BOOK III
Oliver The Conqueror
CHAPTER XI
OLIVER PROTECTOR
"O heart heroic, England's noblest son!
At what a height thy shining spirit burns
Starlike, and floods our souls with quickening fire."
* * * * *
"Fearful commenting is
The leaden servitor to dull delay."
The popular discontent with the rapid and radical reforms of the saints' Parliament was not confined to the Royalists; the nation, without regard to party, was bitterly incensed and alarmed. Cromwell was no exception; the most conservative of men, he also grew angry and restless when he saw the reign of the saints beginning in earnest.
"These godly men are going straight to the confusion of all things," he said to Israel Swaffham; "they forget they are assembled here by the people, and are assuming a direct power from the Lord. If we let them, they will bring us under the horridest arbitrariness in the world."
There was reason enough for this fear. Not content with the changes in government, religion and law, Feake and Powell were urging social changes that would level all ranks and classes to an equality, and Cromwell abominated such ideas. Of equality, as we understand the word, he had no conception. He told the members plainly that England had known for hundreds of years, ranks and orders of men – nobles, gentlemen, yeomen – and that such ranks were a good interest to the nation, and a great one. "What is the purport," he asked, "to make the tenant as liberal a fortune as the landlord? If obtained, it would not last; the men of that principle, after they had served their own turns, would have cried up property fast enough."
To the Fifth Monarchy men who held that the saints alone should rule the earth, he gave the sternest rebuke, telling them plainly that the carnal divisions among them were not symptoms of Christ's Kingdom. "Truly," he added, "you will need to give clearer manifestations of God's presence among you before wise men will submit to your conclusions."
In the meantime the anger outside the Parliament House rose to fury. Doubtless Cromwell had foreseen this crisis. Certainly a large number of the members were of his way of thinking, and on the twelfth of December, Colonel Sydenham rose, and accusing the members of wishing to put a Mosaic code in place of the Common Law of England – of depreciating a regular ministry (for what need of one, if all men could prophesy?) and of opposing learning and education, he declared the salvation of the nation lay in resigning the trust committed to them into the hands of the Lord General Cromwell. The motion was seconded by Sir Charles Wolseley. The Speaker left the chair, and followed by a majority of the members, went to Whitehall, and there and then they wrote out their resignation. It was said that "Cromwell looked astonished, and only received the paper upon great importunity." And if ever Cromwell drolled in his life, he drolled then, for it is not likely this movement was unforeseen; all its details had been too ably arranged to be the result of unanticipated action.
No serious opposition was made. Some thirty of the members remained in the House "to protest," but Colonel Goff entering with a file of musketeers, the argument was quickly closed. "What are you doing here?" asked the Colonel, and some one answered, "We are seeking the Lord," then said he, "You may go elsewhere, for to my certain knowledge the Lord has not been here these many years." Three days after this event a new Council of State resolved that his Excellency be chosen LORD PROTECTOR of the three nations, and on the sixteenth of December be so installed in Westminster Hall.
"And you would think that he had been publicly scorned instead of publicly chosen," said Israel to his wife. "He looks miserable; he is silent and downcast, and talks much to himself. Yet he is in his right place, and the only man in England who can save us from anarchy."
"God knows. It is a place of great honour for Mr. Oliver Cromwell of Slepe House."
"No, no. 'Tis a place of great danger, a place of terror and forlorn hope. God knows, I would not have it for all the honour and gold in England. Martha, his Excellency and her Highness desire your company, and that of Jane, to the ceremony. You will go?"
"I had better stay at home, Israel. I cannot 'Your Highness' Elizabeth Cromwell. Jane will go."
"And you, too, Martha. I wish it."
"I never go against your wishes, Israel – at least not often."
So it happened that on the sixteenth of December, Mrs. Swaffham and Jane wore dressing for Whitehall. Mrs. Swaffham was nervous and irritable; nervous, because she feared her gown was not as handsome as it ought to be; irritable, because she felt that circumstances were going to control her behaviour, whether she approved or not. Jane was unable to encourage or cheer her mother; she was herself the most unhappy maiden in London that day. She was white as the satin robe that clothed her, and her eyes held in their depths the shadow of that fear and grief which filled her heart. And though her mother was sorry for her distress, she was vexed that her girl could not better hide her trouble. "I hate to be pitied, Jane," she said, "and above all by 'her Highness.' And those Cromwell girls, they too will be crying 'Oh dear me!' and 'Poor Jane!' and you will be a sweet sadness to spice their own glory and happiness. Keep a brave heart, my girl. Something may happen any hour."
