CHAPTER XXVIII
Ye towers of Julius! London's lasting shame; With many a foul and midnight murder fed! _Gray._
Such is the exclamation of Gray. Bandello, long before him, has saidsomething like it; and the same sentiment must, in some shape or other,have frequently occurred to those, who, remembering the fate of othercaptives in that memorable state-prison, may have had but too muchreason to anticipate their own. The dark and low arch, which seemed,like the entrance to Dante's Hell, to forbid hope of regress--themuttered sounds of the warders, and petty formalities observed inopening and shutting the grated wicket--the cold and constrainedsalutation of the Lieutenant of the fortress, who showed his prisonerthat distant and measured respect which authority pays as a tax todecorum, all struck upon Nigel's heart, impressing on him the cruelconsciousness of captivity.
"I am a prisoner," he said, the words escaping from him almost unawares;"I am a prisoner, and in the Tower!"
The Lieutenant bowed--"And it is my duty," he said, "to show yourlordship your chamber, where, I am compelled to say, my orders areto place you under some restraint. I will make it as easy as my dutypermits."
Nigel only bowed in return to this compliment, and followed theLieutenant to the ancient buildings on the western side of the parade,and adjoining to the chapel, used in those days as a state-prison, butin ours as the mess-room of the officers of the guard upon duty at thefortress. The double doors were unlocked, the prisoner ascended a fewsteps, followed by the Lieutenant, and a warder of the higher class.They entered a large, but irregular, low-roofed, and dark apartment,exhibiting a very scanty proportion of furniture. The warder had ordersto light a fire, and attend to Lord Glenvarloch's commands in all thingsconsistent with his duty; and the Lieutenant, having made his reverencewith the customary compliment, that he trusted his lordship would notlong remain under his guardianship, took his leave.
Nigel would have asked some questions of the warder, who remained toput the apartment into order, but the man had caught the spirit of hisoffice. He seemed not to hear some of the prisoner's questions, thoughof the most ordinary kind, did not reply to others, and when he didspeak, it was in a short and sullen tone, which, though notpositively disrespectful, was such as at least to encourage no farthercommunication.
Nigel left him, therefore, to do his work in silence, and proceededto amuse himself with the melancholy task of deciphering the names,mottoes, verses, and hieroglyphics, with which his predecessors incaptivity had covered the walls of their prison-house. There he sawthe names of many a forgotten sufferer mingled with others which willcontinue in remembrance until English history shall perish. There werethe pious effusions of the devout Catholic, poured forth on the eve ofhis sealing his profession at Tyburn, mingled with those of the firmProtestant, about to feed the fires of Smithfield. There the slenderhand of the unfortunate Jane Grey, whose fate was to draw tears fromfuture generations, might be contrasted with the bolder touch whichimpressed deep on the walls the Bear and Ragged Staff, the proud emblemof the proud Dudleys. It was like the roll of the prophet, a record oflamentation and mourning, and yet not unmixed with briefinterjections of resignation, and sentences expressive of the firmestresolution.[Footnote: These memorials of illustrious criminals, or ofinnocent persons who had the fate of such, are still preserved, thoughat one time, in the course of repairing the rooms, they were in somedanger of being whitewashed. They are preserved at present with becomingrespect, and have most of them been engraved.--_See_ BAYLEY'S _Historyand Antiquities of the Tower of London._]
In the sad task of examining the miseries of his predecessors incaptivity, Lord Glenvarloch was interrupted by the sudden opening ofthe door of his prison-room. It was the warder, who came to inform him,that, by order of the Lieutenant of the Tower, his lordship was tohave the society and attendance of a fellow-prisoner in his place ofconfinement. Nigel replied hastily, that he wished no attendance, andwould rather be left alone; but the warder gave him to understand, witha kind of grumbling civility, that the Lieutenant was the best judge howhis prisoners should be accommodated, and that he would have no troublewith the boy, who was such a slip of a thing as was scarce worth turninga key upon.--"There, Giles," he said, "bring the child in."
Another warder put the "lad before him" into the room, and, bothwithdrawing, bolt crashed and chain clanged, as they replaced theseponderous obstacles to freedom. The boy was clad in a grey suit of thefinest cloth, laid down with silver lace, with a buff-coloured cloakof the same pattern. His cap, which was a Montero of black velvet, waspulled over his brows, and, with the profusion of his long ringlets,almost concealed his face. He stood on the very spot where the warderhad quitted his collar, about two steps from the door of the apartment,his eyes fixed on the ground, and every joint trembling with confusionand terror. Nigel could well have dispensed with his society, but it wasnot in his nature to behold distress, whether of body or mind, withoutendeavouring to relieve it.
