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Woodstock; or, The Cavalier

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Woodstock; or, The Cavalier




Upon the Restoration, Doctor Rochecliffe regained his living of
Woodstock, with other Church preferment, and gave up polemics and
political intrigues for philosophy. He was one of the constituent
members of the Royal Society, and was the person through whom Charles
required of that learned body solution of their curious problem, "Why,
if a vessel is filled brimful of water, and a large live fish plunged
into the water, nevertheless it shall not overflow the pitcher?" Doctor
Rochecliffe's exposition of this phenomenon was the most ingenious and
instructive of four that were given in; and it is certain the Doctor
must have gained the honour of the day, but for the obstinacy of a
plain, dull, country gentleman, who insisted that the experiment should
be, in the first place, publicly tried. When this was done, the event
showed it would have been rather rash to have adopted the facts
exclusively on the royal authority; as the fish, however curiously
inserted into his native element, splashed the water over the hall, and
destroyed the credit of four ingenious essayists, besides a large Turkey
carpet.

Doctor Rochecliffe, it would seem, died about 1685, leaving many papers
behind him of various kinds, and, above all, many valuable anecdotes of
secret history, from which the following Memoirs have been extracted, on
which we intend to say only a few words by way of illustration.

The existence of Rosamond's Labyrinth, mentioned in these pages, is
attested by Drayton in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.

Rosamond's Labyrinth, whose ruins, together with her Well, being paved
with square stones in the bottom, and also her Tower, from which the
Labyrinth did run, are yet remaining, being vaults arched and walled
with stone and brick, almost inextricably wound within one another, by
which, if at any time her lodging were laid about by the Queen, she
might easily avoid peril imminent, and, if need be, by secret issues
take the air abroad, many furlongs about Woodstock in Oxfordshire.
[Drayton's England's Heroical Epistles, Note A, on the Epistle, Rosamond
to King Henry.]

It is highly probable, that a singular piece of phantasmagoria, which
was certainly played off upon the Commissioners of the Long Parliament,
who were sent down to dispark and destroy Woodstock, after the death of
Charles I., was conducted by means of the secret passages and recesses
in the ancient Labyrinth of Rosamond, round which successive Monarchs
had erected a Hunting-seat or Lodge.

There is a curious account of the disturbance given to those Honourable
Commissioners, inserted by Doctor Plot, in his Natural History of
Oxfordshire. But as I have not the book at hand, I can only allude to
the work of the celebrated Glanville upon Witches, who has extracted it
as an highly accredited narrative of supernatural dealings. The beds of
the Commissioners, and their servants, were hoisted up till they were
almost inverted, and then let down again so suddenly, as to menace them
with broken bones. Unusual and horrible noises disturbed those
sacrilegious intromitters with royal property. The devil, on one
occasion, brought them a warming-pan; on another, pelted them with
stones and horses' bones. Tubs of water were emptied on them in their
sleep; and so many other pranks of the same nature played at their
expense, that they broke up housekeeping, and left their intended
spoliation only half completed. The good sense of Doctor Plot suspected,
that these feats were wrought by conspiracy and confederation, which
Glanville of course endeavours to refute with all his might; for it
could scarce be expected, that he who believed in so convenient a
solution as that of supernatural agency, would consent to relinquish the
service of a key, which will answer any lock, however intricate.

Nevertheless, it was afterwards discovered, that Doctor Plot was
perfectly right; and that the only demon who wrought all these marvels,
was a disguised royalist--a fellow called Trusty Joe, or some such name,
formerly in the service of the Keeper of the Park, but who engaged in
that of the Commissioners, on purpose to subject them to his
persecution. I think I have seen some account of the real state of the
transaction, and of the machinery by which the wizard worked his
wonders; but whether in a book, or a pamphlet, I am uncertain. I
remember one passage particularly to this purpose. The Commissioners
having agreed to retain some articles out of the public account, in
order to be divided among themselves, had entered into an indenture for
ascertaining their share in the peculation, which they hid in a bow-pot
for security. Now, when an assembly of divines, aided by the most strict
religious characters in the neighbourhood of Woodstock, were assembled
to conjure down the supposed demon, Trusty Joe had contrived a firework,
which he let off in the midst of the exorcism, and which destroyed the
bow-pot; and, to the shame and confusion of the Commissioners, threw
their secret indenture into the midst of the assembled ghost-seers, who
became thus acquainted with their secret schemes of peculation.

