It Might Have Been: The Story of the Gunpowder Plot Read online

  CHAPTER THREE.

  HOW IT FIRST BEGAN.

  "O Conspiracy! Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? Oh, then, by day, Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage?"

  _Shakespeare_.

  The new home was the midmost of three contiguous houses, standing on thewestern side of King Street, and nearly opposite to what is now theentrance to New Palace Yard. They were a little larger and morepretentious than most of the houses in this street, and a goodsizedgarden ran backwards from each towards Saint James's Park. As everyhouse had then its name and a signboard to exhibit it--numbers being notyet applied to houses--these were no exception to the rule. That one ofthe trio nearest to the Abbey displayed a golden fish upon itssignboard; the middle one hung out a white bear; while from thenorthernmost swung a panel representing an extremely stiff and angularcreature apparently intended to suggest an angel. The young people mademerry over their sign, Aubrey insisting that Hans was the White Bear,and Lettice retorting that it was Aubrey himself.

  Hans and Aubrey sprang from their horses at the door; and while thelatter rang the bell, the former busied himself in helping the ladies toalight. Whether any one would be inside the house was a problemrequiring solution; and they thought it worth while to ascertain thisbefore going further. In a moment, quick steps were heard approaching,and the door was opened by a woman who hardly showed herself behind it.

  Lady Louvaine came in first, leaning on Hans.

  "Good evening," she said to the portress. "It was good of my LordOxford to provide--nay! Charity!"

  "Ay, Madam, it's me," said the familiar voice of the old servant, whomher mistress believed she had left behind in Cumberland.

  "Why, old friend! when earnest thou hither?"

  "You'd best sit you down afore you hear folks their catechisms," saidCharity, coolly, leading the way to a pleasant parlour hung andupholstered in green, where a fire was burning on the hearth, and alarge cushioned chair stood beside it. "When did I come? Well, let'ssee?--it was o' Tuesday last."

  "But how?" queried her mistress, in a tone which was a mixture ofastonishment and perplexity.

  "Same how as I get to most places, Madam--on my feet."

  "You walked to London, Charity?"

  "Ay, I did. I'm good for fifteen miles at a stretch."

  "And whence gat you the money for your lodging?"

  Charity laughed. "I never paid a halfpenny for lodging nobut [Note 1]once, and that was th' last night afore I got here. Some nights I layin a barn upo' th' hay: but most on 'em I got took in at a farm-house,and did an hour or two's work for 'em i' th' morn to pay for my lodgingand breakfast. But some on 'em gave it me right out for nought--justfor company like. I bought my victuals, of course: but I should ha'wanted them wherever I'd been."

  "And what led you to wish for life in London, Charity?"

  "Eh! bless you, I want none to live i' London. It's a great, smoky,dirty place."

  "Then what did you want?"

  "I wanted yo'," said Charity, with a nod at her mistress. "LadyLettice, yo'll not turn me away? If things is so bad you cannot affordto keep me, you shalln't: I can earn enough by my spinning half th' day,and serve you i' t' other half. But yo'll want two: I'm sure Rachel canne'er do all th' work, and you'd best have me, for nob'ry else 'll putso much heart into 't as I shall. Do let me stop, for I cannot abear toleave you."

  It was a moment before Lady Louvaine could speak. Then she held out herhand to Charity.

  "My faithful Charity, I will not turn thee away! So long as I have twoloaves of bread, thou mayest be sure of one."

  "Thank God, that's all right!" said Charity with a sigh of evidentrelief. "We's [we shall] get on famous, Rachel and me, and nother on us'll feel as if we'd been cast away of a desert island, as I've beenfeeling afore yo' come. Eh, but it is a town, is this!"

  "Charity, I wonder how you won in the house," said Edith. "My LordOxford--"

  "I've got a bit more gumption, Mrs Edith, than you credit me with. Ibrought a letter to my Lord, or I should ne'er ha' looked to get inelse."

  "A letter!--from whom?"

  "Fro' Mrs Joyce Morrell, to tell him who I were, and a bit more, Ireckon."

  "I asked my Lord Oxford of his goodness to speak to some upholder[upholsterer] to send in a little necessary furnishing," said LadyLouvaine, looking round, "such as were strictly needful, and should lastus till we could turn us about: but methinks he hath done somewhat morethan that."

  "You'll turn you round middling easy, Madam," answered Charity. "Th'upholder were bidden to put th' house to rights all through, and sendthe bill to Mistress Joyce. She gave me lodging fro' Setterday toMonday, and bade me see to 't that yo' had all things comfortable.`Don't split sixpences,' she saith; `the bigger the charges the better,so long as they be for true comfort and not for gimcracks.' So, Madam,I hope we've hit your Ladyship's liking, for me and Mrs Joyce, we triedhard--me at choosing, and she at paying. So that's how it were."

  And dropping a quick courtesy, Charity departed with too much alacrityfor thanks.

  Lady Louvaine's eyes followed her.

  "The lines are fallen unto us in pleasant places," quoted Edith, softly.

  "Ay," answered her mother. "And the pillar of the cloud hath gonebefore."

  Charity found Rachel in the kitchen, carrying a carpet-bag and a greatbundle, and gazing round her with a bewildered air.

  "Well, lass, what's ta'en thee?" was her greeting.

  "Eh, Charity Ashworth, is that thee? Where art thou fro'?"

  "Where are we both come to? That's more to th' purpose."

  "I'm banished my country, that's all I know," said Rachel, blankly."I'm glad to see thee, schuzheaw." [Note 2.]

