Francesca Carrara/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III.
"So we began to set everything to rights."
Ordinary Plans.
"Changes, many, indeed, and sad changes," said Sir Robert Evelyn, "have chanced since you left us. I have seen our peaceful England, on whose shore warfare had become but a dark tradition, or a gallant hope to the young and adventurous spirits who sought for honour abroad—I have seen it become the field of deadly battle, where the father raised his hand against the son, and the son against the father. I have seen the beacon blazing instead of the Christmas hearth; and the ivy, which for more than a century had wreathed undisturbed round these old battlements, has been pretty well cut away by the musketry during the last siege."
"Siege, my father! and I not at your side!" exclaimed Robert, reproachfully.
"In truth, dear child, I wished not for you. My lot has been cast in troubled times, and glad should I have been to have saved you from the responsibility of that decision which I have found a heavy burden. In private conduct you are called upon to act according to your conscience, and your guide is infallible. In public you act according to your ability, and, God knows! that is often insufficient to decide amid conflicting events. How differently, at different times, do we view the same things! Now, who can admit this, yet not distrust his judgment? I had hoped that, our troubles being ended, you might on your return to England have seen no cause for hesitation; but such is the unsettled state of affairs, that, alas! expediency seems now your mean but only guide."
"Methinks, my father, I need do little but follow in your steps, and ask for your advice."
"Alas, Robert! it is for the aged, they say, to give advice; the aged, who, perforce, must know its inefficiency—for advice to be useful it must suit the circumstances; and when do circumstances fall out according to expectation? When I stood by the side of Hampden, contending against a heavy oppression, and for an undeniable right, who could have thought that his refusal to pay that twenty shillings ship-money would be the first act of a resistance that was destined to arouse a whole nation, and kindle civil war from one end of our island to the other?"
"Yet, surely," interrupted his listener, "you do not repent of one of the noblest acts to which patriotism ever stimulated an individual?"
"Never! during the many troubles that followed the scenes of bloodshed that ensued, I have looked back to the pure and honourable motives, and to the enlightened views, with which our resistance commenced, in a spirit of great consolation and the perfect conviction of its necessity. I have never doubted for a moment but that we acted for the best. The benefit has not, as yet, been equal to the evil; we have not yet succeeded to our hope—liberty is still insecure, and England is still rent by small factions, distracted by foolish bigotries, and now at the will of one man; yet the good seed has been sown. We have shown what opposition may effect, and what individual exertions may achieve. We have awakened men to the knowledge of their rights; and though for a while the energy of this nation may sleep after its fierce struggle, a lesson has been given which may never be forgotten. The great names of our day will long be the watchwords of England's freedom. We have left behind us a legacy of right, which will accumulate. Still, I look around with disappointment. Judiciously avoiding the name of king, Cromwell rules us with a power far exceeding that of the monarch we dethroned."
"But why," asked the younger Evelyn, "yield to Cromwell, when you resisted Charles?"
"From exhaustion, and the force of individual character. Cromwell is the master-spirit of his age; he has the bodily courage which inspires in the field, and the moral courage which sways in the council. Deeply imbued with the prevailing fanaticism, what would be to another an obstacle is to him a motive. He is not deterred by its absurdity, for he perceives it not; he is not disgusted by its pretensions, for they are his own. Like all great leaders in political convulsions, he has reached its high places by flinging himself, with all the force of powerful talents, into the errors, the passions, and the prejudices of his time. But, however his power may have been won, all must allow that it is most worthily worn. During the brief period of his vigorous administration, how altered is the position of England! Security at home, and respect abroad, these are the first-fruits of Cromwell's sway. The miserable state of the country around, the consequence of the late rising, sufficiently shows its folly."
"Was Mr. Johnstone's house then destroyed?"
