CHAPTER XIV.

Come grief, possess that place thy Harbingers have seen,And think most fit to entertain thyself:Bring with thee all thy Troops, and sorrow’s longest TeemOf followers, that wail for worldly pelf:Here shall they see a Wight more lamentable,Than all the troop that seem most miserable.For here they may discry, if perfect search be made,The substance of that shadow causing woe:An unkind Frost, that caused hopeful Sprouts to fade;Not only mine, but other’s grief did growBy my misdeed, which grieves me most of all,That I should be chief cause of other’s fall.For private loss to grieve, when others have no causeOf sorrow, is unmeet for worthy mind;For who but knows, that each man’s sinful life still drawsMore just revenge than he on earth can find.But to undo desert and innocence,Is, to my mind, grief’s chiefest pestilence.I grieve not to look back into my former state,Though different that were from present case;I moan not future haps, though forced death with hateOf all the world were blustred in my face:But oh I grieve to think that ever IHave been a means of others misery.When on my little Babes I think, as I do oft,I cannot chuse but then let fall some tears;Me-thinks I hear the little Pratler, with words soft,Ask, Where is Father that did promise Pears,And other knacks, which I did never see,Nor Father neither, since he promised me.’Tis true, my Babe, thou never saw’st thy Father since,Nor art thou ever like to see again:That stopping Father into mischief which will pinchThe tender Bud, and give thee cause to plainHis hard dysaster; that must punish thee,Who art from guilt as any creature free.But oh! when she that bare thee, Babe, comes to my mind,Then do I stand as drunk with bitterest woe,To think that she, whose worth were such to all, should findSuch usage hard, and I to cause the blow,Of her such sufferance, that doth pierce my heart,And gives full grief to every other part.Hence comes the cause, that each tear striveth to be first,As if I meant to stint them of their course,No salted meats: that done you know my heart would burstWith violent assaults of your great force:But when I stay you, ’tis for that I fear,Your gushing so will leave me ne’er a tear.But ah! this doubt, grief says I never need to fearFor she will undertake t’afford me store;Who in all her knowledge never cause of woe did hearThat gall’d her deeper or gave witness moreOf earth’s hard usage, that does punish thoseThat guiltless be, with Fortune’s cruellest blows.Though further cause of more than utterable grief,As other’s loss I could dilate at large,Which I am cause of, yet her suffering being chiefOf all their woes, that sail in this deep BargeOf sorrow’s Sea: I cannot but reflectHereon more deeply, and with more respect.On which dear object when I look with grieved mind,Such store of pities see I plead her case,As hardest hearts cause of compassion there would find;To hear what could be said before that faceWhich I have wrong’d in causing so to weep;The grief whereof constrains my pen to sleep.

For here they may discry, if perfect search be made,The substance of that shadow causing woe:An unkind Frost, that caused hopeful Sprouts to fade;Not only mine, but other’s grief did growBy my misdeed, which grieves me most of all,That I should be chief cause of other’s fall.

For private loss to grieve, when others have no causeOf sorrow, is unmeet for worthy mind;For who but knows, that each man’s sinful life still drawsMore just revenge than he on earth can find.But to undo desert and innocence,Is, to my mind, grief’s chiefest pestilence.

I grieve not to look back into my former state,Though different that were from present case;I moan not future haps, though forced death with hateOf all the world were blustred in my face:But oh I grieve to think that ever IHave been a means of others misery.

When on my little Babes I think, as I do oft,I cannot chuse but then let fall some tears;Me-thinks I hear the little Pratler, with words soft,Ask, Where is Father that did promise Pears,And other knacks, which I did never see,Nor Father neither, since he promised me.

’Tis true, my Babe, thou never saw’st thy Father since,Nor art thou ever like to see again:That stopping Father into mischief which will pinchThe tender Bud, and give thee cause to plainHis hard dysaster; that must punish thee,Who art from guilt as any creature free.

But oh! when she that bare thee, Babe, comes to my mind,Then do I stand as drunk with bitterest woe,To think that she, whose worth were such to all, should findSuch usage hard, and I to cause the blow,Of her such sufferance, that doth pierce my heart,And gives full grief to every other part.

Hence comes the cause, that each tear striveth to be first,As if I meant to stint them of their course,No salted meats: that done you know my heart would burstWith violent assaults of your great force:But when I stay you, ’tis for that I fear,Your gushing so will leave me ne’er a tear.

But ah! this doubt, grief says I never need to fearFor she will undertake t’afford me store;Who in all her knowledge never cause of woe did hearThat gall’d her deeper or gave witness moreOf earth’s hard usage, that does punish thoseThat guiltless be, with Fortune’s cruellest blows.

Though further cause of more than utterable grief,As other’s loss I could dilate at large,Which I am cause of, yet her suffering being chiefOf all their woes, that sail in this deep BargeOf sorrow’s Sea: I cannot but reflectHereon more deeply, and with more respect.

On which dear object when I look with grieved mind,Such store of pities see I plead her case,As hardest hearts cause of compassion there would find;To hear what could be said before that faceWhich I have wrong’d in causing so to weep;The grief whereof constrains my pen to sleep.

The trial of the prisoners was long delayed; quite ten weeks passed between their capture and their sentence; but, as Mr Hepworth Dixon puts it,[368]they were, in fact, “undergoing a course of daily trial by Northampton in the Tower.”In the so-called gunpowder plot room, in the Lieutenant’s House, with its panelled walls, and high, wide window, they underwent “a thousand interrogatories from Coke, a thousand hostilities from Waad, and a thousand treacheries from Forsett. This Forsett was one of Northampton’s spies; a useful and despicable wretch, whom his master employed in overhearing and reporting the private conversations of prisoners with each other.”

Coke himself, in his speech at the trial, referred to the long delay in bringing the prisoners to the bar, saying[369]“There have been already twenty and three several days spent in Examinations.”And he summarized the good results of the delay thus[370]:—“Veritas Temporis filia, Truth is the daughter of Time, especially in this case; wherein by timely and often Examinations, First, matters of greatest moment have been lately found out. Secondly, some known Offenders, and those capital, but lately apprehended. Thirdly, sundry of the principal and Arch-traytors before unknown, now manifested, as the Jesuits. Fourthly—”but he might have abridged this statement into these few words—We hoped to worm some evidence out of the prisoners against Catholic priests.

FOOTNOTES:[347]Letters of Sir E. D., Paper 7.[348]A modern Jesuit thinks otherwise (seeThe Month, No. 367, p. 8), quoting Cecil’s letter to Favat (Brit. Museum MSS. Add. 6178. fol. 625). “Most of the prisoners have wilfully forsworn that the priests knew anything in particular, and obstinately refuse to be accusers of them,yea, what torture soever they be put to.”Cecil may have referred to Fawkes only when he mentioned torture; but the Jesuit Father may be right, and he gives other evidence in support of his theory.[349]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 258.[350]Somer’s Tracts, Vol. ii. p. 113.[351]Narrative of the G. P., Gerard, p. 139.[352]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 256.[353]Records, S. J., Series I. p. 527.[354]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 259.[355]Records, S. J., Vol. iv. p. 9.[356]S. P. Dom. James I., 1606, Vol. 18, n. 36.[357]S. P. Dom. James I., Vol. xviii. n. 37.[358]Letters of Sir E. D., paper 22.[359]Letters of Sir E. D.(p. 169) No. 1.[360](P. 177), No. 9.[361]I use Jardine’s modern rendering of this particular letter, inCriminal Trials, Vol. ii. p. 24. But the actual letter may be found among the S. P. Dom. James I., Vol. xvii., n. 9.[362]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 266.[363]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 261.[364]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 265.[365]Ib., p. 259.[366]Jardine’sGunpowder Plot, p. 124.N.B.—By many people, Tresham’s death was attributed to poison.—SeeThe Month, No. 366, p. 493. Jardine’sG. P., p. 127, and Goodman’s Court of King James, p. 107.[367]S. P. Dom. James I., 23 Dec. 1605.[368]Her Majesty’s Tower, Vol. ii. p. 193.[369]Gunpowder Treason, p. (16).[370]Ib.