Jane did not answer. She could not talk; she needed all her strength to live. For eighteen days she had been forced to accept the fact that Cluny was at least eighteen days behind all probable and improbable delays. She had not received a line from him since he left Paris; no one had. He had apparently vanished as completely as a stone dropped into mid-ocean. She had been often at Jevery House, and during two of her visits had managed to see Sir Thomas and ask "if he had any intelligence from Lord Neville?" On her first inquiry he answered her anxiously; on his second his reply showed some anger.
"He offered voluntarily to take charge of Lady Jevery's jewels and to collect my money at The Hague; and unless he was certain of his ability to do these things safely, he ought not to have sought the charge."
And with these words there entered into Jane's heart a suspicion that hurt her like a sword-thrust. She found herself saying continually, "It is impossible! impossible! Oh, my God, where is he?"
All this time London was angry, anxious, almost tumultuous. Jane would have gone to Cromwell for help – indeed she did go once to Whitehall with this object in view – but she was told that he was in his own apartments silent and sad, and carrying a weight of responsibility that might have appalled the stoutest heart. Indeed, the whole family were quiet and preoccupied, and she came away without finding any fit opportunity to say a word about Cluny and his unaccountable delay. There was no one else to go to. Doctor Verity was visiting the Rev. Mr. Baxter at Kidderminster, and Matilda hated Cluny. Jane could not bear to suggest to Matilda a doubt as to Cluny's return. Certainly Mrs. Swaffham listened to her daughter's fears and anxieties, but Jane felt that the Parliament and its doings and misdoings, and the speculations concerning Cromwell, were the great and vital interest filling every heart. No one seemed to care about Lord Neville as she thought they ought to. So far, then, she had borne her sorrow alone, and it had never left her a moment for eighteen days and nights. Even in her sleep she wandered wretchedly looking for him; her pillows were full of evil forebodings, and the atmosphere of her room was heavy with the misery of her thoughts.
Fortunately the Cromwells had no idea that Jane was in trouble; they were, as was right and natural, very much excited over the ceremony of the day and the order in which it was to be carried out. His Excellency was with a number of his officers in a separate apartment, but madame, the General's mother, was in the large parlour of the Cockpit, and when the Swaffhams entered, she rose with delight to meet her old neighbours and friends. In spite of her great age she looked almost handsome in a robe of black velvet and silver trimmings, with a shawl-like drapery of rich white lace. In a short time her daughter-in-law and her grandchildren entered, and Mrs. Swaffham looked curiously at her old friend. Was this indeed the Elizabeth Cromwell she had gossiped with and sometimes quarreled with? this stately woman in purple velvet, with large pearls round her throat and falling in priceless beauty below her waist? There could be no doubt of her identity, for as soon as Mrs. Swaffham began to approach her, she came forward, saying in a tone of real pleasure,
"Martha! Martha! How glad I am to see you!" and the two women broke into smiles and exclamations, and then kissed each other.
There was no time to spare. The Lord General, dressed in a rich suit of black velvet, appeared, and the procession was formed. The Commissioners of the Great Seal, the Judges and Barons of the Exchequer in all the splendour of their insignia, preceded it. Then came the Council of State and the Lord Mayor and Aldermen in their scarlet robes. Cromwell followed. He was alone in a magnificent coach with outriders, but he was attended by the chief officers of the army, and by an imposing military escort. His family and friends in conveyances of equal splendour were behind, and were also attended by a military guard of honour.
"Is it a dream, Jane?" said Mrs. Swaffham to her daughter. "Am I asleep or awake? Are these the very Cromwells we used to know? Did you see that little chit, Frank, whom I have birched and stood in the corner, and scolded more times than I can remember? – did you see her? Did you see her curtsying to her mother and calling her, 'Your Highness'? and Mary Cromwell giving orders like a very Queen? and even Elizabeth Claypole looking as if England belonged to them? After this, Jane, nothing can astonish me."
