Come Rack! Come Rope! By Robert Hugh Benson, Post #4

This is fourth post of a series on the historical novel Come Rack! Come Rope! by Robert Hugh Benson. 

You can find Post #1 here.  

Post #2 here.  

Post #3 here.  

 

Part 3, Chapters 1 thru 5

 

Summary

 

Robin arrives in London several years later under the name of Robin Alban.  He is now a priest and meeting him at an inn is Anthony Babington, where the old friends catch up on what has been happening.  He hears of more priests being discovered and either exiled or executed.  Babington confesses he is involved in a plot to kill Queen Elizabeth and have Queen Mary of Scots assume the throne.  Robin offers no consolation to the evil scheme and advices against it.  Babington insists that Mary supports such a plot.

 

After strolling through London, Robin is handed a package of letters by the innkeeper.  Inside his bolted room, he reads that the covert Catholic company in London has been betrayed and are on the run.  Another letter from Babington speaks of a trap for Mary Queen of Scots.  Ten days later, the innkeeper tells Robin his friends have dispersed and left a luggage.  He is warned it is unsafe to stay in London, and with his aid, Mr. Arnold, abscond as quickly as possible.  In leaving, he sees a posse corner a group of men, who turn out to be his friends.

 

On the way to Derby is Chartley Castle where Queen Mary is imprisoned.  Robin decides to risk getting to the queen by posing as an apothecary with the ruse to provide the ailing queen with some healing herbs.  Despite some difficulties he does meet with the queen in private, reveals he is a priest, hears her confession, and provides her with Holy Communion.  She is clearly devout and believes will not survive long.  She tells him she is innocent of this plot to kill Elizabeth.  With the Queen in apparent better health after his visit, he tells the jailer he may come back again.

 

From Chartley he reaches Derby and arrives at Marjorie’s where he learns Babington has been executed.  He learns of the Thomas FitzHerbert apostacy and other local news he has missed.  The good Catholics gather at Marjorie’s and Robin hears confessions and celebrates Mass.  He asks about his father, but no one seems to know much.  When all are gone, he tells Marjorie about what happened at Chartely, and that if called upon he will go back.

 

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Peej Commented:

These chapters portrayed Mary, Queen of Scots as a pseudo-transcendental figure. I wonder if this is how she was perceived by English Catholics of the time, as a political savior.

 

We obviously know this isn’t true. She’s never been beatified. While she was the rightful heir and held the true religion, Babington and others may have slid into politico-theological heresy by elevating her. I really don’t know more than what I read in the novel. Does anybody else?

 

Frances Replied:

Not very much, Peej. Her son, James VI of Scotland, became James I of England, unifying the two thrones as the first Stuart king. And then, there is some ambiguity regarding the role -- very likely passive -- that he played in his mother's execution under Elizabeth I.

 

My Reply:

Benson is quite clear in portraying Mary Queen of Scotts as a sort of martyr and innocent of the charges. I don't know the history well enough to say one way or the other. It's probably within the span of the unknown and possible. What I see at this point in England's history, is that the Catholics have become a minority under a government where there are no minority rights, and where the majority has a vested interest in destroying the minority. And the minority made it worse with attempts to overthrow the majority. So even those in the majority sympathetic found it tough to defend the minority. It's all just a shame and tragic, put in motion by Henry VIII, a despicable and selfish man.

 

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The highlight of these chapters is Robin’s meeting of Mary Queen of Scots, held prisoner at Chartley Castle.  First let’s start with this description of Mary.

 

Mary was past her prime long ago; she was worn with sorrow and slanders and miseries; yet she appeared to the priest’s eyes, even then, like a figure of a dream. It was partly, no doubt, the faintness of the light that came in through the half-shrouded windows that obliterated the lines and fallen patches that her face was beginning to bear; and she lay, too, with her back even to such light as there was. Yet for all that, and even if he had not known who she was, Robin could not have taken his eyes from her face. She lay there like a fallen flower, pale as a lily, beaten down at last by the waves and storms that had gone over her; and she was more beautiful in her downfall and disgrace, a thousand times, than when she had come first to Holyrood, or danced in the Courts of France.

