Westward Ho! - Charles Kingsley (free ebook reader for ipad .TXT) 📗

skipping just in front of them for centuries, always a step farther off, like the place where the rainbow touches the ground, they used to announce at times, in language which terrified old Mr. Leigh. One day, indeed, as Eustace entered his father’s private room, after his usual visit to the mill, he could hear voices high in dispute; Parsons as usual, blustering; Mr. Leigh peevishly deprecating, and Campian, who was really the sweetest-natured of men, trying to pour oil on the troubled waters. Whereat Eustace (for the good of the cause, of course) stopped outside and listened.

“My excellent sir,” said Mr. Leigh, “does not your very presence here show how I am affected toward the holy cause of the Catholic faith? But I cannot in the meanwhile forget that I am an Englishman.”

“And what is England?” said Parsons: “A heretic and schismatic Babylon, whereof it is written, ‘Come out of her, my people, lest you be partaker of her plagues.’ Yea, what is a country? An arbitrary division of territory by the princes of this world, who are naught, and come to naught. They are created by the people’s will; their existence depends on the sanction of him to whom all power is given in heaven and earth—our Holy Father the Pope. Take away the latter, and what is a king?—the people who have made him may unmake him.”

“My dear sir, recollect that I have sworn allegiance to Queen Elizabeth!”

“Yes, sir, you have, sir; and, as I have shown at large in my writings, you were absolved from that allegiance from the moment that the bull of Pius the Fifth declared her a heretic and excommunicate, and thereby to have forfeited all dominion whatsoever. I tell you, sir, what I thought you should have known already, that since the year 1569, England has had no queen, no magistrates, no laws, no lawful authority whatsoever; and that to own allegiance to any English magistrate, sir, or to plead in an English court of law, is to disobey the apostolic precept, ‘How dare you go to law before the unbelievers?’ I tell you, sir, rebellion is now not merely permitted, it is a duty.”

“Take care, sir; for God’s sake, take care!” said Mr. Leigh. “Right or wrong, I cannot have such language used in my house. For the sake of my wife and children, I cannot!”

“My dear brother Parsons, deal more gently with the flock,” interposed Campian. “Your opinion, though probable, as I well know, in the eyes of most of our order, is hardly safe enough here; the opposite is at least so safe that Mr. Leigh may well excuse his conscience for accepting it. After all, are we not sent hither to proclaim this very thing, and to relieve the souls of good Catholics from a burden which has seemed to them too heavy?”

“Yes,” said Parsons, half-sulkily, “to allow all Balaams who will to sacrifice to Baal, while they call themselves by the name of the Lord.”

“My dear brother, have I not often reminded you that Naaman was allowed to bow himself in the house of Rimmon? And can we therefore complain of the office to which the Holy Father has appointed us, to declare to such as Mr. Leigh his especial grace, by which the bull of Pius the Fifth (on whose soul God have mercy!) shall henceforth bind the queen and the heretics only; but in no ways the Catholics, at least as long as the present tyranny prevents the pious purposes of the bull?”

“Be it so, sir; be it so. Only observe this, Mr. Leigh, that our brother Campian confesses this to be a tyranny. Observe, sir, that the bull does still bind the so-called queen, and that she and her magistrates are still none the less usurpers, nonentities, and shadows of a shade. And observe this, sir, that when that which is lawful is excused to the weak, it remains no less lawful to the strong. The seven thousand who had not bowed the knee to Baal did not slay his priests; but Elijah did, and won to himself a good reward. And if the rest of the children of Israel sinned not in not slaying Eglon, yet Ehud’s deed was none the less justified by all laws human and divine.”

“For Heaven’s sake, do not talk so, sir! or I must leave the room. What have I to do with Ehud and Eglon, and slaughters, and tyrannies? Our queen is a very good queen, if Heaven would but grant her repentance, and turn her to the true faith. I have never been troubled about religion, nor any one else that I know of in the West country.”

“You forget Mr. Trudgeon of Launceston, father, and poor Father Mayne,” interposed Eustace, who had by this time slipped in; and Campian added softly—

“Yes, your West of England also has been honored by its martyrs, as well as my London by the precious blood of Story.”

“What, young malapert?” cried poor Leigh, facing round upon his son, glad to find any one on whom he might vent his ill-humor; “are you too against me, with a murrain on you? And pray, what the devil brought Cuthbert Mayne to the gallows, and turned Mr. Trudgeon (he was always a foolish hot-head) out of house and home, but just such treasonable talk as Mr. Parsons must needs hold in my house, to make a beggar of me and my children, as he will before he has done.”

“The Blessed Virgin forbid!” said Campian.

