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THE BROKEN FONT.
A STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "TALES OF THE WARS OF OUR TIMES," "RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PENINSULA," &c. &c. &c.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1836.
LONDON: Printed by A. SPOTTISWOODE, New-Street-Square.
PREFACE.
It is impossible to read or meditate concerning that period of historyin which the scene and action of my tale are laid without partaking ofthe feelings of both parties in that great quarrel, and "being (in aninnocent sense) on both sides."
In such a spirit has my story been conceived and written. Until thesword was drawn, the more generous and constitutional Royalists wereseparated by but a faint line from the best and most patriotic men ofthe Parliament party.
I have, however, confined myself more particularly to thecontemplation of those miseries and violent acts of persecution whichthe appeal to arms brought upon many private families, and especiallyupon those of the clergy.
In the contrivance of such a fiction, it became necessary to introducepictures of fanaticism and hypocrisy, and to describe scenes ofcruelty and of low interested persecution; but such parts of the storymust not be considered separately from the rest. The general tenor ofmy volumes will, I trust, be found in strict consistency with thatcharity that "thinketh no evil," but "hopeth all things."
THE BROKEN FONT.
CHAPTER I.
Thus till man end, his vanities goe round, In credit here, and there discredited; Striving to binde, and never to be bound; To governe God, and not bee governed: Which is the cause his life is thus confused, In his corruption, by these arts abused. LORD BROOKE.
It was the early afternoon of a fine open day in the last week ofApril, in the year 1640. The sun shone warm; not a breath of wind wasstirring the tender foliage of the tall trees, or the delicate flowerof the lowly harebell beneath the hedge-rows. All was still, save thatat intervals the voice of the cuckoo was heard--loud, but yetmellow--from the bosom of a neighbouring wood. The swains in thefield lay stretched in the shade, as though summer were already come:in gardens and court-yards not a sound of labour or a clatter of lifedisturbed the silence of the hour.
In a shady alcove, which looked out on the bowling alley of MilvertonHouse, sate the worthy old master of the mansion, with one leg crossedover the other, a book upon his knee, and a kindly smile playingacross his manly features. Not far distant, upon the steps which ledup to the near end of a stately terrace, was seated a fair littlegirl, about six years of age. A thick laurel protected her with itsshadow; and it might be seen by the paper in her hand, by the motionof her lips, and by the sway of her little head and neck, that she wascommitting some task to memory, with that pleasure that makes apastime even out of a lesson. Out on the smooth green an oldflap-mouthed hound, whose hunting days were long past, lay basking inthe sun, among the dispersed bowls, which the last players had idlyneglected to put away; and with them a boy's bow and arrow had beenleft, or forgotten, on the ground. The child's murmur was lower thanthe soft coo from the dove-cote, or the gentle music of the fountain;and there was a hush of quiet about all these whispers of created lifethat was in harmony with the general silence.
The shadow of the dial had crept on nearly half an hour before thisrepose was broken. It was so at last, by a hot boy of fourteen, withvest unbuttoned, and without a hat, who came to seek his bow andarrow. The glad cry of "I have found them!" dispelled the silence: thelittle girl thrust her paper into her bosom, and jumped up at thesound of the welcome voice; and the old man looked up, and, puttinghis book down on the seat beside him, scolded the noble boy for havingleft the bowls out to be scorched and injured by the sun.
With no abatement of good humour, the cheerful boy, eagerly helped bythe little girl, gathered them up, and carried them into thebowl-house. The old hound was too much accustomed to the thing even tostir for it, though one of the bowls almost touched his nose.
This duty done, the boy, upon whose mind one thing lay uppermost, withthat abruptness which belongs to nature and to boyhood, propounded tohis great-uncle, Sir Oliver Heywood, the following most startlingquestion:--
"Was it not, sir, a very wicked thing to cut off Mr. Prynne's ears?"
Had it suddenly thundered the old knight could not have been moresurprised; and, if a wasp had stung him in a tender place, he couldnot have been less pleased.
"Master Prynne! what do you know about Master Prynne, you foolishboy?"
"O, I know--I know very well! they cut off his ears because he didn'tlike plays; and that was very cruel! What a shame it would be to cutoff the ears of old Josh. Cross, that takes care of your hawks,because he didn't like to hear Stephen play upon the fiddle!"
"Why, Arthur, what has come to you, boy? who has been teaching youthis nonsense? If Master Prynne had lost his head, instead of hisears, it would be no more than he deserved, and I hope he may live toown it."
At this rebuke the boy coloured, and hung his head; but added, as ifpleading for his fault,--
"It was Master Noble said so; and you know, sir, you have told us allto mind what he says, for he is always in the right."
Sir Oliver bade him hastily go play; and the boy, taking his littleniece by the hand, they ran out of the bowling-green at one angle,while the good old knight, not a little discomposed by the incident,ascended slowly to the terrace. Here he found old Philip, the keeperof the buttery, seated at the far end, in the shade, in the calmenjoyment of a pipe. Instead of the wonted word of pleasant greeting,Sir Oliver told him, in a rough tone, to go and seek instantly forMaster Noble, and send him thither.
