these pretended friends by the victoryof Cromwell enabled the King to burst the fetters of Argyle, and throwhimself into the arms of the true Loyalists, with whom he concertedmeasures and recruited his army, while Cromwell refreshed his fatiguedand harassed troops at Edinburgh. Determined to appeal to the loyalty ofa nation, now known to be weary of an unsettled government, the Kingsuddenly executed the brave design of passing by Cromwell's army, andmarched into England. He was joined in Lancashire by the Earl of Deby:rash counsels were hastily adopted; and, instead of concentrating theforce they possessed, and pointing it at one great object, the Earl wasrequired to secure the north-western provinces with a power unequal tothe duty; while the King, weakened by his division, marched rapidlytowards London, hoping to reach it before he could be overtaken byCromwell.
The report of an enterprising able young Prince, (for so at this timethe second Charles was reputed to be) coming to reclaim by the sword hisright to the crown, which had been torn from the lifeless trunk of hisfather, on whose grave a hecatomb of regicides was expected to beoffered, alarmed all those who had participated in the crimes of treasonand murder. The forces of the King were, as usual, exaggerated byreport, the hopes of the Loyalist turned possibilities into certainties,a general rising was expected, and it was
confidently said had alreadytaken place. Rumours were circulated that in subduing Scotland Cromwellhad so weakened himself, that it was impossible for him to pursue theKing; and while the less criminal entertained hopes of being able tomake terms with their Sovereign, the immediate partizans of the Usurpersaw no safety, but in supporting the power of one who they knew must(like themselves) be excepted out of every amnesty.
Among those whom guilt had made desperate, we must include Lord and LadyBellingham. We have seen that the former sacrificed his nephew to avoidbeing accused as a secret favourer of the royal cause, a charge he knewCromwell had determined to urge against him, as a safe way of removing astaunch republican, who would oppose the ultimate views of his now ripeambition. Eustace however drew the lot of death to no other purpose thanto increase the remorse which occasionally tortured the bosom ofBellingham. A mutiny broke out the moment after the volley was fired,that sent the brave cavaliers to join in the grave the royal martyr whomthey had served and deplored; for the rebel General, had awakened toomany suspicions, and had too much offended his soldiers by histemporizing conduct, for this sacrifice to expiate his faults. It wasremarked, that he never dealt in invective against his opponents, fromwhence it was inferred, that he wished to treat with them. He neglectedthe praying agitators, and therefore they called him Agag, theAmalekite, commanding the host of Israel. He abridged the liberty of thesoldiers, and of course straitened the arm of the Lord. He disapprovedof plunder and military contribution, consequently endeavoured to makethe presbyterians popular at the expence of the godly. At this timethese opponents hated each other still more than they did episcopacy;and a presbyterian general, commanding an army who claimed unboundedlicence in judgment and conduct, must be condemned for a traitor by thatunerring rule, the voice of the majority. Lord Bellingham was thereforearrested by the agitators, and sent prisoner to London at the instantwhen Eustace fell.
Imprisonment and the scaffold were frequently in those times synonymous.The fallen criminal saw his danger in its full horrors; and, whilemaintaining an inordinate attachment to this world, he dreaded thefuture consequence of his unrepented crimes. He had not numbed the earlyfeelings of religion by the cold torpor of Atheism; nor could hepersuade himself to indulge in those reveries of election andimpeccability, which had now saturated his Lady's mind. He felt himselfto be an accountable being, not a collection of animated atomsassociated by chance, which, when the vital spark was extinguished,would crumble into dust without record or responsibility. He knew he wasa sinner by choice, who had abused his free-will; not a passive vesselof wrath, pre-destined to destruction. No inflating ebullition ofenthusiasm told him he was become one of those favourites of Heaven whocannot forfeit salvation. He therefore clung to this wretched life, asto the edge of a precipice that beetled over the gulph of perdition.Despair was with him the substitute of repentance. He looked back on hisoffences to his King and his friend, convinced that they had exceededthe bounds of mercy. Often did he deplore the utter impossibility of hisregaining that state of contented innocence, when he and Allan Nevilleshared each other's hearts, before the superior qualities and noblerexpectations of his friend excited his envy and ambition. He adverted tothat time when his love for the beautiful Lady Eleanor was pure andgenerous, before she had wrought upon him to become the instrument andparticipator of her criminal ambition and insatiable rapacity. He hadnot the audacity to think a life stained by perfidy and injustice, madehim fitter for the reception of extraordinary grace. The externalpropriety of his manners, and the patronage he liberally afforded to thedivines of the Rump-party, had gained him the reputation of a man ofextraordinary piety; but the austerities he practised, and the devotionsin which he joined, afforded no balsam to his woes. He had been earlytaught that restitution to the wronged was one of the evidences of realpenitence. His title and fortune were the right-hand; he could not cutoff the pride of life to which he was wedded. Had he never knowngreatness, he would now have been happy as Walter de Vallance, living ina state of respectable competence. He fell into the common fault ofincorrigible offenders; lamenting that he had not subdued the firstcravings of desire, and wishing to recall the irremediable past, whileto reform the present was too vast a labour.