Jane was as silent as her mother was garrulous; the crowds, the excitement, the poignant crash and blare of martial music, the shining and clashing of steel, the waving of flags, the shouts and huzzas of the multitudes, the ringing of innumerable bells, the overpowering sense of the brotherhood of humanity in a mass animated by the same feeling, these things thrilled and filled souls until they were without words, or else foolishly eloquent.
A place of honour had been reserved for the Cromwell party, and the great General's mother found a throne-like chair placed for her in such a position that she could see every movement and hear every word of that august ceremony which was to acknowledge her son "the greatest man in England." And as she sat there, watching him stand uncovered beside the Chair of State, and listened to him taking the solemn oath to rule England, Scotland and Ireland justly, she thought of this battle-scarred man as a baby at her breast, fifty-four years before, pressing her bosom with his tiny fingers, and smiling up in her face, happily unconscious of the travail of body and soul he was to undergo for the sake of England, and of all future free peoples. And she thought also of one cold winter day, when, a lad of twelve, he had come in from his lessons and his rough play at football and thrown himself upon his bed, weary with the buffeting; and as he lay there, wide-awake in the broad daylight, how he had seen his angel stand at his feet, and heard him say, "Thou shalt be the greatest man in England." And there in her sight and hearing, the prophecy was fulfilled that day, for she had never doubted it. The boy had been scolded and flogged for persisting in this story, but she had comforted him and always known that it was a vision to be realised.
Her faith had its reward. She watched this boy of hers put on his hat, after taking the oath, and with a kingly air ascend to what was virtually the throne of England. She saw him unbuckle his sword and put it off, to signify that military rule was ended; and then she heard, amid the blare of trumpets, the Heralds proclaim him Lord Protector of England, Scotland and Ireland. Her lips moved not, but she heard her soul singing psalms of glory and thanksgiving; yes, she heard the music within rising and swelling to great anthems of rejoicing. Her body was impotent to express this wonderful joy; it was her soul that made her boast in the Lord, that magnified the God of her salvation. And she really heard its glad music with her natural body, and the melody of that everlasting chime was in her heart to the last moment of her life. And her children looked at her and were amazed, for her face was changed; and when the people shouted, to "God save the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth!" she stood up without her staff, and was the first to render him obeisance.
Jane watched her with wonder and delight; she forgot her own grief in this aged mother's surpassing happiness, and she partly understood that hour the new doctrine of the men called Quakers. For she had watched this Inner sight of Life transfuse the frail frame, and seen it illuminate the withered face and strengthen the trembling limbs, and, above all, fill the Inner woman with a joy unspeakable and beyond speech or understanding.
The ride back to Whitehall was an intoxicating one. Londoners had at last a ruler who was a supremely able man. They could go to their shops, and buy and sell in security. Oliver Protector would see to their rights and their welfare. His very appearance was satisfying; he was not a young man headstrong and reckless, but a Protector who had been tried on the battle-field and in the Council Chamber and never found wanting. His personality also was the visible presentment of the qualities they admired and desired. They looked at his sturdy British growth, and were satisfied. His head and face, muscular and massive, were of lion-like aspect; his stature nearly six feet, and so highly vitalised as to look much higher. Dark brown hair, mingled with gray, fell below his collar-band, and from under large brows his deep, loving eyes looked as if in lifelong sorrow; and yet not thinking life sorrow, thinking it only labour and endeavour. Valour, devout intelligence, great simplicity, and a singular air of mysticism invested his rugged, broad-hatted majesty with a character or impress transcendentally mysterious. Even his enemies felt this vague shadow of the supernatural over and around him, for Sir Richard Huddleston, in watching him on Naseby's field, had cried out passionately, "Who will find King Charles a leader like him? He is not a man; he is one of the ancient heroes come out of Valhalla."
But be the day glad or sad, time runs through it, and the shadows of evening found the whole city worn out with their own emotions. Mrs. Swaffham and Jane were glad to return to the quiet of their home – "Not but what we have had a great day, Jane," said the elder woman; "but, dear me, child, what a waste of life it is! I feel ten years older. It would not do to spend one's self this way very often."
"I am tired to death, mother. May I stay in my room this evening? I do not want to hear any more about the Cromwells, and I dare say Doctor Verity will come home with father, and they will talk of nothing else."