 

Now it is not in the features one by one that beauty lies but rather in the coincidence of them all. Her face was almost waxen now, blue shadowed beneath the two waves of pale hair; she had a small mouth, a delicate nose, and large, searching hazel eyes. Her head-dress was of white, with silver pins in it; a light white shawl was clasped cross-wise over her shoulders; and she wore a loose brocaded dressing-gown beneath it. Her hands, clasped as if in prayer, emerged out of deep lace-fringed sleeves, and were covered with rings. But it was the air of almost superhuman delicacy that breathed from her most forcibly; and, when she spoke, a ring of assured decision revealed her quiet consciousness of royalty. It was an extraordinary mingling of fragility and power, of which this feminine and royal room was the proper frame.

 (p. 215, Aeterna Press. Kindle Edition)

 

Finally when the guard is out of the room and the Queen and her attendants are left with Robin, they all move quickly to get the Queen her sacraments.

 

The Queen opened her eyes, waited for one tense instant till the door closed; then she slipped swiftly off the couch.

 

“The door!” she whispered.

 

The woman was across the room in an instant, on tip-toe, and drew the single slender bolt. The Queen made a sharp gesture; the woman fled back again on one side, and out through the further door, and the old man hobbled after her. It was as if every detail had been rehearsed. The door closed noiselessly.

 

Then the Queen rose up, as Robin, understanding, began to fumble with his breast. And, as he drew out the pyx, and placed it on the handkerchief (in reality a corporal), apparently so carelessly laid by the crucifix, Mary sank down in adoration of her Lord.

 

“Now, mon père,” she whispered, still kneeling, but lifting her star-bright eyes. And the priest went across to the couch where the Queen had lain, and sat down on it.

 

“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti—” began Mary.

 

When the confession was finished, Robin went across, at the Queen’s order, and tapped with his finger-nail upon the door, while she herself remained on her knees. The door opened instantly, and the two came in, the woman first, bearing two lighted tapers. She set these down one on either side of the crucifix, and herself knelt with the old physician.

 

… Then Robin gave holy communion to the Queen of the Scots….

(p. 217)

 

Finally they restore the room to its previous state, and the Queen gives a commendation.

 

She was back again on her couch now, once more as drowsy-looking as ever. The candlesticks were gone again; the handkerchief still in its place, and the woman back again behind the couch. The two men kneeled close beside her, near enough to hear every whisper.

 

“Listen, gentlemen,” she said softly, “I cannot tell you what you have done for my soul to-day—both of you, since I could never have had the priest without my friend…. I cannot reward you, but our Lord will do so abundantly…. Listen, I know that I am going to my death, and I thank God that I have made my peace with Him. I do not know if they will allow me to see a priest again. But I wish to say this to both of you—as I said just now in my confession, to you, mon père—that I am wholly and utterly guiltless of the plot laid to my charge; that I had neither part nor wish nor consent in it. I desired only to escape from my captivity…. I would have made war, if I could, yes, but as for accomplishing or assisting in her Grace’s death, the thought was never near me. Those whom I thought my friends have entrapped me, and have given colour to the tale. I pray our Saviour to forgive them as I do; and with that Saviour now in my breast I tell you—and you may tell all the world if you will—that I am guiltless of what they impute to me. I shall die for my Religion, and nothing but that. And I thank you again, mon père, et vous, mon ami, que vous avez….”

 

Her voice died away in inaudible French, and her eyes closed.

 

Robin’s eyes were raining tears, but he leaned forward and kissed her hand as it lay on the edge of the couch. He felt himself touched on the shoulder, and he stood up. The old man’s eyes, too, were brimming with tears.

 (pp. 217-218)

 

A touching scene, full of pathos. 

 

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Part 3, Chapters 6 thru 8, Part 4, Chapters 1 thru 3

 

Summary

 

Robin spends his time in his old grounds with his Catholic friends.  They hear that Mary Queen of Scots has been relocated in Farthingay, which is still within two day’s reach from Derby.  Marjorie receives a letter that it is expected that Mary will be executed and there will be a need for a priest.  She is reluctant to tell Robin, but in the end she does.  Robin decides to risk his life and travel to Farthingay.

 

When Robin arrives at Farthingay, he cannot find the means to visit the Queen.  He tries to make contact with those inside but they put him off.  Everyone anticipates her execution but none is scheduled.  Even on the night before her execution, they will not allow a priest for her last rites.  But suddenly folks that night gathered beneath the Castle’s tower.  As Robin tries to get to the front of the mob that morning, suddenly with fanfare instruments and a roar from the crowd, in an open window a man presents to the crowd on a platter the severed head of the Queen.