Sometimes he had persuaded himself, that if he knew Allan Neville werealive, he would purchase peace of conscience by relinquishing hisusurped possessions; but no sooner was he certified of that fact, andbeheld in Eustace the noble heir he had so basely injured, than his basespirit shrunk into its narrow cell, and at that moment he would havegiven worlds to have had the father and son cut off by any hand but hisown. Equally affected by the fear of death and of adversity, he yieldedEustace to a fate which some faint remains of humanity made him deplore,while a consciousness that this slaughter tended to confirm his owntitle, reminded him that, by reaping the advantage of a cruel unjustsentence which he had power to remit, he was virtually his murderer.Such he knew the world would esteem him, if ever the story transpired;and could it be long concealed? His influence with the ruling powers wasevidently on the wane; the star, which was now Lord of the ascendant,shed on him a malign influence. Abjured by those whom he had served,hated by the royalists, and despised by all parties; could a morepitiable object be found, than a timorous, susceptible, falling villain;conscious of guilt, aware of danger, convinced of the necessity ofrepentance; but too much attached to temporal enjoyments to set aboutit.
Lord Bellingham's distresses were not alleviated by domestic comfort. Ihave before observed, that his Lady had embraced the party of Cromwell,and had taken her religious creed from the fanatics, as best calculatedto compose her fears, and leave her conduct under the mis-rule of herirregular passions. She had long hated and despised her husband, on whomshe threw the whole blame of the crimes she had excited him to commit,at the same time that she took pains to stifle in him all the betterfeelings of remorse, by telling him that it was his want of faith, whichexcluded him from reaping the benefit of the promise, that the saintsshould inherit the earth. When she spoke of worldly riches, of honour,or of pleasure, she called them, "dust in the balance," carnal delights,and Satan's bird-lime, which kept the soul from flying to heaven; yet nomiser ever clung to his gold with more tenacity than she to everyearthly good, that could in any wise contribute to her own advantage.From a vain dissipated coquette, proud of making conquests, and weddedto a life of frivolity, she was changed to a rapturous enthusiast,certain of divine favour upon grounds equally inconsistent with reasonand Scripture. With a still carnalized fancy, she adorned the heavenwhich she felt sure of eternally inhabiting, with the splendor andluxury she had enjoyed on earth, and thus tricked out a Mahommedanparadise rather than the pure and spiritual enjoyments of glorifiedbeings. With all the zeal and animosity of a new convert, she tried tomake her son and husband adopt these notions; and failing of success,she thought herself at liberty to renounce them both; and could she havesecured a perpetual residence in this world, or transported her belovedwealth and greatness to the other, the death of Lord Sedley would havegiven her no more concern than that of the Earl of Bellingham; butlooking upon the former as the medium through which her name must beconveyed to posterity, she felt an interest in his preservation, totallydistinct from maternal affection; and to this his fine qualities servedrather as an alloy, than an incentive. A youth weak enough to be reallya convert, or sufficiently base to have affected being one to heropinions, a flatterer of her faults, and the tool of her designs, wouldhave been invested by her erroneous judgment with those high deservingswhich actually adorned her noble offspring, though she wantedpenetration to discern them.
