Chapter XXVI
On the night before the 10th of December neither Muriel nor I retired to rest. We sat together by the rush-light, at one time saying prayers, at another speaking together in a low voice. Ever and anon she went to listen at her father's door, for to make sure he slept, and then returned to me. The hours seemed to pass slowly; and yet we should have wished to stay their course, so much we dreaded the first rays of light presaging the tragedy of the coming day. Before the first token of it did show, at about five in the morning, the door-bell rung in a gentle manner.
"Who can be ringing?" I said to Muriel.
"I will go and see," she answered.
But I restrained her, and went, to call one of the servants, who were beginning to bestir themselves. The man went down, and returned, bringing me a paper, on which these words were written:
"MY DEAR CONSTANCE--My lord and myself have secretly come to join our prayers with yours, and, if it should be possible, to receive the blessing of the holy priest who is about to die, as he passeth by your house, toward which, I doubt not, his eyes will of a surety turn. I pray you, therefore, admit us."
I hurried down the stairs, and found Lord and Lady Arundel standing in the hall; she in a cloak and hood, and he with a slouching hat hiding his face. Leading them both into the parlor, which looketh on the street, I had a fire hastily kindled; and for a space her ladyship and myself could only sit holding each other's hands, our hearts being too full to speak. After a while I asked her when she had come to London. She said she had done so very secretly, not to increase the queen's displeasure against her husband; her majesty's misliking of herself continuing as great as ever.
"When she visited my lord last year, before his arrest," quoth she, "on a pane of glass in the dining-room her grace perceived a distich, writ by me in bygone days with a diamond, and which expressed hopes of better fortunes."
"I mind it well," I replied. "Did it not run thus?
'Not seldom doth the sun sink down In brightest light Which rose at early dawn disfigured quite outright; So shall my fortunes, wrapt so long in darkest night, Revive, and show ere long an aspect clear and bright.'"
"Yea," she answered. "And now listen to what her majesty, calling for a like instrument, wrote beneath:
'Not seldom do vain hopes deceive a silly heart Let all each witless dreams now vanish and depart; For fortune shall ne'er shine, I promise thee, on one Whose folly hath for aye all hopes thereof undone.'
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"We do live," she added, "with a sword hanging over our heads; and it is meet we should come here this day to learn a lesson how to die when a like fate shall overtake us. But thou hast been like to die by another means, my good Constance," her ladyship said, looking with kindness but no astonishment on my swollen and disfigured face, which I had not remembered to conceal; grave thoughts, then uppermost, having caused me to forget it.
"My life," I answered, "God hath mercifully spared; but I have lost the semblance of my former self."
"Tut, tut!" she replied, "only for a time."
And then we both drew near unto the fire, for we were shivering with cold. Lord Arundel leant against the chimney, and watched the timepiece.
"Mistress Wells," he said, "is like, I hear, to be reprieved at the last moment."
"Alas!" I cried, "nature therein finds relief; yet I know not how much to rejoice or yet to grieve thereat. For surely she will desire to die with her husband. And of what good will life be to her if, like some others, she doth linger for years in prison?"
"Of much good, if God wills her there to spend those years," Muriel gently said; which words, I ween, were called to mind long afterward by one who then heard them.
As the hour appointed for the execution approached, we became silent again, and kneeling down betook ourselves to prayer. At eight o'clock a crowd began to assemble in the street; and the sound of their feet as they passed under the window, hurrying toward the scaffold, which was hung with black cloth, became audible. About an hour afterward notice was given to us by one of the servants that the sledge which carried the prisoners was in sight. We rose from our knees and went to the window. Mr. Wells's stout form and Mr. Genings's slight figure were then discernible, as they sat bound, with their hands tied behind their backs. I observed that Mr. Wells smiled and nodded to some one who was standing amidst the crowd. This person, who was a friend of his, hath since told me that as he passed he saluted him with these words: "Farewell, dear companion! farewell, all hunting and hawking and old pastimes! I am now going a better way." Mistress Wells not being with them, we perceived that to be true which Lord Arundel had heard. At that moment I turned round, and missed Muriel, who had been standing close behind me. I supposed she could not endure this sight; but, lo and behold, looking again into the street, I saw her threading her way amongst the crowd as swiftly, lame though she was, as if an angel had guided her. When she reached the foot of the scaffold, and took her stand there, her aspect was so composed, serene, and resolved, that she seemed like an inhabitant of another world suddenly descended amidst the coarse and brutal mob. She was resolved, I afterward found, to take note of every act, gesture, and word there spoken; and by her means I can here set down what mine own ears heard not, but much of which mine own eyes beheld. As the sledge passed our door, Mr. Genings, as Lady Arundel had foreseen, turned his head toward us; and seeing me at the window, gave us, I doubt not, his blessing; for, albeit he could not raise his chained hand, we saw his fingers and his lips move. On reaching the gibbet Muriel heard him cry out with holy Andrew, "O good gibbet, long desired and now prepared for me, much hath my heart desired thee; and now, joyful and secure, I come to thee. Receive me, I beseech thee, as the disciple of him that suffered on the cross!" Being put upon the ladder, many questions were asked him by some standersby, to which he made clear and distinct answers. Then Mr. Topcliffe cried out with a loud voice,
"Genings, Genings, confess thy fault, thy papist treason; and the queen, no doubt, will grant thee pardon!"
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To which he mildly answered, "I know not, Mr. Topcliffe, in what I have offended my dear anointed princess; if I have offended her or any other person in anything, I would willingly ask her and all the world forgiveness. If she be offended with me without a cause, for professing my faith and religion, or because I am a priest, or because I will not turn minister against my conscience, I shall be, I trust, excused and innocent before God. 'We must obey God,' saith St. Peter, 'rather than men;' and I must not in this case acknowledge a fault where there is none. If to return to England a priest, or to say mass, is popish treason, I here do confess I am a traitor. But I think not so; and therefore I acknowledge myself guilty of these things not with repentance and sorrow of heart, but with an open protestation of inward joy that I have done so good deeds, which, if they were to do again, I would, by the permission and assistance of God, accomplish the same, though with the hazard of a thousand lives."
Mr. Topcliffe was very angry at this speech, and hardly gave him time to say an "Our Father" before he ordered the hangman to turn the ladder. From that moment I could not so much as once again look toward the scaffold. Lady Arundel and I drew back into the room, and clasping each 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 the rope to be cut!" Then avoiding the sight, he also drew back and silently prayed. What followeth I learnt from Muriel, who never lost her senses, though she endured, methinks, at that scaffold's foot as much as any sufferer upon it. Scarcely or not at all stunned, Mr. Genings stood on his feet with his eyes raised to heaven, till the hangman 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 is great indeed, but almost past. Pray for me now that mine may come." Then when his heart was being plucked out, a faint dying whisper reached her ear, "Sancte Gregori, ora pro me!" and then the voice of the hangman crying, "See, his heart is in mine hand, and yet Gregory in his mouth! O egregious papist!"
I marvel how she lived through it; but she assured us she was never even near unto fainting, but stood immovable, hearing every sound, listening to each word and groan, printing them on the tablet of her heart, wherein they have ever remained as sacred memories.
Mr. Wells, so far from being terrified by the sight of his friend's death, expressed a desire to have his own hastened; and, like unto Sir Thomas More, was merry to the last; for he cried, "Despatch, despatch, Mr. Topcliffe! Be you not ashamed to suffer an old man to stand here so long in his shirt in the cold? I pray God make you of a Saul a Paul, of a persecutor a Catholic." A murmur, hoarse and loud, from the crowd apprised us when all was over.
"Where is Muriel?" I cried, going to the window. Thence I beheld a sight which my pen refuseth to describe--the sledge which was carrying away the mangled remains of those dear friends which so short a time before we had looked upon alive! Like in a dream I saw this spectacle; for the moment afterward I fainted. Many persons were running after the cart, and Muriel keeping pace with what to others would have been a sight full of horror, but to her were only relics of the saintly dead. She followed, heedless of the mob, unmindful of their jeers, intent on one aim--to procure some portion of those sacred remains, which she at last achieved in an incredible manner; one finger of Edmund Genings's hand, which she laid hold of, remaining in hers. This secured, she hastened home, bearing away this her treasure.
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When I recovered from a long swoon, she was standing on one side of me and Lady Arundel on the other. Their faces were very pale, but peaceful; and when remembrance returned, I also felt a great and quiet joy diffused in mine heart, such as none, I ween, could believe in who have not known the like. For a while all earthly cares left me; I seemed to soar above this world. Even Basil I could think of with a singular detachment. It seemed as if angels were haunting the house, whispering heavenly secrets. I could not so much as think on those blessed departed souls without an increase of this joy sensibly inflaming my heart.
After Lady Arundel had left us, which she did with many loving words and 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 consecrate herself wholly to God in holy religion, and go beyond the seas, to become a nun of the order of St. Augustine.
"May I not leave this world?" I cried; "may I not also, forgetting all things else, live for God alone?"
A sweet sober smile illumined Muriel's face as she answered, "Yea, by all means serve God, but not as a nun, good Constance. Thine I take to be the mere shadow of a vocation, if even so much as that. A cloud hath for a while obscured the sunshine of thy hopes and called up this shadow; but let this thin vapor dissolve, and no trace shall remain of it. Nay, nay, sweet one, 'tis not chafed, nor yet, except in rare instances, riven hearts which God doth call to this special consecration--rather whole ones, nothing or scantily touched by the griefs and joys which this world can afford. But I warrant thee--nay, I may not warrant," she added, checking herself, "for who can of a surety forecast what God's designs should be? But I think thou wilt be, before many years have past, a careful matron, with many children about thy apron-strings to try thy patience."
"O Muriel," I answered, "how should this be? I have made my bed, and I must lie on it. Like a foolish creature, unwittingly, or rather rashly, I have deceived Basil into thinking I do not love him; and if my face should yet recover its old fairness, he shall still think mine heart estranged."
Muriel shook her head, and said more entangled skeins than this one had been unravelled. The next day she resumed her wonted labors in the prisons and amongst the poor. Having procured means of access to Mistress Wells, she carried to her the only comfort she could now taste--the knowledge of her husband's holy, courageous end, and the reports of the last words he did utter. Then having received a charge thereunto from Mr. Genings, she discovered John Genings's place of residence, and went to tell him that the cause of his brother^s coming to London was specially his love for him; that his only regret in dying had been that he was executed before he could see him again, or commend him to any friend of his own, so hastened was his death.
But this much-loved brother received her with a notable coldness; and far from bewailing the untimely and bloody end of his nearest kinsman, he betrayed some kind of contentment at the thought that he was now rid of all the persuasions which he suspected he should otherwise have received from him touching religion.
About a fortnight afterward Mr. Congleton expired. Alas! so troublesome were the times, that to see one, howsoever loved, sink peacefully into the grave, had not the same sadness which usually belongs 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 his house. He also secretly came for to perform the funeral rites before his burial in the cemetery of St. Martin's church.
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When we returned home that day after the funeral, this reverend gentleman asked us if we had heard any report touching the brother of Mr. Genings; and on our denial, he said, "Talk is ministered amongst Catholics of his sudden conversion."
"Sudden, indeed, it should be," quoth Muriel; "for a more indifferent listener to an afflicting message could not be met with than he proved himself when I carried to him Mr. Genings's dying words."
"Not more sudden," quoth Mr. Adams, "than St. Paul's was, and therefore not incredible."
Whilst we were yet speaking, a servant came in, and said a young gentleman was at the door, and very urgent for to see Muriel.
"Tell him," she said, raising her eyes, swollen with tears, "that I have one hour ago buried my father, and am in no condition to see strangers."
The man returned with a paper, on which these words were written:
"A penitent and a wanderer craveth to speak with you. If you shed tears, his do incessantly flow. If you weep for a father, he grieveth for one better to him than ten fathers. If your plight is sad, his should be desperate, but for God's great mercy and a brother's prayers yet pleading for him in heaven as once upon earth. "JOHN GENINGS."
"Heavens!" Muriel cried, "it is this changed man, this Saul become a Paul, which stands at the door and knocks. Bring him in swiftly; the best comfort I can know this day is to see one who awhile was lost and is now found."
When John Genings beheld her and me, he awhile hid his face in his hands, and seemed unable to speak. To break this silence Mr. Adams said, "Courage, Mr. Genings; your holy brother rejoiceth in heaven over your changed mind, and further blessings still, I doubt not, he shall yet obtain for you."
Then this same John raised his head, and with as great and touching sorrow as can be expressed, after thanking this unknown speaker for his comfortable words, he begged of Muriel to relate to him each action and speech in the dying scene she had witnessed; and when she had ended this recital, with the like urgency he moved me to tell him all I could remember of his brother's young years, all my father had written of his life and virtues at college, all which we had heard of his labors since he had come into the country, and lastly, in a manner most simple and affecting, we all entreating him thereunto, he made this narrative, addressing himself chiefly to Muriel:
"You, madam, are acquainted with what was the hardness of mine heart and cruel indifference to my brother^s fate; with what disdain I listened to you, with what pride I received his last advice. But about ten days after his execution, toward night, having spent all that day in sports and jollity, being weary with play, I resorted home to repose myself. I went into a secret chamber, and was no sooner there sat down, but forthwith my heart began to be heavy, and I weighed how idly I had spent that day. Amidst these thoughts there was presently represented to me an imagination and apprehension of the death of my brother, and, amongst other things, how he had not long before forsaken all worldly pleasure, and for the sake of his religion alone endured dreadful torments. Then within myself I made long discourses concerning his manner of living and mine own; and finding the one to embrace pain and mortification, and the other to seek pleasure--the one to live strictly, and the other licentiously--I was struck with exceeding terror and remorse. I wept bitterly, desiring God to illuminate mine understanding, that I might see and perceive the truth. Oh, what great joy and consolation did I feel at {764} that instant! What reverence on the sudden did I begin to bear to the Blessed Virgin and to the Saints of God, which before I had never scarcely so much as heard of! What strange emotions, as it were inspirations, with exceeding readiness of will to change my religion, took possession of my soul! and what heavenly conception had I then of my brother's felicity! I imagined I saw him--I thought I heard him. In this ecstasy of mind I made a vow upon the spot, as I lay prostrate on the ground, to forsake kindred and country, to find out the true knowledge of Edmund's faith. Oh, sir," he ended by saying, turning to Mr. Adams, which he guessed to be a priest, "think you not my brother obtained for me in heaven what on earth he had not obtained? for here I am become a Catholic in faith without persuasion or conference with any one man in the world?"
"Ay, my good friend," Mr. Adams replied; "the blood of martyrs will ever prove the seed of the Church. Let us then, in our private prayers, implore the suffrages of those who in this country do lose their lives for the faith, and take unto ourselves the words of Jeremiah: 'O Lord, remember what has happened unto us. Behold and see our great reproach; our inheritance is gone to strangers, our houses to aliens. We are become as children without a father, our mothers are made as it were widows.'"
These last words of Holy Writ brought to mine own mind private sorrows, and caused me to shed tears. Soon after John Genings departed from England without giving notice to us or any of his friends, and went beyond seas to execute his promise. I have heard that he has entered the holy order of St. Francis, and is seeking to procure a convent of that religion at Douay, in hopes of restoring the English Franciscan province, of which it is supposed he will be first provincial. Report doth state him to be an exceeding strict and holy religious, and like to prove an instrument in furnishing the English mission with many zealous and apostolical laborers.
Muriel and I were solitary in that great city where so many misfortunes had beset us; she with her anchor cast where her hopes could not be deceived; I by mine own folly like unto a ship at sea without a chart. Womanly reserve, mixed, I ween, with somewhat of pride, restraining me from writing to Basil, though, as my face improved each day, I deplored my hasty folly, and desired nothing so much as to see him again, when, if his love should prove unchanged (shame on that word if! which my heart disavowed), we should be as heretofore, and the suffering I had caused him and endured myself would end. But how this might happen I foresaw not; and life was sad and weary while so much suspense lasted.
Muriel would not forsake me while in this plight; but although none could have judged it from her cheerful and amiable behavior, I well knew that she sighed for the haven of a religions home, and grieved to keep her from it. After some weeks spent in this fashion, with very little comfort, I was sitting one morning dismally forecasting the future, writing letter after letter to Basil, which still I tore up rather than send them--for I warrant you it was no easy matter for to express in writing what I longed to say. To tell him the cause of my breaking our contract was so much as to compel him to the performance of it; and albeit I was no longer so ill-favored as at the first, yet the good looks I had before my sickness had by no means wholly returned. Sometimes I wrote: "Your thinking, dear Basil, that I do affection any but yourself is so false and injurious an imagination, that I cannot suffer you to entertain it. Be sure I never can and never shall love any but you; yet, for all that, I cannot marry you." Then effacing this last sentence, which verily belied my true desire, I would write another: "Methinks if you should see me now, yourself would not wish otherwise than to dissolve a contract {765} wherein your contentment should be less than it hath been." And then thinking this should be too obscure, changed it to--"In sooth, dear Basil, my appearance is so altered that you would yourself, I ween, not desire for to wed one so different from the Constance you have seen and loved." But pride whispered to restrain this open mention of my suspicious fears of his liking me less for my changed face; yet withal, conscience reproved this misdoubt of one whose affection had ever shown itself to be of the nobler sort, which looketh rather to the qualities of the heart and mind than to the exterior charms of a fair visage.
Alas! what a torment doth perplexity occasion. I had let go my pen, and my tears were falling on the paper, when Muriel opened the door of the parlor.
"What is it?" I cried, hiding my face with mine hand that she should not see me weeping.
"A letter from Lady Arundel," she answered.
I eagerly took it from her; and on the reading of it found it contained an urgent request from her ladyship, couched in most affectionate terms, and masking the kindness of its intent under a show of entreating, as a favor to herself that I would come and reside with her at Arundel Castle, where she greatly needed the solace of a friend's company, during her lord's necessary absences. "Mine own dear, good Constance," she wrote, "come to me quickly. In a letter I cannot well express all the good you will thus do to me. For mine own part, I would fain say come to me until death shall part us. But so selfish I would not be; yet prithee come until such time as the clouds which have obscured the fair sky of thy future prospects have passed away, and thy Basil's fortunes are mended; for I will not cease to call him thine, for all that thou hast thyself thrust a spoke in a wheel which otherwise should have run smoothly, for the which thou art now doing penance: but be of good cheer; time will bring thee shrift. Some kind of comfort I can promise thee in this house, greater than I dare for to commit to paper. Lose no time then. From thy last letter methinks the gentle turtle-dove at whose side thou dost now nestle hath found herself a nest whereunto she longeth to fly. Let her spread her wings thither, and do thou hasten to the shelter of these old walls and the loving faithful heart of thy poor friend, "ANNE ARUNDEL AND SURREY."
Before a fortnight was overpast Muriel and I had parted; she for her religious home beyond seas, I for the castle of my Lord Arundel, whither I travelled in two days, resting on my way at the pleasant village of Horsham. During the latter part of the journey the road lay through a very wild expanse of down; but as soon as I caught sight of the sea my heart bounded with joy; for to gaze on its blue expanse seemed to carry me beyond the limits of this isle to the land where Basil dwelt. When I reached the castle, the sight of the noble gateway and keep filled me with admiration; and riding into the court thereof, I looked with wonder on the military defences bristling on every side. But what a sweet picture smiled from one of the narrow windows over above the entrance-door!--mine own loved friend, yet fairer in her matronly and motherly beauty than even in her girlhood's loveliness, holding in her arms the pretty bud which had blossomed on a noble tree in the time of adversity. Her countenance beamed on me like the morning sun's; and my heart expanded with joy when, half-way up the stairs which led to her chamber, I found myself inclosed in her arms. She led me to a settle near a cheerful fire, and herself removed my riding-cloak, my hat and veil, stroked my cheek with two of her delicate white fingers, and said with a smile,
"In sooth, my dear Constance, thou art an arrant cheat."
"How so, most dear lady?" I said, likewise smiling.
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"Why, thou art as comely as ever I thee; which, after all the torments inflicted on poor Master Rookwood by thy prophetical vision of an everlasting deformity, carefully concealed from him under the garb of a sudden fit of inconstancy, is a very nefarious injustice. Go to, go to; if he should see thee now, he never would believe but that that management of thine was a cunning device for to break faith with him."
"Nay, nay," I cried; "if I should be ever so happy, which I deserve not, for to see him again, there could never be for one moment a mistrust on his part of a love which is too strong and too fond for concealment. If the feebleness of sickness had not bred unreasonable fears, methinks I should not have been guilty of so great a folly as to think he would prize less what he was always wont most to treasure far above their merits--the heart and mind of his poor Constance --because the casket which held them had waxed unseemly. But when the day shall come in which Basil and I may meet, God only knoweth. Human foresight cannot attain to this prevision."
