1. I.
CECIL COURT.
My life has been so restless and adventurous that I
go back with delight to my early years, spent at the
old home of my family in Warwickshire, England.
Cecil Court was a peaceful, charming old place, on
the banks of the Avon, low-pitched, built of brick,
with Elizabethan windows, a flower-decorated terrace,
and approached by a broad avenue overshadowed by
lofty elms. You entered a large hall running from front
to rear, with a winding staircase on the right, the balustrade,
like the wainscoting, of heavy oak, carved and
darkened by age. On the right was the sitting-room,
with polished oak floor, tall-backed chairs, a wide fireplace
with huge old andirons, a tall mantelpiece, and
a dozen portraits on the walls. This apartment was,
properly speaking, the dining-room, the drawing-rooms
occupying the opposite wing, but in progress of time
it had come to be used as the sitting-room, and our old
neighbors invariably went thither unannounced to find
my father. On the second floor were the chambers,
which were numerous and furnished in the style of the
reign of Queen Elizabeth.
The family estate was by no means large, consisting
indeed of but a few hundreds of acres, cultivated by
two or three old tenants, grown gray-headed on the
place. My father had never given his assent, however,
to any diminution of the size of the old Cecil Court
park,—an extensive chase of the freshest and greenest
turf, dotted with century oaks, beneath which the cattle
grazed undisturbed, and a few deer wandered, tame
and confiding. Seen from a distance, through the
waving foliage of its great trees, Cecil Court was a
peaceful and attractive picture. On the right, beyond
a green hillock, gleamed the still waters of a pond and
the dancing waves of a little stream. The sylvan
scene was calm and friendly, and you would have said
that life here was as tranquil and serene as the slow
movement of the white clouds floating over the blue
sky.
Our household was small, consisting only of my
father, my elder brother Harry, my younger sister
Cicely, an old housekeeper, and a few old servants,
whose heads had turned white in the service of the
family, and who performed their duties with the regularity
and more than the silence of machines. I often
think now that a large part of the happiness of human
beings depends upon the possession of such silent old
household attendants. Never a word was uttered nor
an order given. Comfort, kindness, and silence reigned,
and the exact wine my father wished was placed at his
elbow, without a word addressed to the old majordomo
waiting, calm and silent, behind his chair.
Do not fancy from this picture, worthy reader, that
the Cecils were very well-to-do in the world. We
had barely enough; and although the country-people
called my father “the Squire,” and took off their hats
to him with the profoundest deference, that was more
a tribute to his kindly nature, which made all love him,
than to his possessions. The estate had once been
very large, but had dwindled away. Still, we had
enough to live upon as gentlefolks, and my father's
fondness for reading and study caused him to forget
the narrowness of his fortunes. He was a very tall
and distinguished-looking person, with long gray hair,
which he powdered and tied with a ribbon, a broad
and lofty forehead, blue eyes full of candor and simplicity,
and lips wearing habitually a smile of great
sweetness. His dress was plain, but about his whole
appearance there was an air of grace and distinction
which never changed. His manner was the same to a
peer of the realm and to a plowman,—his bow to the
last as courteous as to the first. In a word, good
reader, my father was a gentleman of extreme pride,
simplicity, and naturalness,—thought himself, I dare
say, as good as the peer, and perhaps in many things
no better than the plowman.
I do not remember my dear mother, who died in my
infancy, taking away with her, people said, much of
the sunshine of my father's life,—for to the last they
were more like young lovers than old married people.
For her, my father kept his courtliest bows and his
sweetest smiles. The great aim of his life seemed to
be to make her happy; and when she died, the old
neighbors said that he went about as though he had
lost something without which he could not live. This,
however, was before my time, and when I first remember
him my father had regained his calmness, at least.
His smile was full of sadness, but of great sweetness
too, as I have said. Once I found him in tears, gazing
at a withered flower my dear mother had given him
upon their wedding-day; but such evidences of emotion
were infrequent. I recall him now, most clearly,
sitting in his great arm-chair, reading a folio containing
the dramas of his friend and neighbor Mr. Shakspeare,
whom he knew in his own younger days, and
esteemed highly.
