Alice Bridge of Norwich — page 15: what you’re looking at

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ALICE BRIDGE OF NORWICH. aii | 28 | I scorn to threaten any-but mine “equals,—but as an admonition from him that both of nature and of duty: hath most care of your preservation | and properties,” Having thus delivered him- fl self, the King sat down abruptly, amid a grave 1] silence, while the angry murmurs and gibes of } many were barely suppressed. | The grand assembly slowly broke up, but not | before men and women were asking, ‘‘ What can this mean?” .The Commons, on withdraw- ing, could not repress their lively indignation. Said Wentworth, ‘‘ We have had an act from the Wolf and Lamb.” “ Our school-master finely lectured us. Thad ; * put stripped for the birching,” cried Hamp- en. Said Noy, ‘The poor gentleman’s larder is 1} low, and he hungers for subsidies.” “He is a fool,” said Selden, ‘‘ who threatens his subjects when he should either please or surprise them. Forewarned is forearmed.” “ Alas,” sadly rejoined Sir John Eliot, ‘‘ those other means and the Lord Keeper’s hint of ‘swords’ can only mean civil war.” “* Swords!” loudly exclaimed Cromwell; ‘‘ we Hi too wear swords,—and, please Heaven, we will HE show we can use them.” i “ Better first try every other way,” answered | Pym. i “God forbid the need,” was Eliot’s reply. |) “Some of us must die for England, that’s i plain.” “Be it so,” rejoined Hampden; ‘‘but we Why must be wary rather than angry.” Wad “Doubtless,” replied Sir John Eliot; ‘‘but we need no admonition to remember it. Good God! to my dying day I shall remember the sting and shame of this unroyal outrage.” Our Fleming, having disengaged himself, waited in the passage by which the Queen and her escort found their exit. The Queen was saying in French, ‘‘ My Charles was like a King to-day—with just a touch of the pedant; and he made all listen, He had the grand air!” The rest of the fine dames passed by remarking, “He gave it them roundly.” —“‘ They look fine men—Spaniards dress so well or gala days.”— “Tis a fine spectacle, only the Commons rush in like beasts.” —‘' The ladies’ fashions are not so striking this year.”—‘‘I did not fancy the rattling of swords—surely they won't fight ie Gabrielle now came on talking merrily. The Fleming thanked her for her inquiries, and her letter. She said provokingly, ‘‘I did notthink you were really so well, Philip, orl might have spared my forwardness.” “ Your kindness, dear lady, has helped great- Jy to cure me.” ; “Nay, sir, I was not kind—I was half asleep, and thought my letter was very cold.” “Gabrielle, your very coldest kindness is as summer rays to me.” “There is no question of your goodness, but only of mine,” answered the perplexing fairy; ‘Cand of this you are no fair judge. Really, Philip, I mean that nearer association would be bad for us, We should differ more than you think, You would be disappointed. I dare Hi not follow my heart knowing myself to be iI what Iam. Philip, this is the truth, though it {i distress you. 1t is better to know it.” ‘Lady, I respect your sincerity,—I have nothing to oppose; only you said something about brother, and after all I had rather be that than nothing.” “Very good,” exclaimed the lady; ‘so be it. | Iam so glad you are content.” Then rapidly | turning to a young companion, she said, ‘‘ See, Hh Clara, this is my brother—ever since we were i children. My brother, Lady Clara D——,” she added, with singular liveliness of manner. | “Oh,” replied Lady Clara, ‘‘ your servant, sir! Gabrielle, you have not told me your brother’s name. ‘I had imagined a nearer sort | of relation!” she said aside. : ‘Oh no! nothing of the sort—brother and sister.” Some further talk ensued, in which the poor Fleming, as usual, had the worst, being let down from the zenith of love to a prosaic level by his merciless and merry companion. He heard Lady Clara expostulate in a whisper, and say, ‘‘ Nonsense, Gabrielle,—you deceive yourself, and treat him shamefully!” She closed her remonstrance with the lines— | ‘“ Now be not coy, but use your time, | And while ye may—go marry; i For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.” CHAPTER XVIII. BUCKINGHAM'S END. ‘Had you rather Cesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cesar were dead, to live all free men? As Cresar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fort- unate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him.’’