"You are fretting, Jane, and fretting is bad for you every way. Why will you do it?"
"How can I help it, mother?"
Then Mrs. Swaffham looked at her daughter's white face, and said, "You know, dear, where and how to find the comfort you need. God help you, child."
And oh, how good it was to the heart-sick girl, to be at last alone, to be able to weep unwatched and unchecked – to shut the door of her soul on the world and open it to God, to tell Him all her doubt and fear and lonely grief. This was her consolation, even though no sensible comfort came from it – though the heavens seemed far off, and there was no ray of light, no whisper from beyond to encourage her. Hoping against despair, she rose up saying, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him;" and these words she repeated over and over with increasing fervour, as she neatly folded away her clothing and put her room in that exquisite order which was necessary to her sleep, or even rest. For she kept still her childish belief that her angel would not visit her, if her room was untidy. And who will dare to say she was wrong? These primitive faiths hold truths hid from the wise and prudent, but revealed to the simple and pure of heart.
At nine o'clock her mother brought her a possett and toast, and she took them gratefully. "Is father home?" she asked.
"Yes, Jane. He came in an hour ago with Doctor Verity."
"Have they any word of – "
"I fear not. They would have told me at once. I haven't seen much of them. There were lots of things undone, and badly done, to look after. The wenches and the men have been on the streets all day, and the kitchen is upside down. You never saw the like. I am tired of this Cromwell business, I am that. Phoebe was abusing him roundly as she jugged the hare for supper, and I felt kindly to her for it. 'You are a pack of time-serving turncoats,' she was saying as I went into the kitchen; 'you would drink as much ale to-morrow to King Charles as you have drunk to-day to old Noll Cromwell.' And as she was stirring the pot, she did not know I was there, until I answered, 'You speak God's truth, Phoebe!' Then she turned and said, 'I do, ma'am. And for that matter, they would drink to the devil, an he asked them with old October!' Then I stopped her saucy tongue. But I don't wonder at her temper – not a clean saucepan in the closets, and men and maids off their heads with ale and Cromwell together."
"If Doctor Verity gives you any opportunity will you speak about Cluny, mother?"
"You know I will. He and others will, maybe, have time for a word of kindness now. I'm sure the last few weeks have been past bearing – a nice mess the saints made of everything – London out of its seven senses, and the whole country screaming behind it; and the men who had a little sense, not knowing which road to turn. Now Cromwell has got his way, there will be only Cromwell to please, and surely a whole city full can manage that."
"I don't suppose he has ever thought of Cluny being so long over time."
"Not he! He has had things far closer to him to look after."
"But now?"
"Now he will inquire after the lad. Doctor Verity must speak to him. Dear Jane, do you suppose I don't see how you are suffering? I do, my girl, and I suffer with you. But even your father thinks we are worrying ourselves for nothing. He says Cluny will walk in some day and tell his own story – nothing worse than a fit of ague or fever, or even a wound from some street pad; perhaps a heavy snowstorm, or the swampy Netherlands under water. Men can't fight the elements, or even outwit them, dear. Mother is with you, Jane, don't you doubt that," and she stepped forward and clasped the girl to her breast, and kissed the tears off her cheeks. "Now drink your possett and go to sleep; something may happen while you are dreaming of it; the net of the sleeping fisherman takes just as well – better maybe – than if he kept awake to watch it."
So Jane laid herself down and slept, and if her angel came with a comforting thought or a happy vision, she found herself in a spotless room, white as a bride chamber, holding the scent of rosemary and roses from the pots on the window-sills, and prophesying strength and comfort in the Bible lying open at the forty-second and forty-third Psalms – "Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted in me? Hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance."
Jane's supposition that Doctor Verity would be with her father and that their talk would be only of Cromwell, was correct. Mrs. Swaffham found the two men smoking at the fireside, and their conversation was of the Man and the Hour. She sat down weary and sleepy, so much so, that she did not take the trouble to contradict Doctor Verity, though he was making, in her opinion, a very foolish statement.
"If you only assert a thing strong enough and long enough, Israel, you will convince the multitude. To-day, as I was passing Northumberland House, a party of musketeers stopped there, and cried, 'God save the Lord Protector!' and the crowd asserted in the most positive manner that the big lion on the house wagged its tail at the shout. Every one believed it, and looked at the beast admiringly; and I found it hard to keep my senses in the face of such strong assertion. Vain babble, but it took and pleased."
