Читать книгу William Shakespeare as He Lived: An Historical Tale - Henry Curling - Страница 20

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England, up to the period of Elizabeth's reign, at which our story has now arrived, had been blessed in the enjoyment of the most absolute security.

The scene, however, was now beginning to change, and multiplied dangers to threaten the maiden Queen from various quarters.

Scotland and its affairs gave Elizabeth continued uneasiness, and every new revolution amongst the wild and turbulent nobles of that rude land caused her fresh anxiety, because that country alone being not separated from England by sea, and bordering on all the Catholic and malcontent countries, afforded her enemies an easy mode of annoying her.

Nothing could be more romantic, wild, and extravagant than the stories which those of the English who had penetrated far north brought back of the state of the nation, and the manners and disposition of the inhabitants; and which, if they were to be believed, described the chieftains in the hill countries as living amidst their wild and savage retainers in a singular style of feudal grandeur and semi-barbarism.

Nay, such was, in reality, the nature of the rude Highlanders in the remoter districts of Scotland, that, for an Englishman to attempt to penetrate into their fastnesses, would have been attended with the same difficulty and danger as at the present time a journey into the centre of Africa is exposed to. So that to the generality of the English nation the interior of Scotland was a terra incognita; whilst the dark and ominous rumours continually floating about, pictured the very court itself of that distracted country in a most strange and unnatural light. Murders, conspiracies, rebellions, and every sort of consequence upon misrule and headstrong passion, seemed the every-day occurrence there.

In Ireland, too, (where the inhabitants were equally wild, reckless, and opposite to England,) every invader found ready auxiliaries.

Alienated by religious prejudices, that nation hated the English with a peculiar and deadly animosity; an animosity which has rankled in their breasts up to the present time, and caused the shedding of rivulets of blood.

The anxiety of the Queen, on account of the attempts of the English Catholics, never ceased during the course of her reign, and was at this period greater than ever: whilst the continued revolutions happening to all the neighbouring kingdoms were the source of her continued apprehension Plots after plots were concocted in all quarters against her life, and which were being as constantly brought to light by one extraordinary chance or another.

The Cloptons, as we have seen, were members of the Church of Rome, though they were of the milder sort of Catholics, steering clear of all those intrigues and conspiracies which the more bigoted of their persuasion were so continually engaged in.

They were, indeed, well thought of and regarded by the government and the queen, and the good Sir Hugh was beloved and respected by all parties. Still the iron rule of the Church of Rome was upon him and his household, and held him under subjection. Many, therefore, were the narrow escapes he had experienced from being drawn into the violent and bloody plots and conspiracies the more dangerous and bigoted members of his creed had already been engaged in.

In a former chapter our readers have seen a person of this latter sort arrive stealthily at the Hall, and fasten himself upon the secret hospitality of Sir Hugh, in virtue of the powerful letters he produced.

What the designs of this man might be it was impossible to fathom, and Sir Hugh well knew that from the circumstance of his being himself considered but a mild and luke-warm Catholic by the more zealous and violent party, (although he might be made use of,) he would scarcely be initiated by them into their secrets.

Under such circumstances, the faithful Martin, (whose devotion towards the family of his old friend and patron amounted to a species of worship,) in taking upon himself the office of attendant upon the unwelcome guest, resolved to play the spy upon him at the same time, and, if possible, pluck out the heart of his mystery. The absence of the priest (who frequently resided at the Hall) favoured this design; and (on leaving Sir Hugh) Martin ascended to the apartment usually occupied by Father Eustace, where he doffed his motley coat, and induing the garments of the priest, suddenly presented himself before Parry.

The talent for humour possessed by this singular being made his design peculiarly agreeable to him, for to play a part (even under dangerous circumstances) was quite in accordance with his disposition.

On entering he found the object of his visit seated upon the small truckle bed with which the room was accommodated, and which (except two chairs) was all the furniture in it—the bed standing in a recess.