  "Dost thou mean to carry yon for th' rest o' thy life?" demandedCharity, laying hands on the carpet-bag. "Come, wake up, lass, and looksharp, for there'll be some supper wanted."

  A very expressive shake of Rachel's head was the response. But she setdown the bundle, and began to unfasten her sleeves for work. Sleeveswere not then stitched to the gown, but merely hooked or buttoned in,and were therefore easily laid aside when needful.

  "What's the price o' eggs this road on?" asked she.

  "Nought. We 'n getten th' hens to lay 'em. Down i' th' market they'refour a penny."

  "Eggs--four a penny!" ejaculated the horrified cook.

  "Ay--they're a bonnie price, aren't they? Ten to a dozen the penny atKeswick. Chickens be twopence and threepence apiece."

  Rachel turned and faced her colleague with a solemn air. "CharityAshworth, wilt thou tell me what we've come here for?"

  "`To do our duty in that state of life to which it shall please God tocall us,'" said Charity, sturdily. "There's twenty hens i' yon yard atth' end o' th' garden, and two cows i' th' shippen, and three black pigsi' th' sty,--Mistress Joyce ordered 'em--and two pairs o' hands, and twobrains, and two hearts, and the grace o' God: and if thou wants aughtmore, thou'lt have to ask Him for it. So now let's be sharp and see toth' supper."

  As they sat at breakfast the next morning, which was Lady Day andSunday, Lady Louvaine said--

  "I would fain know what manner of neighbours we shall have here, whetherpleasant or displeasant; for some of our comfort shall hang thereon."

  "Oh, there's a capital fellow at the Golden Fish," cried Aubrey. "Hisname is Tom Rookwood, and his sister Dorothy is the prettiest girl Ihave seen this month. I know nought of the Angel."

  "Ah!" said Hans, and shook his head, "I have seen the Angel."

  "And is he angelic?" responded Aubrey.

  "There be angels good and ill," Hans made answer. "Madam, I were bestforewarn you--there's a tongue dwelleth there."

  "What manner of tongue, Hans?" said Lady Louvaine, smiling.

  "One that goes like a beggar's clap-dish," said he; "leastwise, it didall the while I was in the garden this morning. She greeted me o'er thewall, and
would know who we were, and every one of our names, and whatkin we were one to the other, and whence we came, and wherefore, and howlong we looked to tarry--she should have asked me what we had to ourbreakfast, if I had not come in."

  "And how much toldest her?" inquired Temperance.

  "Not a word that I could help," answered Hans. "Indeed, that is theonly comfort of her--that she asks questions so fast you can scarceslide in an answer. She was free enough with her information as well--told me her name, and how many children she had, and that she paidthree-and-fourpence the yard for her perpetuance gown."

  "And what is her name?" asked Faith.

  "Silence Abbott," said he.

  "She scarce answers to it, seemingly," replied Temperance.

  "Where made you acquaintance with your Tom Rookwood, Aubrey?" said hisgrandmother.

  "At the door," said he. "His father is a gentleman of Suffolk, ayounger son of Rookwood of Coldham Hall. He has three sisters,--I sawnot the other two; but I say, that Dorothy's a beauty!"

  "Well!" replied Temperance. "Folks say, `As mute as a fish'; but itseems to me the Golden Fish is well-nigh as talkative as the Angel.Mind thy ways, Aubrey, and get not thyself into no tanglements with noDorothys. It shall be time enough for thee to wed ten years hence."

  "And have a care that Mr Rookwood be himself an upright and God-fearingman," added his Aunt Edith.

  "Oh, he's all right!" answered Aubrey, letting Dorothy go by. "He saithhe can hit a swallow flying at eighty paces."

  "More shame for him!" cried Edith. "What for should he hit a swallow?"

  "He has promised to show me all sorts of things," added Aubrey.

  "Have a care," said Lady Louvaine, "that he lead thee not into thebriars, my boy, and there leave thee."

  The Monday morning brought a visitor--Mrs Abbott, from the Angel, afterwhose stay Edith declared that a day's hard work would have fatigued herless of the two inflictions. This lady's freedom in asking questions,without the remotest sense of delicacy, was only to be paralleled by herreadiness to impart information. The party at the White Bear knewbefore she went home, that she had recently had her parlour newly hungwith arras, representing the twelve labours of Hercules: that sheintended to have roast veal to supper: that her worsted under-stockingshad cost her four-and-sixpence the pair: that her husband was a verytrying man, and her eldest son the cleverest youth in Westminster.

  "Worsted stockings four-and-sixpence!" cried Temperance. "What a sinfulprice to pay! And I declare if they ask not three shillings andfourpence for a quarter of veal! Why, I mind the time when in Keswickit was but sixteen pence. Truly, if things wax higher in price than nowthey are, it shall be an hard matter to live. This very morrow was Iasked a shilling for a calf's head of the butcher, and eightpence for alemon of the costard-monger, whereat I promise you I fumed a bit; butwhen it came to threepence apiece for chickens,--Lancaster and Derby!It shall cost us here ever so much more to live."

  "It shall not," said Hans. "There be five acres of garden, and save forforeign fruits and spices, you shall ask little of the costard-mongershortly."

  "But who is to dig and dress it?" moaned Faith. "Aubrey cannot, all theday with his Lord, even if he were not away o' nights: and Charity shallhave too much to do."