"I am sorry for Oliver Cromwell. Such a load as he has shouldered! Can he bear it?" said Israel.
"Through God's help, yes; and ten times over, yes! He is a great man," answered the Doctor.
"I think more of measures than of men," continued Israel.
"Very good. But something depends on the men, just as in a fire something depends on the grate," said the Doctor.
"Who would have thought the man we knew at Huntingdon and St. Ives had this man in him? And what a strange place for God to bring England's Deliverer out of. No captain from the battle-field, no doctor out of the colleges, but a gentleman farmer out of the corn market and the sheep meadows of Sedgy Ouse. 'Tis wonderful enough, Doctor."
"Great men, Israel, have always come from the most unlikely places. The desert and the wilderness, the sheepfolds and threshing floors bred the judges and prophets of Israel. From the despised village of Nazareth came the Christ. From the hot, barren deserts of Arabia, came Mahomet. From the arid plains of Picardy, came Calvin. From the misty, bare mountains of Scotland, came John Knox, and from the fogs and swamps of the Fen country, comes Oliver Cromwell. So it is, and should be. God chooses for great men, not only the time, but the place of their birth. The strength of Cromwell's character is in its mysticism, and this quality has been fed from its youth up by the monotony of his rural life, by the sombre skies above him, by his very house, which was like a deserted cloister buried in big trees. All those years Cromwell was being forged and welded by spiritual influences into the man of Naseby and Dunbar and Worcester – into the man who stepped grandly to the throne we saw him mount to-day."
"One thing is sure: he will set free all godly men in prison for conscience' sake – unless it be papists and prelatists. Yet 'tis hard to imprison men because they can't agree about caps and surplices."
"Such talk does not go to the root of the matter, Israel. Oliver, and men like him, look on papists and prelatists as Amorites and Amalekites to be rooted out, and as disloyal citizens to be coerced into obedience."
"I know papists that believe the Mass to be a holy obligation. They are sincere, Doctor; I know it."
"What of that, Israel? A good Puritan cares no more for their sincere opinions than the Jewish prophets cared about the scruples of a conscientious believer in Baal. Why should he?"
"Well, then, as to Episcopacy – a great number of Englishmen love it; and you can't preach nor teach Episcopacy out of them."
"Don't I know it? Popery without the Pope, that is what Englishmen want. They love ceremonies dearly; they love Episcopacy as they love Monarchy. Queen Elizabeth made an ordinance that at the name of Christ every woman should curtsy and every man bare his head. It went straight to the heart of England. Men and women loved Elizabeth for it, and bent their knees all the more willingly to herself. As for Cromwell, his zeal for the Protestant religion will be the key to every act of his reign. Take my word for it."
"Reign?"
"Yes, reign. He is King, call him what you like."
"As ruler – King or Protector – over papists, will it be right to hate them as bitterly as he does?"
"Right? Yes, a thousand times right. You must remember what his education and experience have been. From some who lived in Mary's reign he must have heard how Ridley and Latimer and Cranmer were burned in the streets of Oxford for their Protestantism. The whole awful history of Mary's reign was part of his education. He may have heard from eye-witnesses of the scene in the great square of Brussels when Horn and Egmont, champions of the Protestant faith, were beheaded by Alva's bloody Council. The Armada sent to conquer England and force on us by fire and sword the Catholic religion, was wrecked on our shores by God Almighty, only eleven years before Cromwell was born. The Popish Gunpowder Plot to blow up the King and the Parliament was discovered when he was six years old. Both of these last events were the staple of fireside conversations, and would be told him in wonderfully effective words by his grand-hearted mother, and you may be sure they were burned into the heart of the boy Oliver. He was old enough to understand the cruel murder of Henry by the Jesuits in Paris; he grew into his manhood during the thirty years' war of Catholic Europe against the Protestants. When he first entered Parliament, he was one of the Committee that investigated the brutal treatment of Prynne, Doctor Bastwick and the Rev. Mr. Burton. I think, indeed, that he witnessed these noble confessors pilloried and burned with hot irons and deprived of their ears, because they would none of Laud's surplices and mummeries. And both you and I witnessed his agonies of grief and anger at the frightful massacre by Phelim O'Neil of one hundred thousand Protestants in Ireland. How can Cromwell help hating popery and prelacy? How can any of us help it? Let us judge, not according to outward appearance, but with righteous judgment. Oliver will do his work, and he will do it well, and then go to Him who sent him. Verily, I believe he will hear the 'Well done' of his Master."