Lady Arundel's eyes had a smiling expression then which surprised me. For mine own heart was full when I thus spoke, and I was wont to meet in her with a more quick return of the like feelings I expressed than at that time appeared. Slight inward resentments, painfully, albeit not angrily, entertained, I was by nature prone to; and in this case the effect of this impression suddenly checked the joy which at my first arrival I had experienced. O, how much secret discipline should be needed for to rule that little unruly kingdom within us, which many look not into till serious rebellions do arise, which need fire and sword to quell them for lack of timely repression! Her ladyship set before me some food, and constrained me to eat, which I did merely for to content her. She appeared to me somewhat restless: beginning a sentence, and then breaking off suddenly in the midst thereof; going in and out of the chamber; laughing at one time, and then seeming as if about to weep. "When I had finished eating, and a servant had removed the dishes, she sat down by my side and took my hand in hers. Then the tears truly began to roll down her cheeks.
"O, for God's sake, what aileth you, dearest lady?" I said, uneasily gazing on her agitated countenance.
"Nothing ails me," she answered; "only I fear to frighten thee, albeit in a joyful manner."
"Frightened with joy!" I sadly answered. "O, that should be a rare fright, and an unwonted one to me of late."
"Therefore," she said, smiling through her tears, "peradventure the more to be feared."
"What joy do you speak of? I pray you, sweet lady, keep me not in suspense."
"If, for instance," she said in a low voice, pressing my hands very hard,--"if I was to tell thee Constance, that thy Basil was here, shouldst thou not be affrighted?"
Methinks I must have turned very white; leastways, I began to tremble.
"Is he here?" I said, almost beside myself with the fearful hope her words awoke.
"Yea," she said. "Since three days he is here."
For a moment I neither spoke nor moved.
"How comes it about? how doth it happen?" I began to say; but a passion of tears choked my utterance. I fell into her arms, sobbing on her breast; for verily I had no power to restrain myself. I heard her say, "Master Rookwood, come in." Then, after those sad long weary years, I again heard his cheerful voice; then I saw his kind eyes speaking what words could never have uttered, or one-half so well expressed. Then I felt the happiness which is most like, {767} I ween, of any on earth to that of heaven: after long parting, to meet again one intensely loved--each heart overflowing with an unspoken joy and with an unbounded thankfulness to God. Amazement did so fill me at this unlooked-for good, that I seemed content for a while to think of it as of a dream, and only feared to be awoke. But oh, with how many sweet tears of gratitude--with what bursts of wonder and admiration--I soon learnt how Lady Arundel had formed this kind plot, to which Muriel had been privy, for to bring together parted lovers, and procure to others the happiness she so often lacked herself--the company of the most loved person in the world. She had herself written to Basil, and related the cause of my apparent change; a cause, she said, at no time sufficient for to warrant a desperate action, and even then passing away. But that had it forever endured, she was of opinion his was a love would survive any such accident as touched only the exterior, when all else was unimpaired. She added, that when Mr. Congleton, who was then at the point of death, should have expired, and Muriel gone beyond seas to fulfil her religious intent, she would use all the persuasion in her power to bring me to reside with her, which was the thing she most desired in the world; and that if he should think it possible under another name for to cross the seas and land at some port in Sussex, he should be the welcomest guest imaginable at Arundel Castle, if even, like St. Alexis, he should hide his nobility under the garb of rags, and come thither begging on foot; but yet she hoped, for his sake, it should not so happen, albeit nothing could be more honorable if the cause was a good one. It needed no more inducement than what this letter contained for to move Basil to attempt this secret return. He took the name of Martingale, and procured a passage in a small trading craft, which landed him at the port of a small town named Littlehampton, about three or four miles from Arundel. Thence he walked to the castle, where the countess feigned him to be a leech sent by my lord to prescribe remedies for a pain in her head, which she was oftentimes afflicted with, and as such entertained him in the eyes of strangers as long as he continued there, which did often move us to great merriment; for some of the neighbors which she was forced to see, would sometimes ask for to consult the countess's physician; and to avoid misdoubts, Basil once or twice made up some innocent compounds, which an old gentleman and a maiden lady in the town vowed had cured them, the one of a fit of the gout, and the other of a very sharp disorder in her stomach. But to return to the blissful first day of our meeting, one of the happiest I had yet known; for a paramount affection doth so engross the heart, that other sorrows vanish in its presence like dewdrops in the sunshine. I can never forget the smallest particle of its many joys. The long talk between Basil and me, first in Lady Arundel's chamber, and then in the gallery of the castle, walking up and down, and when I was tired, I sitting and he standing by the window which looked on the fair valley and silvery river Arun, running toward the sea, through pleasant pastures, with woody slopes on both sides, a fair and a peaceful scene; fair and peaceful as the prospect Basil unfolded to me that day, if we could but once in safety cross the seas; for his debtors had remitted to him in France the moneys which they owed him, and he had purchased a cottage in a very commodious village near the town of Boulogne-sur-Mer, with an apple-orchard and a garden stored with gay flowers and beehives, and a meadow with two large walnut-trees in it. "And then bethink thee," he added, "mine own dear love, that right in front of this fine mansion doth stand the parish church, where God is worshipped in a Catholic manner in {768} peace and freedom; and nothing greater or more weighty need, methinks, to be said in its praise."
I said I thought so too, and that the picture he drew of it liked me well.
"But," quoth Basil suddenly, "I must tell thee, sweetheart, I liked not well thy behavior touching thine altered face, and the misleading letter thou didst send me at that time. No!" he exclaimed with great vehemency, "it mislikes me sorely that thou shouldst have doubted my love and faith, and dealt with me so injuriously. If I was now by some accident disfigured, I must by that same token expect thine affection for me should decay."
"O Basil!" I cried, "that would be an impossible thing!"
"Wherefore impossible?" he replied; "you thought such a change possible in me?"
"Because," I said, smiling, "women are the most constant creatures in the world, and not fickle like unto men, or so careful of a good complexion in others, or a fine set of features."
"Tut, tut!" he cried, "I do admire that thou shouldst dare to utter so great a . . . ." then he stopped, and, laughing, added, "the last half of Raleigh's name, as the queen's bad riddle doth make it." [Footnote 144]
[Footnote 144: "The bane of the stomach, and the word of disgrace. Is the name of the gentleman with the bold."]
Well, much talk of this sort was ministered between us; but albeit I find pleasure in the recalling of it, methinks the reading thereof should easily weary others; so I must check my pen, which, like unto a garrulous old gossip, doth run on, overstepping the limits of discretion.
Chapter XXVII
Before I arrived, Lady Arundel had made Basil privy to a great secret, with warrant to impart it to me. In a remote portion of the castle's buildings was concealed at that time Father Southwell, a man who had not his like for piety and good parts; a sweet poet also, whose pieces of verse, chiefly written in that obscure chamber in Arundel Castle, have been since done into print, and do win great praise from all sorts of people. Adjoining to his room, which only one servant in the house, who carried his meals to him, had knowledge of, and from which he could not so much as once look out of the window for fear of being seen, was a small oratory where he said mass every day, and by a secret passage Lady Arundel went from her apartments for to hear it. That same evening after supper she led me thither for to get this good priest's blessing, and also his counsel touching my marriage; for both her ladyship and Basil were urgent for it to take place in a private manner at the castle before we left England. For, they argued, if there should be danger in this departure, it were best encountered together; and except we were married it should be an impossible thing for me to travel in his company and land with him in France. Catholics could be married in a secret manner now that the needs of the times, and the great perils many were exposed to, gave warrant for it. After some talk with Father Southwell and Lady Arundel, I consented to their wishes with more gladness of heart, I ween, than was seemly to exhibit; for verily I was better contented than can be thought of to think I should be at last married to my dear Basil, and nevermore to part from him, if it so pleased God that we should land safely in France, which did seem to me then the land of promise.
The next days were spent in forecasting means for a safe departure, as soon as these secret nuptials should have taken place; but none had been yet resolved on, when one morning I was called to Lady Arundel's chamber, whom I found in tears and greatly disturbed, for that she had heard from Lady Margaret Sackville, who {769} was then in London, that Lord Arundel was once more resolved to leave the realm, albeit Father Edmunds did dissuade him from that course; but some other friend's persuasions were more availing, and he had determined to go to France, where he might live in safety and serve God quietly.
My lady's agitation at this news was very great. She said nothing should content her but to go with him, albeit she was then with child; and she should write to tell him so; but before she could send a letter Lord Arundel came to the castle, and held converse for many hours with her and Father Southwell. When I met her afterward in the gallery, her eyes were red with weeping. She said my lord desired to see Basil and me in her chamber at nine of the clock. He wished to speak with us of his resolve to cross the seas, and she prayed God some good should arise out of it. Then she added, "I am now going to the chapel, and if thou hast nothing of any weight to detain thee, then come thither also, for to join thy prayers with mine for the favorable issue of a very doubtful matter."
When we repaired to her ladyship's chamber at the time appointed, my lord greeted us in an exceeding kind manner; and after some talk touching Basil's secret return to England, our marriage, and then as speedy as possible going abroad, his lordship said: "I also am compelled to take a like course, for my evil-willers are resolved to work my ruin and overthrow, and will succeed therein by means of my religion. Many actions which at the outset may seem rash and unadvised, after sufficient consideration do appear to be just and necessary; and, methinks, my dearest wife and Father Southwell are now minded to recommend what at first they misliked, and to see that in this my present intent I take the course which, though it imperils my fortunes, will tend to my soul's safety and that of my children. Since I have conceived this intent, I thank God I have found a great deal more quietness in my mind; and in this respect I have just occasion to esteem my past troubles as my greatest felicity, for they have been the means of leading me to that course which ever brings perfect quietness, and only procures eternal happiness. I am resolved, as my dear Nan well knoweth, to endure any punishment rather than willingly to decline from what I have begun; I have bent myself as nearly as I could to continue in the same, and to do no act repugnant to my faith and profession. And by means hereof I am often compelled to do many things which may procure peril to myself, and be an occasion of mislike to her majesty. For, look you, on the first day of this parliament, when the queen was hearing of a sermon in the cathedral church of Westminster, above in the chancel, I was driven to walk by myself below in one of the aisles; and another day this last Lent, when she was hearing another sermon in the chapel at Greenwich, I was forced to stay all the while in the presence-chamber. Then also when on any Sunday or holyday her grace goes to her great closet, I am forced either to stay in the privy chamber, and not to wait upon her at all, or else presently to depart as soon as I have brought her to the chapel. These things, and many more, I can by no means escape, but only by an open plain discovery of myself, in the eye and opinion of all men, as to the true cause of my refusal; neither can it now be long hidden, although for a while it may not have been generally noted and observed."
Lady Arundel sighed and said:
"I must needs confess that of necessity it must shortly be discovered; and when I remember what a watchful and jealous eye is carried over all such as are known to be recusants, and also how their lodgings are continually searched, and to how great danger they are subject if a Jesuit or seminary priest be found within their house, I begin to see that either you cannot serve God in such {770} sort as you have professed, or else you must incur the hazard of greater sufferings than I am willing you should endure."
"For my part," Basil said, "I would ask, my lord, those that hate you most, whether being of the religion which you do profess, they would not take that course for safety of their souls and discharge of their consciences which you do now meditate? And either they must directly tell you that they would have done the same, or acknowledge themselves to be mere atheists; which, howsoever they be affected in their hearts, I think they would be loth to confess with their mouths."
"What sayest thou, Constance, of my lord's intent?" Lady Arundel said, when Basil left off speaking.
"I am ashamed to utter my thinking in his presence, and in yours, dearest lady," I replied; "but if you command me to it, methinks that having had his house so fatally and successfully touched, and finding himself to be of that religion which is accounted dangerous and odious to the present state, which her majesty doth detest, and of which she is most jealous and doubtful, and seeing he might now be drawn for his conscience into a great and continual danger, not being able to do any act or duty whereunto his religion doth bind him without incurring the danger of felony, he must needs run upon his death headlong, which is repugnant to the law of God and flatly against conscience, or else he must resolve to escape these perils by the means he doth propose."
"Yea," exclaimed his lordship, with so much emotion that his voice shook in the utterance of the words, "long have I debated with myself on the course to take. I do see it to be the safest way to depart out of the realm, and abide in some other place where I may live without danger of my conscience, without offence to the queen, without daily peril of my life; but yet I was drawn by such forcible persuasions to be of another opinion, as I could not easily resolve on which side to settle my determination. For on the one hand my native, and oh how dearly loved country, my own early friends, my kinsfolk, my home, and, more than all, my wife, which I must for a while part with if I go, do invite me to stay. Poverty awaits me abroad; but in what have state and riches benefited us, Nan? Shall not ease of heart and freedom from haunting fears compensate for vain wealth? When, with the sweet burthen in thine arms which for a while doth detain thee here, thou shalt kneel before God's altar in a Catholic land, methinks thou wilt have but scanty regrets for the trappings of fortune."
"God is my witness," the sweet lady replied, "that should be the happiest day of my life. But I fear--yea, much I do fear--the chasm of parting which doth once more open betwixt thee and me. Prithee, Phil, let me go with thee," she tearfully added.
"Nay, sweet Nan," he answered; "thou knowest the physicians forbid thy journeying at the present time so much as hence to London. How should it then behoove thee to run the perils of the sea, and nightly voyage, and it may be rough usage? Nay, let me behold thee again, some months hence, with a fair boy in thine arms, which if I can but once behold, my joy shall be full, if I should have to labor with mine hands for to support him and thee."
She bowed her head on the hand outstretched to her; but I could see the anguish with which she yielded her assent to this separation. Methinks there was some sort of presentiment of the future heightening her present grief; she seemed so loth her lord should go, albeit reason and expediency forced from her an unwilling consent.
Before the conversation in Lady Arundel's chamber ended, the earl proposed that Basil and I should accompany him abroad, and cross the sea in the craft he should privately {771} hire, which would sail from Littlehampton, and carry us to some port of France, whence along the coast we could travel to Boulogne. This liked her ladyship well. Her eyes entreated our consent thereunto, as if it should have been a favor she asked, which indeed was rather a benefit conferred on us; for nothing would serve my lord but that he should be at the entire charge of the voyage, who smiling said, for such good company as he should thus enjoy he should be willing to be taxed twice as much, and yet consider himself to be the obliged party in this contract.
"But we must be married first," Basil bluntly said.
Lady Arundel replied that Father Southwell could perform the ceremony when we pleased--yea, on the morrow, if it should be convenient; and that my lord should be present thereat.
I said this should be very short notice, I thought, for to be married the next day; upon which Basil exclaimed,
"These be not times, sweetheart, for ceremonies, fashions, and nice delays. Methinks since our betrothal there hath been sufficient waiting for to serve the turn of the nicest lady in the world in the matter of reserves and yeas and nays."
Which is the sharpest thing, I think, Basil hath uttered to me either before or since we have been married. So, to appease him, I said not another word against this sudden wedding; and the next day but one, at nine of the clock, was then fixed for the time thereof.
On the following morning Lord Arundel and Basil (the earl had conceived a very great esteem and good disposition toward him; as great, and greater he told me, as for some he had known for as many years as him hours) went out together, under pretence of shooting in the woods on the opposite side of the river about Leominster, but verily to proceed to Littlehampton, where the earl had appointed to meet the captain of the vessel--a Catholic man, the son of an old retainer of his family--with whom he had dealt for the hiring of a vessel for to sail to France as soon as the wind should prove favorable. Whilst they were gone upon this business, Lady Arundel and I sat in the chamber which looked into the court, making such simple preparations as would escape notice for our wedding, and the departure which should speedily afterward ensue.
"I will not yield thee," her ladyship said, "to be married except in a white dress and veil, which I shall hide in a chamber nigh unto the oratory, where I myself will attire thee, dear love; and see, this morning early I went out alone into the garden and gathered this store of rosemary, for to make thee a nosegay to wear in thy bosom. Father Southwell saith it is used at weddings for an emblem of fidelity. If so, who should have so good a right to it as my Constance and her Basil? But I will lay it up in a casket, which shall conceal it the while, and aid to retain the scent thereof."
"O dear lady," I cried, seizing her hands, "do you remember the day when you plucked rosemary in our old garden at Sherwood, and smiling, said to me, 'This meaneth remembrance?' Since it signifieth fidelity also, well should you affection it; for where shall be found one so faithful in love and friendship as you?"
"Weep not," she said, pressing her fingers on her eyelids to stay her own tears. "We must needs thank God and be joyful on the eve of thy wedding-day; and I am resolved to meet my lord also with a cheerful countenance, so that not in gloom but in hope he shall leave his native land."
In converse such as this the hours went swiftly by. Sometimes we talked of the past, its many strange haps and changes; sometimes of the future, forecasting the manner of our lives abroad, where in safety, albeit in poverty, we hoped to spend our days. In {772} the afternoon there arrived at the castle my Lord William Howard and his wife and Lady Margaret Sackville, who, having notice of their brother's intent to go beyond seas on the next day, if it should be possible, had come for to bid him farewell.
Leaving Lady Arundel in their company, I went to the terrace underneath the walls of the castle, and there paced up and down, chewing the cud of both sweet and sad memories. I looked at the soft blue sky and fleecy clouds, urged along by a westerly breeze impregnated with a salt savor; on the emerald green of the fields, the graceful forms of the leafless trees on the opposite hills, on the cattle peacefully resting by the river-side. I listed to the rustling of the wind amongst the bare branches over mine head, and the bells of a church ringing far off in the valley. "O England, mine own England, my fair native land--am I to leave thee, never to return?" I cried, speaking aloud, as if to ease my oppressed heart. Then mine eyes rested on the ruined hospital of the town, the shut-up churches, the profaned sanctuaries, and thought flying beyond the seas to a Catholic land, I exclaimed, "The sparrow shall find herself a house, and the turtle-dove a nest for herself--the altars of the Lord of hosts, my king and my God."
When Basil returned, he told me that the vessel which was to take us to France was lying out at sea near the coast. Lord Arundel and himself had gone in a boat to speak with the captain, who did seem a particular honest man and zealous Catholic; and the earl had bespoken some needful accommodation for Mistress Martingale, he said, smiling; not very commodious, indeed, but as good as on board the like craft could be expected. If the wind remained in the same quarter in the afternoon of the morrow, we should then sail; if it should change, so as to be most unfavorable, the captain should send private notice of it to the castle.
The whole of that evening the earl spent in writing a letter to her majesty. He feared that his enemies, after his departure, would, by their slanderous reports, endeavor to disgrace him with the people, and cause the queen to have sinister surmises of him. He confided this letter to the Lady Margaret, his sister, to be delivered unto her after his arrival in France; by which it might appear, both to her and all others, what were the true causes which had moved him to undertake that resolution.
I do often think of that evening in the great chamber of the castle--the young earl in the vigorous strength and beauty of manhood, his comely and fair face now bending over his writing, now raised with a noble and manly grief, as he read aloud portions of it, which, methinks, would have touched any hearts to hear them; and how much the more that loving wife, that affectionate sister, that faithful brother, those devoted friends which seemed to be in some sort witnesses of his last will before a final parting! I mind me of the sorrowful, dove-like sweetness of Lady Arundel's countenance; the flashing eyes of Lady Margaret; the loving expression, veiled by a studied hardness, of Lord William's face; of his wife my Lady Bess's reddening cheek and tearful eyes, which she did conceal behind the coif of her childish namesake sitting on her knees. When he had finished his letter, with a somewhat moved voice the earl read the last passages thereof: "If my protestation, who never told your majesty any untruth, may carry credit in your opinion, I here call God and his angels to witness that I would not have taken this course if I might have stayed in England without danger of my soul or peril of my life. I am enforced to forsake my country, to forget my friends, to leave my wife, to lose the hope of all worldly pleasures and earthly commodities. All this is so grievous to flesh and blood, that I could not desire to live if I {773} were not comforted with the remembrance of his mercy for whom I endure all this, who endured ten thousand times more for me. Therefore I remain in assured hope that myself and my cause shall receive that favor, conceit, and rightful construction at your majesty's hands which I may justly challenge. I do humbly crave pardon for my long and tedious letter, which the weightiness of the matter enforced me unto; and I beseech God from the bottom of my heart to send your majesty as great happiness as I wish to mine own soul."