  "I have two hands, Madam," answered Hans, "and will very quickly have aspade in them: and ere I do aught else will I set the garden a-going,that Rachel and Charity can keep it in good order, with a littleoverlooking from you."

  "Me!" cried Faith, with a gasp of horror.

  "Right good for you!" said her sister. "I'll not help at that work; Ishall leave it for you. As to foreign fruits and spices, we'll havenone of them, save now and then a lemon for the Lady Lettice--she lovesthe flavour, and we'll not have her go short of comforts--but for allelse, I make no 'count of your foreign spice. Rosemary, thyme, mint,savoury, fennel, and carraway be spice enough for any man, and a dealbetter than all your far-fetched maces, and nutmegs, and peppers, thatbe fetched over here but to fetch the money out of folks' pockets: andwormwood and currant wine are every bit as good, and a deal wholesomer,than all your sherris-sack and Portingale rubbish. Hans, lad, let'shave a currant-bush or two in that garden; I can make currant wine withany, though I say it, and gooseberry too. I make no count of yourforeign frumps and fiddlements. What's all your Champagne but justgooseberry with a French name to it? and how can that make it anysweeter? I'll be bounden half of it is made of gooseberries, if folksmight but know. And as to your Rhenish and claret, and such stuff, Iwould not give a penny for the lot--I'd as soon have a quart of alegar.Nay, nay! we are honest English men and women, and let us live like it."

  "But, Temperance, my dear," suggested Lady Louvaine, with a smile, "ifno foreign fruits had ever been brought to England, nor planted here,our table should be somewhat scanty. In truth, we should have butlittle, I believe, save acorns and beech-nuts."

  "Nay, come!" responded Temperance; "wouldn't you let us have a bit ofparsley, or a barberry or twain?"

  "Parsley!" said Lady Louvaine, smiling again. "Why, Temperance, thatcame first into England from Italy the year Anstace was born--the secondof King Edward." [Note 3.]

  "Dear heart, did it so?" quoth she. "And must not we have so much as acabbage or a sprig of sweet marjoram?"

  "Sweet marjoram came in when thou wert a babe, Temperance; and I haveheard my mother say that cabbages were brought hither from Flanders theyear my sister Edith was born. She was five years elder than I, anddied in the cradle."

  "Well!" concluded Temperance, "then I'll hold my peace and munch myacorns. But I reckon I may have a little salt to them."

  "Ay, that mayest thou, and honey too."

  The next day, the Golden Fish swam in at the door; and it came in theform of Mistress Rookwood and her daughter Gertrude, who seemedpleasanter people than Mrs Abbott. A few days afterwards came theRector, Mr Marshall, with his wife and daughter; and though--or perhapsbecause--Agnes Marshall was very quiet, they liked her best of any womanthey had yet seen. Before they had stayed long, the Rector asked ifLady Louvaine had made acquaintance with any of her neighbours. Sheanswered, only with two houses, the one on either side.

  Mr Marshall smiled. "Well, Mistress Abbott means no ill, methinks,though her tongue goeth too fast to say she doth none. Yet is her talkthe worst thing about her. Tell her no secrets, I pray you. But Iwould warn you somewhat to have a care of the Rookwoods."

  "Pray you, Sir, after what fashion?" asked Lady Louvaine. "If I knowfrom what quarter the arrow is like to come, it shall be easier to holdup the shield against it."

  "Well," said he, "they come to church, and communicate, and pay alltheir dues; they may be honest folks: but this can I tell you, MrRookwood is brother to a Papist, and is hand in glove with divers Popishperverts. Wherefore, my Lady Louvaine, I would not have you suffer youryoung folks to be too intimate with theire; for though these Rookwoodsmay be safe and true--I trust they are--yet have they near kinsmen whichassuredly are not, who should very like be met at their house. So letme advise you to have a care."

  "That will I, most surely," said she: "and I thank you, Sir, for puttingme on my guard."

  In May the King arrived from Scotland, and in June the Queen, with thePrince, Prince Charles, and the Lady Elizabeth. "Princess" at this timeindicated the Princess of Wales alone, and the first of our King'sdaughters to whom the term was applied, except as heiress of England,were the daughters of Charles the First. Henry Prince of Wales was aboy of nine years old, his sister a child of seven, and the littleCharles only three. The youthful Princess was placed in the charge ofLord Harrington, at Combe Abbey, near Coventry--a fact to which therewill be occasion to refer again. The Princes remained with theirparents, to the great satisfaction of the Queen, who had struggled asceaselessly as vainly against the rigid Scottish custom of educating theheir-apparent away from Court Queen Anne of Denmark was a graceful,elegant woman, with extremely fair complexion and abundant fair hair.The King w
as plain even to ungainliness--a strange thing for the son ofone of the most beautiful women that ever lived. The wisdom of Jamesthe First has been by different writers highly extolled andcontemptuously derided. It seems to me to have partaken, likeeverything else, of the uncertainty of its author. He did giveutterance to some apothegms of unquestionable wisdom, and also to somespeeches of egregious folly. His subjects did not err far when theynicknamed their Scottish master and their "dear dead Queen," hispredecessor, "King Elizabeth and Queen James." Yet justice requires theadmission that the chief root of James's many failings was his intense,unreasoning, constitutional timidity, which would have been ludicrous ifit had been less pitiful. He could not see a drawn sword withoutshuddering, even if drawn for his own defence; and when knighting a man,it was necessary for the Lord Chamberlain to come to his Majesty's help,and guide the blade, lest the recipient of the honour should be woundedby the unsteadiness of the King's hand under the strong shuddering whichseized him. So afraid was he of possible assassins that he always worea thickly-padded cotton garment under his clothes, to turn aside bulletor dagger.