FOOTNOTES:

[347]Letters of Sir E. D., Paper 7.

[348]A modern Jesuit thinks otherwise (seeThe Month, No. 367, p. 8), quoting Cecil’s letter to Favat (Brit. Museum MSS. Add. 6178. fol. 625). “Most of the prisoners have wilfully forsworn that the priests knew anything in particular, and obstinately refuse to be accusers of them,yea, what torture soever they be put to.”Cecil may have referred to Fawkes only when he mentioned torture; but the Jesuit Father may be right, and he gives other evidence in support of his theory.

[349]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 258.

[350]Somer’s Tracts, Vol. ii. p. 113.

[351]Narrative of the G. P., Gerard, p. 139.

[352]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 256.

[353]Records, S. J., Series I. p. 527.

[354]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 259.

[355]Records, S. J., Vol. iv. p. 9.

[356]S. P. Dom. James I., 1606, Vol. 18, n. 36.

[357]S. P. Dom. James I., Vol. xviii. n. 37.

[358]Letters of Sir E. D., paper 22.

[359]Letters of Sir E. D.(p. 169) No. 1.

[360](P. 177), No. 9.

[361]I use Jardine’s modern rendering of this particular letter, inCriminal Trials, Vol. ii. p. 24. But the actual letter may be found among the S. P. Dom. James I., Vol. xvii., n. 9.

[362]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 266.

[363]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 261.

[364]Cal. Sta. Pa. Dom., 1603-10, p. 265.

[365]Ib., p. 259.

[366]Jardine’sGunpowder Plot, p. 124.N.B.—By many people, Tresham’s death was attributed to poison.—SeeThe Month, No. 366, p. 493. Jardine’sG. P., p. 127, and Goodman’s Court of King James, p. 107.

[367]S. P. Dom. James I., 23 Dec. 1605.

[368]Her Majesty’s Tower, Vol. ii. p. 193.

[369]Gunpowder Treason, p. (16).

[370]Ib.

Sir Everard appears to have received several kind communications, whilst in the Tower, from Father Gerard, if we may judge from some of his remarks concerning “my brother”in his letters to Lady Digby.

For instance, we find him writing[371]:—“Let my Brother see this, or know its Contents, tell him I love his sweet comforts as my greatest Jewel in this Place”; in another,[372]“I give my Brother many thanks for his sweet comforts, and assure him that now I desire death; for the more I think on God’s mercy the more I hope in my own case: though others have censured our Intentions otherwise than I understood them to be, and though the Act be thought so wicked by those of Judgment, yet I hope that my understanding it otherwise, with my Sorrow for my Error, will find acceptance at God’s hands.” In another he sends a warning to him,[373]“Howsoever my Brother is informed, I am sure they fear him for knowledge of the Plot, for at every examination I am told that he did give the Sacrament to five atone time.”And once again,[374]he says:—“Tell my Brother I do honour him as befits me, but I did not think I could have increased so much, loving him more as his charitable Lessonswouldmake me.”

But if Father Gerard had sent very consoling messages to Sir Everard in his imprisonment; on one occasion—it was within a few days of the trial—he wrote him a formal letter, which he sent to Lord Salisbury and the Duke of Lenox, asking them to give it to Sir Everard and hear what he might say in answer to it. To Salisbury himself he wrote another letter, in the course of which he said[375]:—“Sir Everard Digby can testify for me, how ignorant I was of any such matter”[as the Gunpowder Plot], “but two days before that unnatural parricide should have been practised. I have, for full trial thereof, enclosed a letter unto him, which I humbly beseech may be delivered, &c.”

At the same time he wrote to the Duke of Lenox, “My humble petition therefore is, that a witness be asked his knowledge who is well able to clear me if he will, and I hope he will not be so unjust in this time of his own danger as to conceal so needful a proof being so demanded of him. Sir Everard Digby doth well know how far I was from knowledge of any such matter but two days before the treasonwas known to all men. I have therefore written a letter unto him, to require his testimony of that which passed between him and me at that time. Wherein, if I may have your lordship’s furtherance to have just trial made of the truth whilst yet he liveth, I shall ever esteem myself most deeply bound, &c., &c.”

This letter to Sir Everard, which, of course, would be read first by Salisbury and Lenox, began:—“Sir Everard Digby,—I presume so much of your sincerity both to God and man, that I cannot fear you will be loath to utter your knowledge for the clearing of one that is innocent from a most unjust accusation importing both loss of life to him that is accused, and of good name also, which he much more esteemeth.”

Then he says that upon some false information, given, he supposes, “by some base fellows, desirous to save their lives by the loss of their honesty,”—this looks as if he suspected some of the conspirators in the Gunpowder Plot, imprisoned in the Tower—a “proclamation has been issued against myself and my superior”—this would be Father Garnet—“and one other of the Society,”probably Father Oldcorne, “as against three notorious practisers, with divers of the principal conspirators in this late most odious treason of destroying the King’s Majesty and all in the Parliament House with powder. And myself am put in the first place, as the first or chiefest offender therein.”

He calls God to witness that he knew nothing of the plot until it became known publicly; but, he says, “to give more full proof of my innocency to those who also may doubt my words, I take witness to yourself whether you, upon your certain knowledge cannot clear me.”At first he would not appeal to Sir Everard because, as he says, “I would not take knowledge of any personal acquaintance with you, especially at your own house, not knowing how far you were to be vouched for your life, and therefore would not add unto your danger,”—i.e., by showing that he knew and had harboured a priest. “But now that it appears by your confession and trial in the country that you stand at the King’s mercy for greater matters than your acquaintance with a Priest, I hope you will not be loath, I should publish that which cannot hurt you, and may help myself in a matter of such importance. And as I know you could never like to stoop to so base and unworthy a humour as to flatter or dissemble with any man, so much less can I fear that now (being in the case you are in) you can ever think it fit to dissemble with God, or not to utter your every knowledge, being required as from him, and in behalf of truth. Therefore I desire you will bear witness of the truth which followeth (if it be true that I affirm of my demand to you, growing upon my ignorance in the matter then in hand) as you expect truth and mercy at God’s hand hereafter. First, I desire you to bearwitness, whether, coming to your house upon All Souls’ Day last—”and then he questions him upon the details, described in a former chapter, of what took place at Gothurst upon All Souls’ Day, which are mainly taken from this letter.

He ends by saying, “And thus clear I was from the knowledge of that Plot against the Parliament House, whereof, notwithstanding, I am accused and proclaimed to be a practiser with the principal conspirators. But I refer me to God and your conscience, who are able to clear me, and I challenge the conscience of any one that certainly expecteth death, and desireth to die in the fear of God and with hope of His salvation, to accuse me of it if he can. God, of His mercy, grant unto us all grace to see and do His will, and to live and die His servants, for they only are and shall be happy for ever.—Your companion in tribulation though not in the cause,

John Gerard.”