—SHAKSPEARE, Our Norfolk travelers remained in town some days further, in which they visited the House of Commons, and witnessed the calm and able statesmanship of the leaders—heard masterly orations from Seymour, Wentworth, Eliot, and Coke, in advocacy of the Petition of Right, while offering at the same time ample taxes for the King’s service. They saw the servile terror of the courtiers, and the anxiety of the Court, during the crisis. The good Alderman Sherwood, after his friend had gone abroad, left London for Norwich, where he found all men eager for news, and the most erroneous rumors rife about foreign troops in London—the imprisonment of patriots—the dissolution of. Parliament—the death of the Queen in confinement—the arrival of a Papal legate from Rome,—besides various monstrous incidents in heaven and earth, The Corporation welcomed their returning officer with the usual Ginner, at which, in the absence of the Mayor, Thomas Cory, Mr. Brightling presided with much felicity: only his daughter Lucy said, ‘‘ Dad, I thought you had given up this sort of stuffing sociali- ties! They always upset you for a day or two. You are sure to take the vilest dishes offered to you; and you'll hum and ha over your speech so that everybody will be asleep long before you finish.” But it did not happen so, for he took his clever daughter with him, and she watched over him while she enjoyed the good things herself; and his speech was capital, because his heart was in it, for he loved Alderman Sher- wood and Norwich, and his daughter's joke had roused him to an unusual effort. The fine Town Hall.was full of burgesses. The plate was exhibited, and all the paraphernalia, . Mr. Taylor delivered a powerful harangue, declar- ing that the Parliament had been greatly en- couraged in upholding the Petition of Right by the messages borne by their Alderman and his worthy colleague the Fleming, and that both had deserved well of the old city. Dr. Hope upon this observed privately that he wondered they had escaped a dose of the Tower. The Bishop, who condescended to look in, said he had heard from his friend the Principal of Westminster Schoo) that his Norfolk pupils-were inferior to none in ability and spirit. Here loud cheers were raised for ‘‘ Westminster School and its Vorfolk scholars.” So the fine old Town Hall was gay with its streaming lights and carousing company, while outside were the whifflers and the band playing in the market,—a vast crowd lounging about and feasting themselves in im- agination, and even old Snap was busily collect- ing his dues. Too many of the guests had to be led or carried home at an unduly early hour in the morning. Alderman Sherwood called at the Rectory on his way to the feast, and was answering many questions, when Alice came and stood by him with expressive features and parted lips. He lifted her on his knee and kissed her, saying, ‘Sweetheart, they both sent love to you, and they seemed very hanpy, and good.” “But, sir, you said Edward was a friend of that Stephen Wren whom George hates, and that they took opposite sides at school! Surely they are good friends still?” “Yes, my lassie,” replied the Alderman; “but out in the world men must take sides, Their opposition was only playing at an elec- tion. They are close brothers still,—only they said they missed a certain Alice who used to hold them together.” The tears came into her soft eyes at this un- expected praise. ‘(So I did, sir,” she. said; “put Edward was always for the Court and Queen, and George for the Parliament and the Puritans. But, sir, do they really have ribbons and presents from the Queen’s pretty maids? That will turn their heads and spoil them for home.” “Don’t believe it, girl!” said her friend. ‘Early loves may be covered over by newer ones, but they live on often when the upper ones wither. They will come home the same to us—only grown and manly, I hope; and my pet here will be a fine, lovely young lady then, as good as any maid of honor.” _ The Fleming’s visit abroad occupied a con- siderable time, and was prosperous, He re- ll] Tee ea | turned to London, about the end of August, to find the Parliament still engaged on the Petition of Right, which, after long refusal, the King had reluctantly accepted. Both parties were becoming irritated and extreme. Buckingham had been named by Ooke as “the grievance of grievances;” but he was on the point of leaving to command another expedition for the relief of Rochelie. He was, if possible, more hated than ever; while the King, by his bursts of passion, his dishonest evasions, and his high-handed messages, had worried his friends and provoked. his enemies to the limit of endurance. Men ,began to whisper that even the Duke could not curb his master, and would have pro- pitiated the Puritans had he been allowed. The Queen had now unbounded influence over Charles, and instigated him to the harshest re- solves. Gabrielle and her mother had gone suddenly to Paris in consequence of her brother’s illness with fever, and would probably never return. The Fleming went to see the Queen with his foreign treasures and dispatches, but met a cold reception. Henrietta would hardly attend to him; and the chatter of her Court was coarser, Jouder, and more intemperate than ever. The King entered while he remained, with eyes bloodshot and manner hurried. All seemed rather alarmed to see him, save his own laugh- ing wife, ‘‘ Well, Charles, have you had a deputation from your tyrants in the Parliament? —or. have you been closeted with that sham priest Laud?