  Lord Oxford came to Town in May, and Aubrey at once began his duties asa squire in his household. During June and July, he ran into the WhiteBear some half-dozen times in an evening, he said, to assure them thathe was still alive. In August and September he was more remiss: andafter October had set in, they scarcely saw him once a month. It wasnoticeable, when he did come, that the young gentleman was becoming morefashionable and courtly than of old. Lettice asked him once if he hadbidden the tailor to make his garments of snips, since the brown suitwhich had been his Sunday best was breaking out all over into slasheswhence puffs of pink were visible. Aubrey drew himself up with a laugh,and told his cousin that she knew nothing of the fashions. Letticefancied she caught the gleam of a gold chain beneath his doublet, but itwas carefully buttoned inside so as not to show.

  Meanwhile, Hans--whose brown suit did not break out like Aubrey's--wasvery busy in the garden, which he diligently dug and stocked. When thiswas done, he applied to a neighbouring notary, and brought home bundlesof copying, at which he worked industriously in an evening. In theafternoon he was generally from home; what he did with himself on theseoccasions he did not say, and he was so commonly and thoroughly trustedthat no one thought it necessary to ask him.

  Edith and Temperance, coming in together one evening, were informed thatMrs Rookwood had called during their absence, bringing with herDorothy, Aubrey's beauty.

  "And didst thou think her beauteous, Lettice?" asked her Aunt Edith,with an amused smile.

  "Truly, Aunt Edith, I marvel what Aubrey would be at. His fancies mustbe very diverse from mine. I would liever a deal have our Rachel."

  Temperance laughed, for Rachel had few claims of this nature.

  "What like is she, Lettice?"

  "She hath jet-black hair, Aunt, and thick black brows, with greatshining eyes--black likewise; and a big nose-end, and pouting big redlips."

  "Humph! I reckon folks see beauty with differing eyes," saidTemperance.

  The coronation did not take place before July. It was followed bysevere pestilence, supposed to arise from the numbers who crowded intoTown to witness the ceremony. Temperance kept fires of sweet herbsburning in the garden, and insisted on every body swallowing liberaldoses of brick and wormwood, fasting, in the morning--her sovereignremedy against infection. Mrs Abbott said that her doctor ordered herpowder of bezoar stone for the same purpose, while the Rookwoods heldfirmly by a mixture of unicorn's horn and salt of gold. In consequenceor in spite of these invaluable applications, no one suffered in thethree houses in King Street. His Majesty was terribly afraid of thepestilence; all officials not on duty were ordered home, and allsuitors--namely, petitioners--were commanded to avoid the Court tillwinter. A solemn fast for this visitation was held in August; thestatutes against vagabonds and "masterless men" were confirmed, whereatTemperance greatly rejoiced; and "dangerous rogues" were to be banished.

  This last item was variously understood, some supposing it aimed at theJesuits, and some at the Puritans. It was popularly reported that theKing "loved no Puritans," as it was now usual to term those Churchmenwho declined to walk in the Ritualistic ways of the High Church party.To restrict the term Puritan to Nonconformists is a modern mistake.When, therefore, James began his reign by large remittances of fines tohis Romish subjects, issued a declaration against toleration, revivedthe Star Chamber, and appointed Lord Henry Howard, a Roman Catholic, tothe Privy Council, the Papists were encouraged, and the Puritans tookalarm. The latter prepared to emigrate on a large scale to the Americanplantations, where no man could control them in religious matters; theformer raised their heads and ventured on greater liberties than theyhad dared to take during the reign of the dead Queen. The FrenchAmbassador, however, curled his lip contemptuously, and informed hismaster that James was a hypocrite.

  The position of the English Roman Catholics at this time was peculiarand not agreeable. But in order to understand it, we must go back forthirty-five years--to the close of that halcyon period, the earliest tenyears of Elizabeth, when the few Romanists then left in Englandgenerally came to church like other good citizens, and if they chose topractise the rites of their own faith in private, no notice was taken ofit. It was not the Protestant Government, but the Papal See, which wasresponsible for the violent ending of this satisfactory state of things,when it was perceived at Rome that the Reformation was so thoroughlysettled, and the nation so completely severed from Latin control, that(in the words of one of those who attempted the Queen's life) "unlessMistress Elizabeth were suddenly taken away, all the devils in Hellshould not be able to shake it." In 1568, therefore, Pope Pius theFifth put forth a Bull which excommunicated Queen Elizabeth, deposedher, absolved her subjects from their allegiance, and solemnly cursedthem if they continued to obey her. To her Protestant subjects, ofcourse, this act of usurpation was mere waste paper--the private spleenof an Italian priest who had no jurisdiction in this realm of England.But to the Romanists it was the solemn decree of Christ by His appointedVicar, to be obeyed at the peril of their salvation. The first visibleeffect of the Bull was that they all "did forthwith refrain the church,"and joined no more with their fellow-subjects in public prayer. TheQueen contented herself in answer with forbidding the bringing in ofBulls--which was no more than Edward the First had done before her. Hadthe Pope and the Jesuits been then content to let matters rest, nodifficulty might have arisen: but they would not. First Mayne, thenCampion, the first Jesuit who entered England, were sent to "movesedition," and to "make a party in execution of the former Bull." Tothis followed an influx of treasonable books. It had now become evidentthat the Papal Bull was to be no mere _brutum fulmen_ which might besafely left alone to die out, but a deliberate attempt to stir uprebellion against the Queen. For the Government to have kept silencewould have been practically to throw their influence into the scaleagainst the reign and the life of their Sovereign Lady.