When the agitators arrested Lord Bellingham, he knew that his son hadbeen sent with Cromwell's detachment against the Duke of Hamilton, andthat the victorious General returned to London in triumph, while no suretidings of the illustrious youth's safety cheered the prison-hours ofthe wretched father. Important events succeeded each other with suchrapidity, that there was no time to bring forward the charge against animprisoned General
, whose rank only made him an object of curiosity,while his conduct exposed him to contempt. New modelling the House ofCommons; expediting the vote of non-addresses; the trial and executionof the King; the annihilation of the House of Peers; the sacrifice ofmany illustrious and noble Loyalists, and the complete establishment ofmilitary tyranny under the name of a republic, engaged the attention ofCromwell, till a little time previous to his undertaking the reductionof Ireland to the same yoke that England bore with silent but sullenindignation, when he judged it expedient to endeavour to prevent hisenemies from taking advantage of his being at a distance from the chiefseat of political intrigue. He knew that Lord Bellingham was intrustedwith the secrets of the Commonwealth's-men, and determined to pay him aconciliatory visit in prison. He met the captive Earl with mockhumility, and sycophantic friendship; talked largely of his talents anddeserts; lamented that he should fall into the displeasure of thenation, and spoke of the lenity he was accused of showing to theLoyalists, as a frailty he could pity, having himself fallen into asimilar temptation, when he was moved in the spirit to spare CharlesStewart, till the Lord, whom he sought in prayer, showed him it was notto be.
A measured smile smoothed the features of the stern conspirator while hespoke, and his eye seemed with meek simplicity to tell all the secretsof his own soul, while in reality it read that of his observer. LordBellingham thought this change from hatred to esteem wonderful; yet thelove of life made him a ready dupe, and he fell into the snare which hesuspected. He could easily justify himself from the charge of secretattachment to royalty, and Cromwell seemed to require no other test toadmit him to his confidence. He told the Earl that he would open to himhis whole heart; he deplored the licence of evil tongues, and theendeavours of the malignants to disunite the godly. His own views, hesaid, had been grossly misrepresented. It was reported, that he wishedto make himself King; but he abhorred the name, as anti-christian, andprayed that whenever the heathenish sound was uttered, a Samuel mightarise among the prophets, and call down lightning and rain even inwheat-harvest. The Parliament, whose humble instrument he was, hadforced honours upon him, and had commanded him to go to Ireland, andextirpate the bloody Papists, as Joshua had done the idolatrousCanaanites. On his return, he trusted he should lay the sword on themercy-seat, that is, beside the mace of the Speaker, to whom he would onhis knees give up all his employments, and apply himself to the care ofhis own soul, which was a burthen great enough for any man. And hetrusted the Lord would give peace to Israel, and build up the desolateplaces of Zion, to which purpose he would put up a prayer, wherein herequired Lord Bellingham to join.
After their devotions, Bellingham assured Cromwell that the wishes ofhis party went but little further than what he proposed to do.Considering the established forms of Geneva and Scotland as the mostscriptural, it was their intention to adopt the same discipline inspiritual affairs. As to temporal rule, they thought a body of wise men,elected by a free people, the likeliest way of rendering Englandrespectable among foreign nations, and happy in itself. He quoted theexamples of Greece and Rome in ancient times, and of the Italianrepublic in modern, to illustrate his sentiments. Cromwell listened withapparent conviction, professed that he had not studied these things,being only in himself an ignorant sinful man, though chosen byProvidence to be a mighty instrument to level thrones and pull down theungodly. He then lamented that so able a counsellor as Bellingham shouldhang like a bucket upon a peg, instead of being employed to draw waterfrom a cistern; and, promising to endeavour to set him again high amongthe people, he took his leave. This interview having sufficientlyapprized him of the designs of the Rump-party, he resolved to keep LordBellingham in safe custody, to remove their adherents from every officeof trust, and to prevent all attempts to appeal to the people by callinga free Parliament. And as he intended that his campaign in Irelandshould not be protracted by any compunctious visitings of mercy, butthat it should more resemble the sweeping hurricane that devastates aprovince, than the purifying wind that renovates a corrupted atmosphere,he trusted that his habitual celerity, and the vigilance and fidelity ofthe host of spies he so liberally paid, would enable him to return toEngland before any measures could be taken to sap the dominion whosefoundations were laid in treachery and treason.
The progress of his bloody standard in Ireland was interrupted by theyoung King's appearance in Scotland. Cromwell transported himself tothat kingdom with incredible dispatch, and assumed the command of thatdivision of the army which had been nominally retained by Fairfax, who,tired of his guilty employment, had, since the murder of the King, beenevidently indisposed to the service, and now peremptorily refused tocontinue to act as general. With these forces Cromwell met the army ofScotch enthusiasts at Dunbar. There was indeed equal fanaticism in botharmies; but the difference was, the English were soldiers as well aspreachers, and their General used fanaticism as an engine to moveothers, not as the rule of his own actions. He wore piety as a mask; heused it to sharpen his sword, but he never converted it into a pilot.Supreme power was the port at which he aimed, and profound worldlywisdom, and the most acute penetration into the character and designs ofothers, assisted him to steer his vessel with astonishing securitythrough the rocks and quicksands that opposed his course.