A few words will introduce my brother Harry and
my sister Cicely. Harry was a year or two my senior,
a brave, handsome youth, full of sunshine and gayety,
who had hunted every fox in the county from his boyhood,
and ended by entering that select company of
young gentlemen, the Queen's Guardsmen, at Hampton
Court. In doing so, he had consulted both his own
wishes and his love for me. The revenues of Cecil
Court were insufficient to send us both to Oxford, and,
as I was destined for the law, Harry declared that I
should go, he becoming a guardsman. I accordingly
went to Oxford, and Harry to London,—I became a
fellow-commoner of Baliol College, and he a gay
young gallant. When this history opens, I had just
returned to Cecil Court, and Harry was in the Guards.
Of Cicely, my little sister, I shall say nothing at
this time, and scarce more of that important personage,
the writer of these memoirs. The said gentleman,
Edmund Cecil by name, was a country youth
who fancied himself a great philosopher; liberal in
politics, but a monarchist for all that, and by no means
pleased with the near prospect of becoming a denizen
of the Inns of Court at London. It would have
pleased him far better to have remained at Cecil Court
in idleness,—reading, dreaming, wandering about the
old park, and shaping cloud-castles for his own entertainment.
He was, in truth, a most useless and incapable
person, content to let the current waft him,
without using his oars, and asking only silence and
liberty to peruse the pages of Mr. William Shakespeare,
for whom he had inherited his father's fondness.
Such a life was impossible, however; and one day
my father informed me that he had made every arrangement
for my entrance at the Inns of Court. My lodgings
had been engaged in Essex Court, with young
Master John Evelyn, and nothing now prevented me
from commencing the study of my future profession.
“'Tis the best career I can think of for my boy,”
my father said, with his sweet smile, now filled with
tenderness. “Cecil Court goes to Harry, but perchance
you will be Chief Justice some day, my son.
So take the old sword yonder,—every gentleman
should wear a sword,—the best horse in the stable, and
Dick the hostler will ride with you to London.”
My heart sank at the very phrase “Inns of Court,”
but there was some consolation in that magical word
“London.”
“I will be ready at daylight, sir,” I said, taking my
father's hand and kissing it.
“That is well, my boy; and I need give you few
counsels. Be a good man, my dear; be honest and
true. Study hard; for remember 'tis the educated brain
that rules the world. Avoid as far as possible the
political commotions just beginning; for neither on
the king's side nor the parliament's is the full right.
The Cecils must be of the royal party, if the issue
comes; but his majesty construes his prerogative far
too liberally for my views. With him you must side
nevertheless, if honor will let you, and you side with
either. But remember that the Cecil honor is above
and before all,—even that of the king, who is, after
all, but the first gentleman of his kingdom.”
My father stopped, and laid his hand upon my
head.
“God bless my boy!” he said, in a faltering voice;
and, turning away, he went out of the room, leaving me
in tears.
At daylight I set out for London. The whole household
had assembled to bid me good-by, and the old
servants uttered many earnest blessings, for in their
eyes I was yet but a child. Then my father pressed
my hand closely, Cicely put her arms around my neck
and kissed me, her face wet with tears, I mounted,
waved my hand, and, followed by joyous Dick the
hostler, went forth into the future.
My father stood on the old porch until I was out of
sight. Reaching an eminence distant half a mile from
the hall, it again appeared, and my dear father was
standing there still. My heart went back to him, and
to all the familiar localities I was bidding farewell to.
With something strange in my throat which seemed
about to choke me, I gazed long from the hill on the
fields and forests of my childhood; then, turning my
horse's head, I set forward at a gallop,—Dick the
hostler made his best effort to keep up with me,—and
Cecil Court disappeared from my eyes.
I was afloat upon the surge of that ocean which is
called the great world.