It is, however, to little purpose for me to strain my memory about
ancient and imperfect recollections concerning the particulars of these
fantastic disturbances at Woodstock, since Doctor Rochecliffe's papers
give such a much more accurate narrative than could be obtained from any
account in existence before their publication. Indeed, I might have gone
much more fully into this part of my subject, for the materials are
ample;--but, to tell the reader a secret, some friendly critics were of
opinion they made the story hang on hand; and thus I was prevailed on to
be more concise on the subject than I might otherwise have been.

The impatient reader, perhaps, is by this time accusing me of keeping
the sun from him with a candle. Were the sunshine as bright, however, as
it is likely to prove; and the flambeau, or link, a dozen of times as
smoky, my friend must remain in the inferior atmosphere a minute longer,
while I disclaim the idea of poaching on another's manor. Hawks, we say
in Scotland, ought not to pick out hawks' eyes, or tire upon each
other's quarry; and therefore, if I had known that, in its date and its
characters this tale was likely to interfere with that recently
published by a distinguished contemporary, I should unquestionably have
left Doctor Rochecliffe's manuscript in peace for the present season.
But before I was aware of this circumstance, this little book was half
through the press; and I had only the alternative of avoiding any
intentional imitation, by delaying a perusal of the contemporary work in
question. Some accidental collision there must be, when works of a
similar character are finished on the same general system of historical
manners, and the same historical personages are introduced. Of course,
if such have occurred, I shall be probably the sufferer. But my
intentions have been at least innocent, since I look on it as one of the
advantages attending the conclusion of WOODSTOCK, that the finishing
of my own task will permit me to have the pleasure of reading
BRAMBLETYE-HOUSE, from which I have hitherto conscientiously abstained.




WOODSTOCK.



CHAPTER THE FIRST.


Some were for gospel ministers,
And some for red-coat seculars,
As men most fit t' hold forth the word,
And wield the one and th' other sword.
Butler's _Hudibras_.

There is a handsome parish church in the town of Woodstock,--I am told
so, at least, for I never saw it, having scarce time, when at the place,
to view the magnificence of Blenheim, its painted halls, and tapestried
bowers, and then return in due season to dine in hall with my learned
friend, the provost of ----; being one of those occasions on which a man
wrongs himself extremely, if he lets his curiosity interfere with his
punctuality. I had the church accurately described to me, with a view to
this work; but, as I have some reason to doubt whether my informant had
ever seen the inside of it himself, I shall be content to say that it is
now a handsome edifice, most part of which was rebuilt forty or fifty
years since, although it still contains some arches of the old chantry,
founded, it is said, by King John. It is to this more ancient part of
the building that my story refers. On a morning in the end of September,
or beginning of October, in the year 1652, being a day appointed for a
solemn thanksgiving for the decisive victory at Worcester, a respectable
audience was assembled in the old chantry, or chapel of King John. The
condition of the church and character of the audience both bore witness
to the rage of civil war, and the peculiar spirit of the times. The
sacred edifice showed many marks of dilapidation. The windows, once
filled with stained glass, had been dashed to pieces with pikes and
muskets, as matters of and pertaining to idolatry. The carving on the
reading-desk was damaged, and two fair screens of beautiful sculptured
oak had been destroyed, for the same pithy and conclusive reason. The
high altar had been removed, and the gilded railing, which was once
around it, was broken down and carried off. The effigies of several
tombs were mutilated, and now lay scattered about the church,

Torn from their destined niche--unworthy meed
Of knightly counsel or heroic deed!