From the retrospective view which the narrative required, I now turn tospeak of the alarm caused by the young King's march into England. ThoughCromwell was personally in Scotland, he continued to govern in Londonthrough his agents, and they urged the approach of the Royalists as apretence for resorting to severer measures with all who were hostile totheir employer. They suggested, that since the King was now openlysupported by the Presbyterians, it would be expedient that party shoulddefray the expences of the war. Lord Bellingham, they said, had longbeen suspected of loyal propensities; and at this moment thesequestration of his effects might answer a twofold purpose--to confirmthe fidelity of the army by discharging their arrears--and to punish thePresbyterians through one of their leaders. Advice, sanctioned by theapprobation of the General, took the form of a command. The Parliamentreadily complied with a suggestion that wore in its aspect the pretenceof relieving the well-disposed. The estates were immediately voted tobelong to the Commonwealth; the Earl was ordered into closerconfinement; and sequestrators were sent down to take possession ofBellingham-Castle.
It was by this event that the feelings of the Countess were roused fromthe long apathy of self-enjoyment. Forgetting that she had herselffurnished Cromwell with the information which first excited hersuspicions against her Lord, she loudly complained that, not contentwith keeping him in prison on a charge which could not be proved, theywere now injuring his innocent family by seizing their inheritance. Thesequestrators were not sent to listen to remonstrances, but to act withspeed and decision; and Lady Bellingham now found banishment from herhome, and confiscation of all her property, were serious evils, though,when inflicted on others, she had always viewed them with greatphilosophy, considering them either as judgments on the ungodly, orcorrectives of carnal appetites, to complain of which showed a want ofgrace.
Her natural inconsiderateness and self-conceit did not permit her topenetrate into the motives, or to discover the character of, Cromwell.He had plied her with the species of flattery most agreeable to herpresent turn of thought, pretending to ask her opinion on dark texts,and to be influenced by her judgment of gifted preachers. She neversuspected that he had converted her into one of the steps which formedhis ascent to greatness; but, believing him her fast friend, ascribedthe order of sequestration to their common enemies. He was still inScotland; but she determined to fly to him, state her wrongs, andimplore redress. The danger of the journey less alarmed her than therisk of poverty and disgrace in remaining inactive. A rumour of theKing's having arrived in London expedited her resolves. Ever impressedwith the idea of her own importance, she even fancied that avowing herfidelity to Cromwell at such a period would give her a claim on hisgratitude, and thus insure success to her suit.
She had proceeded
in her journey as far as Ribblesdale, when her coachwas stopt by an infuriated populace, who, hearing she was a partizan ofCromwell, avowedly, seeking his protection, surrounded her carriage withevery mark of derision and insult, and even took off her horses toprevent her proceeding. The cruel depredations which the republicans hadcommitted in their march to Scotland the preceding year, gave a privatestimulus to the hatred they felt for the murderer of a King, now justlydear to their recovered reason. Mortified that the dignity of her aspectand the splendour of her suite had not overawed these rustics; alarmedfor the safety of her person, and exposed to the certain inconvenienceof passing the night, unhoused, in a mountainous country, even if shewere permitted to proceed next day, Lady Bellingham sat trembling in hercarriage, in which were her waiting-gentlewoman, chaplain, andgentleman-usher, all highly useful to her in their separate departmentsand joint occupations of submissive flatterers, but all incompetent toadvise what was to be done, and incapable of assisting her in thisextremity.
Nothing affecting the welfare or the moral character of Ribblesdale wasuninteresting to Dr. Beaumont, who, though restrained from receiving theemoluments, was punctual in fulfilling the duties of his pastoral care.At the first intelligence of a riot in the parish, he hastened toMorgan, and endeavoured to make him sensible that it was his duty toprotect a helpless woman. Morgan was extremely doubtful how to act; for,not being endowed with the power of looking into futurity, he knew notwhich party would finally prevail. The magnified reports which he hadheard of the King's successes would have made him turn Loyalist, had henot known that Cromwell, with a victorious army, was hastening from theNorth, and that therefore it would be impolitic to offend him. Hethought the best way would be not to interfere; and, secretly cursingthe lady for exposing him to this dilemma, he observed the mountain-airfor once would brace her nerves, and furnish her with an adventure totalk of as long as she lived. Davies was unwilling to open his doors toa stranger till he knew if she would pay for her accommodations. Dr.Beaumont therefore was left to perform the service of knight-errant allalone.