Considering the bosom friendship that existed between Gerard and Digby, and the high opinion of the honourable character expressed, in his writings, by the former of the latter, these tremendous exhortations to speak the truth in his favour look a little superfluous. They may have been intended rather for the eyes of Salisbury and Lennox than for those of Digby; for anything which could show an excessive familiarity between Digby and Gerard might have been suspicious evidence against the latter.

There is a postscript, again, which seems written as a suggestion for what Digby should say. “I hope you will also witness with me that you have ever seen me much averted from such violent courses, and hopeful rather of help by favour than force. And, indeed, if I had not now been satisfied by your assurance that there was nothing in hand, it should presently have appeared how much I had misliked any forcible attempts, the counsel of Christ and the commandment of our superiors requiring the contrary, and that in patience we should possess our souls.”

To give him his due, Sir Everard Digby spoke boldly in Father Gerard’s favour at his trial. Five-and-twenty years later, Father Gerard wrote, in a letter to Dr Smith, Bishop of Chalcedon,[376]“Sir Everard Digby, who of all the others, for many reasons, was most suspected of having possibly revealed the secret to me, protested in open Court and declared that he had often been instigated to say I knew something of the Plot, but that he had always answered in the negative, alleging the reason why he had never disclosed it to me, because, he said, he feared lest I should dissuade him from it. Therefore the greater part of the Privy Councillors considered my innocence established, &c.”

Six months later, Father Fitzherbert, Rector of the English College of Rome, wrote concerning Father Gerard to the same bishop[377]“he was fully cleared ofit”[the Gunpowder Plot] “by the public and solemn testimony of the delinquents themselves, namely, of Sir Everard Digby (with whom he was known to be most familiar and confident), who publicly protested at his arraignment that he did never acquaint him with their design, being assured that he would not like of it, but dissuade him from it; and of this I can show good testimony by letters from London written hither at the time.”

Probably owing, in the main, to Sir Everard’s declarations of his innocence, Father Gerard was allowed to escape from England, and he survived the Gunpowder Plot thirty-one years. It must not be supposed, however, that he had never suffered for the faith in this country; for he had been terribly tortured, some years before the Gunpowder Plot, in the Tower, from which he escaped.

Topcliffe’s description[378]of “Jhon Gerrarde yeJhezewtpreest that escaip out of the Tower”may be worthy of a passing notice. “Of a good stature sum what higherthan SrTho. Layton and upright in his paysse and countenance sum what stayring in his look or Eyes Currilde heire by Nature and blackyshe and not apt to have much heire on his bearde. I thincke his noose sum what wide and turninge Upp Blubarde Lipps turninge outwards Especially the over Lipps most Uppwards toward the Noose Kewryoos in speetche If he do now contynewe his custome And inhis speetche he flourrethe and smyles much and a falteringe or Lispinge or dooblinge of his Tonge in his speeche.”

On the very day that Father Gerard’s letter for Sir Everard Digby seems to have been delivered to Lord Salisbury, January 23rd, Sir Everard himself wrote a long letter to his two little sons, the eldest of which was not yet three years old. The writing of it must have caused him much pain; probably, also, many tears. The most remarkable thing about it is that he does not enter upon the question of the cause of his death. As his sons would certainly hear of the manner and reason of it, it might have been well to have spoken plainly on the subject. Nevertheless, there is something dignified in his assumption of the position of a parent, in giving good advice to his children, without recounting those personal faults and follies, which he might, perhaps, consider it no part of the duty of a father to confess to his sons.

