Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century

by Georgiana Fullerton

room, and claspingeach other's hands, kept repeating, "Lord, help him! Lord, assist him!Have mercy on him, O Lord!" and the like prayers.

  We heard Lord Arundel exclaim, "Good God! the wretch doth order therope to be cut!" Then avoiding the sight, he also drew back andsilently prayed. What followeth I learnt from Muriel, who never losther senses, though she endured, methinks, at that scaffold's foot asmuch as any sufferer upon it. Scarcely or not at all stunned, Mr.Genings stood on his feet with his eyes raised to heaven, till thehangman threw him down on the block where he was to be quartered.After he was dismembered, she heard him utter with a loud voice, "Oh,it smarts!" and Mr. Wells exclaim, "Alas! sweet soul, thy pain isgreat indeed, but almost past. Pray for me now that mine may come."Then when his heart was being plucked out, a faint dying whisperreached her ear, "Sancte Gregori, ora pro me!" and then the voice ofthe hangman crying, "See, his heart is in mine hand, and yet Gregoryin his mouth! O egregious papist!"

  I marvel how she lived through it; but she assured us she was nevereven near unto fainting, but stood immovable, hearing every sound,listening to each word and groan, printing them on the tablet of herheart, wherein they have ever remained as sacred memories.

  Mr. Wells, so far from being terrified by the sight of his friend'sdeath, expressed a desire to have his own hastened; and, like unto SirThomas More, was merry to the last; for he cried, "Despatch, despatch,Mr. Topcliffe! Be you not ashamed to suffer an old man to stand hereso long in his shirt in the cold? I pray God make you of a Saul aPaul, of a persecutor a Catholic." A murmur, hoarse and loud, from thecrowd apprised us when all was over.

  "Where is Muriel?" I cried, going to the window. Thence I beheld asight which my pen refuseth to describe--the sledge which wascarrying away the mangled remains of those dear friends which so shorta time before we had looked upon alive! Like in a dream I saw thisspectacle; for the moment afterward I fainted. Many persons wererunning after the cart, and Muriel keeping pace with what to otherswould have been a sight full of horror, but to her were only relics ofthe saintly dead. She followed, heedless of the mob, unmindful oftheir jeers, intent on one aim--to procure some portion of thosesacred remains, which she at last achieved in an incredible manner;one finger of Edmund Genings's hand, which she laid hold of, remainingin hers. This secured, she hastened home, bearing away this hertreasure.

  When I recovered from a long swoon, she was standing on one side of meand Lady Arundel on the other. Their faces were very pale, butpeaceful; and when remembrance returned, I also felt a great and quietjoy diffused in mine heart, such as none, I ween, could believe in whohave not known the like. For a while all earthly cares left me; Iseemed to soar above this world. Even Basil I could think of with asingular detachment. It seemed as if angels were haunting the house,whispering heavenly secrets. I could not so much as think on thoseblessed departed souls without an increase of this joy sensiblyinflaming my heart.

  After Lady Arundel had left us, which she did with many loving wordsand tender caresses, Muriel and I conversed long touching the future.She told me that when her duty to her father should end with his life,she intended to fulfil the vow she long ago had made to consecrateherself wholly to God in holy religion, and go beyond the seas, tobecome a nun of the order of St. Augustine.

  "May I not leave this world?" I cried; "may I not also, forgetting allthings else, live for God alone?"

  A sweet sober smile illumined Muriel's face as she answered, "Yea, byall means serve God, but not as a nun, good Constance. Thine I take tobe the mere shadow of a vocation, if even so much as that. A cloudhath for a while obscured the sunshine of thy hopes and called up thisshadow; but let this thin vapor dissolve, and no trace shall remain ofit. Nay, nay, sweet one, 'tis not chafed, nor yet, except in rareinstances, riven hearts which God doth call to this specialconsecration--rather whole ones, nothing or scantily touched by thegriefs and joys which this world can afford. But I warrant thee--nay,I may not warrant," she added, checking herself, "for who can of asurety forecast what God's designs should be? But I think thou wiltbe, before many years have past, a careful matron, with many childrenabout thy apron-strings to try thy patience."