A time of silence followed the reading of these sentences, and then the earl said in a cheerful manner:
"So, good Meg, I commit this protestation to thy good keeping. When thou hearest of my safe arrival in France, then straightway see to have it placed in the queen's hands."
The rest of the evening was spent in affectionate converse by these near kinsfolk. Basil and I repaired the while by the secret passage to Father Southwell's chamber, where we were in turn shriven, and afterward received from him such good counsel and rules of conduct as he deemed fitting for married persons to observe. Before I left him, this good father gave me, writ in his own hand, some sweet verses which he had that day composed for us, and which I do here transcribe. He, smiling, said he had made mention of fishes in his poem, for to pleasure so famous an angler as Basil; and of birds, for that he knew me to be a great lover of these soaring creatures:
"The lopped tree in time may grow again. Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorest wight may find release of pain. The driest soil suck in some moistening shower; Times go by turn, and chances change by course. From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.
"The sea of fortune doth not over flow, She draws her favors to the lowest ebb; Her time hath equal times to come and go. Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web; No joy so great but runneth to an end. No hap so hard but may in fine amend.
"A chance may win that by mischance was lost. The well that holds no great, takes little fish; In some things all, in all things none are crossed. Few all they need, but none have all they wish; Unmeddled joys here to no man befal, Who least have some, who most have never all.
"Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring; No endless night, yet not eternal day; The saddest birds a season find to sing; The roughest storm a calm may soon allay; Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall."
The common sheet of paper which doth contain this his writing hath a greater value in mine eyes than the most rich gift that can be thought of.
On the next morning. Lady Arundel conducted me from mine own chamber, first into a room where with her own hands she arrayed me in my bridal dress, and with many tender kisses and caresses, such as a sister or a mother would bestow, testified her affection for her poor friend; and thence to the oratory, where the altar was prepared, and by herself in secret decked with early primroses, which had begun to show in the woods and neath the hedges. A small but noble company were gathered round us that day. From pure and holy lips the Church's benison came to us. The vows we exchanged have been faithfully observed, and long years have set a seal on the promises then made.
Basil's wife! Oh, what a whole compass of happiness did lie in those two words! Yea, the waves of the sea might now rage and the winds blow. The haven might be distant and the way thither insecure. Man's enmity or accident might yet rob us each of the other's visible presence. But naught could now sever the cord, strong like unto a cable chain, which bound our souls in one. Anchored in that wedded unity, which is one of God's sacraments, till death, ay, and beyond death also, this tie should last.
We have been young, and now are old. We have lost country, home, and almost every friend known and affectioned in our young years; but {774} that deepest, holiest love, the type of Christ's union with his Church, still doth shed its light over the evening of life. My dear Basil, I am assured, thinks me as fair as when we did sit together fishing on the banks of the Ouse; and his hoary head and withered cheeks are more lovely in mine eyes than ever were his auburn locks and ruddy complexion. One of us must needs die before the other, unless we should be so happy that that good should befal us as to end our days as two aged married persons I have heard of. It was the husband's custom, as soon as ever he unclosed his eyes, to ask his wife how she did; but one night, he being in a deep sleep, she quietly departed toward the morning. He was that day to have gone out a-hunting, and it was his custom to have his chaplain pray with him before he went out. The women, fearful to surprise him with the ill news, had stolen out and acquainted the chaplain, desiring him to inform him of it. But the gentleman waking did not on that day, as was his custom ask for his wife, but called his chaplain to prayers, and, joining with him, in the midst of the prayer expired, and both were buried in the same grave. Methinks this should be a very desirable end, only, if it pleased God, I would wish to have the last sacraments, and then to die just before Basil, when his time cometh. But God knoweth best; and any ways we are so old and so near of an age, one cannot tarry very long behind when the other is gone.
Being at rest after our marriage touching what concerned ourselves, compassion for Lady Arundel filled our hearts. Alas! how bravely and how sweetly she bore this parting grief. Her intense love for her lord, and sorrow at their approaching separation, struggled with her resolve not to sadden their last hours, which were prolonged beyond expectancy. For once on that day, and twice on that which followed, when all was made ready for departure, a message came from the captain for to say the wind, and another time the tide, would not serve; and albeit each time, like a reprieved person, Lady Arundel welcomed the delay, methinks these retardments served to increase her sufferings. Little Bess hung fondly on her father's neck the last time he returned from Littlehampton with the tidings the vessel would not sail for some hours, kissing his face and playing with his beard.
"Ah, dearest Phil!" her mother cried, "the poor babe rejoiceth in the sight of thee, all unwitting in her innocent glee of the shortness of this joy. Howsoever, methinks five or six hours of it is a boon for to thank God for;" and so putting her arm in his, she led him away to a solitary part of the garden, where they walked to and fro, she, as she hath since written to me, starting each time the clock did strike, like one doomed to execution. Methinks there was this difference between them, that he was full of hope and bright forecastings of a speedy reunion; but on her soul lay a dead, mournful despondency, which she hid by an apparent calmness. When, late in the evening, a third message came for to say the ship could not depart that night, I begun to think it would never go at all. I saw Basil looked at the weathercock and shrugged his shoulders, as if the same thought was in his mind. But when I spake of it, he said seafaring folks had a knowledge in these matters which others did not possess, and we must needs be patient under these delays. Howsoever, at three o'clock in the morning the shipman signified that the wind was fit and all in readiness. So we rose in haste and prepared for to depart. The countess put her arms about my neck, and this was the last embrace I ever had of her. My lord's brother and sisters hung about him awhile in great grief. Then his wife put out her hands to him, and, with a sorrow too deep for speech, fixed her eyes on his visage.
{775}
"Cheep up, sweetest wife," I heard him say. "Albeit nature suffers in this severance from my native land, my true home shall be wherever it shall please God to bring thee and me and our children together. God defend the loss of this world's good should make us sad, if we be but once so blessed as to meet again where we may freely serve him."
Then, after a long and tender clasping of her to his breast, he tore himself away and getting on a horse rode to the coast. Basil and I, with Mr. William Bray and Mr. Burlace, drove in a coach to the port. It was yet dark, and a heavy mist hung on the valley. Folks were yet abed, and the shutters of the houses closed, as we went down the hill through the town. After crossing the bridge over the Arun the air felt cold and chill. At the steep ascent near Leominster I put my head out of the window for to look once more at the castle, but the fog was too thick. At the port the coach stopped, and a boat was found waiting for us. Lord Arundel was seated in it, with his face muffled in a cloak. The savor of the sea air revived my spirits; and when the boat moved off, and I felt the waves lifting it briskly, and with my hand in Basil's I looked on the land we were leaving, and then on the watery world before us, a singular emotion filled my soul, as if it was some sort of death was happening to me--a dying to the past, a gliding on to an unknown future on a pathless ocean, rocked peacefully in the arms of his sheltering love, even as this little bark which carried us along was lifted up and caressed by the waves of the deep sea.
When we reached the vessel the day was dawning. The sun soon emerged from a bank of clouds, and threw its first light on the rippling waters. A favoring wind filled our sails, and like a bird on the wing the ship bounded on its way till the flat shore at Littlehampton and the far-off white cliffs to the eastward were well-nigh lost sight of. Lord Arundel stood with Basil on the narrow deck, gazing at the receding coast.
"How sweet the air doth blow from England!" he said; "how blue the sky doth appear to-day! and those saucy seagulls how free and happy they do look!" Then he noticed some fishing-boats, and with a telescope he had in his hand discerned various ships very far off. Afterward he came and sat down by my side, and spoke in a cheerful manner of his wife and the simple home he designed for her abroad. "Some years ago, Mistress Constance," he said--and then smiling, added, "My tongue is not yet used to call you Mistress Rookwood--when my sweet Nan, albeit a wife, was yet a simple child, she was wont to say, 'Phil, would we were farmers! You would plough the fields and cut wood in the forest, and I should milk the cows and feed the poultry.' Well, methinks her wish may yet come to pass. In Brittany or Normandy some little homestead should shelter us, where Bess shall roll on the grass and gather the fallen apples, and on Sundays put on her bravest clothes for to go to mass. What think you thereof, Mistress Constance? and who knoweth but you and your good husband may also dwell in the same village, and some eighteen or twenty years hence a gay wedding for to take place betwixt one Master Rookwood and one Lady Ann or Margaret Howard, or my Lord Maltravers with one Mistress Constance or Muriel Rookwood? And on the green on such a day, Nan and Basil and you and I should lead the brawls."
"Methinks, my lord," I answered, smiling, "you do forecast too great a condescension on your part, and too much ambition on our side, in the planning of such a union."
"Well, well," he said; "if your good husband carrieth not beyond seas with him the best earl's title in England, I'll warrant you in God's sight he weareth a higher one far {776} away--the merit of an unstained life and constant nobility of action; and I promise you, beside, he will be the better farmer of the twain; so that in the matter of tocher, Mistress Rookwood should exceed my Lady Bess or Ann Howard."
With such-like talk as this time was whiled away; and whilst we were yet conversing I noticed that Basil spoke often to the captain and looked for to be watching a ship yet at some distance, but which seemed to be gaining on us. Lord Arundel, perceiving it, then also joined them, and inquired what sort of craft it should be. The captain professed to be ignorant thereof; and when Basil said it looked like a small ship-of-war, and as there were many dangerous pirates about the Channel it should be well to guard against it, he assented thereto, and said he was prepared for defence.
"With such unequal means," Basil replied, "as it is like we should bring to a contest, speed should serve us better than defence."
"But," quoth Lord Arundel, "she is, 'tis plain, a swifter sailer than this one we are in. God's will be done, but 'tis a heavy misfortune if a pirate at this time do attack us, and so few moneys with us for to spare!"
Now none of our eyes could detach themselves from this pursuing vessel. The captain eluded further talk, on pretence for to give orders and move some guns he had aboard on deck; but it was vain for to think of a handful of men untrained to sea-warfare encountering a superior force, such as this ship must possess, if its designs should be hostile. As it moved nigher to us, we could perceive it to be well manned and armed. And the captain then exclaimed:
"'Tis Keloway's ship!"
This man was of a notorious, infamous life, well known for his sea-robberies and depredations in the Channel.
"God yield," murmured the earl, "he shall content himself with the small sum we can deliver to him and not stay us any further."
A moment afterward we were boarded by this man, who, with his crew, thrice as numerous as ours and armed to the teeth, comes on our deck and takes possession of the ship. Straightway he walks to the earl and tells him he doth know him, and had watched his embarkation, being resolved to follow him and exact a good ransom at his hands, which if he would pay without contention, he should himself, without further stop or stay, pass him and his two gentlemen into France, adding, he should take no less from him than one hundred pounds.
"I have not so much, or near unto it, with me," Lord Arundel said.
"But you can write a word or two to any friend of yours from whom I may receive it." quoth Keloway.
"Well," said the earl, "seeing I have pressing occasion for to go to France, and would not be willingly delayed, I must needs consent to your terms, no choice therein being allowed me. Get me some paper," he said to Mr. William Bray.
"Should this be prudent, my lord?" Basil whispered in his ear.
"There is no help for it, Master Rookwood," the earl replied. "Beside, there is honor even amongst thieves. Once secure of his money, this man hath no interest in detaining us, but rather the contrary."
And without further stopping, he hastily wrote a few lines to his sister the Lady Margaret Sackville, in London, that she should speak to Mr. Bridges, alias Grately, a priest, to give one hundred pounds to the bearer thereof, by the token that was between them, that black is white, and withal assured her that he now certainly hoped to have speedy passage without impediment. As soon as this paper was put into Kelloway's hand, he read it, and immediately called on his men for to arrest the Earl of Arundel, producing an order from the queen's council for to prove he {777} was appointed to watch there for him, and carry him back again to land where her majesty's officers did await him.
An indescribable anguish seized my heart; an overwhelming grief, such as methinks no other event, howsoever sad or tragical, or yet more nearly touching me, had ever wrought in my soul, which I ascribe to a presentiment that this should be the first link of that long chain of woes which was to follow.
"O, my lord!" I exclaimed, almost falling at his feet, "God help you to bear this too heavy blow!"
He took me by the hand; and never till I die shall I lose the memory of the sweet serenity and noble steadfastness of his visage in this trying hour.
"God willeth it," he gently said; "his holy will be done! He will work good out of what seemeth evil to us." And then gaily added, "We had thought to travel the same way; now we must needs journey apart. Never fear, good friends, but both roads shall lead to heaven, if we do but tread them piously. My chief sorrow is for Nan; but her virtue is so great, that affliction will never rob her of such peace as God only giveth."
Then this angelic man, forecasting for his friends in the midst of this terrible mishap, passed into Basil's hands his pocket-book, and said, "This shall pay your voyage, good friend; and if aught doth remain afterward, let the poor have their share of it, for a thank-offering, when you reach the shore in safety."
Basil, I saw, could not speak; his heart was too full. O, what a parting ensued on that sad ocean whose waves had seemed to dance so joyously a short space before! With what aching hearts we pressed the young earl's hand, and watched him pass into the other ship, accompanied by his two gentlemen, which were with him arrested! No heed was taken of us; and Kelloway, having secured his prey, abandoned our vessel, the captain of which seemed uneasy and ill-disposed to speak with us. We did then suspect, which doubt hath been since confirmed, that this seeming honest Catholic man had acted a traitor's part, and that those many delays had been used for the very purpose of staying Lord Arundel until such time as all was prepared for his capture. The wind, which was in our favor, bore us swiftly toward the French coast; and we soon lost sight of the vessel which carried the earl back to the shores of England. Fancy, you who read, what pictures we needs must then have formed of that return; of the dismal news reaching the afflicted wife, the sad sister, the mournful brother, and friends now scattered apart, so lately clustered round him! Alas! when we landed in France, at the port of Calais, the sense of our own safety was robbed of half its joy by fears and sorrowing for the dear friends whose fortunes have proved so dissimilar to our own.
Chapter XXVIII
The deep clear azure of the French sky, the lightsome pure air, the quaint houses, and outlandish dresses of the people in Calais; the sound of a foreign tongue understood, but not familiar, for a brief time distracted my mind from painful themes. Basil led me to the church for to give thanks to God for his mercies to us, and mostly did it seem strange to me to enter an edifice in which he is worshipped in a Catholic manner, which yet hath the form and appearance of a church, and resembles not the concealed chambers in our country wherein mass is said; an open visible house for the King of kings, not a hiding-place, as in England. After we had prayed there a short time, Basil put into a box at the entrance the money which Lord Arundel had designed for the poor. A pale thin man stood at the door, which, when we passed, said, "God {778} bless you!" Basil looked earnestly at him, and then exclaimed, "As I live, Mr. Watson!" "Yea," the good man answered, "the same, or rather the shadow of the same, risen at the last from the bed of sickness. O Mr. Rookwood, I am glad to see you!" "And so am I to meet with you, Mr. Watson," Basil answered; and then told this dear friend who I was, and the sad hap of Lord Arundel, which moved in him a great concern for that young nobleman and his excellent lady. Many tokens of regard and interchange of information passed between us. He showed us where he lived, in a small cottage near unto the ramparts; and nothing would serve him but to gather for me in the garden a nosegay of early flowerets which just had raised their heads above the sod. He said Dr. Allen had sent him money in his sickness, and an English lady married to a French gentleman provided for his wants. "Ah! that was the good madame I told you of," Basil cried, turning to me; "who would have harbored . . . ." Then he stopped short; but Mr. Watson had caught his meaning, and with tears in his eyes said: "Fear not to speak of her whose death bought my life, and it may be also my soul's safety. For, God knoweth, the thought of her doth never forsake me so much as for one hour;" and thereupon we parted with much kindness on both sides. That night we lay at a small hostelry in the town; and the next morning hired a cart with one horse, which carried us to Boulogne in one day, and thence to this village, where we have lived since for many years in great peace. I thank God, and very much contentment of mind, and no regrets save such as do arise in the hearts of exiles without hope of return to a beloved native country.
The awaiting of tidings from England, which were long delayed, was at the first a very sore trial, and those which reached us at last yet more grievous than that suspense. Lord Arundel committed to the Tower; his brother the Lord William and his sister the Lady Margaret not long after arrested, which was more grief to him, his lady wrote to me, than all his own troubles and imprisonment. But, O my God! how well did that beginning match with what was to follow! Those ten years which were spent amidst so many sufferings of all sorts by these two noble persons, that the recital of them would move to pity the most strong heart.
Mine own sorrows, leastways all sharp ones, ended with my passage into France. If Basil showed himself a worthy lover, he hath proved a yet better husband. His nature doth so delight in doing good that it wins him the love of all our neighbors. His life is a constant exercise of charity. He is most indulgent to his wife and kind to his children, of which it hath pleased God to give him three--one boy and two girls, of as comely visages and commendable dispositions as can reasonably be desired. He hath a most singular affection for all such as do suffer for their religion, and cherishes them with an extraordinary bounty to the limits of his ability; his house being a common resort for all banished Catholics which land at Boulogne, from whence he doth direct them to such persons as can assist them in their need. His love toward my unworthy self hath never decreased. Methinks it rather doth increase as we advance in years. We have ever been actuated as by one soul; and never have any two wills agreed so well as Basil's and mine in all aims in this world and hopes for the next. If any, in the reading of this history, have only cared for mine own haps, I pray them to end their perusal of it here; but if, even as my heart hath been linked from early years with Lady Arundel's, there be any in which my poor writing hath awakened somewhat of that esteem for her virtues and resentment of her sorrows which hath grown in me from long experience of her singular worth; {779} if the noble atonement for youthful offences and follies already shown in her lord's return to his duty to her, and altered behavior in respect to God, hath also moved them to desire a further knowledge of the manner in which these two exalted souls were advanced by long affliction to a high point of perfection--then to such the following pages shall not be wholly devoid of that interest which the true recital of great misfortune doth habitually carry with it. If none other had written the life of that noble lady, methinks I must have essayed to do it; but having heard that a good clergyman hath taken this task in hand, secretly preparing materials whilst she yet lives wherewith to build her a memorial at a future time, I have restrained myself to setting down what, by means of her own writing or the reports of others, hath reached my knowledge concerning the ten years which followed my last parting with her. This was the first letter I received from this afflicted lady after her lord's arrest:
"O MY DEAR FRIEND--What days these have proved! Believe me, I never looked for a favorable issue of this enterprise. When I first had notice thereof, a notable chill fell on my soul, which never warmed again with hope. When I began to pray after hearing of it, I had what methinks the holy Juliana of Norwich (whose cell we did once visit together, as I doubt not thou dost remember) would have called a foreshowing, or, as others do express it, a presentiment of coming evil. But how soon the effect followed! I had retired to rest at nine of the clock; and before I was undressed Bertha came in with a most downcast countenance. 'What news is there?' I quickly asked, misdoubting some misfortune had happened. Then she began to weep. 'Is my lord taken?' I cried, 'or worse befallen him?' 'He is taken,' she answered, 'and is now being carried to London for to be committed to the Tower. Master Ralph, the port-master, hath brought the news. A man, an hour ago, had reported as much in the town; but Mr. Fawcett would not suffer your ladyship to be told of it before a greater certainty thereof should appear. O woe be the day my lord ever embarked!' Then I heard sounds of wailing and weeping in the gallery; and opening the door, found Bessy's nurse and some other of the servants lamenting in an uncontrolled fashion. I could not shed one tear, but gave orders they should fetch unto me the man which had brought the tidings. From him I heard more fully what had happened; and then, in the same composed manner, desired my coach and horses for to be made ready to take me to London the next day at daybreak, and dismissed everybody, not suffering so much as one woman to sit up with me. When all had retired, I put on my cloak and hood; and listing first if all was quiet, went by the secret passage to the chapel-room. When I got there, Father Southwell was in it, saying his office. When he saw me enter at that unusual hour, methinks the truth was made known to him at once; for he only took me by the hand, and said: 'My child, this would be too hard to bear if it were not God's sweet will; but being so, what remaineth but to lie still under a Father's merciful infliction?' and then he took out the crucifix, which for safety was locked up, and set it on the altar. 'That shall speak to you better than I can,' he said; and verily it did; for at the sight of my dying Saviour I wept. The whole night was spent in devout exercises. At dawn of day Father Southwell said mass, and I received. Then, before any one was astir, I returned to mine own chamber, and, lying down for a few moments, afterward rung the bell, and ordered horses to be procured for to travel to London, whence I write these lines. I have here heard this report of my dear lord's journey from one which conversed with Sir George Carey, {780} who commanded the guard which conducted him, that he was nothing at all daunted with so unexpected a misfortune, and not only did endure it with great patience and courage, but, moreover, carried it with a joyful and merry countenance. One night in the way he lodged at Guildford, where seeing the master of the inn (who sometime was our servant, and who hath written it to one of my women, his sister), and some others who wished well unto him, weeping and sorrowing for his misfortunes, he comforted them all, and willed them to be of good cheer, because it was not for any crime--treason or the like--he was apprehended, but only for attempting to leave the kingdom, the which he had done only for his own safety. He is soon to be examined by some of the council sent to the Tower for this special purpose by the queen. I have sought to obtain access to him, but been flatly reused, and a hint ministered to me that albeit my residence at Arundel House is tolerated at the present, if the queen should come to stay at Somerset House, which she is soon like to do, my departure hence shall be enforced; but while I remain I would fain do some good to persons afflicted as myself. I pray you, my good Constance, when you find some means to despatch me a letter, therewith to send the names and addresses of some of the poor folks Muriel was wont to visit; for I am of opinion grief should not make us selfish, but rather move us to relieve in others the pains of which we feel the sharp edge ourselves. I have already met by accident with many necessitous persons, and they do begin in great numbers to resort to this house. God knoweth if the means to relieve them will not be soon lacking. But to make hay whilst the sun shines is a wise saying, and in some instances a precept. Alas! the sunshine of joy is already obscured for me. Except for these poor pensioners, that of fortune causeth me small concern.--Thy loving friend, A. A. and S."