✠

“Jesus Maria.[379]“There be many reasons (my dear children) that might disswade me from putting Pen to Paper in this Kind, and onely one which urgeth me to undertake this poor and fruitless pains. Wherefore to tell you what inciteth me to it, is my want ofother means to shew my Fatherly affection to each of you (which is so far from uttering, as my mind is willing to accept of poor means, rather than none to bewray my disposition) if I would have been checked from the performance of these lines, by number and probabilities of reasons; I might then have called to mind the unlikelihood, that these would ever have come to your view; with the malice of the world to me, which (I do imagine) will not fail to endeavour to possess you with a loathness to hear of anything that comes from me: as also I might, and do think, on my own disability in advising, with many other disswasive reasons, which my former recited single stirrer-up hath banished. Wherefore to begin with both and each of you, I send you by these my Fatherly and last blessing; which I have not failed to ask at God’s hands on my knees, that he will grant to descend so effectually on you (that his holy grace accompanying it) it may work in you the performance (on your part) of God’s sweet and just commandments and on his part to you, the Guerdon that his mercy inricheth his servants with all. Let this end (God’s service I mean) be the chief and onely contentious strife between you, which with all vehemency and desire each of you may strive to attain soonest. Let this be the mark which your thoughts and actions may still level at; for here is the chiefest Prise, to recompense the best deserver. Believe me in this (my Sons) that though my unripe years afford me not general experience, yet my variety of courses in the world (and God’s grace to illumine me) may sufficiently warrant the verity of this principle. If you make this your chief business (as you ought to do, and for which end onely you were sent into the world) I doubt not but God will send you better means for your particular directions, than either the brevity of a Letter or my ability can discharge. So that in this I will say no more, but pray that you may live as I hope to die, which is in the perfect obedience of the Catholick and onely saving Church.“I cannot but a little touch, what I could wish you did, and I hope will do to all sorts of people; it is a lesson I could never learn well my self, but perhaps see more what is convenient for others, than that I were ever able to shew the force of wholesome counsel and good instructions in my own life.“Above all things in the world, seek to obey and follow your Mother’s will and pleasure; who as she hath been the best wife to me that ever man enjoyed, so can she not fail to shew her self equal to the best Mother, if you deserve not the contrary. If it please God to send her life (though you have nothing else), I shall leave you enough: and on the contrary, if I could leave you ten times more than my self ever had, yet she being taken from you, I should thinkyou but poor. It is not (my Sons) abundance of riches that makes a man happy but a virtuous life; and as they are blessings from God, and cause of happiness to a man that useth them well, so are they cause of misery to most men even in this world.“You may read of divers men, who whiles they lived in private state, deserved the fame of all that knew them; but so soon as prosperous fortune, and higher degrees, had taken possession of them, they seemed not to be the same men, but grew into scorn of all the world. For exampleGalbawhiles he lived inSpainas a private man, and, as it were, banished his Countrey, by a Charge that procured in him great pains and care; he was so well liked, that upon the death ofNerothe Emperor, he was Elected in his room but was no sooner in that Place, than he was plucked out of it again by violent death, as a man unfit for such a Charge, by reason of his alteration which that Dignity wrought in him. You may see also inOthowho succeeded him, that all the while of his prosperity, he lived a most dissolute life and odious to all men; but he was no sooner touched with adversity, but he grew to a brave and worthy resolution, making choice rather (not out of desperation) of his own death, than that by his life the Common-weal should be disturbed. And though I cannot but disallow the manner of his death (by reason he knew not God truly) yet is it plain, that adversity brought him to that worthy mind, whichcontemned life in regard of his Countrey’s good; and which was so contrary to that mind that prosperity had misled in him. If then adverse Fortune were so powerful more than prosperity on Pagans and Misbelievers, to procure in them worthy minds; what may we expect the force of it should be in Christians, whose first Captain (not out of necessity, but free choice) made manifest to the world, by his own painful foot steps that there is no other perfect and certain way to true happiness.“He hath not onely staid here in demonstration of his verity, but hath sent to all those (who, the world knows, he highliest esteemed, and best loved) nothing but variety of misery in this life, with cruel and forced death; the which thing truest wisdom esteems as the best tokens of Love from so powerful a Sender, and as the best and certainest way to bring a man to perfect happiness.“I speak not this to conclude, that no man is happy but those which run this strict and best course. But to tell you (my Children) that if the world seek and prevail to cut you off from enjoying my Estate and Patrimony in this world, yet you should not think your selves more unhappy therein: for God, it may be, doth see, that there is some other course more fit for you; or that this would give great hazard to your Soul’s health, which he taketh away, by removing the occasion.“But, howsoever you find your selves in fortunes ofthis world, use them to God’s best pleasure, and think yourselves but Bailiffs of such things for an uncertain time. If they be few or poor, your fear of making a good accompt may be the lesser; and know, that God can send more and richer, if it be requisite for his glory and your good; if they be many or great, so much the more care you ought to take in governing your selves, lest God, as holding you unworthy such a charge, by taking them from you, or you from them, do also punish you with eternal misery for abusing his benefits. You shall the better learn to make true use and reckoning of these vanities, if with due obedience you do hearken to your mother’s wholesome counsel; and what want you shall find in my instructions, you may see better declared to you by looking on her life, which though I cannot give assurance for any thing to be done in future times yet can I not but very stedfastly believe, that the same Lord will give perseverance in virtue, where he hath laid so strong a foundation for his spiritual building, and where there is such an humble and resigned will to the pleasure of her Lord and Maker.“The next part of my charge shall be, in your mutual carriage the one to the other; in which, all reasons to move you to perfect accord, and entire love, do present themselves unto you, as the obligation of Christianity, the tie of natural and nearest consanguinity, and the equality, or very smalldifference of Age. There is in none of these any thing wanting, that may be an impediment to truest Friendship, nor anything to be added to them (for procuring your mutual and heartiest love) but your own consent and particular desert each to other. Since then there is all cause in each of you for this love, do not deprive yourselves of that earthly happiness, which God, Nature, and Time offereth unto you; but if you think that the benefit which accord and friendship bringeth, be not sufficient to enkindle this love (which God forbid you should) yet let the consideration of the misery which the contrary worketh in all degrees, stay your mind from dislike.As no man in any Age, but may see great happiness to have been attained by good agreement of Friends, Kinsmen, and Brethren; so wanteth there not too many examples of such, as by hate and dis-cord have frustrated strong hopes sowed in peace, and brought to nothing great Fortunes; besides the incurring God’s displeasure, which still comes accompanied with perpetual misery. If you look into Divine Writ, you shall find, that this was the cause of ‘;Abel’; and ‘;Cain’s’; misery, which the least hard hap that came to either of them, was to be murdered by his Brother.“If you look into Humane Stories, you need search no further to behold a most pitiful object than the two sons of ‘Phillip,’ king of ‘Macedon,’ whose dislike each to other was so deeply rooted, that at length itburst forth to open complaints, the one of the other to good old ‘Phillip’ who seeing it, could not be put off from a publick hearing, called both his sons (Demetrius and Perseus) and in both their hearing made a most effectual speech of concord unto them; but finding that it would not take effect, gave them free leave to wound his heart with their unnatural accusations, the one against the other; which staid not there, by the unjust hastning of their Father’s sudden death, but caused the murther of one of them, with the utter overthrow of that commonwealth, and the misery of the survivor. These things (I hope) will not be so necessary for your use, as they are hurtless to know, and effectual where need requires.“Besides these examples, and fore-recited obligations, let me joyn a Father’s charge which ought not to be lightly esteemed in so just a cause. Let me tell you my sonKenelm, that you ought to be both a Father and a Brother to your unprovided for Brother, and think, that what I am hindred from performing to him by short life, and voluntary tie of my Land to you; so much account your self bound to do him, both in Brotherly affection to him, and in natural duty to me. And you, my sonJohn, know I send you as Fatherly a Blessing, as if I had also given you a great Patrimony; and that if my life had permitted, I would have done my endeavour that way. If you find anything in that kind to come from your Brother, take it the more thankfully; but if that you do not, let itnot lessen your love to him, who ought not to be loved by you for his Fortune or Bounty, but for himself. I am sorry that I am cut off by time from saying so much as I did intend at the first; but since I may not, I will commend in my Prayers your instruction and guidance to the Giver of all goodness, who ever bless and keep you.—Your affectionate Father,“Eve Digby—“From my Prison thisof Jan. 1605.”

“Jesus Maria.[379]

“There be many reasons (my dear children) that might disswade me from putting Pen to Paper in this Kind, and onely one which urgeth me to undertake this poor and fruitless pains. Wherefore to tell you what inciteth me to it, is my want ofother means to shew my Fatherly affection to each of you (which is so far from uttering, as my mind is willing to accept of poor means, rather than none to bewray my disposition) if I would have been checked from the performance of these lines, by number and probabilities of reasons; I might then have called to mind the unlikelihood, that these would ever have come to your view; with the malice of the world to me, which (I do imagine) will not fail to endeavour to possess you with a loathness to hear of anything that comes from me: as also I might, and do think, on my own disability in advising, with many other disswasive reasons, which my former recited single stirrer-up hath banished. Wherefore to begin with both and each of you, I send you by these my Fatherly and last blessing; which I have not failed to ask at God’s hands on my knees, that he will grant to descend so effectually on you (that his holy grace accompanying it) it may work in you the performance (on your part) of God’s sweet and just commandments and on his part to you, the Guerdon that his mercy inricheth his servants with all. Let this end (God’s service I mean) be the chief and onely contentious strife between you, which with all vehemency and desire each of you may strive to attain soonest. Let this be the mark which your thoughts and actions may still level at; for here is the chiefest Prise, to recompense the best deserver. Believe me in this (my Sons) that though my unripe years afford me not general experience, yet my variety of courses in the world (and God’s grace to illumine me) may sufficiently warrant the verity of this principle. If you make this your chief business (as you ought to do, and for which end onely you were sent into the world) I doubt not but God will send you better means for your particular directions, than either the brevity of a Letter or my ability can discharge. So that in this I will say no more, but pray that you may live as I hope to die, which is in the perfect obedience of the Catholick and onely saving Church.

“I cannot but a little touch, what I could wish you did, and I hope will do to all sorts of people; it is a lesson I could never learn well my self, but perhaps see more what is convenient for others, than that I were ever able to shew the force of wholesome counsel and good instructions in my own life.

“Above all things in the world, seek to obey and follow your Mother’s will and pleasure; who as she hath been the best wife to me that ever man enjoyed, so can she not fail to shew her self equal to the best Mother, if you deserve not the contrary. If it please God to send her life (though you have nothing else), I shall leave you enough: and on the contrary, if I could leave you ten times more than my self ever had, yet she being taken from you, I should thinkyou but poor. It is not (my Sons) abundance of riches that makes a man happy but a virtuous life; and as they are blessings from God, and cause of happiness to a man that useth them well, so are they cause of misery to most men even in this world.