  It is now fashionable with a certain section to stigmatise Elizabeth asa persecutor, and to represent the penal laws against the Papistsenacted in her reign as cruel oppressions of innocent and harmlesspersons, enforced simply because they believed certain religiousdoctrines. Those who will carefully follow the facts can hardly avoidseeing that the disloyalty preceded the coercion, and that if theRomanists were maddened into plotting against the Government byoppressive laws, those laws were not due to groundless fear or malice,but were simply the just reward of their own deeds. During the fiveyears of Queen Mary, three hundred men, women, and children, were put todeath for their religious opinions only. During the forty-four years ofQueen Elizabeth, less than thirty priests, and five harbourers ofpriests, were executed, not for their opinions nor their religion, butfor distinctly treasonable practices. [Note 4.]

  When matters had come to this pass, in 1580, the first penal laws wereissued, against recusancy and seditious publications. The penalty forrecusancy--
by which was meant a legal conviction for absence from publicworship on religious grounds--"was not loss of life or limb, or wholeestate, but only a pecuniary mulct and penalty; and that also only untilthey would submit and conform themselves and again come to church, asthey had done for ten years before the Pope's Bull." Twenty pounds perlunar month was the fine imposed; but this referred only to adult males,"not being let by sickness." Compared with the laws of Queen Mary, andeven of her predecessors, this penalty was gentleness itself; and thosemodern writers who see in it cruelty and rigour must have littleknowledge of comparative history. Yet so far was this from stopping theflow of treason, that a Jesuit mission entered England with the specialpurpose of teaching the people that under the Bull of Pope Pius theQueen stood excommunicated, and that it was a positive sin to obey her.Their success was only too manifest. Men of all sorts and conditions,from peers to peasants, were "reconciled" in numbers by their teaching.If this were to go on, not only would Elizabeth's life be the forfeit,but the Reformation settlement would be uprooted and undone, and theblood of the Marian martyrs would have been shed for nought.

  The laws were now made more stringent. By the Act of 1580 it had beenprovided that every priest saying mass should be liable to a fine of twohundred marks (133 pounds), with half that sum for every hearer, andboth to imprisonment for a year, or in the priest's case until the finewas paid. Now, all Jesuits and priests ordained since the Queen'saccession were banished the kingdom, being allowed forty days after theclose of the session; and none were to enter it, on penalty of death.All persons receiving or assisting such priests were held guilty offelony. Recusants were to be imprisoned until they should conform, andif they remained obstinate for three months, they must be banished.

  These penal laws, however, were rarely enforced. They were kept as asword of Damocles, suspended over the heads of the unhappy Romanists,and capable of being brought down on them at any moment. In the handsof an unscrupulous Minister of the Crown they might be made an agency ofconsiderable vexation: yet no reasonable remonstrance could be offeredto the reminder that these penalties were inflicted by law, and it wasonly of the Queen's clemency that they had not been earlier exacted. Itmust also be admitted that the penal laws bore in reality much harder onthe Romanists than they seem to do in Protestant eyes. To deprive aProtestant of the services of a clergyman is at most to incommode him;to deprive a Papist of his priest is equivalent in his eyes to deprivinghim of his salvation. To them, therefore, it was a matter of life anddeath. And yet, it must not be forgotten, they had brought it onthemselves.

  With the death of Elizabeth came a serious change. Revile her as theymight, under her the Romanists had been on the whole gently and justlyused. But it was in reality, though they could not see it, after herthe deluge.

  Who was to be Elizabeth's successor had been for years at once a seriousand an unsettled question. There were three persons living when shedied, each of whom could have put forward a claim to the Crown onvarious grounds.

  Humanly speaking, the decision was made by two groups of persons--theCareys and Cecils, and the Romanists of England--both of whom weredetermined that James of Scotland should succeed. The latter had beenworking for some time past, and had secured promises from James that hewould extend special toleration to them. He was expected to look kindlyon the party which had adhered to his mother--it would be difficult tosay why, since in Scotland his adherents had always been at war withhers--and it was remembered that he had been born and baptised in theChurch of Rome. The Roman party, therefore, wrought earnestly in hisfavour. Sir Thomas Tresham proclaimed him at Northampton, atconsiderable personal risk; his sons and Lord Monteagle assisted theEarl of Southampton to hold the Tower for James. The Pope, Clement theEighth, was entirely on James's side, of whose conversion he entertainedthe warmest hopes. To the French Ambassador, Monsieur de Beaumont,James asserted that "he was no heretic, that is, refusing to recognisethe truth; neither was he a Puritan, nor separated from the Church: heheld episcopacy as necessary, and the Pope as the chief bishop, namely,the president and moderator of councils, but not the head nor superior."

  We in this nineteenth century, accustomed to ideas of complete andperpetual toleration, and alas! also to Gallio-like apathy andindifference, can scarcely form a conception of what was at that timethe popular estimate of a Papist. A fair view of it is given by thefollowing sarcastic description, written on the fly-leaf of a volume ofmanuscript sermons of this date.

  "The Blazon of a Papist [`priest' is erased] contrived prettily by somHerault of Armes in ye compasse of Armoury.