The room itself was one of those small, curious chambers peculiar to the buildings of the Catholic gentry during this and the subsequent reign. It seemed evidently to have been contrived for purposes of seclusion and concealment, and was more like the cell of a monastery than a chamber in a private dwelling. Cribbed, as it seemed to have been, out of some corner of the edifice, where an apartment would never have been thought of; the only light by which this closet-like room was illuminated in the day-time being from a small concealed window, so contrived as not to be visible from the grounds without.

So deep in his own contemplations was the occupant of this chamber, that, at first, he did not observe the entrance of the disguised Martin. When he did so, however, he quickly started to his feet, and the riding cloak which he had unfastened slipping from his shoulders shewed that he was armed (as the phrase goes) to the very teeth. Rapier and dagger were by his side, a pair of the huge, ill-contrived, petronels of the period at his waist, and in place of a shirt it was evident that he wore a sort of hauberk of linked steel beneath his upper garments; in fact, a more dangerous-looking and dishevelled companion the shrewd Martin had seldom beheld.

"The peace of Heaven be upon thee, my son," said Martin, as the visitor confronted him.

"Such peace as Heaven wills," returned the other.

"Those who have to do the work are not permitted peace of mind or body in this world. Art thou him to whom I am secretly commended at Clopton, the good Father Eustace?"

"Such is the name men usually give the wearer of these garments of the Church, my son," returned Martin. "I would they clove to the body of a more worthy representative."

"The business I have with thee, good father," said Parry, "is of that dangerous and imminent nature that I may not trust to thy word alone. I must be furnished with proof of thy identity. Sir Hugh Clopton affirmed but now that Father Eustace was at present absent from the Hall."

"I have but now returned," said Martin, "and immediately have sought thee out by Sir Hugh's desire. What you have to communicate can either be withheld or given freely, I seek not to know the secret of others. Letters of import, as I learn, hath procured thee a secret asylum here, without which, as thou art aware, thou could'st not have been received, neither can I hold converse with thee, unless thou canst shew such documents or explain the reasons of thy coming hither."

"Enough said, father," returned Parry, thrown off his guard, "those documents thou shalt have; meantime hear the reasons which have moved me to this visit, and my intent in seeking thee."

"Proceed," said Martin, seating himself, whilst the other walked restlessly up and down the small room, apparently carried away by the violence of his own thoughts.

"Thou knowest my early history," he said, "and how that after being an undutiful son, a sabbath-breaker, and a blasphemer, the devil lured me to the commission of crimes by which my life was forfeited to the laws?"

"I have heard these things," said Martin, "and such part of the story needs no repetition. The Queen granted you a free pardon, for which you are doubtless grateful, and resolved in making amends?"

"I had resolved on doing so," said Parry, "and hoped for days of repentance and happiness, but none came, as you shall hear. The fiend still held possession. I wandered about in woods and solitary places, for the sight of my fellow creatures was horrible to me. Nay, I thought every one seemed happy but myself, and the evil one constantly whispered that there was no mercy for Gilbert Parry. Again, therefore, I sought society, gave the reins to my evil desires, and myself up to evil ways, and again conscience troubled me. I had rest neither by night nor day. I feared the night, lest the enemy should take me before morning. I tried to pray, but could not. I passed whole days as if my body had been pricked down irrecoverably, persuaded the fiend was in my apartment. Nay, my very body was in flames. To cry for help was vain, no relief came, and I was ever filled with evil thoughts. Such, holy father, were the torments I endured for five years. At length it appeared to me that this state of persecution arose from some cause in which I was called upon to exert myself. Then considered I of the persecuted state of our religion, and that I was called upon to strike a blow for its welfare. In short I resolved to do a deed which (by destroying the great enemy of our Church) should obtain for me the crown of martyrdom."

"Proceed, my son," said Martin, who, seated with his chin upon his doubled fists, was listening to and contemplating the excited Parry with the utmost attention. "Proceed, my son, wherefore dost thou stop?"

The narrator of his own troubled thoughts regarded Martin with a deep and searching look. "Methought I saw a devilish smile upon thy face," he said sternly. "Is the relation of such things subject of ridicule?"