While the kind old serving man went away with his message in nocomfortable mood--for the young tutor was as great a favourite inkitchen as in hall--the old gentleman paced the terrace with aleisurely and thoughtful step; and made frequent stops and soliloquieson the strange and unexpected words and sentiments which he had justheard from the lips of his open and artless boy. While thus engaged,we will leave him for a few moments to place before our reader thestate of the family at the time of which we write.
At the village of Milverton, in Warwickshire, upon a sweet spot abovethe valley of the Avon, Sir Oliver Heywood, the descendant of asuccessful and honoured merchant, occupied a fair and pleasant mansionerected in the reign of Elizabeth by his wealthy father.
The family at Milverton House consisted of the worthy knight, a maidensister, his daughter--an only child--and a boy who was the son of afavourite nephew slain in the German wars, in which he had been led toengage as a diversion of his grief on the loss of a beloved wife.
In addition to these regular members of the family there was a littleorphan girl, whom his benevolent sister had adopted. This sister,Mistress Alice, was two years the junior of Sir Oliver, and hadattained the age of sixty-one. She had taken up her abode with him atthe death of Lady Heywood, about four years before the period ofwhich we now speak.
Katharine, his daughter, was in her twentieth year, and his nephew'sson was about fourteen years of age.
Master Noble, of whom mention has been made, was tutor to the boyArthur, and resided with the family.
This young scholar was the son of an old school-fellow and friend ofSir Oliver's, who held the benefice o
f Cheddar, in Somersetshire.Cuthbert Noble, like his father before him, had been educated atWilliam of Wykeham's school of Winchester; but not succeeding so faras to obtain a fellowship at New College, Oxford, which is the usualaim and reward of the scholars upon the Winchester foundation, he hadproceeded to Cambridge, and there graduated with good report. He hadbeen now six months at Milverton.
Sir Oliver's birthday was ever a high festival at the manor-house.This year it was the pleasure of his daughter to celebrate it by amasque; and all the arrangements for this masque were referred byMistress Katharine to Cuthbert Noble. He cheerfully undertook them;and having gained some experience in these matters at college, andhaving some skill in painting, set himself to prepare scenes--then avery recent invention. As, with a painting brush in his hand, he wasstanding before a scene, nearly finished, and dashing in the white andfoamy water upon canvass, that was fast changing into a torrent,falling from rocks, and rushing through a lonely glen,--and as hestood back surveying the effect, and humming the fragment of a song,Philip came slowly up the gallery, and said gravely,--
"Master Cuthbert, Sir Oliver wants to speak with you directly."
"Where is he?"
"In the garden, on the lower terrace; and I wish he was looking morepleasant:--it's my thought, Master, there's something wrong; for it isnot a small matter that can vex him."
Cuthbert put down his brush and palette, and proceeded slowly towardsthe terrace. As he was descending the wide steps which led to it, hecould not but observe that the good knight was serious, if not angry.
"Master Cuthbert," said Sir Oliver with an air of gravity anddispleasure, "I have sent for you to hear from your own lips somelittle explanation or defence of a matter that hath come to myknowledge by the accident of a child's artless utterance. It may bethat it was only a word lightly dropped by you--a passing levity--alapsus of the tongue, not of the judgment--such an indiscretion as Imay pass over in one of your unripe age and little experience, withoutfurther correction than a faithful reproof, and a timely warning ofthe danger of such vain observations, and of their unsuitableness andimpropriety in one who fills so important an office in my family, andhath so far enjoyed my confidence as to have doubtless a greatinfluence for evil or for good."
This long preface Sir Oliver delivered, pacing slowly on the terracewith his eyes bent upon the ground. Cuthbert walked by his side,anxious for the direct charge, now too plainly whispered from withinby his own swift thoughts.
Sir Oliver paused, and, looking full and steadily upon the seriouscountenance of the youthful tutor, demanded of him whether it weretrue that he had said publicly before any of his family or household,that it was a barbarous and cruel thing to cut off Master Prynne'sears?
"I certainly so expressed myself," was the calm answer of Cuthbert.
"Where and to whom did you thus speak?"
"It was in the library--the lady Alice was present, and Master Arthurwas there at his lesson."
"And are these the lessons that you teach in my house and to mychildren?--know you, sir, that Master Prynne is a traitor--that hespeaketh evil of dignities, and soweth disloyalty--that he is ahypocrite and a fanatic?"
"Sir Oliver," said Cuthbert, "there was no discourse upon this matter,save only the one remark of which you question me:--this fell from myheart when your good sister read out some news of him--and thereuponthe lady Alice went forth without a word; for I presume not tointrude my poor thoughts of court affairs upon any one in this house.I know my place better."
"Life of me! Thou dost not confess thy fault--thou dost not say thypaenitet for teaching this false lesson to my child!"
"I would not be slow to speak out my sorrow and shame if I felt them,but I am conscience-whole in this thing,--and my few words did give noother lesson than one of plain humanity."