“The Blessed Virgin forbid? But you must help her to forbid it, Mr. Campian. We should never have had the law of 1571, against bulls, and Agnus Deis, and blessed grains, if the Pope’s bull of 1569 had not made them matter of treason, by preventing a poor creature’s saving his soul in the true Church without putting his neck into a halter by denying the queen’s authority.”

“What, sir?” almost roared Parsons, “do you dare to speak evil of the edicts of the Vicar of Christ?”

“I? No. I didn’t. Who says I did? All I meant was, I am sure— Mr. Campian, you are a reasonable man, speak for me.”

“Mr. Leigh only meant, I am sure, that the Holy Father’s prudent intentions have been so far defeated by the perverseness and invincible misunderstanding of the heretics, that that which was in itself meant for the good of the oppressed English Catholics has been perverted to their harm.”

“And thus, reverend sir,” said Eustace, glad to get into his father’s good graces again, “my father attaches blame, not to the Pope—Heaven forbid!—but to the pravity of his enemies.”

“And it is for this very reason,” said Campian, “that we have brought with us the present merciful explanation of the bull.”

“I’ll tell you what, gentlemen,” said Mr. Leigh, who, like other weak men, grew in valor as his opponent seemed inclined to make peace, “I don’t think the declaration was needed. After the new law of 1571 was made, it was never put in force till Mayne and Trudgeon made fools of themselves, and that was full six years. There were a few offenders, they say, who were brought up and admonished, and let go; but even that did not happen down here, and need not happen now, unless you put my son here (for you shall never put me, I warrant you) upon some deed which had better be left alone, and so bring us all to shame.”

“Your son, sir, if not openly vowed to God, has, I hope, a due sense of that inward vocation which we have seen in him, and reverences his spiritual fathers too well to listen to the temptations of his earthly father.”

“What, sir, will you teach my son to disobey me?”

“Your son is ours also, sir. This is strange language in one who owes a debt to the Church, which it was charitably fancied he meant to pay in the person of his child.”

These last words touched poor Mr. Leigh in a sore point, and breaking all bounds, he swore roundly at Parsons, who stood foaming with rage.

“A plague upon you, sir, and a black assizes for you, for you will come to the gallows yet! Do you mean to taunt me in my own house with that Hartland land? You had better go back and ask those who sent you where the dispensation to hold the land is, which they promised to get me years ago, and have gone on putting me off, till they have got my money, and my son, and my conscience, and I vow before all the saints, seem now to want my head over and above. God help me!”—and the poor man’s eyes fairly filled with tears.

Now was Eustace’s turn to be roused; for, after all, he was an Englishman and a gentleman; and he said kindly enough, but firmly—

“Courage, my dearest father. Remember that I am still your son, and not a Jesuit yet; and whether I ever become one, I promise you, will depend mainly on the treatment which you meet with at the hands of these reverend gentlemen, for whom I, as having brought them hither, must consider myself as surety to you.”

If a powder-barrel had exploded in the Jesuits’ faces, they could not have been more amazed. Campian looked blank at Parsons, and Parsons at Campian; till the stouter-hearted of the two, recovering his breath at last—

“Sir! do you know, sir, the curse pronounced on those who, after putting their hand to the plough, look back?”

Eustace was one of those impulsive men, with a lack of moral courage, who dare raise the devil, but never dare fight him after he has been raised; and he now tried to pass off his speech by winking and making signs in the direction of his father, as much as to say that he was only trying to quiet the old man’s fears. But Campian was too frightened, Parsons too angry, to take his hints: and he had to carry his part through.

“All I read is, Father Parsons, that such are not fit for the kingdom of God; of which high honor I have for some time past felt myself unworthy. I have much doubt just now as to my vocation; and in the meanwhile have not forgotten that I am a citizen of a free country.” And so saying, he took his father’s arm, and walked out.

His last words had hit the Jesuits hard. They had put the poor cobweb-spinners in mind of the humiliating fact, which they have had thrust on them daily from that time till now, and yet have never learnt the lesson, that all their scholastic cunning, plotting, intriguing, bulls, pardons, indulgences, and the rest of it, are, on this side the Channel, a mere enchanter’s cloud-castle and Fata Morgana, which vanishes into empty air by one touch of that magic wand, the constable’s staff. “A citizen of a free country!”—there was the rub; and they looked at each other in more utter perplexity than ever. At last Parsons spoke.

“There’s a woman in the wind. I’ll lay my life on it. I saw him blush up crimson yesterday when his mother asked him whether some Rose Salterne or other was still in the neighborhood.”

“A woman! Well, the spirit may be willing, though the flesh be weak. We will inquire into this. The youth may do us good service as a layman; and if anything should happen to his elder brother (whom the saints protect!) he is heir to some wealth. In the meanwhile, our dear brother Parsons will perhaps see the expediency of altering our tactics somewhat while we are here.”

And thereupon a long conversation began between the two, who had been sent together, after the wise method of their order,