CHAPTER III.
HOW I STOOD BEFORE THE PREFECT.
I have never succeeded in adequately describing to Betsy Jane my feelings under escort to bonds and imprisonment, and perhaps worse; and if I failed in making the wife of my bosom appreciate the horrible anxiety under which I laboured during that walk, I must necessarily fail with the public. Not of course that I was alarmed on my own account, but I felt for my wife and family, and I was all of a tremble for Grubbington parish. Mrs. Starch, I mean Betsy Jane, has, since my return to the 19th century, insisted on my insuring my life. Perhaps had I been at the period of my lapse well insured, I could have faced the tribunal with greater equanimity. I put it plainly to myself,—here I am about to be judged, and perhaps sentenced to suffer excruciating agonies, in behalf of aChristianity which is not at all of my sort, or according to my liking. I am to be, possibly, gutted alive, or impaled, or fried like a herring, or flayed, and rubbed over with pepper and salt,—my nerves being unusually sensitive—all because I am supposed to be a member of a religious community which prays for the dead, uses superstitious ceremonial in the celebration of sacraments, and does not know anything of the principles of the Reformation! Am I prepared to undergo frightful tortures in witness to a faith which tolerates incense, lights, and vestments! Am I to relinquish for ever the prospects of croquet, archery, and other like clerical diversions, by submitting to the rack on behalf of a lot of Christians whose allegiance to the State is more than questionable? Suppose I am gutted, or impaled, or thrown to lions, or roasted on a gridiron, or burned in a tar barrel, what then?
My bones or ashes will be collected, and “deposited in peace” in some vault of the catacombs; I shall be a saint, not the Rev. Edward Starch, but S. Edward, P. and M. My remains will be venerated by ignorant crowds of devotees. To these legs of mine will be given idolatrous worship, and a future Pope will, probably, send the severed joints of my backbone to be enshrined in gold in various Roman Catholic Churches inChristendom. My collar-bone may be encrusted in jewels at Toledo, my ganglions in Cracow. My little toes may be borne about by coped ecclesiastics in Austrian processions, and the exposition of my big toes may be the means of preventing a plague in Algiers. Now I may fairly ask myself am I justified in thus affording additional opportunities for the extension of superstition?
If I could be quite certain that my relics would be disposed of in an Anglican manner, say, sent to the British Museum, why then the case would be altered. Or again, if I could be tried upon the principles of the Anglican Liturgy and the Thirty-nine Articles, cheerfully would I die, but for a religion which must be abhorrent to all readers of theTimes, or thePall Mall, or theGuardian, in as much as it closely resembles that of the 19th century ritualistic school:—
NEVER!
NEVER!
In arriving at this conclusion I suppose I lagged a bit, for one of my escort with his lance from behind progged me in a fleshy part, to make me walk a little quicker. I threatened him with law, but he laughed. Laughed at being threatened with law! In what a benighted condition Rome must be.
We reached the court, and I was at once brought before the prefect, who happened to be then sitting.He had just disposed of a Roman Christian or two. One he had ordered to be smeared with honey and exposed to wasps and bees; another he had condemned to be hamstrung, a third to be hugged to death by a bear. An ugly prospect for my poor self—not that I considered self one moment, but I did feel keenly for my poor wife, whose feelings would be harrowed should she read the acts of my martyrdom in Ruinart.
“Sirrah!” exclaimed the prefect, darting at me a malignant glance. “Who are you? Another Christian dog, eh?”
I pulled up my shirt collar, and after a premonitory cough, replied with dignity and composure, “Illustrious Sir, allow me briefly and lucidly to explain to you the peculiar circumstances which have brought me into this predicament.”
“Are you a Roman?” asked the judge in a surly manner.
“No, my Lord, I am an Englishman, parson of Grubbington-in-the-Clay.”
“Humph! I suppose you are a Christian.”
“Christian is a broad term,” I replied, “and may mean anything. A Protestant and consistent Anglican I am, but I utterly repudiate all connexion with the Roman Church which I stoutly maintain, in the language of our incomparable Thirty-nine Articles, to have erred, not only in theirliving and manner of ceremonies, but also in matters of faith. I regard too, the Romish doctrine concerning purgatory, pardons, worshipping and adoration of images, as of reliques, and also invocation of saints, to be a fond thing vainly invented, and grounded upon no warranty of Scripture, but rather repugnant to the word of God. I do most stoutly maintain this, and show me the member of this Church who can stand against me in argument.”
The prefect looked at me with a puzzled air, and then asked what I did believe.
“I believe that Bishops, priests, and deacons, are not commanded either to vow the estate of single life, or to abstain from marriage: and therefore that it is lawful for them, as for all other men, to marry at their own discretion. I may add, that my wife entirely agrees with me on this point.”
The prefect uttered an insulting remark with regard to my intellectual capabilities.