  "O Muriel," I answered, "how should this be? I have made my bed, and Imust lie on it. Like a foolish creature, unwittingly, or ratherrashly, I have deceived Basil into thinking I do not love him; and ifmy face should yet recover its old fairness, he shall still think mineheart estranged."

  Muriel shook her head, and said more entangled skeins than this onehad been unravelled. The next day she resumed her wonted labors in theprisons and amongst the poor. Having procured means of access toMistress Wells, she carried to her the only comfort she could nowtaste--the knowledge of her husband's holy, courageous end, and thereports of the last words he did utter. Then having received a chargethereunto from Mr. Genings, she discovered John Genings's place ofresidence, and went to tell him that the cause of his brother's comingto London was specially his love for him; that his only regret indying had been that he was executed before he could see him again, orcommend him to any friend of his own, so hastened was his death.

  But this much-loved brother received her with a notable coldness; andfar from bewailing the untimely and bloody end of his nearest kinsman,he betrayed some kind of contentment at the thought that he was nowrid of all the persuasions which he suspected he should otherwise havereceived from him touching religion.

  About a fortnight afterward Mr. Congleton expired. Alas! sotroublesome were the times, that to see one, howsoever loved, sinkpeacefully into the grave, had not the same sadness which usuallybelongs to the like haps.

  Muriel had procured a priest for to give him extreme unction--one Mr.Adams, a friend of Mr. Wells, who had sometimes said mass in hishouse. He also secretly came for to perform the funeral rites beforehis burial in the cemetery of St. Martin's church.

  When we returned home that day after the funeral, this reverendgentleman asked us if we had heard any report touching the brother ofMr. Genings; and on our denial, he said, "Talk is ministered amongstCatholics of his sudden conversion."

  "Sudden, indeed, it should be," quoth Muriel; "for a more indifferentlistener to an afflicting message could not be met with than he provedhimself when I carried to him Mr. Genings's dying words."

  "Not more sudden," quoth Mr. Adams, "than St. Paul's was, andtherefore not incredible."

  Whilst we were yet speaking, a servant came in, and said a younggentleman was at the door, and very urgent for to see Muriel.

  "Tell him," she said, raising her eyes, swollen with tears, "that Ihave one hour ago buried my father, and am in no condition to seestrangers."

  The man returned with a paper, on which these words were written:

  "A penitent and a wanderer craveth to speak with you. If you shedtears, his do incessantly flow. If you weep for a father, he grievethfor one better to him than ten fathers. If your plight is sad, hisshould be desperate, but for God's great mercy and a brother's prayersyet pleading for him in heaven as once upon earth. "JOHN GENINGS."

  "Heavens!" Muriel cried, "it is this changed man, this Saul become aPaul, which stands at the door and knocks. Bring him in swiftly; thebest comfort I can know this day is to see one who awhile was lost andis now found."

  When John Genings beheld her and me, he awhile hid his face in hishands, and seemed unable to speak. To break this silence Mr. Adamssaid, "Courage, Mr. Genings; your holy brother rejoiceth in heavenover your changed mind, and further blessings still, I doubt not, heshall yet obtain for you."

  Then this same John raised his head, and with as great and touchingsorrow as can be expressed, after thanking this unknown speaker forhis comfortable words, he begged of Muriel to relate to him eachaction and speech in the dying scene she had witnessed; and when shehad ended this recital, with the like urgency he moved me to tell himall I could remember of his brother's young years, all my father hadwritten of his life and virtues at college, all which we had heard ofhis labors since he had come into the country, and lastly, in a
mannermost simple and affecting, we all entreating him thereunto, he madethis narrative, addressing himself chiefly to Muriel:

  "You, madam, are acquainted with what was the hardness of mine heartand cruel indifference to my brother's fate; with what disdain Ilistened to you, with what pride I received his last advice. But aboutten days after his execution, toward night, having spent all that dayin sports and jollity, being weary with play, I resorted home torepose myself. I went into a secret chamber, and was no sooner theresat down, but forthwith my heart began to be heavy, and I weighed howidly I had spent that day. Amidst these thoughts there was presentlyrepresented to me an imagination and apprehension of the death of mybrother, and, amongst other things, how he