 

A year later, the Catholics still continue to have their Masses and sacraments in secret through the ingenuity of Marjorie Manners.  However, news of priests being captured continues to filter in.  Slowly more Catholics, such as Mr. Simpson, are beginning to give in to the authorities.  The Protestant Lord Shrewsbury has it seems taken a more aggressive role in rooting out the Catholics in the Derby region.  More and more searches are repressing the Catholics. 

 

Attacks on Catholic homes are now more frequent, and more lay Catholics are being jailed as well.  The area is down to three priests: Garlick, Ludlam, and Robin.  The three priests one day meet at the house of old Mr. FitzHerbert, and the four have a wonderful, peaceful dinner.  The next morning, the three priests all celebrate a Mass each.  Upon finishing the last, they hear a loud ruckus outside of a posse coming from Lord Shrewsbury.  They have been found out, and Garlick and Ludlam hide inside a two man priest hole on the ground floor while Robin hides in the one man priest hole on the floor above.

 

The Shrewsbury posse crash the house and break walls searching for the hiding priests.  Robin can hear as they tap and puncture the walls.  He hears the shuffling movements, the sounds, and the talk of Garlick and Ludlam being discovered and restrained.  They come close to breaking the wall at Robin’s hole as well but by fortunate the posse stops short.  The posse leaves eventually and Robin stays many hours to ensure that all have left.  Finally he crawls out to only find a weeping maid servant. 

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Joseph Commented:

Robin is almost like the English Reformation Forrest Gump. He's in the middle of all of it, but it also makes very real just how bad things were in the 1580s.

 

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Two points strike me as I read this last section. 

 

First, the allusions to Spain in these chapters are significant.  The Babington Plot included the addition of the Spanish army invading England once Elizabeth I had been assassinated and replaced by Mary Queen of Scots.  Even after Mary was executed Catholics hoped on Spain to overthrow the Protestant government.   Indeed the Spanish Armada had plans of invading England, but the English Navy defeated them in 1588. That is the year after Mary was beheaded, so the threat from Spain was co-terminus with the events of the novel.  English fear of Spain was at a high, and so the persecution of the Catholics became more intense.  The novel captures this perfectly.

 

Second, the intensity of the persecution is very intense, especially when you consider these are fellow countrymen who are torturing and killing their fellow townsmen.  When a country or people turn against Catholicism, it is with savage intensity.  Recall the Roman persecution of the first three centuries of the Common Era.  Think ahead then in the Enlightenment persecution of Revolutionary France, or the Japanese persecutions in Medieval Japan, the Bolshevik Revolution, Mexican persecutions, or the Spanish Civil War.  Catholicism’s refusal to give the state the primary role in their lives sets off fury in those who oppose it. 

 

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The highlight of these chapters is that of the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots.  But the chapter is filled with more than just her execution.  Let’s start at the beginning of Part 3, Chapter VIII.  Part I of the chapter is so superbly written than it should be quoted in its entirety.

 

Overhead lay the heavy sky of night-clouds like a curved sheet of dark steel, glimmering far away to the left with gashes of pale light. In front towered the twin gateway, seeming in the gloom to lean forward to its fall. Lights shone here and there in the windows, vanished and appeared again, flashing themselves back from the invisible water beneath. About, behind and on either side, there swayed and murmured this huge crowd—invisible in the darkness—peasants, gentlemen, clerks, grooms—all on an equality at last, awed by a common tragedy into silence, except for words exchanged here and there in an undertone, or whispered and left unanswered, or sudden murmured prayers to a God who hid Himself indeed. Now and again, from beyond the veiling walls came the tramp of men; once, three or four brisk notes blown on a horn; once, the sudden rumble of a drum; and once, when the silence grew profound, three or four blows of iron on wood. But at that the murmur rose into a groan and drowned it again….

 

So the minutes passed…. Since soon after midnight the folks had been gathering here. Many had not slept all night, ever since the report had run like fire through the little town last evening, that the sentence had been delivered to the prisoner. From that time onwards the road that led down past the Castle had never been empty. It was now moving on to dawn, the late dawn of February; and every instant the scene grew more distinct. It was possible for those pushed against the wall, or against the chains of the bridge that had been let down an hour ago, to look down into the chilly water of the moat; to see not the silhouette only of the huge fortress, but the battlements of the wall, and now and again a steel cap and a pike-point pass beyond it as the sentry went to and fro. Noises within the Castle grew more frequent. The voice of an officer was heard half a dozen times; the rattle of pike-butts, the clash of steel. The melancholy bray of the horn-blower ran up a minor scale and down again; the dub-dub of a drum rang out, and was thrown back in throbs by the encircling walls. The galloping of horses was heard three or four times as a late-comer tore up the village street and was forced to halt far away on the outskirts of the crowd—some country squire, maybe, to whom the amazing news had come an hour ago. Still there was no movement of the great doors across the bridge. The men on guard there shifted their positions; nodded a word or two across to one another; changed their pikes from one hand to the other. It seemed as if day would come and find the affair no further advanced….