The autumn wind piped through empty aisles, in which the remains of
stakes and trevisses of rough-hewn timber, as well as a quantity of
scattered hay and trampled straw, seemed to intimate that the hallowed
precincts had been, upon some late emergency, made the quarters of a
troop of horse.

The audience, like the building, was abated in splendour. None of the
ancient and habitual worshippers during peaceful times, were now to be
seen in their carved galleries, with hands shadowing their brows, while
composing their minds to pray where their fathers had prayed, and after
the same mode of worship. The eye of the yeoman and peasant sought in
vain the tall form of old Sir Henry Lee, of Ditchley, as, wrapped in his
lace cloak, and with beard and whiskers duly composed, he moved slowly
through the aisles, followed by the faithful mastiff, or bloodhound,
which in old time had saved his master by his fidelity, and which
regularly followed him to church. Bevis, indeed, fell under the proverb
which avers, "He is a good dog which goes to church;" for, bating an
occasional temptation to warble along with the accord, he behaved
himself as decorously as any of the congregation, and returned as much
edified, perhaps, as most of them. The damsels of Woodstock looked as
vainly for the laced cloaks, jingling spurs, slashed boots, and tall
plumes, of the young cavaliers of this and other high-born houses,
moving through the streets and the church-yard with the careless ease,
which indicates perhaps rather an overweening degree of self-confidence,
yet shows graceful when mingled with good-humour and courtesy. The good
old dames, too, in their white hoods and black velvet gowns--their
daughters, "the cynosure of neighbouring eyes,"--where were they all
now, who, when they entered the church, used to divide men's thoughts
between them and Heaven? "But, ah! Alice Lee--so sweet, so gentle, so
condescending in thy loveliness--[thus proceeds a contemporary annalist,
whose manuscript we have deciphered]--why is my story to turn upon thy
fallen fortunes? and why not rather to the period when, in the very
dismounting from your palfrey, you attracted as many eyes as if an angel
had descended,--as many blessings as if the benignant being had come
fraught with good tidings? No creature wert thou of an idle romancer's
imagination--no being fantastically bedizened with inconsistent
perfections;--thy merits made me love thee well--and for thy faults--so
well did they show amid thy good qualities, that I think they made me
love thee better."

With the house of Lee had disappeared from the chantry of King John
others of gentle blood and honoured lineage--Freemantles, Winklecombes,
Drycotts, &c.; for the air that blew over the towers of Oxford was
unfavourable to the growth of Puritanism, which was more general in the
neighbouring counties. There were among the congregation, however, one
or two that, by their habits and demeanour, seemed country gentlemen of
consideration, and there were also present some of the notables of the
town of Woodstock, cutlers or glovers chiefly, whose skill in steel or
leather had raised them to a comfortable livelihood. These dignitaries
wore long black cloaks, plaited close at the neck, and, like peaceful
citizens, carried their Bibles and memorandum-books at their girdles,
instead of knife or sword. [This custom among the Puritans is mentioned
often in old plays, and among others in the Widow of Watling Street.]
This respectable, but least numerous part of the audience, were such
decent persons as had adopted the Presbyterian form of faith, renouncing
the liturgy and hierarchy of the Church of England, and living under the
tuition of the Rev. Nehemiah Holdenough, much famed for the length and
strength of his powers of predication. With these grave seniors sate
their goodly dames in ruff and gorget, like the portraits which in
catalogues of paintings are designed "wife of a burgomaster;" and their
pretty daughters, whose study, like that of Chaucer's physician, was not
always in the Bible, but who were, on the contrary, when a glance could
escape the vigilance of their honoured mothers, inattentive themselves,
and the cause of inattention in others.