“You may read of divers men, who whiles they lived in private state, deserved the fame of all that knew them; but so soon as prosperous fortune, and higher degrees, had taken possession of them, they seemed not to be the same men, but grew into scorn of all the world. For exampleGalbawhiles he lived inSpainas a private man, and, as it were, banished his Countrey, by a Charge that procured in him great pains and care; he was so well liked, that upon the death ofNerothe Emperor, he was Elected in his room but was no sooner in that Place, than he was plucked out of it again by violent death, as a man unfit for such a Charge, by reason of his alteration which that Dignity wrought in him. You may see also inOthowho succeeded him, that all the while of his prosperity, he lived a most dissolute life and odious to all men; but he was no sooner touched with adversity, but he grew to a brave and worthy resolution, making choice rather (not out of desperation) of his own death, than that by his life the Common-weal should be disturbed. And though I cannot but disallow the manner of his death (by reason he knew not God truly) yet is it plain, that adversity brought him to that worthy mind, whichcontemned life in regard of his Countrey’s good; and which was so contrary to that mind that prosperity had misled in him. If then adverse Fortune were so powerful more than prosperity on Pagans and Misbelievers, to procure in them worthy minds; what may we expect the force of it should be in Christians, whose first Captain (not out of necessity, but free choice) made manifest to the world, by his own painful foot steps that there is no other perfect and certain way to true happiness.

“He hath not onely staid here in demonstration of his verity, but hath sent to all those (who, the world knows, he highliest esteemed, and best loved) nothing but variety of misery in this life, with cruel and forced death; the which thing truest wisdom esteems as the best tokens of Love from so powerful a Sender, and as the best and certainest way to bring a man to perfect happiness.

“I speak not this to conclude, that no man is happy but those which run this strict and best course. But to tell you (my Children) that if the world seek and prevail to cut you off from enjoying my Estate and Patrimony in this world, yet you should not think your selves more unhappy therein: for God, it may be, doth see, that there is some other course more fit for you; or that this would give great hazard to your Soul’s health, which he taketh away, by removing the occasion.

“But, howsoever you find your selves in fortunes ofthis world, use them to God’s best pleasure, and think yourselves but Bailiffs of such things for an uncertain time. If they be few or poor, your fear of making a good accompt may be the lesser; and know, that God can send more and richer, if it be requisite for his glory and your good; if they be many or great, so much the more care you ought to take in governing your selves, lest God, as holding you unworthy such a charge, by taking them from you, or you from them, do also punish you with eternal misery for abusing his benefits. You shall the better learn to make true use and reckoning of these vanities, if with due obedience you do hearken to your mother’s wholesome counsel; and what want you shall find in my instructions, you may see better declared to you by looking on her life, which though I cannot give assurance for any thing to be done in future times yet can I not but very stedfastly believe, that the same Lord will give perseverance in virtue, where he hath laid so strong a foundation for his spiritual building, and where there is such an humble and resigned will to the pleasure of her Lord and Maker.

“The next part of my charge shall be, in your mutual carriage the one to the other; in which, all reasons to move you to perfect accord, and entire love, do present themselves unto you, as the obligation of Christianity, the tie of natural and nearest consanguinity, and the equality, or very smalldifference of Age. There is in none of these any thing wanting, that may be an impediment to truest Friendship, nor anything to be added to them (for procuring your mutual and heartiest love) but your own consent and particular desert each to other. Since then there is all cause in each of you for this love, do not deprive yourselves of that earthly happiness, which God, Nature, and Time offereth unto you; but if you think that the benefit which accord and friendship bringeth, be not sufficient to enkindle this love (which God forbid you should) yet let the consideration of the misery which the contrary worketh in all degrees, stay your mind from dislike.

As no man in any Age, but may see great happiness to have been attained by good agreement of Friends, Kinsmen, and Brethren; so wanteth there not too many examples of such, as by hate and dis-cord have frustrated strong hopes sowed in peace, and brought to nothing great Fortunes; besides the incurring God’s displeasure, which still comes accompanied with perpetual misery. If you look into Divine Writ, you shall find, that this was the cause of ‘;Abel’; and ‘;Cain’s’; misery, which the least hard hap that came to either of them, was to be murdered by his Brother.

“If you look into Humane Stories, you need search no further to behold a most pitiful object than the two sons of ‘Phillip,’ king of ‘Macedon,’ whose dislike each to other was so deeply rooted, that at length itburst forth to open complaints, the one of the other to good old ‘Phillip’ who seeing it, could not be put off from a publick hearing, called both his sons (Demetrius and Perseus) and in both their hearing made a most effectual speech of concord unto them; but finding that it would not take effect, gave them free leave to wound his heart with their unnatural accusations, the one against the other; which staid not there, by the unjust hastning of their Father’s sudden death, but caused the murther of one of them, with the utter overthrow of that commonwealth, and the misery of the survivor. These things (I hope) will not be so necessary for your use, as they are hurtless to know, and effectual where need requires.

“Besides these examples, and fore-recited obligations, let me joyn a Father’s charge which ought not to be lightly esteemed in so just a cause. Let me tell you my sonKenelm, that you ought to be both a Father and a Brother to your unprovided for Brother, and think, that what I am hindred from performing to him by short life, and voluntary tie of my Land to you; so much account your self bound to do him, both in Brotherly affection to him, and in natural duty to me. And you, my sonJohn, know I send you as Fatherly a Blessing, as if I had also given you a great Patrimony; and that if my life had permitted, I would have done my endeavour that way. If you find anything in that kind to come from your Brother, take it the more thankfully; but if that you do not, let itnot lessen your love to him, who ought not to be loved by you for his Fortune or Bounty, but for himself. I am sorry that I am cut off by time from saying so much as I did intend at the first; but since I may not, I will commend in my Prayers your instruction and guidance to the Giver of all goodness, who ever bless and keep you.—Your affectionate Father,

“Eve Digby—

“From my Prison thisof Jan. 1605.”

FOOTNOTES:[371]Sir E.D.’s Letters, No. 1.[372]Ib., No. 4.[373]Ib., No. 5.[374]Sir E. D.’s Letters, No. 6.[375]S. P. Dom. James I., Vol. xviii. n. 35. But I avail myself of the endering in “Life of Fr. J. Gerard,” pp. ccxxxi-ccxxxvii.[376]Life of Father J. Gerard, p. ccxxxviii.[377]Bartoli’sInghilterra, pp. 510, 512.[378]S. P. Dom. Elizabeth, Vol. 165 n. 21.[379]Papers or Letters of Sir Everard Digby. Appendix to the Gunpowder Treason, by Thomas, Bp. of Lincoln, p. 181.

FOOTNOTES:

[371]Sir E.D.’s Letters, No. 1.

[372]Ib., No. 4.

[373]Ib., No. 5.

[374]Sir E. D.’s Letters, No. 6.

[375]S. P. Dom. James I., Vol. xviii. n. 35. But I avail myself of the endering in “Life of Fr. J. Gerard,” pp. ccxxxi-ccxxxvii.

[376]Life of Father J. Gerard, p. ccxxxviii.

[377]Bartoli’sInghilterra, pp. 510, 512.

[378]S. P. Dom. Elizabeth, Vol. 165 n. 21.

[379]Papers or Letters of Sir Everard Digby. Appendix to the Gunpowder Treason, by Thomas, Bp. of Lincoln, p. 181.