 

Then, without warning (for so do great climaxes always come), the doors wheeled back on their hinges, disclosing a line of pikemen drawn up under the vaulted entrance; a sharp command was uttered by an officer at their head, causing the two sentries to advance across the bridge; a great roaring howl rose from the surging crowd; and in an instant the whole lane was in confusion. Robin felt himself pushed this way and that; he struggled violently, driving his elbows right and left; was lifted for a moment clean from his feet by the pressure about him; slipped down again; gained a yard or two; lost them; gained three or four in a sudden swirl; and immediately found his feet on wood instead of earth; and himself racing desperately as a loose group of runners, across the bridge; and beneath the arch of the castle-gate.

 (pp. 246-247).

 

Notice Benson describes the dark clouds in the first sentence as “night-clouds like a curved sheet of dark steel.”  That alludes to the dark steel of the blade that will behead the Queen.  And the “gashes of pale light” is an image foreshadowing the violence of the act.  The scene is so beautifully drawn: the gathering crowd, the rush, the energy.  It’s interesting how an execution gathers so many people.  It would not be something that would draw me, but then this execution is a political gathering too.  So there is a mixture of political interest with the spectacle of a death in front of one’s eyes.  Later, Robin’s contemplation on the Queen’s execution has intertextual significance.

 

And now that the priest was in his place, he began again to think over that answer of the Queen. The very words of it, indeed, he did not know for a month or two later, when Mr. Bourgoign wrote to him at length; but this, at least, he knew, that her Grace had said (and no man contradicted her at that time) that she would shed her blood to-morrow with all the happiness in the world, since it was for the cause of the Catholic and Roman Church that she died. It was not for any plot that she was to die: she professed again, kissing her Bible as she did so, that she was utterly guiltless of any plot against her sister. She died because she was of that Faith in which she had been born, and which Elizabeth had repudiated. As for death, she did not fear it; she had looked for it during all the eighteen years of her imprisonment.

 

It was at a martyrdom, then, that he was to assist…. He had known that, without a doubt, ever since the day that Mary had declared her innocence at Chartley. There had been no possibility of thinking otherwise; and, as he reflected on this, he remembered that he, too, was guilty of the same crime;… and he wondered whether he, too, would die as manfully, if the need for it ever came.

 

Then, in an instant, he was called back, by the sudden crash of horns and drums playing all together. He saw again the ranks of heads before him: the great arched windows of the hall on the other side of the court, the grim dominating keep, and the merciless February morning sky over all.

 

It was impossible to tell what was going on.

(pp. 249-250)

 

Robin wonders if he will face the same martyrdom manfully.  This is another foreshadow.  We know he will.  Finally the simple pathos of the Queen’s beheading.

 

Then suddenly the heads grew still; a wave of motionlessness passed over them, as if some strange sympathy were communicated from within those tall windows. The moments passed and passed. It was impossible to hear those murmurs, through the blare of the instruments; there was one sound only that could penetrate them; and this, rising from what seemed at first the wailing of a child, grew and grew into the shrill cries of a dog in agony. At the noise once more a roar of low questioning surged up and fell. Simultaneously the music came to an abrupt close; and, as if at a signal, there sounded a great roar of voices, all shouting together within the hall. It rose yet louder, broke out of doors, and was taken up by those outside. The court was now one sea of tossing heads and open mouths shouting—as if in exultation or in anger. Robin fought for his place on the projecting stones, clung to the rough wall, gripped a window-bar and drew himself yet higher.

 

Then, as he clenched himself tight and stared out again towards the tall windows that shone in bloody flakes of fire from the roaring logs within; a sudden and profound silence fell once more before being shattered again by a thousand roaring throats….

 

For there, in full view beyond the clear glass stood a tall, black figure, masked to the mouth, who held in his out-stretched hands a wide silver dish, in which lay something white and round and slashed with crimson….

(pp. 250-251)

 

The blare of music, the intervals of quiet hush of the crowd with the roar of the crowd, and the dramatic display of the Queen’s head, not even distinct, makes for such a dramatic scene.