He arrived on the common where the carriage was stopped in the dusk ofthe evening, just at the time when Lady Bellingham's fears had so farsubdued her haughtiness as to change her threats into tears andintreaties. The Doctor's admonitions soon prevailed on the villagers torepent their conduct. They were ready to restore the horses, and refrainfrom further molestation; but it was now too dark for her to proceed insafety, and not a creature seemed willing to afford a lodging to onewhom they supposed to be no better than a mistress to Old Noll, the goodKing's murderer.
Dr. Beaumont's finances were now in such a state as compelled him tohuswife his hospitality. The money which young De Vallance had insistedon advancing to supply his probable necessities, had been appropriatedto the actual wants of the King's army, as it marched throughLancashire; yet the good man's native courtesy still inclined him toassist the perplexities of the affluent, while his benevolence promptedhim to relieve the distresses of the poor. He accosted Lady Bellinghamwith an air of dignified modesty. His means, he said, were scanty, andhis humble dwelling was now the abode of care and affliction, yet hethought it would afford her comforts superior to passing the night inher carriage; and he requested, if she condescended to allow him to beher host, she would overlook the homeliness of her fare in his sincerewish to obviate the inconveniences which the rude treatment of hisparishioners had brought upon her.
It was not Lady Bellingham's method to look further than to her owncomforts. A man whose air and language bespoke a gentleman, but whosecoarse thread-bare garb indicated poverty, could not have gained herattention if he spoke with the tongue of an angel, except so far as heministered to her accommodation. Turning her eyes to the ruins, which hepointed out as his residence, she uttered an exclamation of contempt andsurprise, to convince him that she had been accustomed to suchmagnificence, that it would be an infinite condescension in one of herrefinement to stoop to his society. Meantime her retinue, finding thecontents of the travelling chest would furnish a sufcient repast, urgedher to accept the shelter of a roof however humble; and Lady Bellingham,with a slight inclination of her head, significant of her condescension,ordered the horses to be put to, to draw her to the door. Dr. Beaumontobserved that the road would not be practicable for her carriage, onwhich Her Ladyship required her gentleman-usher to hand her out. "Howdreadfully inconvenient," said she, "to walk so far! I wonder, Friend,you did not take care to have a carriage-road." Dr. Beaumont smiled, andreplied that public events had pared off all his superfluities; but LadyBellingham asserted that a drive to your own door was one of thenecessaries of life, and her three attendants immediately andunanimously confirmed her opinion.
Mrs. Mellicent had been informed that her brother was bringing a lady ofgreat quality, who was running away from the King to join OliverCromwell, to spend the night under his roof; and though nothing couldexceed the superlative contempt she entertained for disloyal nobility,the honour of the Beaumont blood, and respect for her brother,determined her to give his guest the best reception in her power. Herbanquets, like Eve's, consisted of little beside fruits and herbs, andthe only ornaments she could arrange in the apartments were flowers; butshe had preserved the damask table-suit of her own spinning; and thegold brocade gown, received as an heir-loom from her mother, was in highpreservation. She thought an exhibition of these would convince therebel lady, that though the King's friends now wore sad-coloured camlet,they had once been people of consequence. She received Lady Bellinghamwith one of her stiffest courtesies at the door of their best apartment,and motioned with her hand for her to sit down with an air that spokeconscious equality, and a determination not to be disconcerted by onewho required her hospitality. Constantia stood behind her aunt, pale,dejected, clad in the deepest weeds of woe. Isabel did not appear. Herbeloved father had long required her constant attendance. With infinitegratitude to Heaven, she acknowledged its goodness in again restoring tohim the use of that reason which enabled him to appreciate her filialexcellence. He had so far recovered the use of his limbs as to be ableto walk, supported by her arm; and it was her custom, at the first dawnof morning, to lead him from his narrow cell to enjoy the refreshingbreeze, and the exhilarating glory of the rising sun, while old Williamsclimbed the crumbling battlements of Waverly-hall to give notice if anystranger approached.