"Will and Meg are at present in separate prisons. It is impossible but that she shall be presently released; for against her nothing can be alleged, so much as to give a pretence for an accusation. My lord and Will's joint letter to Dr. Allen, sent by Mr. Brydges--who, out of confidence, mentioned it to Mr. Gifford, a pretended priest, who lives at Paris, and is now discovered to be a spy--is the ground of the charges against them. How utterly unfounded thou well knowest; but so much as to write to Dr. Allen is now a crime, howsoever innocent the matter of such a correspondence should be. I do fear that in one of his letters--but I wot not if of this they have possession--my lord, who had just heard that the Earl of Leicester had openly vowed to make the name of Catholic as odious in England as the name of Turk, did say, in manner of a jest, that if some lawful means might be found to take away this earl, it would be a great good for Catholics in England; which careless sentence may be twisted by his enemies to his disadvantage."
Some time afterward, a person passing from London to Rheims, brought me this second letter from her ladyship, written at Rumford, in Essex:
"What I have been warned of verily hath happened. Upon the queen's coming to London last month, it was signified to me I should leave it. Now that Father Southwell hath been removed from Arundel Castle, and no priest at this time can live in it, I did not choose to be delivered there, without the benefit of spiritual assistance in case of danger of death, and so hired a house in this town, at a short distance of which a recusant gentleman doth keep one in his house. I came from London without obtaining leave so much as once to see my dear husband, or to send him a letter or message, or receive one from him. But this I have learnt, that he cannot speak with any person whatsoever but in the presence and hearing of his {781} keeper or the lieutenant of the Tower, and that the room in which he is locked up has no sight of the sun for the greatest part of the year; so that if not changed before the winter cometh it shall prove very unwholesome; and moreover the noisomeness thereof caused by a vault that is under it is so great that the keeper can scarce endure to enter into it, much less to stay there any time. Alas! what ravages shall this treatment cause on a frame of great niceness and delicate habits, I leave you to judge. By this time he hath been examined twice; and albeit forged letters were produced, the falsity of which the council were forced to admit, and he was charged with nothing which could be substantiated, except leaving the realm without license of the queen, and being reconciled to the Church of Rome, his sentence is yet deferred, and his imprisonment as strict as ever. I pray God it may not be deferred till his health is utterly destroyed, which, I doubt not, is what his enemies would most desire.
"Last evening I had the exceeding great comfort of the coming hither of mine own dear good Meg, who hath been some time released from prison, with many vexatious restraints, howsoever, still laid upon her. Albeit very much advanced in her pregnancy, nothing would serve her when she had leave to quit London but to do me this good. This is the first taste of joy I have had since my lord's commitment. In her face I behold his; when she speaks I hear him. No talk is ministered between us but of that beloved husband and brother; our common prayers are put up for him. She hath spied his spies for to discover all which relates to him, and hath found means to convey to him--I thank God for it--some books of devotion, which he greatly needed. She is yet a-bed this morning, for we sat up late yester-eve, so sweet, albeit sad, was the converse we held after so many common sufferings. But methinks I grudge her these hours of sleep, longing for to hear again those loved accents which mind me of my dear Phil.
"My pen had hardly traced those last words, when a messenger arrived from the council with an express command to Margaret from her majesty not to stay with me another night, but forthwith to return to London. The surprise and fear which this message occasioned hastened the event which should have yet been delayed some weeks. A few hours after (I thank God, in safety) a fair son was born; but in the mother's heart and mine apprehension dispelled joy, lest enforced disobedience should produce fresh troubles. Howsoever, she recovered quickly; and as soon as she could be removed I lost her sweet company. Thine affectionate friend to command,
"A. A. AND S."
Some time afterward, one Mr. Dixon, a gentleman I had met once or twice in London, tarried a night at our house, and brought me the news that God had given the Countess of Arundel a son, which she had earnestly desired her husband should be informed of, but he heard it had been refused. Howsoever, when he was urgent with his keepers to let him know if she had been safely delivered, they gave him to understand that she had another daughter; his enemies not being willing he should have so much contentment as the birth of a son should have yielded him.
"Doth the queen," I asked of this gentleman, "then not mitigate her anger against these noble persons?"
"So far from it," he answered, "that when, at the beginning of this trouble, Lady Arundel went to Sir Francis Knowles for to seek by his means to obtain an audience from her majesty, in order to sue for her husband, he told her she would sooner release him at once--which, howsoever, she had no mind to do--than only once allow her to enter her presence. He then, her ladyship told me, rated her exceedingly, asking if she and her husband were not ashamed to make themselves {782} papists, only out of spleen and peevish humor to cross and vex the queen? She answered him in the same manner as her lord did one of his keepers, who told him very many in the kingdom were of opinion that he made show to be Catholic only out of policy; to whom he said, with great mildness, that God doth know the secrets of all hearts, but that he thought there was small policy for a man to lose his liberty, hazard his estate and life, and live in that manner in a prison as he then did."
A brief letter from Lady Tregony informed me soon after this that, after a third examination, the court had fined Lord Arundel in £10,000 unto the queen and adjudged him to imprisonment during her pleasure. What that pleasure proved, ten years of unmitigated suffering and slow torture evinced; one of the most grievous of which was that his lady could never obtain for to see him, albeit other prisoners' wives had easy access to them. This touching letter I had from her three years after he was imprisoned:
"MINE OWN GOOD FRIEND--Life doth wear on, and relief of one sort leastways comes not; but God forbid I should repine. For such instances I see in the letters of my dear lord--which when some of his servants do leave the Tower, which, worn out as they soon become by sickness, they must needs do to preserve their lives--he findeth means to write to me or to Father Southwell, that I am ashamed to grieve overmuch at anything which doth befal us--when his willingness and contentment to suffer are so great. As when he saith to that good father, 'For all crosses touching worldly matters, I thank God they trouble me not much, and much the less for your singular good counsel, which I beseech our Lord I may often remember; and to me this dear husband writes thus: 'I beseech you, for the love of God, to comfort yourself whatsoever shall happen, and to be best pleased with that which shall please God best, and be his will to send. I find that there is some intent to do me no good, but indeed to do me the most good of all; but I am--and, thank God, doubt not but I shall be by his grace--ready to endure the worst which flesh and blood can do unto me.' O Constance, flesh and blood doth sometimes rebel against the keen edge of suffering; but I pray you, my friend, how can I complain when I hear of this much, long dearly cherished husband, ascending by steps the ladder of perfection, advancing from virtue to virtue as the psalm saith, never uttering one unsubmissive word toward God, or one resentful one toward his worst enemies; making, in the most sublime manner, of necessity virtue, and turning his loathsome prison into a religious cell, wherein every exercise of devotion is duly practised, and his soul trained for heaven?
"The small pittance the queen alloweth for his maintenance he so sparingly useth, that most of it doth pass into the hands of the poor or other more destitute prisoners than himself. But sickness and disease prey on his frame. And the picture of him my memory draweth is gradually more effaced in the living man, albeit vivid in mine own portraying of it.
There is now a priest imprisoned in the Tower, not very far from the chamber wherein my lord is confined; one of the name of Bennet. My lord desired much to meet him, and speak with him for the comfort of his soul, and I have found means to bring it to effect by mediation of the lieutenant's daughter, to whom I have given thirty pounds for her endeavors in procuring it. And moreover she hath assisted in conveying into his chamber church-stuff and all things requisite for the saying of mass, whereunto she tells me, to my indescribable comfort, he himself doth serve with great humility, and therein receives the blessed sacrament frequently. Sir Thomas Gerard, she saith, and Mr. Shelly, which are likewise prisoners at this time, she introduces secretly into his lodgings for to hear mass and have speech with {783} him. Alas! what should be a comfort to him, and so the greatest of joys to me, the exceeding peril of these times causeth me to look upon with apprehension; for these gentlemen, albeit well disposed, are not famed for so much wisdom and prudence as himself, in not saying or doing anything which might be an occasion of danger to him; and the least lack of wariness, when there is so much discourse about the great Spanish fleet which is now in preparation, should prove like to be fatal. God send no worse hap befal us soon.
"In addition to these other troubles and fears, I am much molested by a melancholy vapor, which ascends to my head, and greatly troubles me since I was told upon a sudden of the unexpected death of Margaret Sackville, whom, for her many great virtues and constant affection toward myself, I did so highly esteem and affection."
From that time for a long while I had no direct news of Lady Arundel; but report brought us woful tidings concerning her lord, who, after many private examinations, had been brought from the Tower to the King's Bench Court, in the hall of Westminster, and there publicly arraigned on the charge of high treason, the grounds of which accusation being that he had prayed and procured others to make simultaneous prayer for twenty-four hours, and procured Mr. Bennet to say a mass of the Holy Ghost, for the success of the Spanish fleet. Whereas the whole truth of this matter consisted in this, that when a report became current among the Catholics about London that a sudden massacre of them all was intended upon the first landing of the Spaniards, this coming to the earl's ear, he judged it necessary that all Catholics should betake themselves to prayer, either for the avoiding of the danger or for the better preparing themselves thereunto, and so persuaded those in the Tower to make prayer together for that end, and also sent to some others for the same purpose, whereof one of greater prudence and experience than the rest signified unto him that perhaps it might be otherwise interpreted by their enemies than he intended, wishing him to desist, as presently thereupon he did; but it was then too late. Some which he had trusted, either out of fear or fair promises, testified falsely against him--of which Mr. Bennet was one, who afterward retracted with bitter anguish his testimony, in a letter to his lordship, which contained these words: "With a fearful, guilty, unjust, and most tormented conscience, only for saving of my life and liberty, I said you moved me to say a mass for the good success of the Spanish fleet. For which unjust confession, or rather accusation, I do again and again, and to my life's end, most instantly crave God's pardon and yours; and for my better satisfaction of this, my unjust admission, I will, if need require, offer up both life and limbs in averring my accusation to be, as it is indeed, and as I shall answer before God, angels, and men, most unjust, and only done out of fear of the Tower, torments, and death." Notwithstanding the earl's very stout and constant denial of the charge, and pleading the above letter of Mr. Bennet, retracting his false statement, he was condemned of high treason, and had sentence pronounced against him. But the execution was deferred, and finally the queen resolved to spare his life, but yet by no means to release him. His estates, and likewise his lady's, were forfeited to the crown, and he at that time dealt with most unkindly, as the following letter will show:
"DEAR CONSTANCE--At last I have found the means of sending a packet by a safe hand, which in these days, when men do so easily turn traitors--notable instances of which, to our exceeding pain and trouble, have lately occurred--is no easy matter. I doubt not but thy fond affectionate heart hath followed with a sympathetic grief the anguish of mine {784} during the time past, wherein my husband's life hath been in daily peril; and albeit he is now respited, yet, alas! as he saith himself, and useth the knowledge to the best purpose, he is but a doomed man; reprieved, not pardoned; spared, not released. Mine own troubles beside have been greater than can be thought of; by virtue of the forfeiture of my lord's estates and mine, my home hath been searched by justices, and no room, no corner, no trunk or coffer, left unopened and unransacked. I have often been brought before the council and most severely examined. The queen's officers and others in authority--to whom I am sometimes forced to sue for favor, or some mitigation of mine own or my lord's sufferings--do use me often very harshly, and reject my petitions with scorn and opprobrious language. All our goods are seized for the queen. They have left me nothing but two or three beds, and these, they do say, but for a time. When business requires, I am forced to go on foot, and slenderly attended; my coach being taken from me. I have retained but two of my servants --my children's nurse being one. I have as yet no allowance, as is usual in such cases, for the maintenance of my family; so I am forced to pay them and buy victuals with the money made by the sale of mine own jewels; and I am sometimes forced to borrow and make hard shifts to procure necessary provisions and clothes for the children; but if I get eight pounds a week, which the queen hath been moved to allow me, then methinks I shall think myself no poorer than a Christian woman should be content to be; and I have promised Almighty God, if that good shall befal us, to bestow one hundred marks out of it yearly on the poor. I am often sent out of London by her majesty's commands, albeit some infirmities I do now suffer from force me to consult physicians there. Methinks when I am at Arundel House I am not wholly parted from my lord, albeit my humble petition, by means of friends, to see him is always denied. When I hear he is sick, mine anguish increases. The like favor is often granted to Lady Latimore and others whose husbands are at this time prisoners in the Tower, but I can never obtain it. The lieutenant's daughter, whom I do sometimes see, when she is in a conversible mood doth inform me of my dear husband's condition, and relates instances of his goodness and patience which wring and yet comfort mine heart. What think you of his never having been heard so much as once to complain of the loss of his goods or the incommodities of his prison; of his gentleness and humility where he is himself concerned; of his boldness in defending his religion and her ministers, which was alike shown, as well as his natural cheerfulness, in a conversation she told me had passed between her father, the lieutenant, and him, a few days ago? You have heard, I ween, that good Father Southwell was arrested some time back at Mr. Bellamy's house; it is reported by means of the poor unhappy soul his daughter, whom I met one day at the door of the prison, attired in a gaudy manner and carrying herself in a bold fashion; but when she met mine eye hers fell. Alas! poor soul, God help her and bring her to repentance. Well, now Father Southwell is in the Tower, my lord, by Miss Hopton's melons, hath had once or twice speech with him, and doth often inquire of the lieutenant about him, which when he did so the other day he used the words 'blessed father' in speaking of him. The lieutenant (she said) seemed to take exception thereat, saying, 'Term you him blessed father, being as he is an enemy to his country?' My lord answered: 'How can that be, seeing yourself hath told me heretofore that no fault could be laid unto him but his religion?' Then the lieutenant said: 'The last time I was in his cell your dog, my lord, came in and licked his hand,' Then quoth my lord, {785} patting his dog fondly: 'I love him the better for it.' 'Perhaps,' quoth the lieutenant in a scoffing manner, it might be he came thither to have his blessing.' To which my lord replied, 'It is no new thing for animals to seek a blessing at the hands of holy men, St. Jerome writing how the lions which had digged St. Paul the hermit's grave stood waiting with their eyes upon St. Anthony expecting his blessing.'
'Is it not a strange trial, mine own Constance, and one which hath not befallen many women, to have a fondly loved husband yet alive, and to be sometimes so near unto him that it should take but a few moments to cross the space which doth divide us, and yet never behold him; year after year passing away, and the heart waxing sick with delays? Howsoever, one sad firm hope I hold, which keepeth me somewhat careful of my health, lest I should be disabled when that time cometh--one on which I fix my mind with apprehension and desire to defer the approach thereof, yet pray one day to see it--yea, to live long enough for this and then to die, if it shall please God. When mine own Philip is on his death-bed, when the slow consumptive disease which devoureth his vitals obtaineth its end, then, I ween, no woman upon earth, none that I ever heard of or could think of, can deny me to approach him and receive his last embrace. Oh that this should be my best comfort, mine only hope!"
I pass over many intervening letters from this afflicted lady which at distant intervals I received, in one of which she expressed her sorrow at the execution at Tyburn of her constant friend and guide, Father Southwell, and likewise informed me of Mistress Wells's death in Newgate, and transcribe this one, written about six months afterward, in which she relates the closing scene of her husband's life:
"MINE OWN DEAR CONSTANCE--All is over now, and my overcharged heart casteth about for some alleviation in its excessive grief, which may be I shall find in imparting to one well acquainted with his virtues and my love for him what I have learnt touching the closing scenes of my dear lord's mortal life. For think not I have been so happy as to behold him again, or that he should die in my arms. No; that which was denied me for ten long years neither could his dying prayers obtain. For many months notice had been given unto me by his servants and others that his health was very fast declining. One gentleman particularly told me he himself believed his end to be near. His devout exercises were yet increased--the bent of his mind more and more directed solely toward God and heaven. In those times which were allotted to walking or other recreation, his discourse and conversation either with his keeper or the lieutenant or his own servant, was either tending to piety or some kind of profitable discourse, most often of the happiness of those that suffer anything for our Saviour's sake; to which purpose he had writ with his own hand upon the wall of his chamber this Latin sentence, 'Quanto plus afflictionis pro Christo in hoc saeculo, tanto plus gloriae cum Christo in futuro;' the which he used to show to his servants, inviting them, as well as himself, to suffer all with patience and alacrity.
"In the month of August tidings were brought unto me that, sitting at dinner, he had fallen so very ill immediately upon the eating of a roasted teal, that some did suspect him to be poisoned. I sent him some antidotes, and all the remedies I could procure; but all in vain. The disease had so possessed him that it could not be removed, but by little and little consumed his body, so that he became like an anatomy, having nothing left but skin and bone. Much talk hath been ministered anent his being poisoned. Alas! my thinking is, and ever shall be, the slow poison he died of was lack of air, of sunshine, of kindness, {786} of loving aid, of careful sympathy. When I heard his case was considered desperate, the old long hopes, sustained for ten years, that out of the extremity of grief one hour of comfort should arise, woke up; but now I was advised not to stir in this matter myself, for it should only incense the queen, who had always hated me; whereas my lord she once had liked, and it might be, when she heard he was dying, she should relent. She had made a kind of promise to some of his friends that before his death his wife and children should come unto him; whereupon, conceiving that now his time in the world could not be long, he writ a humble letter to her petitioning the performance of her promise. The lieutenant of the Tower carried this letter, and delivered it with his own hands to the queen, and brought him her answer by word of mouth. What think you, mine own Constance, was the answer she sent that dying man? God forgave her! Philip did; yea, and so do I--not fully at the time, now most fully. His crown should have been less glorious but for the heart-martyrdom she invented.