"Cheer up," he said, "my pretty lad. We are to be companions, it seems,for a little time--at least I trust your confinement will be short,since you are too young to have done aught to deserve long restraint.Come, come--do not be discouraged. Your hand is cold and trembles? theair is warm too--but it may be the damp of this darksome room. Place youby the fire.--What! weeping-ripe, my little man? I pray you, do not bea child. You have no beard yet, to be dishonoured by your tears, but yetyou should not cry like a girl. Think you are only shut up for playingtruant, and you can pass a day without weeping, surely."
The boy suffered himself to be led and seated by the fire, but, afterretaining for a long time the very posture which he assumed in sittingdown, he suddenly changed it in order to wring his hands with an air ofthe bitterest distress, and then, spreading them before his face, weptso plentifully, that the tears found their way in floods through hisslender fingers.
Nigel was in some degree rendered insensible to his own situation, byhis feelings for the intense agony by which so young and beautifula creature seemed to be utterly overwhelmed; and, sitting down closebeside the boy, he applied the most soothing terms which occurred,to endeavour to alleviate his distress; and, with an action which thedifference of their age rendered natural, drew his hand kindly along thelong hair of the disconsolate child. The lad appeared so shy as evento shrink from this slight approach to familiarity--yet, when LordGlenvarloch, perceiving and allowing for his timidity, sat down on thefarther side of the fire, he appeared to be more at his ease, and tohearken with some apparent interest to the arguments which from time totime Nigel used, to induce him to moderate, at least, the violence ofhis grief. As the boy listened, his tears, though they continued to flowfreely, seemed to escape from their source more easily, his sobs wereless convulsive, and became gradually changed into low sighs, whichsucceeded each other, indicating as much sorrow, perhaps, but lessalarm, than his first transports had shown.
"Tell me who and what you are, my pretty boy," said Nigel.--"Considerme, child, as a companion, who wishes to be kind to you, would you butteach him how he can be so."
"Sir--my lord, I mean," answered the boy, very timidly, and in a voicewhich could scarce be heard even across the brief distance which dividedthem, "you are very good--and I--am very unhappy--"
A second fit of tears interrupted what else he had intended to say, andit required a renewal of Lord Glenvarloch's good-natured expostulationsand encouragements, to bring him once more to such composure as renderedthe lad capable of expressing himself intelligibly. At length, however,he was able to say--"I am sensible of your goodness, my lord--andgrateful for it--but I am a poor unhappy creature, and, what is worse,have myself only to thank for my misfortunes."
"We are seldom absolutely miserable, my young acquaintance," said Nigel,"without being ourselves more or less responsible for it--I may well sayso, otherwise I had not been here to-day--but you are very young, andcan have but little to answer for."
"O sir! I wish I could say so--I have been self-willed and
obstinate--and rash and ungovernable--and now--now, how dearly do I paythe price of it!"
"Pshaw, my boy," replied Nigel; "this must be some childish frolic--somebreaking out of bounds--some truant trick--And yet how should any ofthese have brought you to the Tower?--There is something mysteriousabout you, young man, which I must inquire into."
"Indeed, indeed, my lord, there is no harm about me," said the boy, moremoved it would seem to confession by the last words, by which he seemedconsiderably alarmed, than by all the kind expostulations and argumentswhich Nigel had previously used. "I am innocent--that is, I have donewrong, but nothing to deserve being in this frightful place."
"Tell me the truth, then," said Nigel, in a tone in which commandmingled with encouragement; "you have nothing to fear from me, and aslittle to hope, perhaps--yet, placed as I am, I would know with whom Ispeak."
"With an unhappy--boy, sir--and idle and truantly disposed, as yourlordship said," answered the lad, looking up, and showing a countenancein which paleness and blushes succeeded each other, as fear andshamefacedness alternately had influence. "I left my father's housewithout leave, to see the king hunt in the Park at Greenwich; there camea cry of treason, and all the gates were shut--I was frightened, andhid myself in a thicket, and I was found by some of the rangers andexamined--and they said I gave no good account of myself--and so I wassent hither."