Mrs. Mellicent's dress and manner, preserving the memorial of the pastgeneration, drew a supercilious smile from Lady Bellingham, who, in theobscurity and penury to which she perceived a loyal Episcopalian wasreduced, plainly discerned a visible judgment. Her satellites easilyinterpreted her sentiments, and considered the spinster as a fair markof contempt and ridicule; but as their patroness had not deigned tointimate her opinion of Dr. Beaumont and his daughter, they knew not inwhat light she would please to have them considered. Her Ladyship threwa cold repulsive glance over Mrs. Mellicent's culinary arrangements,declared, in a tone which belied her expressions, that every thing wasvery excellent, but that her unfortunate health would not allow her toindulge except in a particular species of food. She then ordered hertravelling chest to be opened, and the liqueurs, conserves, and pastry,to be displayed by the side of Mrs. Mellicent's sallads, oat-cake, andmetheglin, inviting her, in a most gracious manner, to partake of thepilgrim's wallet. But Mrs. Mellicent had the same antipathy to courtdelicacies which Lady Bellingham had to country fare; and, with theindependent spirit of a Cincinnatus, gravely preferring "a radish and anegg," continued to eat them leisurely with a satisfaction derived from aconsideration that they were not purchased by any sacrifice ofintegrity. She secretly pondered on the base propensities which therebel cause engendered, when even a woman of rank, who had known bettermanners, was so vitiated by the company she had lately kept, as toesteem respectable, uncomplaining poverty a fair object of contempt.
It would have been difficult even for modern volubility to have suppliedconversation in a group thus circumstanced; but two hundred years agolong intervals of silence
in a country-party were not extraordinary.During these pauses Mrs. Mellicent's eyes were fixed on a large blueCampanula that she had trimmed to cover the open chimney; and LadyBellingham, disdaining to admire any thing extrinsic, directed her's tothe diamond solitaire suspended on her bosom. She had given strictorders to conceal her name; and if she had ever heard that her injuredbrother sought shelter in Ribblesdale, and married the sister of a Dr.Beaumont, the events that consoled his afflictions were much tooinsignificant to be treasured in her memory. The party therefore met asstrangers in opposite interests. The hour of retiring was anticipated.Constantia attended Lady Bellingham to the apartment formerly occupiedby her worthy son; and after the common inquiries of courtesy withdrew,much to the discomfort of the waiting gentlewoman, on whom the doublefatigue of chambermaid and mistress of the robes now devolved. LadyBellingham being inclined to silence, the dignified Abigail wasrestrained from speaking; and having no invitation to share her Lady'sbed, with secret indignation at these strange people, not having theforethought to provide her with another, she was compelled to restherself in the window-seat, and convert the night into a vigil.
A belief in apparitions was at that time universal, and by no meansconfined to the humble ranks of life. Imagination could not conceive amore suitable scene for the gambols of supernatural beings than theruins adjoining the humble tenement which the Beaumonts inhabited. Theunfortunate, waiting-gentlewoman was kept all night in continual tremorby horrible visions and dreadful sounds: yet to wake her Lady, who wentto bed extremely out of humour, was a still more daring exercise ofcourage than to be a sole witness of the alarming noises produced by thewind rushing through vaults and crevices, or the fearful reflection of athistle by moonlight, waving on the top of a crumbling arch. After anight spent in the exercise of such comparative heroism, Mrs. Abigailhailed with pleasure the return of dawn; and as ghosts and goblinsalways post off to Erebus when Aurora's flag gilds the mountains,imagined she might now go to sleep in safety. But she was soon roused bythe sound of voices, and beheld an indisputable apparition. An agedgrey-headed man, bent double, clad in a loose gown, and leaning on astaff, crept out of the very pile which she had been so fearfullycontemplating all night. He was attended by a female figure, whocarefully seated him on a bank opposite her window. The occupation ofthese spectres was no less extraordinary than the time of theirappearance, for they seemed engaged in what, she thought, ghosts alwaysomitted--devotion. Yet ghosts they must be, since nothing human couldhave dared to pass the night in such a scene of desolation. Shecontinued to gaze, in petrified horror, till the female apparitionrising from its knees, after adjusting the hair, and wiping the face ofits companion, sung the following stanzas, with a voice resembling thatof human beings, except that its harmonious notes exceeded in sweetnessany thing Mrs. Abigail had ever heard:
Oh, sooth me with the words of love, Heal me with pity's balsams dear; For I have heard the proud reprove, And felt the wrongs of men austere.