"This was her message: 'That if he would but once go to the Protestant church his request should not only be granted, but he should moreover be restored to his honor and estate with as much favor as she could show.' Oh, what were estates and honors to that dying saint! what her favor to that departing soul! One offering, one sacrifice, one final withdrawing of affection's thirsty and parched lips from the chalice of a supreme earthly consolation, and all was accomplished; the bitterness of death overpast. He gave thanks to the lieutenant for his pains; he said he could not accept her majesty's offers upon that condition, and added withal that he was sorry he had but one life to lose in that cause. A very worthy gentleman who was present at this passage related it to me; and Lord Mountague I have also had it from, which heard the same from his father-in-law, my Lord Dorset. Constance, for a brief while a terrible tumult raged in my soul. Think what it was to know one so long, so passionately loved, dying nigh onto and yet apart from me, dying unaided by any priest--for though he had a great desire to be assisted by Father Edmund, by whose means he had been reconciled, it was by no means permitted that either he or any other priest should come to him--dying without a kindred face to smile on him, without a kinsman for to speak with him and list to his last wishes. He desired to see his brother William or his uncle Lord Henry; at least to take his last leave of them before his death; but neither was that small request granted--no, not so much as to see his brother Thomas, though both then and ever he had been a Protestant. And all this misery was the fruit of one stem, cruel, unbending hatred--of one proud human will; a will which was sundering what God had joined together. Like a bird against the bars of an iron cage, my poor heart dashed itself with wild throbbings against these human obstacles. But not for very long, I thank God; brief was the storm which convulsed my soul. I soon discerned his hand in this great trial--his will above all human will; and while writhing under a Father's merciful scourge, I could yet bless him who held it I pray you, Constance, how should a woman have endured so great an anguish which had not been helped by him? Methinks what must have sustained me was that before-mentioned gentleman's report of my dear lord's great piety and virtue, which made me ashamed of not striving to resemble him in howsoever small a degree. Oh, what a work God wrought in that chosen soul! What meekness, what humility, what nobleness of heart! He grew so faint and weak by degrees that he was not able to leave his bed. His physicians coming to visit him some days before his death, he desired {787} them not to trouble themselves now any more, his case being beyond their skill. They thereupon departing, Sir Michael Blount, then lieutenant of the Tower, who had been ever very hard and harsh unto him, took occasion to come and visit him, and, kneeling down by his bedside, in humble manner desired my dear Phil to forgive him. Whereto mine own beloved husband answered in this manner, 'Do you ask forgiveness, Mr. Lieutenant? Why, then, I forgive you in the same sort as I desire myself to be forgiven at the hands of God;' and then kissed his hand, and offered it in most kind and charitable manner to him, and holding his fast in his own said, 'I pray you also to forgive me whatever I have said or done in anything offensive to you,' and he melting into tears and answering 'that he forgave him with all his heart;' my lord raised himself a little upon his pillow, and made a brief, grave speech unto the lieutenant in this manner: 'Mr. Lieutenant, you have showed both me and my men very hard measure.' 'Wherein, my lord?' quoth he. 'Nay,' said my lord, 'I will not make a recapitulation of anything, for it is all freely forgiven. Only I am to say unto you a few words of my last will, which being observed, may, by the grace of God, turn much to your benefit and reputation. I speak not for myself; for God of his goodness hath taken order that I shall be delivered very shortly out of your charge; only for others I speak who may be committed to this place. You must think, Mr. Lieutenant, that when a prisoner comes hither to the Tower that he bringeth sorrow with him. Oh, then do not add affliction to affliction; there is no man whatsoever that thinketh himself to stand surest but may fall. It is a very inhuman part to tread on him whom misfortune hath cast down. The man that is void of mercy God hath in great detestation. Your commission is only to keep in safety, not to kill with severity. Remember, good Mr. Lieutenant, that God who with his finger turneth the unstable wheel of this variable world, can in the revolution of a few days bring you to be a prisoner also, and to be kept in the same place where now you keep others. There is no calamity that men are subject unto but you may also taste as well as any other man. Farewell, Mr. Lieutenant; for the time of my short abode come to me whenever you please, and you shall be heartily welcome as my friend.' My dear lord, when he uttered these words, should seem to have had some kind of prophetic foresight touching this poor man's fate; for I have just heard this day, seven weeks only after my husband's death, that Sir Michael Blount hath fallen into great disgrace, lost his office, and is indeed committed close prisoner in that same Tower where he so long kept others.
"And now my faltering pen must needs transcribe the last letter I received from my beloved husband, for your heart, dear friend, is one with mine. You have known its sufferings through the many years evil influences robbed it of that love which, for brief intervals of happiness afterward and this long separation since, hath, by its steady and constant return, made so rich amends for the past. In these final words you shall find proofs of his excellent humility and notable affection for my unworthy self, which I doubt not, my dear instance, shall draw water from your eyes. Mine yield no moisture now. Methinks these last griefs have exhausted in them the fountain of tears.
"'Mine own good wife, I must now in this world take my last farewell of you; and as I know no person living whom I have so much offended as yourself, so do I account this opportunity of asking your forgiveness as a singular benefit of Almighty God. And I most humbly and heartily beseech you, even for his sake and of your charity, to forgive me all whereinsoever I have offended you; and the assurance I have of this your {788} forgiveness is my greatest contentment at this present, and will be a greater, I doubt not, when my soul is ready to depart out of my body. I call God to witness it is no small grief unto me that I cannot make you recompense in this world for the wrongs I have done you. Affliction gives understanding. God, who knows my heart, and has seen my true sorrow in that behalf, has, I hope, of his infinite mercy, remitted all, I doubt not, as you have done in your singular charity, to mine infinite comfort.
"Now what remaineth but in a few brief sentences to relate how this loved husband spent his last hours, and the manner of his death? Those were for the most part spent in prayer; sometimes saying his beads, sometimes such psalms and prayers as he knew by heart. Seeing his servants (one of which hath been the narrator to me of these his final moments) stand by his bedside in the morning weeping in a mournful manner, he asked them 'what o'clock it was? they answering that it was eight or thereabout, 'Why, then,' said he, 'I have almost run out my course, and come to the end of this miserable mortal life,' desiring them not to weep for him, since he did not doubt, by the grace of God, but all would go well with him; which being said he returned to his prayers upon his beads again, though then with a very slow, hollow, and fainting voice; and so continued as long as he was able to draw so much breath as was sufficient to sound out the names of Jesus and Mary, which were the last words he was ever heard to speak. The last minute of his last hour being come, lying on his back, his eyes firmly fixed toward heaven, his long, lean, consumed arms out of the bed, his hands upon his breast, laid in cross one upon the other, about twelve o'clock at noon, in a most sweet manner, without any sign of grief or groan, only turning his head a little aside as one falling into a pleasing sleep, he surrendered his soul into the hands of God who to his own glory had created it. And she who writeth this letter, she who loved him since her most early years--who when he was estranged from her waited his return--who gloried in his virtues, doated on his perfections, endured his afflictions, and now lamenteth his death, hath nothing left but to live a widow; indeed with no other glory than that which she doth borrow from his merits, until such time as it shall please God to take her from this earth to a world where he hath found, she doth humbly hope, rest unto his soul."
The Countess of Arundel is now aged. The virtues which have crowned her mature years are such, as her youth did foreshadow. My pen would run on too fast if it took up that theme. This only will I add, and so conclude this too long piece of writing--she hath kept her constant resolve to live and die a widow. I have seen many times letters from both Protestants and Catholics which made unfeigned protestations that they were never so edified by any as by her. As the Holy Scriptures do say of that noble widow Judith, "Not one spoke an ill word of her," albeit these times are extremely malicious. For mine own part I never read those words of Holy Writ, "Who shall find a valiant woman?" and what doth follow, but I must needs think of Ann Dacre, the wife of Philip Howard, earl of Arundel and Surrey.
----
After the lapse of some years, it hath been my hap to have a sight of this manuscript, the reading of which, even as the writing of it in former days, doth cause me to live over again my past life. This lapse of time hath added nothing notable except the dreadful death of Hubert, my dear Basil's only brother, who suffered last year for the share he had, or leastways was judged to have, in the Gunpowder Plot and treason. Alas! he which once, to improve his fortunes, denied his faith, when fortune turned her back {789} upon him grew into a virulent hatred of those in power, once his friends and tempters, and consorted with desperate men; whether he was privy to their counsels, or only familiar with them previous to their crimes, and so fell into suspicion of their guilt, God knoweth. It doth appear from some good reports that he died a true penitent. There is a better hope methinks for such as meet in this world with open shame and suffering than for secret sinners who go to their pompous graves unchastised and unabsolved.
By his brother's death Basil recovered his lands; for his present majesty hath some time since recalled the sentence of his banishment. And many of his friends have moved him to return to England; but for more reasons than one he refused so much as to think of it, and has compounded his estate for £700, 8s. 6d.
Our children have now grown unto ripe years. Muriel (who would have been a nun if she had followed her godmother's example) is now married, to her own liking and our no small contentment, to a very commendable young gentleman, the son of Mr. Yates, and hath gone to reside with him at his seat in Worcestershire; and Ann, Lady Arundel's god-daughter, nothing will serve but to be a "holy Mary," as the French people do style those dames which that great and good prelate, M. de Genève, hath assembled in a small hive at Annecy, like bees to gather honey of devotion in the garden of religion. This should seem a strange fancy, this order being so new in the Church, and the place so distant; but time will show if this should be God's will; and if so, then it must needs be ours also.
What liketh me most is that my son Roger doth prove the very image of his father, and the counterpart of him in his goodness. I am of opinion that nothing better can be desired for him than that he never lose so good a likeness.
And now farewell, pen and ink, mine old companions, for a brief moment resumed, but with a less steady hand than heretofore; now not to be again used except for such ordinary purposes as housewifery and friendship shall require.
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UNSHED TEARS.
Once I believed that tears alone Could tell of sorrow deep; O blessed those whose eyes overflow! Within my heart I weep.
And many think me calm, because My cheek unwet appears; The happy ones! they never know The pain of unshed tears.
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{790}
From The Dublin Review.
CALIFORNIA AND THE CHURCH.
1. The Resources of California. By JOHN S. HITTEL. San Francisco.
2. Christian Missions. By T.W.M. MARSHALL. Longmans.
The year 1769 will long be memorable in the annals of the world as the date of the birth of the Emperor Napoleon and of the Duke of Wellington. In the same year another event took place of small significance according to the thoughts of this world, but which in the next world was assuredly regarded of infinitely greater importance; for this was the year in which a poor despised Franciscan friar, the Father Junipero Serra, entered into California Alta, the first apostle of a land which has since, for such different reasons, become so famous.
He was an Italian by birth, but had resided for many years in Mexico, where he had preached the gospel with great success among the heathen Indian population. A man of singular faith and piety, he lived the severest life, considering, with his Father St. Francis, that poverty and suffering are keys wherewith the zealous missioner is certain to be able to unlock the floodgates of grace which divide heaven from earth. He used to carry a stone with him, with which, like St. Jerome, he would beat his breast for his sins, and he endeavored to bring home to the mind of his uncivilized hearers the malice of sin, by scourging his innocent body till streams of blood flowed forth in their presence, by severe fasts, long prayers, and night watchings. He seldom rode on mule or horseback, but preferred to journey humbly on foot. Shortly after his arrival in Mexico, his leg was attacked with a grievous sore; still he gave himself no rest, but was constant in journeying and preaching. While he was laboring like an apostle among the Mexicans, the Spanish monarch ordered D. Jose de Galvez (who became later minister-general for all the Indies) to form an expedition from La Paz into Upper California. [Footnote 145] Whatever may be said of the rapacious cruelty of many of the Spanish governors and colonizers in America, the government at home was animated, on the whole, with the most Catholic and loyal intentions. Its instructions and public documents were conceived in the most Christian sense; and if they were not always carried out in the same spirit, this arose from its inability to control subjects at an immense distance from the seat of government, and surrounded by exciting temptations and pressing dangers. The following words were addressed by one of the Spanish monarchs to the Indies: "The kings our progenitors, from the discovery of the West Indies, its islands and continents, commanded our captains, officers, discoverers, colonizers, and all other persons, that on arriving at these provinces they should, by means of interpreters, cause to be made known to the Indians that they were sent to teach them good customs, to lead them from vicious habits, and from the eating of human flesh, to instruct them in our holy Catholic faith, to preach to them salvation, and to attract them to our dominion." The same Catholic and religious spirit animates every part of the great codex {791} of Indian laws which were promulgated by successive kings in that most Catholic country.
[Footnote 145: As far back as 1697 the Jesuits had, with apostolic seal, founded many missions in Lower California; they never, however, had pushed up into California Alta.]
Though it often did happen that local governors were not ministers of this Catholic spirit, but rather of their own rapacity and cruelty, this was not always the case, and we have before us an instance. When Galvez set forth on his expedition to conquer California, the first article of the instructions which he drew up, for the guidance of all who were with him, ran in these terms: "The first object of the expedition is to establish the Catholic religion among a numerous heathen people, submerged in the obscure darkness of paganism, and to extend the dominion of our lord the king, and to protect this peninsula from the ambitious views of foreign nations." Nor were these mere words, written to salve a conscience or blind a critical public, as we shall now see: for he took Father Junipero, who was zealous for the salvation of souls, into his counsels; and the priest and the layman worked jointly together. Two small vessels, the San Carlos and San Antonio, were freighted to go by sea. Señor Galvez details with a charming simplicity how he assisted Father Junipero to pack the sacred vestments and other church furniture, and declared that he was a better sacristan than the father, for he had packed his share of the ornaments first, and had to go and help the father. Moreover, in order that the new missions might be established with the same success as those which had been already founded by F. Junipero in Sierra Gorda, Galvez ordered to be packed up and embarked all kinds of household and field utensils, iron implements for agricultural labor, all kinds of seeds from Old and New Spain, garden herbs for food, and flowers for the decoration of the altars. Then he sent on by land two hundred head of cattle to stock the country, so that there might be food to eat and beasts to labor on the land.
F. Junipero placed the whole enterprise under the patronage of the Most Holy Patriarch St. Joseph, to whom he dedicated the country. He blessed the vessels and sent on board of them three fathers, who should accompany Galvez and his men. Two other parties were formed by land, which were to meet the ships on the coast far up the country; and all started, except Father Junipero, who was delayed some time by the season of Lent and by his spiritual duties. When he overtook the convoy, his leg and foot were so inflamed that he was hardly able to get on or off his mule. The fathers and their companions wished to send him back; they thought he was not equal to the undertaking. But he had faith that our Lord would carry him through. He called a muleteer and said to him: "My son, don't you know some remedy for the sore on my foot and leg?" But the muleteer answered: "Father, what remedy can I know? Am I a surgeon? I am a muleteer, and have only cured the sore backs of beasts." "Then consider me a beast," said the father, "and this sore, which has produced the swelling on my legs and prevents me by its pain from standing or sleeping, to be a sore on a beast, and give me the treatment you would apply to a beast." The muleteer replied, smiling, "I will, father, to please you;" and taking a small piece of tallow, mashed it between two stones with some herbs, heated it over the fire, and then anointed the foot and leg, and left a plaster on the sore. The father slept that night, awoke in health and spirits, and astonished the whole party by rising early to say matins and lauds and then mass, and proceeded on the journey quite restored. After forty-six days' travelling by land, they reached the port of San Diego; and F. Junipero now established his first mission. He then went on to the place since called San Francisco, and established there another mission. They fell short of provisions and supplies, the {792} San Antonio, which had long been due, did not arrive, and Portalá, the governor of the expedition, determined to abandon the mission, if they were not relieved by the 20th of March; but on the feast of St. Joseph the ship hove into view, bringing an abundance of provisions, and the mission was then firmly established.
The usual way of erecting a mission was as follows: the locality was taken possession of in the name of Spain by the lay authority; a tent or an adobe building was erected as the temporary chapel; the fathers, in procession, proceeded to bless the place and the chapel, on whose front a crucifix, or a simple wooden cross, was raised; the holy sacrifice was then offered up, and a sermon was preached on the coming and power of the Holy Ghost. The Veni Creator was sung, and a father was charged with the direction and responsibility of the mission.
The Indians were attracted by little presents. To the men and women were given pieces of cloth, or food, and to the children bits of sugar. They would soon gather round the missioners when they found how good and kind they were, and the missioners were not slow in picking up the language. They became the fathers and instructors of the poor ignorant Indians, catechized them in the mysteries of the faith, collected them into villages round the mission church, and taught them to plough and cultivate the land, to sow wheat, to grind corn, to bake; they introduced the use of the olive, the vine, and the apple; they showed them how to yoke the oxen for work, how to weave and spin cloth for clothing, to prepare leather from the hides, and taught them the rudiments of commerce.
There was another feature in the mode followed by the Spaniards in preaching the gospel which is worthy of mention, and which shows how Spain recognized the independent action of the Church and her own duty to lend her every assistance and protection she might need. A presidio was established, in which the secular governor, with a small number of officers, soldiers, and officials, resided. These represented the majesty of the King of Spain, and served, in case of need, for protection and order. At some distance from the presidio and independent of it, was formed the mission, a large convent for the friars and for hospitality, and a church, built of "adobe," or mud walls, sometimes seven or eight feet in thickness. The land in the surrounding neighborhood was assigned to the missions for the support of the Indians. In fact, the whole economy and arrangements, both of presidios and missions, were made subservient to the wants of civilization and religion, which were introduced among the native population. This system remained in full force, consulting simply the benefit of the poor Indian, till the liberal Cortes, in 1813, overturned the design of the Spanish monarchs, and began to introduce the idea of colonization and usurpation. Up to this time the Church had had full action upon the people, and what she wrought in the span of forty years was little less than miraculous. The Indians felt that they had been lifted out of their state of abject misery and ignorance, and that the strangers who had come among them had come simply from disinterested charity, for their temporal and eternal welfare. They felt that life was made to them less a burthen, and that a way was opened out for them to endless happiness beyond the grave, De Courcy, in his "Catholic Church in the United States," assures us that the fathers converted, within the few years they had control of the Californian missions, no less than 75,000 Indians, for whom they also provided food, clothing, and instruction. The system of colonization brought in by the Spanish liberals in 1813 was an evil, but it was a mere prelude to the confiscation of the Indian property which was perpetrated by the liberal {793} Mexican government in 1833. It was pretended that the friars were unequal to the management of the missions, and the natives' property was therefore transferred to the hands of laymen. Mr. Marshall, in his interesting work on "Christian Missions," quotes the following statistics, comparing the two conditions:
Under the Under Administration the Civil of the Friars. Administration. Christian Indians 80,650 4,450 Horned Cattle 494,000 28,220 Horses and Mules 62,000 3,800 Sheep 321,500 31,600 Cereal crop 70,000 4,000
And then he sums up in these words:
"It appears, then, that in the brief space of eight years the secular administration, which affected to be a protest against the inefficiency of the ecclesiastical, had not only destroyed innumerable lives, replunged a whole province into barbarism, and almost annihilated religion and civilization, but had so utterly failed even in that special aim which it professed to have most at heart--the development of material prosperity--that it had already reduced the wealth of a single district in the following notable proportions: Of homed cattle there remained about one-fifteenth of the number possessed under the religious administration; of horses and mules less than one-sixteenth; of sheep about one-tenth; and of cultivated land producing cereal crops less than one-seventeenth. It is not to the Christian, who will mourn rather over the moral ruin which accompanied the change, that such facts chiefly appeal; but the merchant and the civil magistrate, however indifferent to the interests of religion and morality, will keenly appreciate the cruel and blundering policy of which these are the admitted results, and will perhaps be inclined to explain with Mr. Möllhausen, 'It is impossible not to wish that the missions were flourishing once more!'"
How beautiful was the old Spanish system under which Father Junipero and his companions set forth to reclaim and convert the wandering Indian! Is it not the greatest glory of Spain that she can still cheer our dark horizon by the light of her past history, and shed a fragrance which remains for ever over lands which have been broken down by the hoof of the invader, and desolated by his diabolical pride and insatiable rapacity? What was the Spanish system as exhibited in California? It was simply this: a recognition, without question or jealousy, that our Lord, the great high priest, continues in his priesthood to be the shepherd, teacher, and minister of his people. "To go and teach all nations," "to minister to the least of the little ones," to be the "shepherd of the flock," "to lay down life for the flock." This is distinctly the operation of Christ through his priests. That this was the real character of the Christian priesthood was a clear and elementary principle, which admitted of no doubt in the mind of the Spanish people.
Conscious of their power, and with a light burning within them which shone over the vast prospects that lay before them, of extending the faith and saving innumerable souls, for whom the most precious blood had been shed, the Spanish missioners went forth to extend their conquests over the heathen world. Rapine and plunder were not their aim; they were introduced among colonizers by the snare of the devil. To maintain the Indian on his territory, to raise, instruct, and Christianize him, giving him rights and equality before the law, this was the policy of Catholic Spain. The priest, therefore, was regarded as the chief pioneer, his plans were recognized and acted upon, and he was considered to be not a mere creature of the crown, who should extend its influence, but a minister and agent of his majesty the Great King of Heaven, who had deigned in his infinite love to look upon Spain with a peculiar predilection, and to choose her as an {794} instrument to save the souls for whom he once had died.
A hundred years ago no European had ever fixed his abode in California Alta. Father Junipero and his devoted companions, led on by zeal "to establish the Catholic religion among a numerous heathen people, submerged in the obscure darkness of paganism," were, then, the real pioneers of California. Three Protestant writers, quoted by Mr. Marshall, shall sum up for us in a few words the civilizing effects of the Catholic education of the Indians in California. Captain Morrell says:
"The Indians are very industrious in their labors, and obedient to their teachers and directors, to whom they look up as fathers and protectors, and who, in return, discharge their duty toward these poor Indians with a great deal of feeling and humanity. They are generally well clothed and led, have houses of their own, and are made as comfortable as they can wish to be. The greatest care is taken of any who are affected with any disease, and every attention is paid to their wants." And Mr. Forbes writes:
"The best and most unequivocal proof of the good conduct of the Franciscan fathers is to be found in the unbounded affection and devotion invariably shown to them by their Indian subjects. They venerate them not merely as fathers and friends, but with a degree of devotedness approaching to adoration." And, lastly, Mr. Bartlett observes:
"They (the Indians) are represented to have been sober and industrious, well clothed and fed. . . . . . They constituted a large family, of which the padres were the social, religious, and, we might almost say, political heads."