"I am an unhappy, a most unhappy being," said Lord Glenvarloch, risingand walking through the apartment; "nothing approaches me but shares myown bad fate! Death and imprisonment dog my steps, and involve all whoare found near me. Yet this boy's story sounds strangely.--You say youwere examined, my young friend--Let me pray you to say whether you toldyour name, and your means of gaining admission into the Park--if so,they surely would not have detained you?"
"O, my lord," said the boy, "I took care not to tell them the name ofthe friend that let me in; and as to my father--I would not he knewwhere I now am for all the wealth in London!"
"But do you not expect," said Nigel, "that they will dismiss you tillyou let them know who and what you are?"
"What good will it do them to keep so useless a creature as myself?"said the boy; "they must let me go, were it but out of shame."
"Do not trust to that--tell me your name and station--I will communicatethem to the Lieutenant--he is a man of quality and honour, and will notonly be willing to procure your liberation, but also, I have no doubt,will intercede with your father. I am partly answerable for such pooraid as I can afford, to get you out of this embarrassment, since Ioccasioned the alarm owing to which you were arrested; so tell me yourname, and your father's name."
"My name to you? O never, never!" answered the boy, in a tone of deepemotion, the cause of which Nigel could not comprehend.
"Are you so much afraid of me, young man," he replied, "because I amhere accused and a prisoner? Consider, a man may be both, and deserveneither suspicion nor restraint. Why should you distrust me? You seemfriendless, and I am myself so much in the same circumstances, that Icannot but pity your situation when I reflect on my own. Be wise; I havespoken kindly to you--I mean as kindly as I speak."
"O, I doubt it not, I doubt it not, my lord," said the boy, "and I couldtell you all--that is, almost all."
"Tell me nothing, my young friend, excepting what may assist me in beinguseful to you," said Nigel.
"You are generous, my lord," said the boy; "and I am sure--O sure,I might safely trust to your honour--But yet--but yet--I am so sorebeset--I have been so rash, so unguarded--I can never tell you ofmy folly. Besides, I have already told too much to one whose heart Ithought I had moved--yet I find myself here."
"To whom did you make this disclosure?" said Nigel.
"I dare not tell," replied the youth.
"There is something singular about you, my young friend," said LordGlenvarloch, withdrawing with a gentle degree of compulsion the handwith which the boy had again covered his eyes; "do not pain yourselfwith thinking on your situation just at present--your pulse is high, andyour hand feverish--lay yourself on yonder pallet, and try to composeyourself to sleep. It is the readiest and best remedy for the fancieswith which you are worrying yourself."
"I thank you for your considerate kindness, my lord," said the boy;"with your leave I will remain for a little space quiet in this chair--Iam better thus than on the couch. I can think undisturbedly on what Ihave done, and have still to do; and if God sends slumber to a creatureso exhausted, it shall be most welcome."
So saying, the boy drew his hand from Lord Nigel's, and, drawing aroundhim and partly over his face the folds of his ample cloak, he resignedhimself to sleep or meditation, while his companion, notwithstanding theexhausting scenes of this and the preceding day, continued his pensivewalk up and down the apartment.
Every reader has experienced, that times occur, when far from being lordof external circumstances, man is unable to rule even the wayward realmof his own thoughts. It was Nigel's natural wish to consider his ownsituation coolly, and fix on the course which it became him as a manof sense and courage to adopt; and yet, in spite of himself, andnotwithstanding the deep interest of the critical state in which he wasplaced, it did so happen that his fellow-prisoner's situation occupiedmore of his thoughts than did his own. There was no accounting for thiswandering of the imagination, but also there was no striving with it.The pleading tones of one of the sweetest voices he had ever heard,still rung in his ear, though it seemed that sleep had now fettered thetongue of the speaker. He drew near on tiptoe to satisfy himself whetherit were so. The folds of the cloak hid the lower part of his faceentirely; but the bonnet, which had fallen a little aside, permitted himto see the forehead streaked with blue veins, the closed eyes, and thelong silken eyelashes.
"Poor child," said Nigel to himself, as he looked on him, nestled up asit were in the folds of his mantle, "the dew is yet on thy eyelashes,and thou hast fairly wept thyself asleep. Sorrow is a rough nurse to oneso young and delicate as thou art. Peace be to thy slumbers, I willnot disturb them. My own misfortunes require my attention, and it is totheir contemplation that I must resign myself."
He attempted to do so, but was crossed at every turn by conjectureswhich intruded themselves as before, and which all regarded the sleeperrather than himself. He was angry and vexed, and expostulated withhimself concerning the overweening interest which he took in theconcerns of one of whom he knew nothing, saving that the boy was forcedinto his company, perhaps as a spy, by those to whose custody he wascommitted--but the spell could not be broken, and the thoughts which hestruggled to dismiss, continued to haunt him.