"And then?"
"The Commonwealth will be over. The soul of it will have departed – can it live afterwards?"
"Think you that our labour and lives have been wasted? No, no! We will be free of kings forever; we have written that compact with our blood."
"Not wasted, Israel, not wasted. The Puritan government may perish, the Puritan spirit will never die. Before these wars, England was like an animal that knew not its own strength; she is now better acquainted with herself. The people will never give up their Parliament and the rights the Commonwealth has given them, and if kings come back, they can be governed, as Davie Lindsey said, by 'garring them ken, they have a lith in their necks – '"
"If I survive the Puritan government," said Israel, "I will join the pilgrims who have gone over the great seas."
"I will go with you, Israel, but we will not call ourselves 'pilgrims.' No, indeed! No men are less like pilgrims than they who go, not to wander about, but to build homes and cities and found republics in the land they have been led to. They are citizens, not pilgrims."
At these words Mrs. Swaffham, who had listened between sleeping and waking, roused herself thoroughly. "Israel," she said, "I will not go across seas. It is not likely. Swaffham is our very own, and we will stay in Swaffham. And I do not think it is fair, or even loyal, in you and Doctor Verity, on the very day you have made a Protector for the Commonwealth to be prophesying its end. It is not right."
"It is very wrong, Martha, and you do well to reprove us," said Doctor Verity.
"And talking of going across seas," she continued, "reminds me of Cluny; neither of you seem to care about him, yet our Jane is fretting herself sick, and you might both of you see it."
"Tell Jane to be patient," said Doctor Verity. "If Cluny is not back by the New Year, I will go myself and bring him back. There is no need to fret; tell her that."
"Yet we must speak to Cromwell about the young man," said Jane's father; "there has likely been some letter or message from him, which in the hurry and trouble of the last month has been forgotten. You will see the Protector to-morrow, speak to him."
"If it is possible, Israel. But remember all is to arrange and rearrange, order and reorder, men to put out of office, and men to put into office. The work before the Protector is stupendous."
This opinion proved to be correct. Day after day passed, and no word concerning Cluny was possible; but about the New Year a moment was found in which to name the young man and wonder at his delay. Cromwell appeared to be startled. "Surely there must have been some word from him," he said. "I think there has. A letter must have come; it has been laid aside; if so, there could have been nothing of importance in it – no trouble, or I would have been told. Mr. Milton is fond of Lord Neville; so am I, indeed I am, and I will have inquiry made without delay."
"Without delay" in government inquiries may mean much time. The accumulated papers and letters of a month or more had to be examined, and when this was accomplished, nothing had been found that threw any light on Neville's detention. Yet no anxiety was expressed. Every one had such confidence in the young man; he was accustomed to the exigencies of travel, ready in resort, and brave and wise in emergencies. Cromwell made light of any supposition affecting his safety, and there was nothing then for Jane to do, but bear, and try to believe with those supposed to know better than herself, that the difficulties of winter travel in strange countries would easily account for her lover's non-appearance.
Thus, sad with the slow sense of time, and with grief void and dark, Jane passed the weary days. The world went on, her heart stood still. Yet it was in these sorrowful days, haunted by uncertain presentiments, that she first felt the Infinite around her. It was then that she began to look for comfort from within the veil, and to listen for some answering voice from the other life, because in this life there was none. Outside of these consolations she had only a bewildering fear, and she would have wept and worried her beauty away, had there not dwelt in her pure soul the perennial youth of silent worship. But this constantly renovating power was that fine flame of spiritual light in which physical beauty refines itself to the burning point. The greatest change was in her manner; a slight cold austerity had taken the place of her natural cheerfulness – this partly because she thought there was a want of sympathy in all around her, and partly because only by this guarded composure could she maintain that tearless reticence she felt necessary to her self-respect. Nevertheless, through her faith, her innocence, her high thought and her laborious peace, she set her feet upon a rock.