But, besides these dignified persons, there were in the church a
numerous collection of the lower orders, some brought thither by
curiosity, but many of them unwashed artificers, bewildered in the
theological discussions of the time, and of as many various sects as
there are colours in the rainbow. The presumption of these learned
Thebans being in exact proportion to their ignorance, the last was total
and the first boundless. Their behaviour in the church was any thing but
reverential or edifying. Most of them affected a cynical contempt for
all that was only held sacred by human sanction--the church was to these
men but a steeple-house, the clergyman, an ordinary person; her
ordinances, dry bran and sapless pottage unfitted for the spiritualized
palates of the saints, and the prayer, an address to Heaven, to which
each acceded or not as in his too critical judgment he conceived fit.

The elder amongst them sate or lay on the benches, with their high
steeple-crowned hats pulled over their severe and knitted brows, waiting
for the Presbyterian parson, as mastiffs sit in dumb expectation of the
bull that is to be brought to the stake. The younger mixed, some of
them, a bolder license of manners with their heresies; they gazed round
on the women, yawned, coughed, and whispered, eat apples, and cracked
nuts, as if in the gallery of a theatre ere the piece commences.

Besides all these, the congregation contained a few soldiers, some in
corslets and steel caps, some in buff, and others in red coats. These
men of war had their bandeliers, with ammunition, slung around them, and
rested on their pikes and muskets. They, too, had their peculiar
doctrines on the most difficult points of religion, and united the
extravagances of enthusiasm with the most determined courage and
resolution in the field. The burghers of Woodstock looked on these
military saints with no small degree of awe; for though not often
sullied with deeds of plunder or cruelty, they had the power of both
absolutely in their hands, and the peaceful citizen had no alternative,
save submission to whatever the ill-regulated and enthusiastic
imaginations of their martial guides might suggest.

After some time spent in waiting for him, Mr. Holdenough began to walk
up the aisles of the chapel, not with the slow and dignified carriage
with which the old Rector was of yore wont to maintain the dignity of
the surplice, but with a hasty step, like one who arrives too late at an
appointment, and bustles forward to make the best use of his time. He
was a tall thin man, with an adust complexion, and the vivacity of his
eye indicated some irascibility of temperament. His dress was brown, not
black, and over his other vestments he wore, in honour of Calvin, a
Geneva cloak of a blue colour, which fell backwards from his shoulders
as he posted on to the pulpit. His grizzled hair was cut as short as
shears could perform the feat, and covered with a black silk scull-cap,
which stuck so close to his head, that the two ears expanded from under
it as if they had been intended as handles by which to lift the whole
person. Moreover, the worthy divine wore spectacles, and a long grizzled
peaked beard, and he carried in his hand a small pocket-bible with
silver clasps. Upon arriving at the pulpit, he paused a moment to take
breath, then began to ascend the steps by two at a time.

But his course was arrested by a strong hand, which seized his cloak. It
was that of one who had detached himself from the group of soldiery. He
was a stout man of middle stature, with a quick eye, and a countenance,
which, though plain, had yet an expression that fixed the attention. His
dress, though not strictly military, partook of that character. He wore
large hose made of calves-leather, and a tuck, as it was then called, or
rapier, of tremendous length, balanced on the other side by a dagger.
The belt was morocco, garnished with pistols.

The minister, thus intercepted in his duty, faced round upon the party
who had seized him, and demanded, in no gentle tone, the meaning of the
interruption.

"Friend," quoth the intruder, "is it thy purpose to hold forth to these
good people?"

"Ay, marry is it," said the clergyman, "and such is my bounden duty. Woe
to me if I preach not the gospel--Prithee, friend, let me not in my
labour"--

"Nay," said the man of warlike mien, "I am myself minded to hold forth;
therefore, do thou desist, or if thou wilt do by my advice, remain and
fructify with those poor goslings, to whom I am presently about to shake
forth the crumbs of comfortable doctrine."

"Give place, thou man of Satan," said the priest, waxing wroth, "respect
mine order--my cloth."