Thus passed half an hour, or more; at the conclusion of which, theharsh sound of the revolving bolts was again heard, and the voice of thewarder announced that a man desired to speak with Lord Glenvarloch. "Aman to speak with me, under my present circumstances!--Who can it be?"And John Christie, his landlord of Paul's Wharf, resolved his doubts, byentering the apartment. "Welcome--most welcome, mine honest landlord!"said Lord Glenvarloch. "How could I have dreamt of seeing you in mypresent close lodgings?" And at the same time, with the frankness ofold kindness, he walked up to Christie and offered his hand; but Johnstarted back as from the look of a basilisk.
"Keep your courtesies to yourself, my lord," said he, gruffly; "I havehad as many of them already as may serve me for my life."
"Why, Master Christie," said Nigel, "what means this? I trust I have notoffended you?"
"Ask me no questions, my lord," said Christie, bluntly. "I am a man ofpeace--I came not hither to wrangle with you at this place and season.Just suppose that I am well informed of all the obligements from yourhonour's nobleness, and then acquaint me, in as few words as may be,where is the unhappy woman--What have you done with her?"
"What have I done with her!" said Lord Glenvarloch--"Done with whom? Iknow not what you are speaking of."
"Oh, yes, my lord," said Christie; "play surprise as well as you will,you must have some guess that I am speaking of the poor fool that was
mywife, till she became your lordship's light-o'-love."
"Your wife! Has your wife left you? and, if she has, do you come to askher of me?"
"Yes, my lord, singular as it may seem," returned Christie, in a toneof bitter irony, and with a sort of grin widely discording from thediscomposure of his features, the gleam of his eye, and the froth whichstood on his lip, "I do come to make that demand of your lordship.Doubtless, you are surprised I should take the trouble; but, I cannottell, great men and little men think differently. She has lain inmy bosom, and drunk of my cup; and, such as she is, I cannot forgetthat--though I will never see her again--she must not starve, my lord,or do worse, to gain bread, though I reckon your lordship may think I amrobbing the public in trying to change her courses."
"By my faith as a Christian, by my honour as a gentleman," said LordGlenvarloch, "if aught amiss has chanced with your wife, I know nothingof it. I trust in Heaven you are as much mistaken in imputing guilt toher, as in supposing me her partner in it."
"Fie! fie! my lord," said Christie, "why will you make it so tough? Sheis but the wife of a clod-pated old chandler, who was idiot enough tomarry a wench twenty years younger than himself. Your lordship cannothave more glory by it than you have had already; and, as foradvantage and solace, I take it Dame Nelly is now unnecessary toyour gratification. I should be sorry to interrupt the course of yourpleasure; an old wittol should have more consideration of his condition.But, your precious lordship being mewed up here among other choicejewels of the kingdom, Dame Nelly cannot, I take it, be admittedto share the hours of dalliance which"--Here the incensed husbandstammered, broke off his tone of irony, and proceeded, striking hisstaff against the ground--"O that these false limbs of yours, which Iwish had been hamstrung when they first crossed my honest threshold,were free from the fetters they have well deserved! I would give you theodds of your youth, and your weapon, and would bequeath my soul tothe foul fiend if I, with this piece of oak, did not make you such anexample to all ungrateful, pick-thank courtiers, that it should be aproverb to the end of time, how John Christie swaddled his wife's fineleman!"
"I understand not your insolence," said Nigel, "but I forgive it,because you labour under some strange delusion. In so far as I cancomprehend your vehement charge, it is entirely undeserved on my part.You seem to impute to me the seduction of your wife--I trust she isinnocent. For me, at least, she is as innocent as an angel in bliss.I never thought of her--never touched her hand or cheek, save inhonourable courtesy."
"O, ay--courtesy!--that is the very word. She always praised yourlordship's honourable courtesy. Ye have cozened me between ye, with yourcourtesy. My lord--my lord, you came to us no very wealthy man--you knowit. It was for no lucre of gain I took you and your swash-buckler, yourDon Diego yonder, under my poor roof. I never cared if the little roomwere let or no; I could live without it. If you could not have paid forit, you should never have been asked. All the wharf knows John Christiehas the means and spirit to do a kindness. When you first darkened myhonest doorway, I was as happy as a man need to be, who is no youngster,and has the rheumatism. Nelly was the kindest and best-humouredwench--we might have a word now and then about a gown or a ribbon, buta kinder soul on the whole, and a more careful, considering her years,till you come--and what is she now!--But I will not be a fool to cry, ifI can help it. _What_ she is, is not the question, but where she is; andthat I must learn, sir, of you."