I gaz'd on grandeur's gay career, Alone distracted and aggriev'd; None stopp'd to wipe my bitter tear, My bursting heart unnotic'd heav'd.
The happy hate to see distress, It tells a tale they dread to know, And guilt, tho' thron'd in mightiness, In every victim sees a foe.
Where does the pamper'd worldling go? To those who spread their banners brave-- Lonely and sad, the house of woe Is like the robber's mountain cave.
On life's sad annals if we dwell, Do they not speak of trust betray'd; Of merit rising to excel, On which the canker envy prey'd;
Of youth by enterprise upstaid, Till sad experience broke the spell; And slighted age a ruin laid, Fit only for the narrow cell?
Yet of the tortures that betide A feeling heart, the worst are they Which bid it never more confide On those who were its earthly stay.
Once guided by religion's ray, True as the sun they seem'd to move; Now led by meteor-lights astray, Estrang'd in honour and in love.
The waiting-gentlewoman's astonishment at this vision soon burst outinto an exclamation, which unfortunately broke Lady Bellingham'sslumber, and drew her also to the window. Her lamentations at the miseryof having her rest disturbed, were soon interrupted by consternation atthe objects she beheld, which were no other than her brother and hisdaughter enjoying their morning liberation from the dungeon. The risingsun shone on the countenance of the former, and maugre the ravages oftime, grief, and distraction, she recognised his features with a degreeof agony which only the guilty can feel. The resemblance of Isabel toher father increased those emotions; the words of her song, uttered withdistinct emphasis, were in unison with the suggestions of an awakenedconscience. Lady Bellingham gave a loud shriek, and fell into the armsof her attendant, according to whose account the two spirits, at thesame moment, sunk into the earth enveloped in flames.
The screams of Lady Bellingham, re-echoed by Mrs. Abigail's, presentlydrew the Beaumont-ladies into their apartment. They had neglected toapprize Isabel of the arrival of strangers, and were glad to find hermorning services to her father had been thus misconstrued. Mrs.Mellicent gravely allowed the possibility of ghosts inhabiting ruins;but observed, that as they had never injured the Waverly family, theyhad always found them peaceable neighbours; and wondered at the Lady'salarm, since from the little she had said the preceding day, it wasplain she considered herself as a favourite of Heaven, and under itsespecial protection. Mrs. Abigail protested that her Lady was one of thedevoutest, sweetest and handsomest creatures in the world; but observed,since she had been obliged to leave Castle-Bellingham, she was grownvery nervous. Mrs. Mellicent eagerly inquired if it was Lady Bellinghamwhom they sheltered; Mrs. Abigail answered in the affirmative, butconjured her not to own that she had made the discovery, or she shouldbe torn in pieces. Mrs. Mellicent indignantly threw down the burntfeathers and sal volatile, which she till then humanely applied, andemphatically observing it was no wonder she feared apparitions, hastenedto consult Dr. Beaumont on this emergency.
It was not now a proper time to confront the injured Allan Neville andhis unnatural sister; the reported success of the King's enterprise mustfirst be ascertained, and Mrs. Mellicent trusted the time was not fardistant when this domestic and public traitress would be made not onlyto tremble, but to suffer. Recollections of past disappointments madeDr. Beaumont less sanguine, but he agreed, that, confirming LadyBellingham's alarm, and removing her instantly from their house, was thewisest course; and as soon as she recovered from her fit, she washerself all impatience to quit a mansion replete with horrors, anddestitute of comforts. She coldly thanked Dr. Beaumont, who attended herto her carriage, for attempting to be hospitable, but declared herastonishment that his brain was not turned in such a dwelling; and he ascoldly answered, that a clear conscience reconciled the body toprivations, and endued the soul with fortitude. But neither theeloquence of Dr. Beaumont, nor her own anxiety for the Evellins, couldinduce Mrs. Mellicent to submit to the civility of an adieu. She evenshook her fist at the wicked wretch, as she called her, from the window."Brother," said she, to Dr. Beaumont, who reproved her for the violenceof her indignation, "I only wish her to incur the enmity of the Baal shenow worships, and to suffer with him as many years of misery as she hasinflicted on the noble veteran whose lonely couch our dear Isabelsmooths; and while her youthful beauty withers in a dungeon, pillows afather's destitute head on her uncomplaining bosom."
[1] This subject, we are told by Isaac Walton, employed the dying Hooker.