"Rather of pity," said Martin; "I smiled to think that a whip and a dark room might have dispelled such phantoms. The most absurd doctrines are not without such evidence as martyrdom can produce."

"You think, then," said Parry, "that penance and flagellation were required?"

"Call it so, an if you will," said Martin, "fasting is good for digestion, and real pain for imaginary suffering. Doubtless you lived well whilst this frenzy lasted. You was, you say, leading a wild life, perhaps drunk one-half of the twenty-four hours, and mad the other. A bad state of the stomach produces fumes upon the brain. I would have exorcised the fiend by blood-letting, blisters, purgation, and purification. But proceed, you was about to say what this continued spiritual ague wrought you to."

"The cutting off of one who is the bitter enemy of our creed, the usurper of the throne of these realms," said Parry, "the putting to death of Elizabeth Tudor."

"Ah, ah," said Martin, "methought 'twould tend that way. She to whom you are indebted for a life, is to pay the forfeit of life for her clemency."

"And you disapprove of my project, then?" inquired Parry.

"Nay, I said not so much, did I?" returned the shrewd Martin.

"But you inferred so much, did you not?" again inquired Parry.

"Mayhap I did, mayhap I did not," said Martin, who saw by the eye of Parry that his own situation, thus shut up with such a man, and under false colours, was somewhat perilous, especially as Parry in his excited state begun to fumble with the poniard at his waist. Martin in short now saw that his companion was mad. Under such circumstances to shew fear or distrust is to perish.

"In trusting Father Eustace," said Parry, placing himself between Martin and the door, "I was led to expect I should find one ready in every way to forward and aid so great a design. Such was the assurance I received from Ragazoni. I brook no prevarication, priest; neither will I run the risk of betrayal." So saying, Parry drew his dagger from the sheath, looking at Martin at the same time with the ferocity of a tiger ready to spring.

"'Tis not often that ministers of the Holy Mother Church are threatened thus," said Martin coolly, and without altering his position.

"I will drive my dagger to the heart of every member of this household," said Parry, "rather than endanger the success of my project."

"That in itself would ruin the project, as far as you are its executor," returned Martin, "since you would be likely to be apprehended and suffer for your violence."

"Swear upon the hilt of my poniard not to divulge what I have just related," said Parry, becoming somewhat less excited, and thrusting his dagger close to the mouth of Martin. "Swear."

"I am ready to do so," said Martin, quietly moving the steel from its close proximity to his lips, "with one reservation however, that Sir Hugh Clopton is to be informed of it."

"Ah," said Parry, seeming to reflect, and as suddenly changing from his excited state to comparative calmness, "was I not told to take the advice of Father Eustace, as to the propriety of making Sir Hugh Clopton acquainted with this design? And you advise such measure, do you, father?"

"Most assuredly; for what other purpose have you sought his roof?"

"For the purpose," said Parry, "of being in the vicinity of others cognizant of my design in this country, and of conferring with yourself in security, since my steps and motions, until I took refuge in Warwickshire, have been closely watched."

"Good," returned Martin. "Now, wilt follow my advice since you have been sent to seek it?"

"I will," said Parry.

"Thus it is," said Martin; "dismiss all further thoughts connected with your design to-night: partake of the refreshments I have brought with me, and then seek the repose you so much need. To-morrow we will talk further, taking Sir Hugh into our counsels; and so I take my leave." As he said this Martin rose, and was about to pass Parry, carefully making a circuit so as to get between him and the door, the latter following him as he did so with a doubtful eye.

"You are a different man from the person I was led to expect in Father Eustace," said Parry, still dallying with his drawn dagger.

"I am as you see me," said Martin, "true to my word and to the master I serve."

"And you swear not to divulge?" said Parry.

"Except to Sir Hugh—I swear," said Martin.

"Be it so," said Parry, sheathing his dagger and stepping aside. "Good night, father."

"To-morrow early I will again be with you," said Martin. "Good night", and the next moment he was outside the small apartment.