"I see no more to respect in the cut of thy cloak, or in the cloth of
which it is fashioned," said the other, "than thou didst in the Bishop's
rochets--they were black and white, thou art blue and brown. Sleeping
dogs every one of you, lying down, loving to slumber--shepherds that
starve the flock but will not watch it, each looking to his own
gain--hum."

Scenes of this indecent kind were so common at the time, that no one
thought of interfering; the congregation looked on in silence, the
better class scandalized, and the lower orders, some laughing, and
others backing the soldier or minister as their fancy dictated. Meantime
the struggle waxed fiercer; Mr. Holdenough clamoured for assistance.

"Master Mayor of Woodstock," he exclaimed, "wilt thou be among those
wicked magistrates, who bear the sword in vain?--Citizens, will you not
help your pastor?--Worthy Alderman, will you see me strangled on the
pulpit stairs by this man of buff and Belial?--But lo, I will overcome
him, and cast his cords from me."

As Holdenough spoke, he struggled to ascend the pulpit stairs, holding
hard on the banisters. His tormentor held fast by the skirts of the
cloak, which went nigh to the choking of the wearer, until, as he spoke
the words last mentioned, in a half-strangled voice, Mr. Holdenough
dexterously slipped the string which tied it round his neck, so that the
garment suddenly gave way; the soldier fell backwards down the steps,
and the liberated divine skipped into the pulpit, and began to give
forth a psalm of triumph over his prostrate adversary. But a great
hubbub in the church marred his exultation, and although he and his
faithful clerk continued to sing the hymn of victory, their notes were
only heard by fits, like the whistle of a curlew during a gale of wind.

The cause of the tumult was as follows:--The Mayor was a zealous
Presbyterian, and witnessed the intrusion of the soldier with great
indignation from the very beginning, though he hesitated to interfere
with an armed man while on his legs and capable of resistance. But no
sooner did he behold the champion of independency sprawling on his back,
with the divine's Geneva cloak fluttering in his hands, than the
magistrate rushed forward, exclaiming that such insolence was not to be
endured, and ordered his constables to seize the prostrate champion,
proclaiming, in the magnanimity of wrath, "I will commit every red-coat
of them all--I will commit him were he Noll Cromwell himself!"

The worthy Mayor's indignation had overmastered his reason when he made
this mistimed vaunt; for three soldiers, who had hitherto stood
motionless like statues, made each a stride in advance, which placed
them betwixt the municipal officers and the soldier, who was in the act
of rising; then making at once the movement of resting arms according to
the manual as then practised, their musket-buts rang on the church
pavement, within an inch of the gouty toes of Master Mayor. The
energetic magistrate, whose efforts in favour of order were thus
checked, cast one glance on his supporters, but that was enough to show
him that force was not on his side. All had shrunk back on hearing that
ominous clatter of stone and iron. He was obliged to descend to
expostulation.

"What do you mean, my masters?" said he; "is it like a decent and
God-fearing soldiery, who have wrought such things for the land as have
never before been heard of, to brawl and riot in the church, or to aid,
abet, and comfort a profane fellow, who hath, upon a solemn thanksgiving
excluded the minister from his own pulpit?"

"We have nought to do with thy church, as thou call'st it," said he who,
by a small feather in front of his morion, appeared to be the corporal
of the party;--"we see not why men of gifts should not be heard within
these citadels of superstition, as well as the voice of the men of crape
of old, and the men of cloak now. Wherefore, we will pluck yon Jack
Presbyter out of his wooden sentinel-box, and our own watchman shall
relieve the guard, and mount thereon, and cry aloud and spare not."

"Nay, gentlemen," said the Mayor, "if such be your purpose, we have not
the means to withstand you, being, as you see, peaceful and quiet
men--But let me first speak with this worthy minister, Nehemiah
Holdenough, to persuade him to yield up his place for the time without
farther scandal."

The peace-making Mayor then interrupted the quavering Holdenough and the
clerk, and prayed both to retire, else there would, he said, be
certainly strife.