On Monday, the 27th of January 1606, Sir Everard Digby, Robert and Thomas Winter, Guy Fawkes, John Grant, Ambrose Rookwood, Robert Keyes, and Thomas Bates, were taken from their cells in the Tower, led to a barge, and conveyed up the river to Westminster to be put on their trial in the celebrated hall, which stands on the site of the banquetting room of William Rufus. They were to stand before their accusers on soil already famous, and destined to become yet more famous for important trials. Here, three hundred years earlier, Sir William Wallace had been condemned to death. Here, only about eighty years before their own time came, both Anne Boleyn and Sir Thomas More had been tried and sentenced. In this splendid building, Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, and King Charles the First were destined to be condemned to the block. In the following century, sentence of death was here to be passed upon the rebel lords of 1745; here too, still later, Warren Hastings and Lord Melville were to be impeached.

Sir Everard Digby and his fellow-prisoners reached Westminster about half-an-hour before the time fixed for the trial, and they were taken to the Star Chamber to await the arrival of their judges. The following is a contemporary account of their appearance and behaviour while there.

[380]“It was strange to note their carriage, even in their very countenances: some hanging down the head, as if their hearts were full of doggedness, and others forcing a stern look, as if they would fear” [“that isfrighten.Footnote.”] “death with a frown, never seeming to pray, except it were by the dozen upon their beads, and taking tobacco, as if hanging were no trouble to them; saying nothing but in commendation of their conceited religion, craving mercy of neither God nor the king for their offences, and making their consciences, as it were, as wide as the world; and to the very gates of hell, to be the cause of their hellish courses, to make a work meritorious.”

This writer clearly did not go to the trial prepared to be pleased with the prisoners. If they looked down, they were “dogged”and ought to have been looking up; if they looked up, they were “forcing a stern look,”and ought to have been looking down: if they were not praying, they should have been praying, and if they were praying, yea, even praying “by the dozen,”they should have not have beenpraying; if they smoked, it was because they did not mind being hanged; if they talked of nothing but religion, it was because they did not desire God’s mercy, and one thing was certain—that their prayers and their religion and all things about them, to their very consciences, were “hellish.”

Sir John Harrington was another unadmiring spectator.

[381]“I have seen some of the chief”[conspirators], he says, “and think they bear an evil mark in their foreheads, for more terrible countenances never were looked upon.”

Another writer takes a different view, at any rate in the case of Sir Everard Digby. As that prisoner was being brought up for trial, says Father Gerard,[382]“(not in the best case to make show of himself as you may imagine), yet some of the chiefest in the Court seeing him out of a window brought in that manner, lamented him much, and said he was the goodliest man in the whole Court.”

On entering Westminster Hall, the prisoners were made to ascend a scaffold placed in front of the judges. The Queen and the Prince were seated in a concealed chamber from which they could see, but could not be seen; and it was reported that the King also was somewhere present.[383]The crowd was enormous. Although a special part of the hall hadbeen assigned to members of parliament who might wish to attend the trial, they were so[384]“pestered with others not of the House,”that one member complained, and a committee was afterwards appointed to enquire into the matter.

Sir Everard Digby was arraigned under a separate indictment from that of the other prisoners, and he was tried by himself after them; but he stood by them throughout the trial. The first indictment was very long. After a much spun-out preamble, it stated that the prisoners “traiterously[385]among themselves did conclude and agree, with Gunpowder, as it were with one blast, suddenly, traiterously, and barbarously to blow up and tear in pieces our said Sovereign Lord the King, the Excellent, Virtuous, and gracious Queen Anne his dearest Wife, the most Noble Prince Henry their Eldest Son, the future Hope and Joy of England, and the Lords Spiritual and Temporal; the Reverend Judges of the Realm, the Knights, Citizens, and Burgesses of Parliament, and divers other faithful Subjects and Servants of the King in the said Parliament,”&c., “and all of them, without any respect of Majesty, Dignity, Degree, Sex, Age, or Place, most barbarously, and more than beastly, traiterously and suddenly, to destroy and swallow up.”

The prisoners under this indictment pleaded “Not Guilty; and put themselves upon God and the Country.”

Sir Edward Philips, Sergeant at Law, then got upon his legs. The matter before the Court, he said, was one of Treason;[386]“but of such horrour, and monstrous nature, that before now,

The Tongue of Man never delivered,The Ear of Man never heard,The Heart of Man never conceited,Nor the Malice of Hellish or Earthly Devil never practised.”

And, if it were “abominable to murder the least,” and if “to touch God’s annointed,” were to oppose God himself, “Then how much more than too monstrous” was it “to murder and subvert

Such a King,Such a Queen,Such a Prince,Such a Progeny,Such a State,Such a Government,So compleat and absolute;That God approves:The World admires:All true English Hearts honour and reverence:The Pope and his Disciples onely envies and maligns.”

The Sergeant, after dwelling briefly on the chiefpoints of the indictment, and describing the objects of the conspiracy and the plan of the conspirators, sat down to make way for the principal counsel for the prosecution, His Majesty’s Attorney-General, Sir Edward Coke.

Coke, the enemy of Bacon, was now about fifty-five, and he had filled the post of Attorney-General for nine years. Sir Everard Digby and his fellow-prisoners knew that they had little mercy to expect at his hands. The asperity which he had shown in prosecuting Essex, five years earlier, and the personal animosity which he had exhibited, still later, in his sarcastic speech at the trial of Raleigh, when he had wound up with the phrase, “Thou hast an English face but a Spanish heart,” were notorious, and he was certain to make such a trial as that of the conspirators in the Gunpowder Plot the occasion of a great forensic display. It so happened that his speeches at this trial and that of Father Garnet, which presently followed it, brought his career as an advocate to a close; for within a year he was appointed Chief-Justice of Common Pleas.

Undoubtedly, his speeches at the trial of Sir Everard Digby and his accomplices added to his fame; but Jardine[387]called one of them “a long and laboured harangue,” and other historians thought him guilty of[388]“unnecessary cruelty in the torture and gratuitous” insolence which he exhibited towardsthe accused. The glaring eyes, which we see represented in his portrait, would be an unpleasant prospect for Sir Everard as he listened to his cruel words; but whatever tenderness a biographer may feel for his subject, and whatever dislike a Catholic may entertain to the Protestant bigotry of Sir Edward Coke, it ought not to be forgotten that, according to his lights, he was an honest, if a hard and an unmerciful man, that some ten years later he himself fell into disgrace and suffered imprisonment in the Tower, rather than yield on a point of principle, and that, vindictive as he could be in prosecuting a prisoner, one of his enemies—Lord Chancellor Egerton—said that his greatest fault was his “excessive popularity.”

Although he began his speech by saying that the Gunpowder Plot had been the greatest treason ever conceived against the greatest king that ever lived, he had presently a complimentary word or two to say as to the origins and previous lives of some of the conspirators. With an air of great truthfulness and fairness he said:—[389]“It is by some given out that they are such men as admit just exception, either desperate in estate, or base, or not settled in their wits; such as aresine religione, sine sede, sine fide, sine re, et sine spe—without religion, without habitation, without credit, without means, without hope. But (that no man, though never so wicked,may be wronged) true it is, they were gentlemen of good houses, of excellent parts, howsoever most perniciously seduced, abused, corrupted, and jesuited, of very competent fortunes and estates.”