"Master Cuthbert, I do believe thee a true and gentle youth, of bestintentions, and thou comest of a good stock. Thy father is my goodfriend from the gladsome days when we were school-fellows together atSt. Mary, Winton; and where hath church or state a better parson orbetter subject than he? therefore, I would for his sake, as for thineown, entreat thee mildly. Youth is warm and tender, and wanting a farsight to the great end of punishment--the axe might rust and thescourge gather cobwebs before hearts like thine would give roguestheir due."
"I am of sterner stuff, Sir Oliver, than to wish a rogue safe fromthe beadle, or a traitor from the headsman; but I am not so taught asto think the mistakes of a severe piety treasons deserving oftorture."
"Odd's life! I see how it is--thou art bitten by these gloomyfanatics--the venom is in thy veins:--well for me that I have seen itsfirst workings. By my fathers! these new papists, these worseCarthusians, would drive sunshine from the earth, and kill theflowers, and stop the singing of birds, and give us a world of rockand clouds--hard as their stony hearts, and gloomy as their coldminds! Master Cuthbert, we must part. I'll not have the path of my boyshadowed over before it be God's will. The earth is green and goodly,and pleasant to the eyes; and long may his heart rejoice in it, asmine has before him. Look you, we must part."
"At your pleasure I came, Sir Oliver, and I am ready, at yourpleasure, to return to my father's. My stay with you has been short,and I would fain hope that I have not failed in my duty to you. Mayyou be more fortunate in your choice of a tutor for Master Arthurthan you have been in me!"
Cuthbert spoke these words with so much self-command that not onesyllable trembled in the utterance; yet the tone was at once mournfuland resolved.
The better feelings of Sir Oliver were touched: the expression of hiseye showed plainly that he was repenting of his hastiness, relentingin his decision. What his reply might have been, may, in its spirit,be easily imagined; but a sudden interruption checked the words thatwere rising to his lips; and a sounder and more prudential reason fordesiring the departure of Cuthbert was presented to his judgment thanany objection which could have been urged at that time, with anysemblance of fairness, against his errors as a churchman, or his sinsas a subject.
"Master Noble," called a rich clear voice from above them,--"MasterNoble, we poor players do wait your pleasure, and are ready with ourparts; but we cannot go on with our rehearsal till the manager dothcome to us." Looking up, Sir Oliver saw his daughter leaning over thebalustrade, with a paper in one hand, and a tall wand wreathed withflowers in the other; and, as he turned his eyes upon Cuthbert Noble,the strong emotions with which Cuthbert was evidently struggling didnot escape his observation.
"I have business with him just now, Kate," said her father: "go thyway. He shall come to thee in the hall anon." But as he spoke, the boyArthur came down the steps, leading in his hand the little girl; and,running up to Cuthbert with joyous eagerness, cried out, "Kitten cando her part--she can say every word quite perfect--you must hear her."With that, the little girl letting go his hand, and putting back hersunny curls, which had fallen over her blue eyes, repeated, with anair of sweet intelligence and pretty innocence, these lines:--
"I do childhood represent, Listen to my argument: Mine the magic power to bring Pleasure out of every thing; Sunbeams, flowers, and summer air, Music, wonders, visions fair, All my happy steps attend; Mine is peace without an end;-- All things are at peace with me, Beast in field, and bird on tree; The sheep that lie upon the grass Never stir as I do pass; If by the singing bird I stray, He never quits his chosen spray; If to the squirrel's haunt I go, He comes with curious eye below; Earth and I are full of love, I fear no harm from Heav'n above, For there, as here, all things do tell A Father God doth surely dwell:-- O! could I be a child alway, How happy were life's holyday!"
The countenance of Sir Oliver recovered all its wonted expression ofgood humour, as the child prettily recited these lines; and pattingher on the head, as she concluded, he turned to Cuthbert and said, inhis usual kind tone, "We will talk our matter over another time: I seethat you are no joy-killer, and would never mar an innocentpleasure-mak
ing--I was ever fond of a good play--a pox on theseprick-eared knaves that would forbid them!
"'Why kings and emperors have taen delight To make experience of their wits in plays,'
as Master Kyd hath it, in his Spanish tragedy."
Cuthbert said nothing; but having a recollection of the passage fromwhich Sir Oliver had quoted, thought he might have found a morecomfortable sanction and a much better authority.
"But, prithee," continued Sir Oliver, "whose rhymes be these that thechild has just spoken?"
"They are my poor doggerel," answered Cuthbert; "for this dear childwould give me no rest till I made a part for her in the BirthdayMasque."
"Marry," rejoined the knight, "the fancy of them pleaseth me, and forthe verse I care not."
They all now turned to ascend the steps; and as they did so, apparentat the same instant to both Sir Oliver and Cuthbert was MistressKatharine, leaning over the balustrade of the upper terrace, with anair of grave and perplexed curiosity.
As soon as they reached the top, which was level with the lawn infront of the mansion, Katharine caught Kitten in her arms, kissed herfair brow, and ran with her towards the house; the happy child callingout the while, "Come along, Master Noble, pray, come," and at the sametime clapping together her two little hands at thought of the comingpleasure.