  "First. There is papist Rampant, a furious beast: 'tis written that theDiuell goes about like a roaring Lion, but the Diuell himselfe is notmore fierce and rigorous then is papist where [he] is of force andability to shew his tyranny: wittnes ye murthers, ye massacres, yeslaughters, ye poysoning, ye stabbing, ye burning, ye broyling, yetorturing, ye tormenting, ye persecuting, with other their bloodyexecutions, euery [sic] fresh in example, infinite to be told, andhorrible to be rememberd.

  "Second. A papist Passant: he's an instrument of sedition, ofinsurrection, of treason, of Rebellion, a priest, a Jesuite, a seminary,and such other as find so many friends in England and Ireland both toreceaue and harbour them, that it is to be feard we shall smart for itone day.

  "Third. A papist Volant; of all the rest, these I take to do the leastharme: yet they will say they fly for their consciences, when itsapparently known they both practice and conspire.

  "Fourth. A papist Regardant; he obserus times, occasions, places, andpersons, and though he be one of the Popes intelligencers, yet he walkswith such circumspection and heed, that he is not known but to his ownfaction.

  "Fifth. A papist Dormant: he's a sly companion, subtill as a fox: hesleeps with open eyes, yet somtymes seeming to winke, he looks and priesinto opportunity, still feeding himselfe with those hopes that I am inhope shall never do him good.

  "Sixth. A papist Couchant: this is a daungerous fellow, and much to befeard; he creeps into the bosom of ye state, and will not stick to lookinto ye Court, nay, if he can, into Court counsells: he will shewhimselfe tractable to ye co[mm]on wealthe prescriptions, and with thisshew of obedience to Law, he doth ye Pope more service then 20 othersthat are more resisting.

  "Seventh. A papist Pendant: indeed a papist pendant is in his primep'fection: a papist pendant is so fitting a piece of Armoury for ye timepresent, as all Herauds in England are not able better to display him: apapist is then in chiefe when he is a Pendant, and he neuer comes to sohigh p'ferment, but by ye Popes especiall blessing." [Note 5.]

  James's first act, when his succession was peaceably ensured, was toremit the fines for recusancy. For the first and second years of hisreign, they were not enforced at all. The sum paid into the Exchequeron this account, in the last year of Elizabeth, was 10,333 pounds; inthe first and second years of James it was about 300 and 200 poundsrespectively. But in his third year, the fines were suddenly revived,and the Romanists took alarm. The King was evidently playing themfalse. He had been heard to say that "the Pope was the trueAntichrist," that "he would lose his crown and his life before he wouldalter religion;" that "he never had any thought of granting tolerationto the Catholics, and that if he thought that his son would condescendto any such course, he would wish the kingdom translated to hisdaughter;" and lastly, that "he had given them a year of probation, toconform themselves, which, seeing it had not wrought that effect, he hadfortified all the laws against them, and commanded them to be put inexecution to the uttermost."

  Early in 1604, all Jesuits and seminary priests were banished; therecusancy fines and arrears were soon after stringently exacted, andmany Roman Catholic families almost reduced to beggary. Suddendomiciliary visits were made in search of concealed priests, usually inthe dead of night: empty beds were examined, walls struck with mallets,rapiers thrust into the chinks of wainscots. The Jesuit missionarieswere in especial danger; they went about disguised, hid themselve
s undersecular callings and travelled from one house to another, using adifferent name at each, to avoid discovery. One priest, named Moatford,passed as the footman of Lord Sandys' daughter, wore his livery, andsaid mass in secret when it seemed safe to do so. Serious difficultieswere thrown in the way of educating children; if they were sent abroad,the parents were subject to a fine of 100 pounds; if taught at home by arecusant tutor, both he and his employer were mulcted in forty shillingsper day.

  It was in these circumstances that the Gunpowder Plot originated,--notfrom some sudden ebullition of groundless malice: and it was due, not tothe Romanists at large, but to that section of them only whichconstituted the Jesuit party.

  It is not generally understood that the Roman Church, which boasts soloudly of her perfect unity, is really divided in two parties, onesiding with, and the other against, that powerful and mysterious bodycalling itself the Society of Jesus. It is with this body, "the powerbehind the Pope,"--which Popes have ere this striven to put down, andhave only fallen a sacrifice themselves--that political plots have mostcommonly originated, and the Gunpowder Plot was no exception to thegeneral rule. It was entirely got up by the Jesuit faction, theordinary Roman Catholics not merely having nothing to do with it, butplacing themselves, when interrogated, in positive opposition to it.

  There are certain peculiarities concerning the conspirators whichdistinguish this enterprise from others of its class. They were mostlyyoung men; they _were_ nearly all connected by ties of blood ormarriage; two-thirds of them, if not more, were perverts fromProtestantism; and so far from being the vulgar, brutal miscreantsusually supposed, they were--with one exception--gentlemen of name andfamily, and some of good fortune; educated and accomplished men, whohonestly believed themselves to be doing God service. It is instructiveto read their profound conviction that they were saving their country'shonour, furthering their own salvation, and promoting the glory of God.The slaughter of the innocents which necessarily attended their projectwas lamentable indeed, but inevitable, and gave rise to as little realcompunction as the eating of beef and mutton. These men were by nomeans heartless; they were only blind from ignorance of Scripture, andexcess of zeal in a false cause.