"How can you, when I tell you," replied Nigel, "that I am as ignorant asyourself, or rather much more so? Till this moment, I never heard of anydisagreement betwixt your dame and you."
"That is a lie," said John Christie, bluntly.
"How, you base villain!" said Lord Glenvarloch--"do you presume on mysituation? If it were not that I hold you mad, and perhaps made soby some wrong sustained, you should find my being weaponless were noprotection, I would beat your brains out against the wall."
"Ay, ay," answered Christie, "bully as ye list. Ye have been at theordinaries, and in Alsatia, and learned the ruffian's rant, I doubt not.But I repeat, you have spoken an untruth, when you said you knew not ofmy wife's falsehood; for, when you were twitted with it among your gaymates, it was a common jest among you, and your lordship took all thecredit they would give you for your gallantry and gratitude."
There was a mixture of truth in this part of the charge whichdisconcerted Lord Glenvarloch exceedingly; for he could not, as a manof honour, deny that Lord Dalgarno, and others, had occasionally jestedwith him on the subject of Dame Nelly, and that, though he had notplayed exactly _le fanfaron des vices qu'il n'avoit pas_, he had notat least been sufficiently anxious to clear himself of the suspicion ofsuch a crime to men who considered it as a merit. It was therefore withsome hesitation, and in a sort of qualifying tone, that he admitted thatsome idle jests had passed upon such a supposition, although withoutthe least foundation in truth. John Christie would not listen to hisvindication any longer. "By your own account," he said, "you permittedlies to be told of you injest. How do I know you are speaking truth,now you are serious? You thought it, I suppose, a fine thing to wear thereputation of having dishonoured an honest family,--who will not thinkthat you had real grounds for your base bravado to rest upon? I will notbelieve otherwise for one, and therefore, my lord, mark what I have tosay. You are now yourself in trouble--As you hope to come throughit safely, and without loss of life and property, tell me where thisunhappy woman is. Tell me, if you hope for heaven--tell me, if you fearhell--tell me, as you would not have the curse of an utterly ruinedwoman, and a broken-hearted man, attend you through life, and bearwitness against you at the Great Day, which shall come after death. Youare moved, my lord, I see it. I cannot forget the wrong you have doneme. I cannot even promise to forgive it--but--tell me, and you shallnever see me again, or hear more of my reproaches."
"Unfortunate man," said Lord Glenvarloch, "you have said more, far morethan enough, to move me deeply. Were I at liberty, I would lend you mybest aid to search out him who has wronged you, the rather that I dosuspect my having been your lodger has been in some degree the remotecause of bringing the spoiler into the sheepfold."
"I am glad your lordship grants me so much," said John Christie,resuming the tone of embittered irony with which he had openedthe singular conversation; "I will spare you farther reproach andremonstrance--your mind is made up, and so is mine.--So, ho, warder!"The warder entered, and John went on,--"I want to get out, brother. Lookwell to your charge--it were better that half the wild beasts in theirdens yonder were turned loose upon Tower Hill, than that this samesmooth-faced, civil-spoken gentleman, were again returned to honestmen's company!"
So saying, he hastily left the apartment; and Nigel had full leisureto lament the waywardness of his fate, which seemed never to tire ofpersecuting him for crimes of which he was innocent, and investing himwith the appearances of guilt which his mind abhorred. He could not,however, help acknowledging to himself, that all the pain which hemight sustain from the present accusation of John Christie, was so fardeserved, from his having suffered himself, out of vanity, or rather anunwillingness to encounter ridicule, to be supposed capable of abase inhospitable crime, merely because fools called it an affair ofgallantry; and it was no balsam to the wound, when he recollected whatRichie had told him of his having been ridiculed behind his back by thegallants of the ordinary, for affecting the reputation of an intriguewhich he had not in reality spirit enough to have carried on. Hissimulation had, in a word, placed him in the unlucky predicament ofbeing rallied as a braggart amongst the dissipated youths, with whom thereality of the amour would have given him credit; whilst, on the otherhand, he was branded as an inhospitable seducer by the injured husband,who was obstinately persuaded of his guilt.