—or has Steenie threatened to turn Puritan?” “‘Onérie,” said the Monarch, ‘‘I come to you pow in all my troubles, and I want no better friend than my jolie Mariette ;—but Steenie goes to Portsmouth to-morrow to the fleet.” «« Ah! Voila la cause de votre tristesse—qu'il ne revient pas jamais—jamais!” she repeated, with vehemence, ‘Bah! Maria,—he will make peace with our beloved Paris, and return in great popu- arity.” «Take your farewell of him, Sire,” said the Queen, emphatically; ‘‘he will not come be- tween us any more;—no one but a lady will ever do that!” half shrieked and half laughed Her Majesty. The Fleming bowed his leave, and obtained instant access to Buckingham, whom he found surrounded by suitors—naval officers, and per- sons engaged in his outfit. Yet he drew aside his visitor, stretched himself on a divan as if utterly weary, and then said, ‘‘So you are home at last! Your bird of Paradise has fitted away, and left the Court more unbearable than ever.” “They were gay and noisy enough, your Grace, even now.” “T expect,” said the Duke, ‘‘ Gabrielle's brother will die, and that she will inherit a great position. My friend, we must get you reinstated, and appointed Ambassador from the States to England. Then you may defeat the wiles of priests who already scent the prey ef Ni saad wealth. Itshall be done when I come ack.’ ‘¢ Your Grace,” observed the Fleming, grave- ly, ‘‘some say, and even wish, that you may never come back! You know I warned you before, but there is double reason now.” *‘ Yes,” replied Villiers, ‘‘you have been hearing my fortune told at Court. Never man had such a task as I, since we parted, to get subsidies for the King, and to keep him from bolting, dissolving, and what not. The Peti- tion of Right made him furious, and his Queen goaded himon. She is all-in-all now—a Bellona of maddest passion. I am quite de trop at Court. The patriots have behaved so well, that I must rat, and lead them when I come back. Wentworth and a few more are ready for a coa. lition. We will displace Laud and revert to Queen Elizabeth’s Protestant policy. England wants another Cecil;—I have been the King’s minion too long. We will strike hands with your States, and with Germany and Sweden, and defy the Pope and Spain. The nation will rally again to that cry, and the Court must come down from the high horse. I shall relieve Ro- chelle this time, and come back with French peace; and then——” At that moment a loud noise of voices was heard in the next room, An usher (in whom Van Diense recognized the Jesuit tutor, Green) was seen introducing a visitor who looked like a military man—stout, dark, and angry. This person approached, saying fiercely, ‘‘ Your Grace,—my commission—my arrears of pay— my petition!—have you read——” Here he ALICE BRIDGE OF NORWICH. ad paused, for he saw the Fleming calmly advance, go as to place himself between him and the Duke, who also exclaimed, ‘‘Stay where you are,—or, rather, depart! Who are you?” “My name is Captain Felton,” was the quieter reply. ‘‘ You have ruined me. I re- quire redress.” The Duke said, ‘‘I have not ruined you: you are mistaken. Goto my steward—he has orders to treat with you. I am sorry for you, and will do what I can for you; but I have no time now, Go to my steward—go!” “¢ Steward, forsooth!—I am no beggar. Your Grace has coolly refused my righteous demands. Farewell. We meet at Portsmouth, where once more I will implore your attention, and perhaps you will have time to hear me there,” said the Captain with a sinister look. When he had gone, Buckingham stared at the Fleming, saying, ‘‘ That fellow could kill me. Well, if I should not retarn?—and even Charles has warned me: he spared not his owh father,—tender son! Alas! it would be hard to fall just now, with a nobler course before me. Villiers! thou wilt seem to history a sycophant, a debauchee, a wretched coxcomb: yet thou hadst wishes and plans far other.” Having thus spoken—as it were to himself, he took a hasty farewell of his friend, giving him some papers as he said, ‘‘ Here are proposals to Eliot and Wentworth which will teach the Court a lesson. See to my property for my wife and family. Surely 1 shall weather this storm,—if not, look for the Devil and the Deluge after me! Laud and Charles together will drive into the crater of Vesuvius, or into the abyss of Tartarus itself, Sauve qui peut! Farewell.” As the Fleming quitted the Duke, a sight caught his view which confirmed his worst mis- givings. Ata corner of the road, in the even- ing dusk, two figures were skulking in close conversation. These were the Tutor and the fierce Captain. They parted even as he ap- proached, and the Tutor only remained to meet him. “ Why, Green, are you here—and with that ruffian? You shall answer for it if any harm happens.” “ God forbid, sir!” was the sleek reply. ‘‘I could not help hearing the fellow’s story, and I have quieted him into a state of Christian for- giveness.” “You don’t expect to impose on me,” said the Fleming, ‘‘ after what passed in