“Are you a Christian?” he asked.
I allowed that I was, “but”——. He cut me short as I was about to qualify the remark on the apostolic principle of being all things to all men, and not causing my brother to offend, and asked whether I would swear by the genius of the Emperor.
“By all means,” I replied, “the powers that be—youknow the rest; well, in Grubbington I have got a lion and unicorn over the chancel arch. I have the utmost reverence for secular authority, and the blindest devotion to the Crown.”
“Have you any of the sacred writings in your possession?”
I felt in my numerous pockets; I had failed before in my endeavour to discover a certain publication of the Anglo-Continental Society, in my breast pocket, I now explored one of the receptacles in the tail of my coat. Yes! I came on a packet of the tracts of that society, in Latin. I handed them at once to the prefect, who ordered his secretary to take them.
“And,” continued he, addressing the executioner, “look out your apparatus of torture, Maximus. Here is a man who seems to be neither fish, nor flesh, nor fowl: he should have some special cooking.”
“My Lord, shall I roast him?”
“No, good Maximus, roasting is out of fashion.”
“Shall I boil him?”
“That is common-place.”
“Fry him, my Lord?”
“No, let us have some novelty; monotony is tedious.”
“The little horse, the red hot pincers, the thumb screws, the leaded whips, are all stale,” mused theexecutioner, biting his thumb-nails and looking dumped. Presently, however, a ray of light illumined his face: “My Lord!” he said, looking up cheerfully, “it is an ancient tradition in the family of my mother, who came from a remote island of the northern seas, called Hibernia, that two cats were once shut up in a chamber at Kilkennœa, and they fought and fought till they had eaten each other all but the tails. My Lord, the prisoner seems to regard the Roman Christians with an antipathy similar to that recorded of the Kilkennœan cats, and this antipathy I presume is reciprocated. Will it please your worship to order the confinement, in an iron cage, of the deacon Laurence with this Britannic mongrel Christian. I confidently anticipate great entertainment to your Lordship, and I am satisfied that if you will condescend to inspect the cage to-morrow morning, nothing of the several parties will be discovered except theos sacrumof each, which your Lordship is well aware, takes that place in man which, in the inferior order of mammals, is occupied by the tail.”
“Capital!” exclaimed the judge, “and whilst Maximus is looking up the cage, and whilst the soldiers go in search of the deacon Laurence, Servius, do you read the pernicious writings which theprisoner has delivered over to us, and which the Christians regard with reverence.”
The secretary began to read; my eyes wandered about the court, lighting on this and then on that instrument of torture. I saw a fire of charcoal with pincers in it quite red hot, and my flesh quivered. I saw a press under which Christians were sometimes flattened like pancakes. I saw barbed hooks for inserting into the muscles, wooden saws discoloured with blood, which had cut men in two. Indeed, I saw more than I dare describe. When I attempted to go into the details of what I beheld to my wife, she said “Now, don’t dear,” and I will refrain from doing so here, relying upon her superior judgment.
Whilst I was examining all these horrible implements, the scribe read on in a monotonous voice the stirring words of one of the most pugnacious of the Anglo-Continental tracts. I now turned my gaze upon the audience, who had taken a cruel interest in the scenes of the court, and who were quite prepared to witness with relish the anticipated fight between Laurence and myself. My eyes lingered first on one and then on another. I soon observed their eyelids drooping, and a blank expression stealing over their faces. Still the scribe Servius read the bold statement of Anglican principles.
In the corner I observed the bear which had hugged one Christian to death that morning, chained to a post. During the greater part of my trial, the brute had extended its arms in an endearing manner towards myself, and had been wagging its stump of a tail in the anticipation of giving me a warm embrace. The bear now coiled itself up on the floor, and went fast asleep. I now looked at the prefect. His eyes were closed. Evidently the publication of the Anglo-Continental Society had made a profound impression upon him. Yes! but of a kind I had not anticipated. He, too, was asleep. I heard him snore. The scribe’s voice began to falter, the sentences became broken. He went to sleep also. I glanced round the court. Every one was enjoying the repose which is brought on upon so many by a dose of laudanum, or a perusal of the leading articles of theGuardian.
I seized the opportunity and stepped lightly out of the court. The guards at the door were vigorously trumpeting through their noses; on them too had the Anglo-Continental tract produced this happy effect. In another moment I was in the street—I was free: I gave a whoop of exultation, and—
WOKE UP IN MY STUDY.
WOKE UP IN MY STUDY.
Transcriber’s NotesCreated Table of Contentspg 13 Changed am I presumptuous is to: inpg 20 Added the word who after: there’s Betsy Jane (my wife)pg 21 Added comma after: said asidepg 24 Changed period after: is more than questionable to: a question markpg 29 Changed an antipathy similiar to: similarpg 29 Removed repeated word: in the the inferior