"No, long before; that was the cause of my taking up arms. It is foolishness to say, that no private feelings shall actuate us in a public cause. I had resolved on a neutral position; I deemed that what influence I might possess would be best exerted in mediation: but this outrage put aside all my cooler plans. Johnstone's relatives were more puritanically given than himself; and one of them, a preacher, was residing with him, when a detachment of Goring's dragoons demanded, or rather took shelter there for the night. Their profane jesting and loud oaths called forth a rebuke from the saint, which was received with the utmost contumely. Johnstone deemed he was called upon to resent the insults offered to his guest; one word led to others; swords were drawn, and a fierce contest ensued. Ere morning, his house was burnt to the ground; his two children perished in the flames, and his own life was only preserved by the fidelity of a servant, who bore him insensible to a hovel near. The next day he was brought hither, and that very evening, I too was favoured with a visit from the same regiment. But they found the closed gate and the loaded gun; and their attack was beaten off with considerable loss. Since then my military career has been tolerably active."
"And I not at your side!" said Robert, bitterly.
"Nay, my child," replied his father, in a sad and earnest tone; "never lament that you have had no part in civil war; it is terrible to be asked for quarter in your native tongue, and yet spare not. To know that the corn-field over which you hurry in pursuit of a flying enemy has been sown by your near neighbour—to see the sky redden at midnight, and fear lest the crimson blaze arise from your own home—to watch the desolation of familiar things—to become acquainted with waste and want, and worse, with the crime and recklessness, their inevitable consequences—and then remember how brief a period has elapsed since such things seemed impossible in the land."
"But must the blessing ever be bought by the curse? ls civil war, then, the fearful sacrifice demanded by liberty?"
"Not so," replied Sir Robert; "England's next struggle will be bloodless. We have left one great experience, that the struggle which is to be decided by the sword will bring repentance for the strife. Surely men will learn from the events of our time, how much to dread excitement, and to eschew passion. Opinion should guide in public affairs, not feeling. Opinion is grounded on circumstance, on observation, and on reflection. Feeling acts from impulse, which sees but half. Excitement leads to enthusiasm, that moral intoxication, whose effects seem incredible to the sober, while the influence which produces the extravagance appears more extraordinary than the act itself. The demon of fanaticism was the shape which it took with us; and verily, what with religious republicans, harmonists, quakers, fifth-monarchy men, presbyterians, and the reign of the saints upon earth, it needs the strong hand of a Cromwell to reduce the spiritual chaos to any sort of order."
The conversation, which had been continued in the soft dimness of a summer evening, was now interrupted by the appearance of supper. Evelyn was struck with the alteration in his father's habits; it had been so constant a rule for the household to sup together. "It keeps up that feeling of attachment which is the best bond of society, a humane and frequent intercourse," was wont to be a frequent exclamation; "may the rich and the poor never dwell so far apart as to be in equal ignorance of each other's real condition!" But as the light fell on Sir Robert's emaciated figure, and wan though still fine face, no longer animated by the joy of his son's return, the ravage of disease became visible; and it was no marvel that bodily weakness shunned exertion.
"To-morrow," said the invalid, "you shall take my place at the board; to-night I cannot spare you."
Perhaps there is no moment when beloved objects are so much beloved, as on the return from a long absence. When the thousand fears for their health, their safety, and their welfare, have all been proved to be vain; while the reaction from their depression is so exhilarating. When the many merits which fancy has added to their own, are all warm from the thought; all fresh, too, with the gloss of novelty, untarnished with recent differences, and unworn by daily use. How pleasant the hurry of their arrival, and the many preparations to receive them! In winter, the warmest seat by the fire; in summer, the coolest by the open lattice. Then the supper, where, all former likings are so carefully remembered; the cheerful flutter of spirits, the disposition to talk, the still greater desire to listen, the flushed cheek, the eager yet glistening eye; and—for the future will ever intrude upon the mortal present—the delight of thinking, "we shall still be together to-morrow." Assuredly meeting after absence is one of—ah, no!—it is life's most delicious feeling.