"Strife!" replied the Presbyterian divine, with scorn; "no fear of
strife among men that dare not testify against this open profanation of
the Church, and daring display of heresy. Would your neighbours of
Banbury have brooked such an insult?"

"Come, come, Master Holdenough," said the Mayor, "put us not to mutiny
and cry Clubs. I tell you once more, we are not men of war or blood."

"Not more than may be drawn by the point of a needle," said the
preacher, scornfully.--"Ye tailors of Woodstock!--for what is a glover
but a tailor working on kidskin?--I forsake you, in scorn of your faint
hearts and feeble hands, and will seek me elsewhere a flock which will
not fly from their shepherd at the braying of the first wild ass which
cometh from out the great desert."

So saying, the aggrieved divine departed from his pulpit, and shaking
the dust from his shoes, left the church as hastily as he had entered
it, though with a different reason for his speed. The citizens saw his
retreat with sorrow, and not without a compunctious feeling, as if
conscious that they were not playing the most courageous part in the
world. The Mayor himself and several others left the church, to follow
and appease him.

The Independent orator, late prostrate, was now triumphant, and
inducting himself into the pulpit without farther ceremony, he pulled a
Bible from his pocket, and selected his text from the forty-fifth
psalm,--"Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory
and thy majesty: and in thy majesty ride prosperously."--Upon this
theme, he commenced one of those wild declamations common at the period,
in which men were accustomed to wrest and pervert the language of
Scripture, by adapting to it modern events.

(See "Vindication of the Book of Common Prayer, against the contumelious
Slanders of the Fanatic Party terming it Porridge."

The author of this singular and rare tract indulges in the allegorical
style, till he fairly hunts down the allegory.

"But as for what you call porridge, who hatched the name I know not,
neither is it worth the enquiring after, for I hold porridge good food.
It is better to a sick man than meat, for a sick man will sooner eat
pottage than meat. Pottage will digest with him when meat will not:
pottage will nourish the blood, fill the veins, run into every part of a
man, make him warmer; so will these prayers do, set our soul and body in
a heat, warm our devotion, work fervency in us, lift up our soul to God.
For there be herbs of God's own planting in our pottage as ye call
it--the Ten Commandments, dainty herbs to season any pottage in the
world; there is the Lord's Prayer, and that is a most sweet pot-herb,
cannot be denied; then there is also David's herbs, his prayers and
psalms, helps to make our pottage relish well; the psalm of the blessed
Virgin, a good pot-herb. Though they be, as some term them,
_cock-crowed_ pottage, yet they are as sweet, as good, as dainty, and as
fresh, as they were at first. The sun hath not made them sour with its
heat, neither hath the cold water taken away their vigour and strength.
Compare them with the Scriptures, and see if they be not as well
seasoned and crumbed. If you find any thing in them that is either too
salt, too fresh, or too bitter, that herb shall be taken out and better
put in, if it can be got, or none. And as in kitchen pottage there are
many good herbs, so there is likewise in this church pottage, as ye call
it. For first, there is in kitchen pottage good water to make them so;
on the contrary, in the other pottage there is the water of life. 2.
There is salt, to season them; so in the other is a prayer of grace to
season their hearts. 3. There is oatmeal to nourish the body, in the
other is the bread of life. 4. There is thyme in them to relish them,
and it is very wholesome--in the other is the wholesome exhortation not
to harden our heart while it is called to-day. This relisheth well. 5.
There is a small onion to give a taste--in the other is a good herb,
called Lord have mercy on us. These, and many other holy herbs are
contained in it, all boiling in the heart of man, will make as good
pottage as the world can afford, especially if you use these herbs for
digestion. The herb repentance, the herb grace, the herb faith, the herb
love, the herb hope, the herb good works, the herb feeling, the herb
zeal, the herb fervency, the herb ardency, the herb constancy, with many
more of this nature, most excellent for digestion." _Ohe! jam satis._ In
this manner the learned divine hunts his metaphor at a very cold scent,
through a pamphlet of six mortal quarto pages.)

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