After having said these comparatively gentle words concerning the laity, he launched forth in declamation against “those of the spirituality,” not one of whom was actually on his trial. “It is falsely said,” he cried, “that there is never a religious man in this action; for I never yet knew a treason without a Romish priest; but in this there are very many Jesuits, who are known to have dealt and passed through the whole action.” He then named four of these, beginning with Father Garnet, “besides their cursory men,” the first of which was Father Gerard. “The studies and practises of this sect principally consisted in two D’s, to wit, in deposing of kings and disposing of kingdoms.” Having thundered away at Jesuits and priests to his heart’s content, he exclaimed that “the Romish Catholicks” had put themselves under “Gunpowder Law, fit for Justices of Hell.”

“Note,” said he, with great vehemence, “that gunpowder was the invention of a Friar, one of that Romish Rabble.”[390]“All friars, religions, and priests were bad”; but “the principal offenders arethe seducing Jesuits, men that use the reverence of Religion, yea, even the most Sacred and Blessed name ofJesusas a mantle to cover their impiety, blasphemy, treason, and rebellion, and all manner of wickedness.”

No speech in those days was considered perfect without a few words of astrology, so he called the attention of the Court to the remarkable fact “that it was in the entering of the Sun into the Tropick ofCapricorn, when they” [the conspirators] “began their mine; noting that by mineing they should descend, and by hanging ascend.”

In the latter part of his pompous harangue, there was a passage which must have been very unpleasant hearing to the prisoners, however interesting to the rest of the audience.[391]

“The conclusion shall be from the admirable clemency and moderation of the King, in that howsoever these traitors have exceeded all others their predecessors in mischief, andCrescente, malitia crescere debuit, etc., Pœna; yet neither will the King exceed the usual punishment of Law, nor invent any new torture or torment for them, but is graciously pleased to afford them an ordinary course of trial, as an ordinary punishment, much inferior to their offence.” Nor was this reference to a “new torture” a mere figure of rhetoric on the part of the Attorney-General; for a few daysearlier,[392]in both houses of Parliament, a proposal had been made to petition the King “to stay judgment until Parliament should have time to consider some extraordinary mode of punishment, which might surpass in horror even the scenes which usually occurred at the execution of traitors.” To their credit be it spoken, this suggestion was negatived by both Lords and Commons.

“And surely,” continued Coke, “worthy of observation is the punishment by law provided for High Treason, which we callCrimen læsæ Majestatis. For first after a traitor hath had his fair trial, and is convicted and attainted, he shall have his judgment to be drawn to the place of execution from his prison, as being not worthy any more to tread upon the face of the earth, whereof he was made. Also for that he hath been retrograde to Nature, therefore is he drawn backwards at a horse-tail. And whereas God hath made the head of man the highest and most supreme part, as being his chief grace and ornament:Pronáque cum spectent Animalia cætera terram, Os homini sublime dedit; he must be drawn with his head declining downward, and lying so near the ground as may be, being thought unfit to take benefit of the common air. For which cause also he shall be strangled, being hanged up by the neck between heaven and earth, as deemed unworthy of both, or either; as likewise,that the eyes of men may behold, and their hearts contemn him. Then is he to be cut down alive, and to have —— cut off, and burnt before his face, as being unworthily begotten, and unfit to leave any generation after him; his bowels and inlayed parts taken out and burnt, who inwardly conceived and harboured in his heart such horrible Treason. After, to have his head cut off, which had imagined the mischief. And lastly, his body to be quartered, and the quarters set up in some high and eminent place, to the view and detestation of men, and to become a prey for the Fouls of the Air.”

Considering that the prisoners had not yet been found guilty, and that even had they been, it was no business of his to pass sentence on them, this pointless and objectless description of their probable fate was as gratuitous as it was cruel on the part of the Attorney-General.

With the prisoners, other than Sir Everard Digby, I have nothing to do, and it will suffice to say, that, at the conclusion of the Attorney-General’s speech, the depositions of their examinations in the Tower—“the voluntary confessions of all the said several traitors in writings subscribed with their own proper hands”—were then read aloud. These are very interesting, and have already been partially used in framing the story in the preceding pages. They are humble and penitent in tone, and as a specimen of this apparent penitence I will quote the openingof one of the longest, namely that by Thomas Winter.[393]

“My most honorable Lordes.—Not out of hope to obtayne pardon, for speakinge of my temporall past, I may say the fault is greater than can be forgiven, nor affectinge hereby the title of a good subject, for I must redeeme my countrey from as great a danger as I have hazarded the bringinge her into, before I can purchase any such opinion; only at your Ho. Commans I will breifely sett downe my owne accusation, and how farr I have proceeded in this busyness wchI shall the faythfuller doe since I see such courses are not pleasinge to Allmighty God, and that all or the most material parts have been allready confessed.”

At the conclusion of the public reading of these confessions, the Lord Chief Justice made some remarks to the jury, and then directed them to consider of their verdict; upon “which they retired into a separate place.”[394]

Sir Everard Digby was then arraigned by himself upon a separate indictment issued by Sir Christopher Yelverton and other special commissioners of Oyer & Terminer, on the 16th of January, at Wellingborough, in Northamptonshire, and delivered to the same commission in Middlesex that had tried the other prisoners. It charged him with High Treason in conspiring the death of the king, with conferring withCatesby in Northamptonshire concerning the Gunpowder Plot, assenting to the design, and taking the oath of secrecy.

As soon as the indictment was read, Sir Everard began to make a speech; but was interrupted by being told that he must first plead, either guilty or not guilty, and that then he would be allowed to say what he liked.

He at once confessed that he was guilty of the treason; and then he spoke of the motives which had led him to it.[395]The first of these was neither ambition, nor discontent, nor ill-will towards any member of Parliament, but his intense friendship and affection for Robert Catesby, whose influence over him was so great that he could not help risking his own property and his life at his bidding. The second motive was the cause of religion, on behalf of which he was glad to endanger “his estate, his life, his name, his memory, his posterity, and all worldly and earthly felicity whatsoever.” His third motive was prompted by the broken promises to Catholics, and had as its object the prevention of the harder laws which they feared and professed to have solid reasons for fearing, from the new Parliament; as “that Recusant’s Wives, and women, should be liable to the Mulct as well as their husbands and men.” And further, that “it was supposed, that it should be made aPræmunireonely to be a Catholick.”

Having stated the motives of his crime, he proceeded to make his petitions—[396]“That sithens his offence was confined and contained within himself, that the punishment also of the same might extend only to himself, and not be transferred either to his Wife, Children, Sisters, or others: and therefore for his Wife he humbly craved, that she might enjoy her Joynture, his Son the benefit of an Entail made long before any thought of this action; his Sisters, their just and due portions which were in his hands; his Creditors, their rightful Debts; which that he might more justly set down under his hand, he requested, that before his death, his Man (who was better acquainted both with the men and the particulars than himself) might be licensed to come unto him. Then prayed he pardon of the King and Ll. for his guilt, and lastly, he entreated to be beheaded, desiring all men to forgive him, and that his death might satisfie them for his trespass.”

The daylight was waning quickly in the great hall of Westminster, on that short January day, when Sir Edward Coke, the Attorney-General, rose from his seat, at the conclusion of Sir Everard Digby’s dignified but distressed speech. He had already shown refinement of cruelty in treating the prisoners to a detailed description of the horrors of the death that was awaiting them, and he was now again ready to inflict as much pain as possible.