Such was the first planting in this vineyard of the Lord. Let us briefly note the blight and destruction which followed. In 1827, a Mr. Smith established himself in California to make money. In 1834, three hundred Americans settled in the country for the same purpose. In 1839, Captain Sutter built a fort and an American refuge. In 1841, he got possession of a considerable tract of land. In 1844, a revolution took place, and the American settlers sold themselves for a grant of land to the party which was afterward defeated.
In 1845, the people, being harassed by civil war, wished for the protection of some strong external government. It was a chance whether California was to become English or United States territory. H.M.S. Collingwood entered the port, we believe, of Monterey, and was asked to set up the Union Jack, and declare the country to be under British protection. The captain replied that he would sail up the coast and ascertain whether this was the will of the country, and if it were, he would return and declare the protectorate. Meanwhile, the United States ship Savannah, under Commodore Stoat, was on the watch; so that when the Collingwood returned, having ascertained the good will of the other ports, she found, to her surprise and dismay, that she had been outstripped by the Yankee, and that the stars and stripes were floating over the town. California from that time became the property of the United States. In 1848 gold was accidentally discovered, and an emigration set in with the violence of a spring tide, of a very different character to that of the pious Señor Galvez or of the humble Father Junipero and his Franciscans.
Then, indeed, the world began to ring with glad tidings of great joy: the sun had at last arisen on a benighted land--its redemption was at hand. Every newspaper in Europe--we may say in the world--teemed with reports of a new El Dorado discovered on the western coast of America. This country was California. Adventurous spirits, athirst for wealth, from all parts of the world, were set in motion toward this land of promise. Ships were chartered and {795} freighted with men and youths ready to spend all they had in order only to reach the golden bourne. Merchants from the United States and from Europe, ready speculators, sent out their vessels laden to the water's edge with dry goods, hardware, corn, spirits, and general merchandise. The excitement and the recklessness were, perhaps, without a parallel. Ships reached the great and beautiful bay of San Francisco, in which all the fleets of the world could ride at ease, and were often abandoned by their captain and crews, who scampered off to the gold diggings, even before their cargo was discharged. Sometimes they fell to pieces in the bay; sometimes they became the property of adventurers, or were run aground, and served as temporary houses, and then as the corners and foundations of streets, which energetic speculators soon carried down upon piles into the water. There they stand to this day, monuments of the auri sacra fames.
It was, indeed, natural that none but the fiercest and most daring elements should prevail. The modest, the timid, the indolent, the sickly, the child, the woman, the aged, the leisure-learned, the owner of property, of good position, of fair prospects, the man of routine, the unambitious, were all left behind. It was said, and said truly, in the cities of Europe, America, and Australia, that men of desperate character were on the road to California; that all went armed with knives and revolvers; that the way thither was a highway of rapine and crime; and that none should start who were not prepared to fight it out any day in self-defence or in attack. There were a thousand difficulties arising from the immense length of the journey, and from the great numbers on the way; and a thousand other difficulties to be accepted on arrival in the country--expense, danger, uncertainty, perhaps sickness; and all these far away from home. Such were the prospects in those days, and such the normal condition of life in California.
It is not strange, then, that the men who formed the horde which, fifteen or sixteen years ago, began to flow into California, should represent to us a type of all that is rough, adventurous, devil-may-care, elastic, light-hearted, and determined in human nature. The Australian population began with convicts and honest emigrants. The Californian population began with all kinds of unconvicted criminals from all parts of the world, with "Sydney ducks," as they called the ticket-of-leave men from New South Wales or Tasmania; but, beside these, a considerable number of energetic, honest emigrants, chiefly from Europe and the States. Then, we may add that the Yankee element prevails in the Californian population, and the John Bull element in the Australian. The American is lean, and all nerve and impatient energy; health and life are to him of no moment when he sees an object to be attained by the risk of them. If we may be allowed to put it grotesquely, his body is human but his soul is a high-pressure steam-engine; he knows no delay and is reckless, and his bye-word is "Go ahead." The Englishman, by contrast, is fat and easy-going; much more cautious of health and life, he calculates on both. F. Strickland ("Catholic Missions in Southern India") happily applies to him the words of Holy Writ spoken of the Romans, "Possederant omnem terram consilio suo et patientia." "It is by wisdom in council, and by patiently watching their opportunity; . . . . wisdom which has often degenerated into Machiavellism, but has never neglected a single opportunity of aggrandizement; patience which has known how to 'bide its time,' and to avoid precipitation"--this is how the Englishman succeeds. And so, to look at the Englishman in a Pickwickian sense, he is a matter-of-fact, cautious gentleman, who wishes to make very sure of what he has got, {796} and when he feels comfortably confident, says "All right," and moves on deliberately to acquire more. An English traveller says:
"The first night we arrived in San Francisco we were kept awake all night on board the steamer by the incessant cry of 'Go ahead,' which accompanied the launch from the crane which sent each article of luggage and goods on to the wharf. It reminded us of a story his late eminence Cardinal Wiseman used to tell. He said the first Italian words he heard on first landing, some forty years ago or more, in Italy from England, were, 'Pazienza, pazienza.' The Englishman sums up all things that happen with the words 'All right;* the Yankee with the words, 'Go ahead.'"
Many merchants realized enormous fortunes in a few months--some even by one consignment; but many were hit hard and many were ruined. A period in which an egg was worth a dollar was followed by a glut in the market of all kinds of goods and provisions. There was nobody to receive them; there was no sale for them. Warehousage cost more than the total value of goods and freight. Tons of sea-bread were abandoned; barrels of hams and bacon, cargoes of cheeses, dry goods, and even wine and spirits, were left unclaimed, and fell into the hands of "smart" men of business, or were spoiled by weather and neglect. Ships, captains, crews, and cargoes bound to California sailed as into a vortex, and were lost in the whirlpool of excitement. Even officers of men-of-war were seized by the gold mania, and "ran" to soil their white hands in the precious "pay-dirt."
Such circumstances as these which occurred in 1849-50-51 are now past and can never recur, at least in California. The country is settling down into a normal condition. The regular system of American states government is permanently established. On two occasions, once in 1851 and again in 1856, when the government of San Francisco fell into the hands of a set of low sharpers, who suspended the laws for punishment of crime and protected criminals, the people, trained from childhood to self-government, extemporized what was called a vigilance committee. They abrogated for the time the state laws, they caught thieves, tried them in the night, and hung them in the morning. They struck terror into the "Sydney ducks," and into the plunderers who had come down upon San Francisco, like vultures upon their prey, from all countries of the world. When the committee had effected its object it peaceably dissolved, and the regular form of government resumed its sway. California, however, still presents a spectacle unlike that of any other country of the world. Sydney, Melbourne, and Queensland have not the diversity of population which California has. They are more like "home;" a stronger government is exercised; there is more security, less excitement, less incident, and less variety in life. The traveller meets every day in the diggings and elsewhere men who had come over from Australia, thinking to better themselves; they have not done so, and they all complain that they have not found the same order and security for man and property; and most of them determine to return in the coming season.
For internal resources, in scenery and climate, and in variety of production, California is probably superior to the Australian colonies. There is a continual excitement, and all the business of the country is done in San Francisco; it is the only port of any note; the trade with California from the States, from South America, from Europe, Asia, and Australia, is to San Francisco. She is called the "Queen of the Pacific," and it is expected that she will become one of the largest cities of the world, and that the whole trade between China, Japan, and Europe and the States will pass through her. She will be one of the great ports, and the most magnificent harbor on the {797} high-road which, when the railroad across the plains is completed, will connect together in one line Pekin, Canton, Japan, San Francisco, New York, London, and St. Petersburg; thus girdling in a great highway the northern hemisphere of the world. The market in San Francisco is just large and manageable enough to produce the greatest amount of excitement for the merchants. Exports and imports are reckoned at about eleven million pounds each; of the exports about eight millions are of gold and silver. The highest game is played, and the English houses, always safe and sure, are looked upon as slow and plodding in comparison with the American. The stakes are, day by day, fortune or ruin. The interest on loans varies from one to ten per cent a month, according to the security. There are great losses and great gains. San Francisco is in a chronic state of exciting business fermentation; there is little amusement, no learned leisure, but everybody is occupied in trade or speculation. The people are well dressed--all the men wear broadcloth, nearly all the women silk; there are no beggars in the streets, and there is an air of healthiness, vigor, and buoyancy of life such as is not to be seen in any other city in Europe or America. No market in the world, save, perhaps, that of London, is better supplied. Railroads run along the streets in all directions. Churches, schools, hotels, and houses are lifted up from their foundations by hydraulic power; and if the owners wish to add a story, instead of clapping it on above, they build it in below, and roof, walls, and floors all go up together uninjured.
The traveller is astonished to see a procession of solid-built houses slowly marching through the centre of one of the principal thoroughfares. In eight-and-forty hours an hotel, brick-built and three stories high, will be carried, without interruption to business, from one part of the city to another. The country is full of interesting incident and novel excitement. It contains all the precious metals, gold, silver, platinum, copper, iron, coal, asphaltum, spring and mineral oil, borax, arsenic, cobalt. The largest crops in the world have been grown on its soil. We quote the published accounts: Crops of 80 bushels of wheat to the acre have been grown in California. Mr. Hill harvested 82-1/2 bushels from an acre in Pajaro valley in 1853, and obtained 660 bushels from ten acres. In 1851, Mr. P. M. Scooffy harvested 88 bushels, and Mr. N. Carriger 80 bushels, in Sonoma valley. Again: In 1853 a field of 100 acres in the valley of the Pajaro produced 90,000 bushels of barley, and one acre of it yielded 149 bushels. It was grown by Mr. J. B. Hill, and was mentioned as undoubtedly true by the assessor of Monterey county in his official report; and a prize was granted by an agricultural society for the crop. According to the assessor's report, the average crop of potatoes in Sacramento county in 1860 was 390 bushels per acre. Potatoes have been seen in the market weighing 7 lb. The largest beet-root was 5 ft. long, 1 ft. thick, and 118 lb. in weight--it was three years old; cabbages 45 lb. and 53 lb. each; and a squash vine bore at a time 1,600 lb. of fruit. Then the largest trees in the world are found in California, in mammoth-tree groves. Two are known to be 32 ft in diameter, 325 ft high. "One of the trees which is down must have been 450 ft. high, and 40 ft. in diameter." The tree of which the bark was stripped for 116 ft., and sent to the Crystal Palace, continued green and flourishing two years and a half after being thus denuded. The highest waterfall in the world is in the Yosemite valley, in California. It is 2,063 ft. high, according to the official surveyor. The Californian Geysers are among the wonders of the world--a multitude of boiling springs, emitting large quantities of steam with a hissing, roaring, spluttering noise; while near them, within a {798} few feet, are deliciously cold springs. There are mud volcanoes, which can be heard ten miles off, and seen at a still greater distance. A great variety of wild beasts and birds--bears, panthers, wolves, deer, elk, the Californian vulture (next to the condor the largest bird that flies), make up other sources of interest, speculation, and excitement and contribute to give to Californians a certain peculiar character and sympathy one with another, which unite them together as hail-fellows-well-met in any part of the world in which they may chance to meet. There is travelling up the rivers in steamboats three and four stories high, which not unfrequently blow up or run into each other. A considerable portion of the country can be traversed in wagons called "stages," whose springs are so very strong that ocular demonstration is necessary as a proof of their existence. They cross plains and mountains, penetrate forests, and skirt precipices, along the most difficult roads. Wooden bridges thrown across ravines or deep gullies or streams, and formed by laying down a number, of scantling poles, and covering them with loose planks, are taken by the four-horse "stage" at a gallop, just as you ride at a ditch or rasper out hunting; patter, patter, go the horses' feet, up and down go the loose planks--one's heart in one's mouth--no horses have slipped through--no broken legs--it seems a miracle--and away onward goes the stage, conducted by dauntless and skilful drivers, to the everlasting cry of "go ahead!" But much of the country must be travelled on horseback, and California has an admirable breed of thin, wiry little horses, which will gallop with their rider over a hundred miles a day, requiring little care and hardly any food. Much of the country is still unexplored. There are mountains covered with perpetual snow, and immense virgin pine forests covering their sides; long rolling plains, baked by the sun; and rich luxuriant valleys, watered by the richest fish-streams. In extent the country is 189,000 square miles, or nearly four times larger than England, and possesses within itself all the resources of the temperate and tropical zones. There are 40,000,000 acres of arable land in the state, though not more than 1,000,000 are now in cultivation.
"The climate near the ocean is the most equable in the world. At San Francisco there is a difference of only seven degrees between the mean temperature of winter and summer--the average of the latter being 57° and of the former 50° Fahrenheit. Ice and snow are never seen in winter, and in summer the weather is so cool that woolen clothing may be worn every day. There are not more than a dozen days in the year too warm for comfort at mid-day, and the oldest inhabitant cannot remember a night when blankets were not necessary for comfortable sleep. The climate is just of that character most favorable to the constant mental and physical activity of men, and to the unvarying health and continuous growth of animals and plants. By travelling a few hundred miles the Californian may find any temperature he may desire--great warmth in winter and icy coldness in summer."
It may be understood, then, from all these circumstances, that the blood of a Californian tingles with an excitement of its own. Indeed, it is constantly observed that men who leave California with their fortunes made, and with the intention of establishing themselves in the Eastern states, or in Europe, are unable to settle down, and soon return to the Golden State.
Let us now proceed with the subject before us, and draw out briefly two contrasts: one between the Spanish or Catholic and the Anglo-Saxon or non-Catholic conduct and policy toward the original lords of the soil, the Indians; the other as between the names they gave to the localities which were the scenes of their respective labors. It will indicate a difference of {799} tone and spirit sufficiently remarkable.
Of course all Californians are not to be held responsible for the acts of a low and heartless section of ruffians, any more than all Englishmen are accountable for the atrocities which we have perpetrated in times past in India or Oceanica. But as we would not pass over the crimes committed by the Anglo-Saxon race in India were India our topic, so neither will we be silent here on deeds of equal atrocity with any of which we were guilty, committed in these latter days by some of the new occupiers of California.
The love of souls and the love of wealth do not, indeed, grow in the same heart. We have already faintly sketched the result of the Church's love of souls on the temporal and spiritual well-being of the indigenous population of California. Under her gentle care was realized for its inhabitants the happiness, peace, and plenty of Paraguay. The Anglo-Saxon and the thirst for gold ushered in, alas! on these poor creatures--made in the divine image, and called equally with ourselves to an eternal share in the love of the Sacred Heart--not a miserable existence, but absolute destruction. The love of mammon has been the murderer of the native owners of the soil. The iron heart and the iron arm of the Anglo-Saxon invaders have cleared all before them. In 1862, Mr. Hittel, who is not a Catholic, and whom we hold to be an impartial witness, made a study of the subject, and he thus speaks of the destruction of the Indian population of California, page 288:
"The Indians are a miserable race, destined to speedy destruction. Fifteen years ago, they numbered 50,000 or more: now there may be 7,000 of them. They were driven from their hunting-grounds and fishing-grounds by the whites, and they stole cattle for food (rather than starve); and to punish and prevent their stealing, the whites made war on them and slew them. Such has been the origin of most of the Indian wars, which have raged in various parts of the state almost continuously during the last twelve years. For every white man that has been killed, fifty Indians have fallen. In 1848 nearly every little valley had its tribe, and there were dozens of tribes in the Sacramento basin, but now most of these tribes are entirely destroyed."
We have been ourselves assured by eye-witnesses that such an incident as the following has frequently happened in the gold diggings. A man would be quietly cleaning his gun or rifle on a Sunday morning, when he would espy an Indian in the distance, and, without the least hesitation, would fire at him as a mark. The Indians were fair game, just as bear or elk were, and men would shoot them by way of pastime, not caring whether the mark was a "buck" or a "squaw," as they call them--that is, a man or a woman. Murder became thus a relaxation. And we must add, that not only American citizens, but also men who pride themselves on the greater civilization and virtue of their country nearer home, thus imbrued their bands with reprobate levity in the blood of their fellow-creatures. We should be very sorry to imply that these horrible deeds are perpetrated only by inhabitants of the United States. On the contrary, it is certain that men who from circumstances lapse into a state of semi-savage life, without public opinion to check them, living in the wilderness and the bush, and without religion, naturally become so enslaved to their passions that at last they commit the foulest abominations and the most horrible murders as though they were mere pastimes. We have read abundant examples of this in India and other British colonies. The American government passed many wise and humane laws in favor of the Indian. It was not her fault that pioneers, squatters, buccaneers, and outlaws, at a distance, laughed at her laws and set them at defiance.
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The other contrast is quickly drawn. It shall be the contrast of names. We do not wish to found any strong argument upon it. Names are not actions, and yet to call a man hard names is the next thing to giving him hard blows; and we know that "out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." Let the two lists go down in parallel columns, and illustrate the old times and the new:
Spanish baptisms of localities or settlements.
San Francisco Sacramento La Purisima Concepcion Trinidad Jesus Maria Santa Cruz Nuestra Señora di Solidad. Los Angeles, Reina de. San Jose San Pedro San Miguel San Rafael Santa Clara Santa Barbara San Luis Obispo San Paolo Buena Vista Mariposa San Fernando Alcatraz Contra Costa San Mateo Plumas
Yankee baptisms of localities or settlements
Jackass Gulch Jim Crow Cañon Loafer Gill Whiskey diggings Slap Jack Bar Yankee Doodle Skunk Gulch Chicken Thief Flat Ground Hog's Glory Hell's Delight Devil's Wood Sweet Revenge Shirt-tail Cañon Rough and Ready Rag Town Git up and Git Bob Ridley Flat Humpback Slide Swell-head Diggings Bloody Run Murderers' bar Rat trap Slide Hang town
We may now dismiss these contrasts, which we have only insisted on in order to bring into greater relief the spirit of God and the spirit of mammon. The Spaniard went with the tenderest devotedness to serve and save the Indian, recognizing him from the first as a brother. The Yankee came, straining every nerve and energy in the pursuit of wealth; the Indian was in his way; he recognized no spiritual ties of brotherhood; his soul presented to him no divine image deserving of his love and service; rather it was said, let him be trodden into the mire, or perish from the face of the land. The former cast over their humble settlements, on the coast and inland, the sacred association of the names of mysteries and holy saints, so that men for all generations might be reminded that they are of the race of the people of God; whereas the latter have named many of the places where they have dug for gold with the names of their hideous crimes, and with terms compared to which the nomenclature of savage and uncivilized tribes is Christian and refined.
This sketch of the principal features of the two occupations of California, as they have borne upon the native population, may be sufficient for our present purpose. We shall presently dwell upon the better qualities in the American character--the natural foundations upon which religion has to be built. Our object is not to write a political or commercial essay; all we attempt is to note the action of the Church at the present day upon the heterogeneous elements which compose the population of California, and to record as briefly as may be the several influences observable as making up that action.
It has long been a favorite theme with the anti-Catholic philosophers of the day to descant upon the feebleness of the Catholic Church. They judge her as a purely human institution, good in her day; but her day is gone. She was a good nurse, who held the leading-strings which mankind needed in early childhood. But we have grown to the ripeness of perfection; and the good nurse has grown old and past work: she may be allowed therefore to potter about the world, as an old servant round her master's hall and grounds, till she dies and is buried away. We may render some little service if we point to one more instance of her present vigor and vitality in our own day; if we can show that she is stamping her impress upon the lettered horde that has overrun the western shore, as she did formerly upon the unlettered hordes that possessed themselves of the plains of Italy or of the wolds of England. We believe that she is by degrees assimilating into herself the strange mass of the Californian population; she is standing out in the midst of them as the only representative of religions unity, order, and revelation. She is executing her commission in California to-day as faithfully as she did when Peter entered Rome, or {801} Augustine Kent, or Xavier Asia, or Solano the wilds of South America.