  The original propounder of the plot was unquestionably Robert Catesby,of Ashby Saint Ledgers, a Northamptonshire gentleman of ancient ancestryand fair estate. He first whispered it in secret to John Wright, aLincolnshire squire, and soon afterwards to Thomas Winter, a youngerbrother of the owner of Huddington Hall in Worcestershire, and a distantcousin of an old friend of some of my readers--Edward Underhill, the"Hot Gospeller." Thomas Winter communicated it in Flanders to GuyFawkes, a young officer of Yorkshire birth, and these four met with afifth, Thomas Percy, cousin and steward of the Earl of Northumberland.The object of the meeting was to consider the condition of the RomanCatholics, with a view to taking action for its relief. There was alsoa priest in the company, but who he was did not transpire, though it isalmost certain to have been one of the three Jesuits chiefly concernedin the plot--John Gerard, Oswald Greenway, or Henry Garnet. Percy,usually fertile in imagination and eager in action, was ready with aproposition at once. He said--

  "The only way left for us is to kill the King; and that will I undertaketo do. From him we looked for bread, and have received nought savestones. Let him be prayed to visit my Lord Mordaunt at Turvey, where amasque may be had for him; and he once there, in the house of one of us(though my Lord be not known so to be), he is at our mercy. How sayyou, gentlemen?"

  "Nay, my son," replied the priest. "There is a better course in hand--even to cut up the very roots, and remove all impediments whatsoever."

  "That were to run great risk and accomplish little," added Catesby."No, Tom: thou shalt not adventure thyself to so small purpose. If thouwilt be a traitor, I have in mine head a much further design thanthat,--to greater advantage, and that can never be discovered."

  Every body wished to know his meaning.

  "I have bethought me," continued Catesby, "of a way at one instant todeliver us from all our bonds, and without any foreign help to replantagain the Catholic religion. In a word, it is to blow up the ParliamentHouse with gunpowder, for in that place have they done us all themischief, and perchance God hath designed that place for theirpunishment."

  "Truly, a strange proposal!" said Thomas Winter. "The scandal would beso great that the Catholic religion might sustain thereby."

  "The nature of the disease requires so sharp a remedy," was Catesby'sreply.

  "But were it lawful?" objected John Wright. "Ask your ghostly father,"said Catesby, who was pretty sure of the answer in that case.

  "But remember," said Winter, "there are many of our friends and Catholicbrethren amongst the Lords: shall we destroy them with the rest?"

  Catesby's answer was in principle that of Caiaphas. "Ay: 'tis expedientthe few die for the good of the many."

  The next step was to obtain a house convenient for their operations,--namely, so close to the Houses of Parliament that they could carry amine from its cellar right under the House. Percy was deputed to attendto this matter, as his circumstances offered an excuse for his seekingsuch a house. He was one of the band of gentlemen pensioners, whoseduty it was to be in daily attendance on the King; a position into whichhe had been smuggled by his cousin Lord Northumberland, without havingtaken the oath requisite for _it_. This oath Percy could notconscientiously have taken, since by it he renounced the authority ofthe Pope. A little study of the topography induced him to fix on twocontiguous houses, which stood close to the House of Lords. Oninvestigation, it was found that these two houses belonged to theParliament, and were held by Mr Wyniard, Keeper of the King's Wardrobe,"an ancient and honest servant of Queen Elizabeth." Both, however, hadbeen sub-let by him--the nearer to Mr Henry Ferris; the further toGideon Gibbons, a public porter, subsequently utilised by the plotters,to his danger and discomfort. Percy, therefore, in March, 1604, "beganto labour earnestly" with Mr Wyniard and his wife to obtain thesehouses. Mrs Wyniard seems chiefly to have attended to this business;her husband was not improbably incapacitated by age or ill-health.Percy's efforts proved successful. He was accepted as tenant by theWyniards at a rent of 12 pounds per annum, Mr Ferris being bought outwith 30 pounds for his good-will and 5 pounds more "in consideration ofthe charges of the house." The agreement was signed on the 24th of May.

  The next united act of these five exemplary gentlemen was to meet at ahouse "in the fields behind Saint Clement's Church, near the arch, nearthe well called Saint Clement's Well." This seems to have been theresidence of the Jesuit priest Gerard; but it is uncertain whether itwas identical with that of Percy, or with that of Mrs Herbert, whereFawkes had apartments, both which are also described as "beyond SaintClement's." Gerard, who was in the company, was with delicateconsideration left in an upper room, where he was provided with allnecessaries for the celebration of mass, while the conspiratorsproceeded to business alone in the lower apartment. Taking a primer inhis hand, Catesby administered to his four accomplices this oath, whichhe also took himself:--

  "You swear by the blessed Trinity, and by the Sacrament which you nowpropose to receive, never to disclose directly or indirectly, by word orcircumstance, the matter that shall be proposed to you to keep secret,nor desist from the execution thereof till the rest shall give youleave."

  Then they passed into the upper room, where Gerard stood ready robed,and received the host from his hands--with what "intention" beingunknown to him, if the assertion of the conspirators may be believed.