Norwich?” «Under your favor, sir,” said Green, “you are wholly mistaken. At Norwich I was the mere agent of a Superior, who has cast me off because I was not an unscrupluous tool, I did my best to prevent evil,—and see what it has brought me to!” “ Yes,” rejoined the Fleming, ‘‘ because you were not successful. Have you not influenced the boys at Westminster School since then?” “What would you have, sir? I was their tutor,—fond of them. I only carried a few messages to young Wren. The Duke is my best friend; but I shall not always brook to be a valet.” : “And you are prepared to betray him, or anyone else who trusts you!” said the Fleming. “Mind, I have my eye on you! Ihave frus- trated your plots once, and may do so again. Beware!” The Tutor turned away muttering, ‘‘ Conan- tur impie nocere bonis. Ridet eos, Dominus, quod vidit eorum adventare diem.” “‘ Hold!—what threats are these? What day do you predict? Come with me to your mas- ter and answer for yourself!” cried the Fleming as he rushed to seize him. The fellow took to his fleet heels, however, and vanished. The next day the Fleming was at the Dutch Embassy, with Eliot, Wentworth, and others, studying with pleasant surprise the Duke’s new lans, x Wentworth observed, ‘‘ His Grace is a true wonder—a very chameleon! This would effect a revolution of peace and liberty which the Court would be powerless to resist.” “ But,” replied the cautious Eliot, ‘‘ how long will this fit last? What guarantees have we? What will bind this shameless adventurer?” “Yet,” observed the Ambassador, “‘ you have the fact of his necessity. The Queen has sup- planted him. He is wise in his generation. What he proposes is England’s true policy, and we Protestants abroad would gladly support him,” The Fleming added, ‘From long knowledge of the Duke, I think he isin earnest now. He has curbed the Court considerably of late. You lose nothing by accepting these proposals, even should they fail. mense.” “True,” cried Eliot. ‘‘ We agree to support the Duke as Minister if Parliament shall not be dissolved, and peace be made,—if Laud and his Popish ideas be abandoned, and the Petition of Right be honorably observed, and the Puritans unmolested. That isa most hopeful prospect if it be realized!” To this declaration all assented, and with more sanguine feelings these patriots began to discourse on the way to profit by this escape from national shipwreck, Late at night they were separating, when a foreign dispatch arrived with news from Paris, and a note from Gabrielle was handed to Van Diense, which read thus :— “‘Dear Brother,—For so I was to call you. In sorrow I turn to you. My brother died some days ago. They tell me I am a great heiress, and that I must be betrothed or enter a convent. Unlikely as itseems, Iam ready for the latter. The priests warn me privately that the husband proposed for me is a gambler and a tyrant. Perhaps they have their ends to serve. My mother and her family, I fear, will force my marriage for convenance. So before I can see you again, brother, J may be a nun, or the Duchess of R—. “Don’t be angry with your poor sister! What can a girl du? “Adieu! ‘Toujours votre sceur fidéle, ‘¢ GABRIELLE.” The Fleming read this with a stunned feeling. All his hopes seemed todry up. As he mused and measured this depth of woe, another mes- senger arrived breathless from Court to the Ambassador, with news which was as a thunder- clap:— “ Buckingham was stabbed this morning at Portsmouth, by an officer named Felton. The Duke w dead.” The messenger added privately that the King seemed rot greatly surprised, and only re- marked, ‘I warned him, and gave him a book of devotion and a holy relic to keep about him, which he put aside, saying, ‘ Charles, these were the Infanta’s gifts, whom we de- serted in Spain. I can’t take them.’” The Queen was nettled, and replied, ‘‘ But for him, you had never seen your ugly Infanta, for you had already promised me in Paris.” ‘“T cannot be too thankful to have you,—and now, alas! you alone.” «Poor Steenie! he’ll bark and bite no more,” was the Queen’s remark. If the Court were thus callous and unsuscep- tible under its loss, everywhere else the event caused a lively sensation. All hope of a polit- ical coalition was over, and of freedom’s prog- ress, The ascendancy of the Court and Laudian party was assured. The course of the Parliament was overcast, and an early dissolu- tion probable, It was now seen that the Duke, bad as he was, had been a sort of breakwater, on whose removal there remained only, as he had said, ‘‘ The Deluge and Tartarus for Eng- land.” : That night was to the Fleming one in which the strong pillars of his faith were sorely tried. As the foreign courier was returning at once, he sent the news respecting Buckingham to Paris, with a line to Gabrielle advising her to The gain otherwise were im- escape to Brussels, where she would be com- paratively her own mistress. reached her. the mysterious will of Divine Providence, and him, for the time, was London—