The work of grace, through the Church of Christ, is gaining sensibly and irresistibly upon the population of California. We are far from foreseeing a day when all its inhabitants will be of one faith and one mind, or from saying that the number of conversions to the faith is prodigious and unheard-of. But we affirm that the Catholic Church, with a far greater rapidity than in England, is daily attaining a higher place in the estimation of the people, is becoming more and more the acknowledged representative of Christianity, and is actually gaining in numbers, piety, and authority. The sects there, as elsewhere in America, are ceasing by degrees to exercise any religious or spiritual influence upon the people; they act as political and social agents, and hold together as organizations by the force of local circumstances, which are wholly independent of religion. As forms of religion, the people see through them, and have no confidence in them; the consequence is, that an immense proportion are without any religion at all, and many join the Catholic Church. It was the policy of imperial Rome to open her gates to every form of heathenism: every god was tolerated, every god was accepted, no matter how incongruous or contradictory its presence by the side of others. The empire was intent upon one thing, self-aggrandizement; and for religion it did not care. Thoughtful men smiled or sneered at those mythologies and divinities, and their forms of worship; and the people became cold and indifferent to them. They were dying of this contempt, when behold the newly imported presence of the Fisherman into their midst, with his Catechism of Christian Doctrine, inspired one and all with a new life and energy; the gods began to speak, and the people began to hear them. It was not that a new faith had been awakened in their old idolatry; but a new hostility and hatred had been aroused against the majesty of consistent truth, which stood before them humble, yet confounding them. They began to believe themselves to be devout pagans, and to prove the sincerity of their convictions by endeavoring to smite down the divine figure of the Catholic Church, which claimed a universal homage and a universal power. Events strangely repeat themselves in the world. That which occurred among the sects of ancient Rome is now taking place among the sects of America. Men smile at their pretensions; their convictions are not moulded by them, and they will not submit to their discipline or bow to their authority. But the sects object to death, and they think to prolong the term of their existence not by a life of faith, but by a life of sustained enmity against the religion which is slowly gaining upon them, and supplanting them in the mind and affection of the people.
There are many who believe that the day is not far distant when the Catholics of America will have to brace themselves up to go through the fire, for American religious persecution would be like an American civil war, determined and terrible. It would carry us beyond the limits of our scope to attempt to trace the steps by which persecution is approaching. This spirit has ever existed in the New England states. Know-nothingism was a political and social form of it which failed for a time; and the knowledge of the immense progress made by the Church amidst the din of war, in the camp and in the hospital, in North and South, among officers and men, has quickened this movement. The government is not to blame for this. We believe the American government, in point of religion, to be perfectly colorless. It is noteworthy that nowhere in the world has religion made more rapid progress in this century than in the United States.
We cannot doubt that the Church is repairing in America the losses she {802} has suffered in Europe through the pride, abuse of grace, and apostacy of many of her children.
In California the Church has no easy task before her. It is no longer the simple and rude Vandal, Dane, or Lombard she has to lead into her fold, but a population composed of men of keen wits, of the most varied, world-wide experiences, and drawn from countries in which they have been more or less within the reach of Catholic teaching. These are the men whom she has now to reduce into the obedience of faith.
We are not of those who imagine that Almighty God has lavished all the treasures of natural virtues upon one nation, and has withheld them proportionately from others. In intellectual gifts men differ much less one from another than is often supposed, as with their physical strength and stature the difference, on the whole, is not very large. And so their moral natural gifts, if considered in their full circle, will be found before the tribunal of an impartial judge to be on the whole pretty evenly distributed among the nations. One nation has faith and trust, another understanding and subtlety, another mercy and compassion, another truthfulness and fidelity, another tenderness and love, another humility and docility, another courage and energy, another determination and patience, another purity, another reverence. These natural virtues may be elevated into supernatural, and then that nation is really the greatest which has made best use of the grace of God. The bounteous hand of God has enriched every part of the canopy of heaven with stars and planets, differing infinitely in light, color, distance, size, and combination, and he leaves no portion in absolute poverty or darkness; and the "distilling lips" and "shining countenance" have scattered in every direction over his immortal creation precious gifts of natural virtues, set like gems in the souls of men the moment his fingers first fashioned them. It will, no doubt, often require the study and patient love of an apostle's heart to discover them, so defiled and obscured have they become; but they are ever there, though dormant, and when once they become subject to the touch of divine grace, it is surprising what inclination and facility toward their eternal Father break forth and become apparent.
Now, in speaking of the sufferings of the Church in California, we have been marking some of the worst features of the Anglo-Saxon invasion. But in viewing, as we are about to do, the future prospects of the Church, we must, at the outset, point toward some of those better qualities and characteristics, upon which, under God, the Church has to build her hopes.
If once turned to God from materialism and mammon-worship, we are persuaded that the American would rank among the foremost Catholics of the world; not shining, perhaps, in the extraordinary gifts of faith, and in the offices of the contemplative life, like the children of Italy and Spain, but fruitful and overflowing in good works and in pushing forward every active operation of charity.
Of the Californians it may be said that they are bold and independent adventurers, and that they admire these qualities in others. They are quick and devoted in their own business, and appreciate devotedness in the business (the Chinese call it "sky business") of priests and nuns. They are practical and determined, and failure after failure does not discourage them. Health and life have no value when any temporal end is to be gained. And, therefore, they are struck by the Catholic Church, her bishops and missionaries, steadily pursuing her supernatural end, in spite, of the allurements, distractions, and threats of the world; preaching always and at all times the same doctrines of faith and charity; ready day and night to obey the call of her poorest member, in the camp and the battle-field, in the penury and hardship of' emigration, in {803} pestilence and fever-wards, in no matter what clime or among what people; always alike joyful to save the soul of the negro, the red man, or the white man; esteeming suffering, illness, contempt, poverty, and persecution, when endured for God or for his souls, as so many jewels in her crown, and holding life itself cheap and contemptible in comparison with the one end she has in view.
The Californians are a singularly inquisitive and intelligent race. Everybody is able to read and write; and even the common laborer has his morning newspaper brought every day of his life to his cottage door. The state prison of St. Quintin shows some curious statistical of the proportion of native Americans and foreigners who are able to read and write. The comparison, as will be seen, is in favor of the United States: January 1, 1862, there were 257 prisoners, natives of the United States; of these only 29 were unable to read or write. And there were 333 of foreign birth; of these 141 were unable to read or write. The spirit of free inquiry and private judgment, which brought about the apostacy of the sixteenth century, is carried by Californians to its legitimate conclusions. They are not stopped half-way as Anglicans are by love or reverence for what may appear to be a venerable, time-honored establishment, full of nationality and wealth, and hoary with respectability. They wish to learn the reason why of everything, and they are little inclined to take anything upon a mere _ipse dixit._They love knowledge, and desire to obtain it easily, so they are great frequenters of lectures and sermons; and will go anywhere to hear them when they believe them to be good. This gives the Catholic priest a strong and solid advantage over every other minister. He is able to give an account of his faith, to show the reasonableness of submission, to prove that faith rests upon an infallible basis, that religion is not a caprice of reason, not a mere expedient, not a police, which was useful in ignorant days, and may be still useful for superstitious minds and a leading-string for children and the weak. Show the American that the submission of his intellect to the divine intellect of the Church of God is not its destruction, but its perfection, and elevation, and his intellectual pride will yield as quickly as any man's. Explain to them the doctrine of the Holy Ghost and his indwelling life in the Church and in the individual, and they will be ready to call out, "Give us also the Holy Ghost." There are some natures so confiding and so simple that it is enough to address them as the centurion did his soldiers, or to tell them what to believe, and they believe at once. It is a blessed thing to have the grace of little children to believe from the first; but there are some who have placed themselves out of the pale of this great grace, or have been born outside it, on account of the sins of their parents, and the mould they have been formed in. This is the case with the Anglo-Saxon race, and pre-eminently so with the American. And the Church accommodates herself to the peculiarities of the human mind, with infinite charity and condescension, seeking the surest avenue to the conversion of the soul to God, in faith, hope, and charity. She is ready to meet the American on his own ground, and to give the clearest and most convincing of explanations. Again, the Americans are what has been called "viewy," and with all their practical power and love for the positive, they prefer to have the truth presented to them as in a landscape, in which the imagination is able to throw the reason into relief on the foreground. Compare the instructions and sermons of Peach, Gother, Fletcher, and Challoner, excellent and solid though they be, where the imagination has no play, with those of Cardinal Wiseman, Archbishop Manning, Dr. Newman, and our meaning is at once illustrated.
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A priest who should draw his sermons out of Suarez or Petavius, rather than from Perrone or Bouvier, or some hand-book of controversy--his homilies on the gospel from, e.g., Dionysius the Carthusian, illustrating them from such works as "Burder's Oriental Customs," "Harmer's Observations," etc., rather than heap up platitudes and common generalities, or should even take our common little catechism and develop its doctrine and popularize it by abundant illustrations from Scripture, history, from the arts, science, commerce, government--familiar themes to the American mind--would be certain to attract around his pulpit large audiences of anxious souls, and, by God's blessing, to win them to Catholic truth with astonishing facility.
The Americans are keenly alive to coarse or rough manners in a priest. They will not suffer masterful or domineering language from him in the pulpit or in private. Above all, they consider the "brogue" to be a capital sin--talem devita. This is a little inconsistent in men who are not themselves remarkable either for the suaviter in modo or for a reticence of provincialisms and cant words and phrases. But still we consider, unhesitatingly, that the brogue is more prejudicial to a clergyman's influence upon Americans than upon Englishmen; and also that a priest, through refinement of mind and manners, can effect more in America than in England. Whether the reason for this fact is that the latter qualities are rarer in the States than here, or that having no hereditary titles, Americans attach greater value to adornments of mind and manners, we may not pause to consider.
Again, they have been for the greater part cut off from the traditions of home and family. The parish clergyman or district minister under whom they once sat, the bitter zeal of old ladies who consider Catholicity to be a species of sorcery, priests to be all Jesuits, Jesuits to be one with the devil in cunning and malice, and who know how to insert a sting into the life of the friend who withdraws from their opinions; the quiet humdrum of life in the States or in Europe, so favorable to the status in quo--all these anti-Catholic influences are far away, and there is little substitute for them in California, where there is a singular absence of public opinion and of social despotism.
On the other hand it may be said that they have come into the presence of the life of Catholicity in ways which impress them by the novelty of their situation. In the first place, their belief in the possibility of living for an invisible and supernatural end is quickened by their experience of the country they have come to. They came to seek for fortune, and they thought they were the first, but they found that the Catholic Church had been there long before them, perfectly satisfied without the gold and silver which has drawn them, in the accomplishment of her mission of peace and salvation. For long years Catholic missioners had abandoned home and civilization in order to reside on the rolling plains, or valleys, or sea-coast, with the untutored and debased Indian, with no other recompense than one they looked for hereafter. They had not become savages and wild men as men often do, conforming to the Indian, who lived upon grasshoppers, and worms, and insects, or roots and grasses or fruits, or at best on the produce of the chase. But by the constraining power of love, and with a divine message, they had drawn the wild Indians around them, taught them various arts and trades, the growth of the olive, of the vine, and of corn, how to spin and weave, the first elements of peace and commerce. They had instructed them in the Christian faith and helped them on the way to heaven. The old remains of their work are scattered over the country in some five-and-twenty principal mission establishments. The great "adobe" walls of their churches, varying from four to eight feet thick, {805} the rude sculpture, the gaudy frescoes, the paintings and carvings brought all the way from Spain and Mexico, the little square belfry standing alone, the cemetery, and the avenue of trees planted by the friars along the roads which lead up to the mission; the orchards still fruitful, where the swine besport themselves and the coney burrows, as at Santa Clara; the mournful olive-trees of the mission, which, in spite of age, yield the best oil in the country; the crosses, memorials of piety and faith, set up here and there, and the Christian traditions still left among a few survivors of the old inhabitants, often speak solemnly and instructively to the heart of the pioneer who has come in hot haste to seek a fortune. How can he help at times being touched, when he is with his own thoughts in solitude, perhaps in sadness and disappointment, in the presence of these old remnants which tell of pioneers who came with another and holier end in view than that in which he sees himself foiled and mistaken? We will venture to say that these ancient memorials of the faith and devotedness of the Catholic missionaries are as sweet, and as dear, and as impressive to many a Californian, as the gorgeous old piles of Catholic piety in England are to the dense and civilized Protestant population which lives around them and profits by their revenues.
Among the first pioneers of California, before the discovery of gold, in search of an agricultural district and of a genial climate, came a hardy band of earnest Irishmen. They were in a high sense pioneers, for they were the first caravan that found a way across the plains and Rocky Mountains from the Eastern states. They passed many long months on the road, and were exposed to every imaginable hardship and difficulty. They had to clear the forest as they went, to make a passage for their wagons. Sometimes they would spend a week breaking a road through great rocks and enormous boulders, which obstructed a river-bed or a mountain-pass; their wagons often came to pieces through hardship and exposure; they cut down trees to mend them, and had to extemporize wheels and harness as they journeyed slowly on. They had placed all their trust and confidence in God--in the rain and wind, in the thick forest, and on the snowy mountain, they always turned to him--they served and worshipped him as well as the circumstances would allow, and he led them at last into the land of promise which they looked to.
After them came another caravan from the States, but formed of men of a very different stamp. License, crime, and disorder of the most appalling character marked their steps. We will enter into no details. They suffered innumerable hardships, they fell so short of provisions, and were reduced to such straits, that, finally, in despair of ever reaching the rich plains of California, they killed one of their party, and made their evening meal upon human flesh. The next morning one mile off they descried the land they longed for, and immense herds of elk feeding on the plains. They felt that the hand of God had struck them. The Irish Catholics soon rallied round the few pastors who remained in the country; they established themselves near the missions. Soon they lifted up their voice calling for more spiritual assistance. The riches of earth were of little value to them without the blessings of heaven. The zeal of the Holy See anticipated their own. Missionaries were on the way to the scene of labor, and a devoted bishop was soon appointed to rule over them.
When, after 1849, the rush to the diggings took place, and all men were suffering from "the gold fever" and "silver on the brain," spending their money in wholesale gambling, making fortunes one week and losing them the next, and every man's head seemed to be turned by the helter-skelter excitement, the Catholic Church, in {806} her calm majesty, was growing up in the midst of the turmoil, and occupying her position as the city on the mountain, and the light shining before men. The zeal of the archbishop and clergy and faithful Irish knew no limits. Churches sprang up on the conspicuous eminences of the city of San Francisco, and in the principal thoroughfares. And that vast assemblage of men, who had come together from all parts, without religion or God in their hearts, began to see that they were in the presence of the Catholic Church, and that the shadow of the Catholic towers and crosses had fallen upon them. As soon as the Holy See gave to San Francisco an archbishop, the zealous sons of St. Patrick determined to build him a cathedral. The wages of a common hodman were £2, 10s. a day; nevertheless, while the Catholic with one hand worked or scrambled for wealth, with the other he freely gave to that which is always dearest to his heart. The deep foundations of the cathedral were sunk, the walls arose, its massive time-keeping tower crowned the city, its solemn services were inaugurated. It was the result of fabulous sums of money, and of heroic devotedness on the part of pastors and people. Nor was this all. Large and handsome churches have sprung up in various parts of the city, like St. Ignatius's and St. Francis's, and others, such as the French church, St. Patrick's, St. Joseph's, the German church, and a number of smaller chapels. The unbelieving speculator, the "smart" trader, the land-owner, and the miner, on his visit to the city, were all struck with these visible tokens of sincerity and zeal, without stint of generous alms, put forth by the Catholic Church from the very outset. Later, and stimulated by Catholic example, the various sects of Protestantism, Jews, infidels, and pagans, erected in several places their churches, temples, chapels, lecture-halls, and joss-houses. In point of churches, in numbers and construction, the Catholic communion in San Francisco stands far ahead of all others. But it is not in the erection of churches alone that Catholicity has, with the vigor of her perpetual youth, outstripped the sects, all of which, before they attain to half a century, become old and decrepit; for no sooner did the population roll in from the ocean and across the plains, than new wants at once arose--hospitals for the sick from the city, the country, and the mines; homes for the orphans who were left alone in a far-off country, where men die in thousands from accident and violence, as well as from disease and natural causes; and schools for children, who are born more numerously, it is said, in California than in any other country. Here again the Catholic Church was first in devoted charity and anxious zeal for souls.
As to popular schools, before the Atlantic and Pacific oceans were bridged together by the iron rails of Panama, the gentle and devoted Sisters of the Presentation from Ireland, ladies by birth, tradition, and refinement, left their tranquil convents for the storm and troubles of life into the midst of which they were to be thrown in San Francisco. They, in their strict and peaceful inclosure, were to be calm, like the point which even in the whirlwind is always to be still and at rest. There, day by day, they teach one thousand children from infancy up to womanhood, the poor according to their wants, and the rich according their requirements, and all this entirely gratis, looking to God alone to be their "reward exceeding great." Moreover, the only school in the state of California for Indians and negroes is established and taught by them. In the state schools no colored child would be allowed to set his foot. Thousands of children of Catholic, of Protestant, and infidel parents have passed out into the world from under their considerate and enlightened care, and they bless them everywhere evermore. Such disinterested charities, such daily self-denial, such {807} gentle and kindly sympathy, are not lost upon the wayward, go-ahead, and hardened Yankee. These are the lives which touch and melt and win him. This, he says, is practical religion. Next, in a state like California, orphanages became an early and a primary want. The Sisters of Charity first supplied them. Then hospitals were needed; and the Sisters of Mercy from Ireland said, "Here are hospitals." They possess the best hospital in the state. They watch the sick with a mother's care; and many a man learns on his bed of pain from their lips lessons which he has never heard in childhood, or has forgotten in manhood. In all these departments of popular instruction, orphanages, and hospitals, the Catholic Church in California leads the way, extending aid and care to all, without distinction of creed or nation. The Catholic convents and establishments stand out conspicuously to all the world on the heights and in the principal thoroughfares of San Francisco. These are all works which we attribute to the zeal of the Irish, and which prove to Americans, and they admit the proof, the faith and charity of the Catholic Church. They are an appeal to their heart and to their reason. And now for the appeal to their sense of honesty and justice. Take the Catholics of California as a body, and they stand before any other body for honesty in business. They nearly all came to the state poor men; some had to borrow money for their journey; but they have worked their way up; and now, though the Jews are the largest capitalists, and the Yankees, from being more numerous, hold absolutely a greater amount of wealth, the Irish and Catholics, as a class, are more uniformly well off. The mean of comfort and sufficiency is probably higher among them than among others. And they have obtained for themselves a high reputation for honesty and honorable conduct in business. It is impossible for a person without experience to form an idea of the amount of cheating and rascality which is often practised in trade and commerce. Robbery and lying, upon however large or mean a scale, when successful, will be called by a great number only "smart conduct." A man is not tabooed and banished the exchange and the market for cheating his creditors, and defrauding the public, as he would be in London or Liverpool. He can live down such public opinion as there is, and many of his friends extend a misplaced pity to him, or think none the worse of him for his behavior. A man may become bankrupt three or four times, and become richer each time; this is not uncommon; and there are certain persons with whom it is taken for granted that they are thus "making their pile." "So and so has just caved in," said a merchant; "and he had $20,000 worth of goods from me last week, and all that's 'run into the ground,' and no two ways about that. He'll be through the courts white-washed in a few weeks." "Well," said the interlocutor, "you won't let him have more goods without ready money?" "Yes, I shall. He'll just come to me for goods to set up again; and he knows I'll let him have them, for he's a 'smart' fellow; he will be better able to pay me then than he ever has been before." In confirmation of our general statement, we may quote the words of Mr. Hittel:
"Insolvencies legally declared and cancelled by the courts are more frequent in San Francisco, in proportion to its population, than in any other part of the world. Our laws provide that any man who declares himself unable to pay his debts, and petitions to be released from them, may obtain a judicial discharge, unless he has been guilty of fraud; and as the fraud must be distinctly proved upon him before the discharge will be denied, the release is almost invariably obtained."
From this testimony of a long resident and man of business in California {808} it will be readily understood how closely men's personal character for honesty will be scrutinized by persons who are not anxious to suffer in dealing with them. Now, inquiries have been made in various parts of the country, and it has been ascertained beyond a doubt that the Irish, or American Irish Catholics, are considered the safest class of men to do business with. Whether it be early training, religion, the confessional, or the influence of the priests, so it is; they are trusted by a Yankee more readily than others are. Far be it from us to impeach the honesty, and sense of honor, of all save the Irish and Catholics. These natural virtues shine with the greatest brilliancy in many an unbelieving man of business. We but record a fact which is highly creditable to the Irish, and spreads the good odor of the religion they profess.
We have now to notice the direct action of the archbishop and of the clergy upon the population. The bishop is the "forma gregis facta ex animo," "the city on the hill," "the candle placed high upon the candlestick," giving its light around; and on each prelate bestows what gifts he pleases. With these he illumines the world in the person of his minister.