As to Sir Everard’s friendship with Catesby, he said, it was “mere folly, and wicked Conspiracy”; his religion was “Error and Heresie”; his promises—it does not appear that he had made any—were “idle and vain presumptions”; “as also his fears, false alarms, Concerning Wives that were Recusants.” “If a man married one,” great reason there is, “that he or they should pay for it”; but if a wife “were no Recusant at the time of Marriage”—as had been the case with Lady Digby, although he did not mention her by name—“and yet afterwards he suffer her to be corrupted and seduced, by admitting Priests and Romanists into his house”—Roger Lee and Father Gerard, for instance, Sir Everard might understand him to imply—“good reason that he, be he Papist or Protestant, should pay for his negligence and misgovernment.”

Next he dealt with Sir Everard’s petitions on behalf of his wife, children, sisters, &c., and on this point he became eloquent.[397]“Oh how he doth now put on the bowels of Nature and Compassion in the perils of his private and domesticated estate! But before, when the publick state of his Countrey, when the King, the Queen, the tender Princes, the Nobles, the whole Kingdom, were designed to a perpetual destruction, Where was then this piety, this Religious affection?” “All Nature, all Humanity, all respect of Laws both Divine and Humane, were quiteabandoned; then there was no conscience made to extirpate the whole Nation, and all for a pretended zeal to the Catholick Religion, and the justification of so detestable and damnable a Fact.”

Here Sir Everard Digby interrupted the great lawyer with the remark that he had not justified the fact, but had confessed that he deserved the vilest death; and that all he had done was to seek mercy, “and some moderation of justice.”

As to moderation of justice, replied the Attorney-General, how could a man expect or ask for it who had acted in direct opposition to all mercy and all justice? And had he not already had most ample and most undeserved moderation shown to him? Verily he ought “to admire the great moderation and mercy of the King, in that, for so exorbitant a crime, no new torture answerable thereunto was devised to be inflicted upon him.” Was it not sufficient consolation to him to reflect upon his good fortune in this respect? Sir Everard had talked about his wife and children. Well! did he forget how he had said “that for the Catholick Cause he was content to neglect the ruine of himself, his Wife, his Estate, and all”? Oh! he should be made content enough on this point. Here was an appropriate text for him:—“Let his Wife be a widow, and his Children vagabonds, let his posterity be destroyed, and in the next generation let his name be quite put out.” Then Sir Edward Coke spoke directly to Sir Everard, and said:—“For the paying of yourCreditors, it is equal and just, but yet fit the King be first satisfied and paid, to whom you owe so much, as that all you have is too little: yet these things must be left to the pleasure of his Majesty, and the course of Justice and Law.” Fortunately for Sir Everard, “in respect for the time (for it grew now dark)” the Attorney General spoke “very briefly.”

One of the nine Commissioners, appointed to try the prisoners, now addressed Sir Everard. His words came with more force, perhaps it might be said with more cruel force, because he was himself a Catholic. This was Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton, younger brother of the Duke of Norfolk, and second son of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, who had been beheaded on Tower Hill, nearly sixty years earlier, in the reign of Henry VIII. This Commissioner had espoused the cause of Mary, Queen of Scots,[398]and he was rather ostentatiously put forward at this trial, and afterwards at that of Father Garnet, to prove his loyalty and to counteract the jealousy and suspicion which had been caused by the appointment of a man of his religion[399]to the Wardenship of the Cinque Ports. Banks wrote of him,[400]“other authors represent him as the most contemptible and despicable of man-kind; a wretch, that it causes astonishment to reflect, that he was the son of the generous, the noble, andaccomplished Earl of Surrey.[401]He was a learned man, but a pedant, dark and mysterious, and consequently far from possessing masterly abilities. He was the grossest of flatterers, &c.”

Northampton began his speech as follows:—

[402]“You must not hold it strange, Sir Everard Digby, though at this time being pressed in duty, Conscience and Truth, I do not suffer you to wander in the Laberinth of your own idle conceits without opposition, to seduce others, as your self have been seduced, by false Principles; or to convey your self by charms of imputation, by clouds of errour, and by shifts of lately devised ‘Equivocation’; out of that streight wherein your late secure and happy fortune hath been unluckily entangled; but yet justly surprised, by the rage and revenge of your own rash humors. If in this crime (more horrible than any man is able to express) I could lament the estate of any person upon earth, I could pity you, but thank your self and your bad counsellours, for leading you into a Crime of such a kind; as no less benummeth in all faithfull, true and honest men, the tenderness of affection, than it did in you, the sense of all humanity. That you were once well thought of, and esteemed by the late Queen, I can witness, having heard her speak of you with that grace which might have encouraged a true gentleman to have run abetter course: Nay, I will add further, that there was a time, wherein you were as well affected to the king our master’s expectation, though perhaps upon false rumours and reports, that he would have yielded satisfaction to your unprobable and vast desires: but the seed that wanted moisture (as our Saviour Himself reporteth) took no deep root: that zeal which hath no other end or object than the pleasing of it self, is quickly spent: and Trajan, that worthy and wise Emperour, had reason to hold himself discharged of all debts to those, that had offended more by prevarication, than they could deserve by industry.”

The main contention of his long and wordy speech was to refute the charge of broken promises to his co-religionists brought by Sir Everard Digby in his description of his motives. It was well-known that the Catholics considered the king guilty of perfidy on this point, and that they based their accusation chiefly upon the reports of Father Watson’s celebrated interview with James in Scotland, a matter with which I dealt in an early chapter. Northampton denied that James had ever encouraged the Catholics to expect any favour.

He made a strong point of Percy’s having asserted that the king had promised toleration to the Catholics; asking why, if this were really the case, Percy, at the beginning of the king’s reign, thought it worth while to employ Guy Fawkes and others to plot against the king in Spain? He woundup by praying for Sir Everard’s repentance in this world and his forgiveness in the next.

Then Lord Salisbury spoke. He began by acknowledging his own connection, by marriage, with Sir Everard, and then he proceeded, with even greater zeal than Northampton, to imply that the prisoner’s plea of broken promises to Catholics would be understood to mean bad faith on the part of the king; and it was thought by some that Sir Everard would have had his sentence commuted for beheading, had it not been for what Salisbury now said.[403]After defending the king from all imputation of faithlessness towards his Catholic subjects, Salisbury referred to Sir Everard’s personal guilt, and dwelt upon Guy Fawkes’s evidence that, at Gothurst, he hadexpresseda fear lest the gunpowder stored beneath the houses of Parliament, might, during the wet weather in October, have “grown dank.”

When Salisbury had finished, Sergeant Philips got up and “prayed the judgment of the court upon the verdict of the Jury against the seven first prisoners, and against Sir Everard Digby upon his own confession.” Each prisoner was then formally asked what he had to say why judgment of death should not be pronounced against him. Finally Lord Chief Justice Popham described and defended the laws made by Queen Elizabeth againstpriests, recusants, and receivers and harbourers of priests,[404]which seems to have been a little wide of the subject of the crime of the prisoners, and then he solemnly pronounced the usual sentence for high treason upon all the eight men who stood convicted before him.

Then Sir Everard bowed towards the commissioners who had tried him and said:—“If I may but hear any of your Lordships say you forgive me, I shall go more cheerfully to the gallows.”

They all immediately replied:—“God forgive you, and we do.”

And thus, late in the evening, this memorable trial ended, and the prisoners were conveyed by torches to their barge; then they were rowed down the river to the Tower, and led through the dark “Traitor’s Gate” to their cells.

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