  I have gone rather too far, chronologically speaking, in order to tellthis part of the story straight through; and now we must go back alittle. About four months before this oath was taken, in January, 1604,was held the famous conference of bishops at Hampton Court. The King,who, though baptised a Roman Catholic, had been educated as aPresbyterian, propounded various queries to the hierarchy concerningpractices which puzzled him in the Church of England, of which he wasnow the supreme h
ead upon earth. In the first place, he desired to knowthe meaning of the rite of confirmation: "if they held the sacrament ofbaptism invalidous without it, then was it in his judgment blasphemous;yet if it were only that children might themselves profess and beblessed, then very good." The absolution of the Church he had heardcompared to the Pope's pardons. Private baptism, he would haveadministered only by a lawful minister; and concerning excommunicationshe had also something to say. On all these points the bishops fullysatisfied his Majesty, "whose exquisite expositions did breed wonder andastonishment in that learned and noble audience." Modern readers of theproceedings have been much less inclined to astonishment, except indeedthat the bishops should have been so easily astonished. On the secondday, a deputation was received from the Puritan ministers, whopetitioned for four points--which had they gained, the nineteenthcentury would have found its burdens considerably lightened. Theyrequested that the doctrine of the Church might be preserved pure,according to God's Word; that good pastors might be planted in allchurches, to preach in the same; that the Book of Common Prayer might befitted to more increase of piety; and that Church government might besincerely ministered according to God's Word.

  King James made the deputation explain themselves; and after a day'sdebate, he angrily told them that they were aiming at a Scottishpresbytery, which agreed with monarchy as well as God and the Devil."No bishop, no king!" added his Majesty. Some few members of theConference maintained that the Puritans had been crushed and insulted;but Chancellor Egerton said he had never seen king and priest so fullyunited in one person as in that of his sacred Majesty, and Bancroft(afterwards Archbishop) fell upon his knees, unctuously exclaiming thathis heart melted for joy to think that England was blessed with such aruler. The bishops and privy-councillors then conferred alone, altereda few expressions in the Liturgy, and summoned the Puritans to heartheir decision. Dr Raynolds, the Puritan spokesman, entreated that theuse of the surplice and the sign of the cross in baptism might be laidaside, or at least not made compulsory, but the King sternly told himthat they preferred the credit of a few private men to the peace of theChurch; that he would have none of this arguing; "wherefore let themconform, and quickly too, or they shall hear of it." By thisshort-sighted policy, the opportunity for really securing peace to theChurch was lost for sixty years, and many of the troubles of the nextreign were sown. The next step was to arrest ten of the Puritanleaders; and then to eject from their benefices three hundred clergy ofthat school. Among these was Mr Marshall, the pastor of our friends.Lady Louvaine was sorely troubled. She said they were now as sheepwithout a shepherd, and were but too likely to have a shepherd set overthem who would fleece and devour the sheep. Of these clergy some joinedthe Presbyterians, some the Brownists--whom people now began to callIndependents: others remained in the Church, ceasing to minister, andfollowing such callings as they deemed not unbecoming the position of aChristian minister--chiefly tutorship and literature. Mr Marshall wasin the last class. He said better times might come, and he could notsee his way to desert the Church, though her ways to him at this presentwere somewhat step-motherly.

  "But how, Mr Marshall, if the Church cast you forth?" asked Temperance.

  "Then must I needs go," he answered with a smile. "But that, look you,were not my deed, nor should I be responsible for it before God. Solong as I break not her laws, she hath no right to eject me; and so longas she abideth in the truth, I have no right to desert her."

  "But the bishops abide not in the truth, as I take it."

  "The bishops be not the Church," replied he. "Let the Articles andHomilies be changed, with evil tendency, and then that is to change theChurch. I go forth of her then at once; for she should be no longer theChurch of my faith, to which I sware obedience, and she hath not thatright over me to require me to change with her. But so long as theseare left unaltered, what matter though bishops change? They are notimmortal: and very sure am I they are not infallible."

  "What think you, Mother?" said Edith.

  "Children," replied Lady Louvaine, laying down her knitting in her lap,"I can get no further at this present than one line of Saint John: `HeHimself knew what He would do.' I do not know what He will do. It maybe, as it then was, something that none of all His disciples can guess.One step at a time is all He allows us to see, and all He bids us take.`He calleth His own sheep by name, and leadeth them out'; but also, `Hegoeth before them.' At times He leads them, I think, outside the fold;and if He is outside, and we hear His voice, we must needs go to Him.Yet is this rare, and we should make very sure that it is from withoutwe hear the familiar voice, and not rush forth in haste when He may becalling from within. Let us know that He is on the road before us, andthen we need have no fear to run fast, no doubt whither the road willlead. There be some sheep in such haste to run that they must needs gopast the Shepherd; and then have they no longer a leader, and are verylike to miss the right way."

  "You have the right, Lady Louvaine," said Mr Marshall. "`He thatbelieveth shall not make haste.' Yet there be sheep--to follow yourimagery, or truly that of our Lord--that will lag behind, and never keeppace with the Shepherd."

  "Ay," she answered: "and I know not if that be not the commoner fault ofthe twain. He calls, and calls, and they come not; and such sheep findmany a sharp tap from the rod ere they will walk, never say run. OurShepherd is human, therefore He can feel for us; He is Divine, thereforecan He have patience with us. Let us thank God for both."

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  Note 1. Except, only. This, now a Northern provincialism, is anarchaism at least as old as the fourteenth century.

  Note 2. Nevertheless. This strictly Lancastrian provincialism issupposed to be a corruption of "choose how." Its exact pronunciationcan hardly be put into English letters.

  Note 3. This was a revival; for "persille" is found on the Rolls ofEdward II.

  Note 4. This is the computation of Sir Edward Coke in his openingspeech at the trial of the Gunpowder conspirators.

  Note 5. The little manuscript volume wherein this is inscribed, whichis in my own possession, consists of sermons--not very legible, andmostly very dry by the Rev. Thomas Stone, their dates ranging from 1622to 1666, with a few occasional memoranda interspersed.