Go, then, up California street, turn round the cathedral of St. Mary's, and you will enter a miserable, dingy little house. This is the residence of the Archbishop of San Francisco and his clergy, who live with him in community. To the left are a number of little yards, and the back windows of the houses in which the Chinamen are swarming. Broken pots and pans, old doors, and a yellow compost, window-frames, fagots, remnants of used fireworks, sides of pig glazed and varnished, long strings of meat--God only knows what meat--hanging to dry, dog-kennels, dead cats, dirty linen in heaps, and white linen and blue cottons drying on lines or lying on rubbish--such is the view to the left. The odors which exhale from it who shall describe? A spark would probably set the whole of these premises in a conflagration; and one is tempted to think that even a fire would be a blessing. To the right, adjoining the cathedral, is the yard where the Catholic boys come out to play; and in this yard stands a little iron or zinc cottage, containing two rooms. This is where the archbishop lives; one is his bedroom, the other his office, where his secretaries are at work all day. No man is more poorly lodged in the whole city; and no man preaches the spirit of evangelical poverty, a detachment in the midst of this money-worshipping city, like this Dominican Spanish Archbishop of San Francisco. From ten in the morning to one p.m. every day, and for two or three hours every evening, his grace, arrayed in his common white habit, and with his green cord and pectoral cross, receives all who come to consult him, to beg of him, to converse with him, be they who they may--emigrants, servants, merchants, the afflicted, the ruined, the unfortunate. The example of such a life of disinterested zeal, holy simplicity, and poverty has told upon the inhabitants of San Francisco with an irresistible power. It has been one of the Catholic influences exercised by the Church on the population.
On taking possession of his see, when San Francisco was yet forming and building itself up, the first thing Dr. Alemany looked around for was an edifying and zealous body of clergy. There were, indeed, already before him some few who are laboring in the vineyard to this day, but there was also there the refuse of Europe, men of scandalous life, and men affecting to be priests who were impostors. Whereupon he went over to Ireland, and entering into relations with the College of All Hallows, which had supplied so many devoted priests to other parts, he began to draw from that splendid seminary apostles for California: of whom, we believe, the first was the present bishop at {809} Marysville, Dr. O'Connell, so distinguished for his gentleness, learning, piety, and zeal for the salvation of the Indian as well as of the white man. May that college long continue to send forth its heroic bands of laborers, who may be recognized everywhere as they are in California, as a virtuous and exemplary clergy! But the archbishop, with the eye of a general, perceived that in order to make a deep impression upon the masses which were forming themselves with incredible activity in San Francisco and the country, it was necessary, in addition to the secular clergy, which were stationed in pickets through the city and country, to form a strong body of indefatigable men, who should act upon the population with all the accumulated power of a compact square. He therefore called into the field the Jesuit fathers. They came down in little numbers from Oregon and the Rocky Mountains, from the Eastern states, and from Piedmont. He assigned to them the old mission of Santa Clara, about forty miles from San Francisco, in order that they should at once open a college for the better classes; and also a site in San Francisco, among the sand-hills, in order to form a day college for the inhabitants of the city; and a church in which they should bring into play all those industries of devotion, retreats, sermons, lectures, novenas, and sodalities, which constitute so considerable an element of their influence in Rome, and upon the various populations in the midst of which they establish themselves.
We have already shown that the Church was foremost in the formation of hospitals, orphanages, and schools for the poor. She is also first in reputation for the excellence and solidity of her higher education. The College of Santa Clara has a public name all down the western coast, in Mexico and Peru, as being, the most efficient house of education on the Pacific. But in order to appreciate the value of this work, it is necessary to understand something of the infidelity, immorality, and vice against which it acts as a barrier. Precocity in vice in California exceeds anything we know in England; and the domestic inner life of the family, except among the Irish, who still maintain its sanctity in a wonderful degree, and a certain small minority of others, has probably less existence than in the Eastern states. In the state system, boys and girls attend the same schools up to seventeen and eighteen. We have heard of a college in which boys and girls were educated together and live under the same roof; and we have been told of even girls' boarding-schools having been broken up on account of vice and disease. But rather than speak ourselves, we prefer to quote the published evidence of a Californian as to the moral state of society:
"In no part of the world is the individual more free from restraint. Men, and women, and children are permitted to do nearly as they please. High wages, migratory habits, and bachelor life are not favorable to the maintenance of stiff social rules among men, and the tone of society among women must partake to a considerable extent of that among men, especially in a country where women are in a small minority, and are therefore much courted. Public opinion, which as a guardian of public morals is more powerful than the forms of law, loses much of its power in a community where the inhabitants are not permanent residents. A large portion of the men in California live either in cabins or in hotels, remote from women relatives, and therefore uninfluenced by the powers of a home. It is not uncommon for married women to go to parties and balls in company with young bachelor friends. The girls commence going into "society" about fifteen, and then receive company alone, and go out alone with young men to dances and other places of amusement. In this there is a great error: too much liberty is allowed to girls in the states on the Atlantic slope, and still greater {810} liberty is given here, where, as they ripen earlier, they should be more guarded." [Footnote 146]
[Footnote 146: "Resources of California," p, 364. ]
Again:
"The relation between the sexes is unsound. Unfortunate women are numerous, and separations and divorces between married couples frequent. No civilized country can equal us in the proportionate number of divorces. Our laws are not so lax as those of several states east of the Mississippi; but the circumstances of life are more favorable to separation. The small proportion of women makes a demand for the sex, and so when a woman is oppressed by her husband she can generally find somebody else who will not oppress her, and she will apply for a divorce. The abundance of money is here felt also. To prosecute a divorce costs money, and many cannot pay in poorer countries. During 1860, eighty-five divorce suits were commenced in San Francisco, and in sixty-one of these, or three-fourths of the cases, the wives were the plaintiffs."
We need add no comment. Such being the tone and condition of society, of what inestimable value must not good Catholic colleges be to the whole country! They are highly appreciated by many who are not Catholics: for they send their children to Santa Clara, and to the convents of Notre Dame, being fully persuaded that they will not only be educated in the soundest principles of morality, and be fenced in from evil, but will receive a higher intellectual training than they could elsewhere. Society, indeed, must modify any particular system of education; and the Jesuits have had to depart from their traditional practice of a thorough classical training, in favor of positive sciences, especially chemistry and mineralogy, and to adopt the utilitarian line of instruction rather than that which is the habit in Europe. Their colleges in Santa Clara and in San Francisco, and the schools of Notre Dame, must be marked as the principal educational establishments in California; and they are telling steadily upon the people.
The archbishop has also opened another college in behalf of the middle classes, which no doubt will bear its fruit. All are thus amply provided for; and no one points a finger of scorn toward the Catholic Church for ignorance and neglect of education; rather she is looked upon as pre-eminent in her training, and men external to her communion send their children to learn wisdom at her establishments.
The sand-hills in the midst of which the college and church of St. Ignatius were placed, have long since been carried away by the vigorous application of steam-power, and these religious buildings stand out prominent upon the widest street in California.
A brief allusion to the work carried on in this church, and we come to a conclusion. We have already referred at some length to the sermon and lecture-going habit of the Americans, and to the conquests which the Catholic Church alone has the power to make among them, by addressing herself to their good qualities, and thus leading them to God by the cords of Adam. Long ago the archbishop perceived this, and acted promptly by planting in the capital, in addition to the busy, active secular clergy, this community of St. Ignatius, with its leisure, talent, and training, to meet special requirements; and statistics would show with what success his grace's plans have been crowned. But we must pass on, and confine our notice to a particular industry of the society, which at San Francisco has received a special blessing. Or rather, it is not a specialty of the society, but a common arm in the armory of the Church; we refer, to the system of sodalities and confraternities. The idea was first introduced by St. Francis and St. Dominic in their third orders, and was perfected and practically {811} applied to various devout ends by St. Charles, St. Ignatias, and St. Philip, in the sixteenth century St. Charles covered his diocese with confraternities as with so many nets. St. Philip organized the little oratory, and the Jesuits wherever they establish themselves are careful to found the sodality of the B. Virgin, and that of St. Joseph as the patron of the Bona Mors, in their colleges or among the frequenters of their public churches. Nothing can exceed the importance of these sodalities and confraternities, and we dwell on the subject all the more willingly, because of our own need of their more perfect development and spread among ourselves. It strikes us that such associations are more than ever desirable in countries like England and America, where external dangers and seductions are so numerous and insidious, and ecclesiastical influence so limited.
In Catholic countries the population is studded with religious houses, convents, and communities, and the priesthood is numerous, visible to the eye of the public, clothed in its own dress, affecting all classes of society, and holding a political and national status of its own. Their influence, therefore, is strong and ever present. It is otherwise with the English clergy, who have not one of the advantages alluded to, but are absorbed in begging and building with one hand, while with the other they hastily baptize, absolve, and anoint the new-born, the viator, and the dying. Now well-organized sodalities of laymen supply the absence of those more powerful influences, of which we daily lament the loss. They are a security to each member against himself, and they quicken him with a new zeal and activity for his neighbor. In San Francisco there is a sodality for men and one for women. They hold their respective meetings, sing the office of the Blessed Virgin, receive instructions, and frequent the sacraments on appointed days: they have also their library. The object is purely spiritual, and we believe there is no kind of obligatory subscription. Is a youth being led away, or in the midst of dangers, his friend induces him to join him in the sodality. It is a spiritual citadel into which all may enter, and find a new armor and strength against self and the world. Those newly born to the faith are gradually and easily edified and perfected in their new religion, by contact with the more fervent members whom they find in the sodality. Such a system cannot be too widely spread. Why should not a sodality be established in every considerable parish? After a time, all would loudly proclaim that they had built up a tower of strength within the Church. But we may not dwell longer on these topics.
The great spiritual dangers in California are rank infidelity and unblushing naturalism: the one and only promise of religion, the one hope of salvation, is in the attitude and position of the Catholic Church. Mr. Hittel sums up the relative numbers thus: about fourteen per cent, of the male population frequent some place of worship; of the remaining eighty-six per cent., one-third occasionally go to church, according to the attraction there, and two-thirds never go near a church, and are not to be counted as Christians. He estimates the Protestants at 10,000, of whom the Episcopalians are numbered at only 600 communicants, with twenty churches and eighteen clergymen; the Jews at 2,000. The Catholic priests, he adds, claim 80,000 communicants in their church, and they are more attentive to the forms of their faith than are the Protestants. In a word, Catholicity is in the ascendant, the sects are in the decline, and the battle is between paganism with a mythology of dollars, and the Church of God with her precepts of self-denial and her promises of eternal life.
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{812}
From The Month.
PATIENCE.
FROM THE GERMAN.
All through this earth we live in A silent angel goes, Sent by the God of mercy To soften earthly woes. Sweet peace and gracious pity In his meek eyes abide; That angel's name is Patience-- Oh, take him for your guide.
His gentle hand will lead thee Through paths of grief and gloom; His cheering voice will whisper Of brighter days to come; For when thy heart is sinking, His courage faileth not; He helps thy cross to carry, And soothes the saddest lot.
He turns to chastened sadness The anguished spirit's cry; The restless heart he calmeth To meek tranquillity; The darkest hour will brighten At his benign command, And every wound he healeth With slow but certain hand.
He dries, without reproving. The tears upon thy cheek; He doth not chide thy longings. But makes them calm and meek; And if, when storms are raging, Thou askest, murmuring, "Why?" He answers not, but pointeth With quiet smile on high.
He hath not ready answer For every question here; "Endure," so runs his motto-- "The time for rest is near." So, with few words, beside thee Fareth thine angel-friend; Thinking not of the journey, But of its glorious end.
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{813}
From The Literary Workman.
THE TWO FRIENDS OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
The first attraction to all Catholics who visit Antwerp is its cathedral, which still remains after so many tempests of war and sedition the glory of the city.
But there exists in one of the other churches a monument which has an interest for English and Scotch Catholics almost personal; it is in the church of St. Andrew, which was founded in the year 1529. Like most of the churches in Belgian towns, it is of considerable size and lofty. It contains one of the pulpits for which Belgium, more than any other country in Europe, is famous. On the floor of the church, in front of the pulpit, and immediately under the preacher, is a representation in carved wood of the great event recorded in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth verses of the first chapter of St. Mark's Gospel:
"And passing by the sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew his brother casting nets into the sea, for they were fishermen: and Jesus said to them, Come after me and I will make you to become fishers of men. And immediately leaving their nets, they followed him."
The same event is recorded in St. Matthew. The whole scene is represented in the most life-like manner. The figures of our blessed Lord, of St. Peter and St. Andrew, are of the size of life, or nearly so. Our blessed Lord stands by himself, toward the east, looking down the church. One of the apostles is seated in a boat round which shallow waves are rippling. The other stands by the boat on the shore. A net contains fish, which show all the attitudes of fish just caught and brought to land. The figure of our blessed Lord, and the attitude of the future apostles listening to him with the utmost reverence, are given with profound truth, and are full of the purest sentiment of religion. The pulpit has a sounding-board on which stands the cross of St Andrew, supported by small angelic figures. It is however the scene on the floor of the church which is the great object of admiration. The pulpit is fixed against one of the pillars of the nave, and a little eastward of it, beyond the next pillar, is an altar inclosed by a marble screen. Against the pillar nearest to the altar, and behind it, is placed the monument which has so great an attraction for Catholics speaking the English tongue.
It is called in the guide-books, "A marble monument raised to the memory of Mary Stuart by two English ladies."
But this is not exactly true. It is the monument, as will be seen, of two English ladies: and it was obviously intended also to honor the memory of their sovereign and mistress the queen. It is placed high up the pillar, quite out of reach; but the inscription upon it can be read perfectly by spending some time and trouble in considering it.
The inscription occupies the whole centre of the monument. It is in Latin, and the following is a literal translation of it:
"Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland and France, mother of James, King of Great Britain, coming into England in the year 1568, for the sake of taking refuge, was beheaded through the perfidy of her kinswoman Elizabeth, reigning there, and through the jealousy of the heretical parliament, {814} after nineteen years of captivity for the sake of religion. She consummated her martyrdom in the year of our Lord 1587, and in the 45th year of her age and of her reign.
"Sacred to God, beat and greatest.
"You behold, oh traveller, the monument of two noble matrons of Great Britain who, flying to the protection of the Catholic king from their country, for the sake of orthodox religion, here repose in the hope of the resurrection.
"First, Barbara Mowbray, daughter of the Lord John, Baron Mowbray, who, being lady of the bedchamber to the most serene Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland, was given in marriage to Gilbert Curle, who for more than twenty years was privy councillor. They lived together happily for twenty-three years, and had eight children. Of these six have passed to heaven; two sons, still alive, were trained in liberal studies. James entered the Society of Jesus at Madrid, in Spain; Hippolytus, the younger, made his choice to be enrolled in the army of Christ in the Society of Jesus in the province of French Flanders. He, sorrowing, and with tears, made it his care to place this monument to the memory of his admirable mother, who, on the last day of July, in the year 1616, and in the 57th year of her age, exchanged this unstable life for the life of eternity.
"Secondly, the memory of Elizabeth Curle, his aunt, of the same noble race of the Curles, who also was the faithful companion of the chamber and the imprisonment of Queen Mary for eight years; and to whom the queen at her death gave her last kiss; who never married, and lived a life eminent for piety and chastity. Hippolytus Curle, son of her brother, in great good will, in memory of her deserts, and as an expression of his own love and gratitude, placed this monument here. She ended her life in the year of our Lord 1620, on the 29th day of May, in the 60th year of her age.
"May they rest in peace. Amen."
Opposite to your left hand, as you look at the monument, by the side of the inscription, is the figure of a female saint holding a book, and underneath, in large letters, ST. BARBARA.
On the other side of the inscription is another female saint, holding up her dress, with gold loaves in it, under her left arm, and one gold loaf in her right hand. Underneath her is written ST. ELIZABETH. This is St. Elizabeth of Hungary. At the top of the monument, inclosed in a pediment of marble, is a very agreeable painting of the queen, and at the bottom of the monument, below the inscription, is a lozenge of white marble, showing the arms of Scotland, France, and England, carved, but not colored.
Miss Strickland, in the last volume of her life of Mary, Queen of Scots, gives a version of this epitaph, and mentions the fact of the burial of these ladies in the church of St. Andrew. The version of the epitaph which we have given is more exact than that given by Miss Strickland; and Miss Strickland is mistaken in saying that the church of St. Andrew is a "small Scotch church."
Indeed it is difficult to know how such an expression could be applied to St. Andrew's church. It is certainly not a small church, as we have said; and is certainly not a Scotch church, in any intelligible sense of that expression. It was built in 1529, under the government of Margaret of Austria, Duchess of Parma. Miss Strickland mentions the painting at the top of the monument as having been brought over to Antwerp by Elizabeth and Barbara Curle. But in speaking of the family, of Mowbray she has failed to do justice to the religion of these ladies.
She says that "Barbara and Gillies Mowbray, the two youngest daughters of the Laird of Barnborough, a leading member of the Presbyterian Congregation, . . . sought and succeeded in obtaining the melancholy privilege of being added to the prison-household {815} of their captive queen--a favor they might probably have solicited in vain if they had not been Protestants, and their father, Sir John Mowbray, a staunch adherent of the rebel faction" (p. 380).
She gives no authority for her statement as to the religion of the daughters, Barbara and Gillies, and the probabilities, in the absence of evidence, seem all to lie the other way. But in any case, it is obvious that they were Catholics in Antwerp.
Miss Strickland, in describing the absurd travestie of a funeral performed by the Protestant ministers in Peterborough cathedral over the body of the Scotch queen, five months after she had been murdered, mentions that none of the queen's train would attend at the Protestant services, "with the exception of Sir Andrew Melville and the two Mowbrays, who were members of the Reformed Church."
If it is true that those two ladies did consent to be present when all the others refused, with great contempt, there certainly is a presumption that at that time they continued in the religion of Knox.
The fact is, indeed, capable of another very natural explanation. They might have chosen to see the last of their mistress; remaining present without taking any part in the shameful ceremonies.
One significant statement in the epitaph which we have given, and which Miss Strickland has omitted, makes it certain that if Gillies Mowbray continued in Knox's or any other form of heresy, her sister Barbara Mowbray, wife of Gilbert Curie, was a Catholic before leaving England. The words omitted by Miss Strickland we now reprint in italics: "You behold, oh traveller, the monument of two noble matrons of Great Britain, who, flying to the protection of the Catholic king from their country for the sake of orthodox religion, here repose in the hope of the resurrection."
Miss Strickland's account of the monument also omits to notice the queen's arms which we have mentioned. This Widow's Lozenge tells the whole case against her rival Elizabeth. Persons who understand the laws of heraldry see its meaning at once. But for general readers it is enough to say that the arms of Scotland are put first, then the arms of England as they were used at that period by English sovereigns. Now, if Elizabeth had been legitimate, and had a just title to the throne, Queen Mary would have had no just right to place the English arms in her lozenge. The act of placing these arms on the monument of the Curles was a protest against the illegitimate usurper who had murdered the true heir.
Miss Strickland furnishes the date of the marriage of Gilbert Curie and Barbara Mowbray. It took place in Tutbury Castle, in Staffordshire, in November, 1586, a few weeks after the sisters had arrived there to attend upon the queen. Very soon afterward, at Fotheringay, they had to attend her on her way to death. Elizabeth Curle was one of the two, Jane Kennedy being the other, who were allowed by the wretches who directed her murder to stand by her and see it done.
Miss Strickland mentions that the conduct of the attendants of Queen Mary at Peterborough was probably the reason why they were sent back to Fotheringay Castle, instead of being liberated after the pompous funeral of their murdered mistress. "They were cruelly detained there nearly three months, in the most rigorous captivity, barely supplied with the necessaries of life, and denied the privileges of air and exercise."
Among those so detained were Gillies Mowbray, and Barbara (Mowbray) Curle, and Elizabeth Curle. James, then King of Scotland only, sent Sir John Mowbray to Elizabeth to remonstrate on the treatment of Queen Mary's servants and to demand their release. Then, having been joined by Gilbert Curle, {816} Barbara's husband, they sought the protection of the Catholic king in Antwerp.
There they rest in the church of the great apostle, the patron of Scotland.
The unhappy woman who occupied the English throne obtained entire success--she gained the English crown, murdered her rival, and pursued Catholics with death, ruin, and exile. But probably no well informed person--certainly no Catholic--will doubt that these ladies, in their exile, their devout lives and pious deaths, enjoyed happiness unknown to Elizabeth in her guilty prosperity.
Our readers will not be displeased to receive this short memoir of two ladies who were the attendants of Mary, Queen of Scots, during life, and at her death.
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From The Lamp.
ALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.
BY ROBERT CURTIS.