Edmund Campion, senior, was a book-seller, evidently in good standing4, but not well to do. Some rich London guildsmen (probably of the Grocers’ Company, for it was they who maintained him later), befriended the promising5 little boy at just the right moment, when his father was reluctantly going to apprentice6 him to a trade; and he was sent, at their joint7 expense, to a good Grammar School. Afterwards, under the same patrons, he entered Christ Hospital, then lately set up in Newgate Street (out of confiscated9 Franciscan funds and the generosity10 of Londoners), as the “foundation” of the sixteen-year-old king, Edward VI. Here the small Edmund, full of life and laughter, banded and belted,[3] ran about in now extinct yellow petticoats, and one of the earliest pairs of those historic yellow stockings. He was thirteen, and quite famous already in the school-boy world of London for his learning and his attractive presence and speech, when Queen Mary Tudor, who had just succeeded to the English throne, entered her city in state. Out of many hundred eligible11 youngsters it was he who was chosen to stand up before her on a street platform, under the shadow of the old St. Paul’s Cathedral, and shrilly12 welcome her in the Latin tongue. The Queen sat on a white horse, robed in gold-embroidered dark velvet13, crimson14 or purplish, with the great sword carried before her by the boyish Earl of Surrey, with eight thousand mounted lords and gentlemen on either side, all the glittering ambassadors, and a bevy15 of beautifully apparelled ladies. On certain figures in that splendid and noisy pageant17 the child might have looked with pensive18 eyes, had he been able to forecast his own future; as it was, he cannot have failed to observe the Queen’s younger sister, the thin, watchful,[4] spirited girl who was known as the Lady Elizabeth. Another was there, of high office, though not of high descent, who was all goodness, piety19 and generosity, and may well have been drawn20 to notice Edmund Campion for the first time on that sunshiny afternoon in August, 1553. This was Sir Thomas White, then Lord Mayor of London, a staunch Catholic. He was an unlearned man and childless, who became, later, co-founder21 of the Merchant Taylors’ School, and enricher of many towns. By 1555 he had opened his College of St. John Baptist, once a Cistercian house, at Oxford22. The Grocers’ Company at once approached him to admit their Blue-coat ward8 as a scholar; this he did, and conceived, almost as soon, a marked attachment23 to him; and two years later (when Edmund was not yet eighteen!) he made him a Senior Fellow. Campion’s other early friends at the University were his first tutor, John Bavand, and Gregory Martin, a Foundation Scholar like himself. These two showed towards him a lifelong devotion.
Mary’s troubled reign24 had covered the[5] five most susceptible25 years of his youth, and restored to the country, despite its legal excesses, a definitely Catholic tone. Things were soon to change. War by statute26 against the Mass was first declared in 1559. Edmund Campion had left Oxford by the time that St. John’s, deprived of President after President by the Royal Commissioners27, was swept clean of all the dons who favoured, or in any degree tolerated, the jurisdiction28 of that Apostolic See which safeguarded the doctrine29 and honour of the Blessed Eucharist. But while he lived in his University world, he lived untouched. He was not looked upon as a Catholic. Nor was he such, if his heart could be fully16 judged by his outward actions. Buried in literature, philosophy, and pleasant tutorial work, he had become, in his cultured indifference30, what St. Jerome’s accusing vision called a “Ciceronian,” and not a Christian: a skin-deep Ciceronian, however. There is only a bare possibility that, on proceeding31 M.A. in 1564, he escaped taking the wretched Oath of Supremacy32, and thereby33 acknowledging the Queen as[6] Head in spirituals as well as temporals within her realm of England. He stretched his conscience, as many were doing, thinking to help along the unity34 of faith, thereby defeating that unity for good and all. An almost unprecedented35 vogue36 at Oxford had served to blind him: he was so happy, so busy, so needed, so much at home there. Friends encouraged him; undergraduates flocked about him, and imitated his very gait and tone as they never have imitated any one else except Newman.
Campion was a famous Latin scholar; and he was a good Grecian and a good Hebraist: Greek and Hebrew were studies newly revived just before he was born. He spoke37 as well as he wrote. The flamboyant38 art of oratory39, now almost extinct in our more quiet-coloured century, was then much studied and admired; and Campion was famous for debates and addresses and encomiums. When only twenty, he had been called upon to preach, though a layman40, at the re-burial of poor Amy Robsart, Lord Dudley’s young wife, in the University church of St. Mary-the-Virgin;[7] and this he did with great grace and animation41, and with no small display of tact42, for rumours43 of a murder with a motive44 had already got abroad. Such prominence45 may have come to Campion through Sir Thomas White’s request: Sir Thomas had his associations with Cumnor. Four years later, Edmund Campion was able to put sincere love and sincere grief into a funeral oration46 (this time a Latin, not an English one) for the good and dear Founder himself, whose body was solemnly interred47 in the Chapel48 of his College.
In September, 1566, Queen Elizabeth made the first and happier of her two visits to Oxford. In the Queen’s train was Dudley; also a quieter, plainer, less noticed man, but one out of all comparison with him for astute49 power: this was Sir William Cecil, the Prime Minister, afterwards known far and wide as Lord Burghley. There were farces50 and tragedies for the Queen at Oxford, there were musical performances, theological disputations, and other academic sports. In front of the vast assemblage stood forth51 Master Campion[8] of St. John’s, alone in his ruff, hood52 and gown. As representative of the University, he welcomed smiling royalty53, and Dudley, now Earl of Leicester, Chancellor54 of the University, and royalty’s magnificent favourite. Campion shone, as well, in the absurd discussions in natural science which followed. The Queen and Dudley marked him, as they could not fail to do; for nothing could exceed the courtliness with which he had performed his task. The Chancellor sent for him in private, and expressed the Queen’s good-will, whereby Campion might bid, through him, for whatever preferment he chose. But Campion, always truly modest and full of ironic55 humour as well, would ask of his patron nothing, he said, but his continued regard. The young bookman had a real liking56 for the vicious worldling, liked by several sensitively good men, then and since. Sir William Cecil also took instinctive57 interest in Campion and his eager dialectics. Altogether, there was no more popular man in Oxford or elsewhere. Campion was on the hilltop of professional and personal success.
[9]
In all this beautiful fountain-play of “the things which are seen,” he was running the very gravest risk of spiritual ruin. Perhaps he could not know, in his leaf-hung hermitage, what a tremendous muster58 of souls was going on, now that the ancient Church and a new statecraft were to fight it out in England. Queen Elizabeth’s quarrel with the Pope was hardly more doctrinal than her royal father’s had been: she, too, would have been quite content to live all her days as a Catholic, provided that Catholicism would prove her slave. The battle was not between two known religions. On one side was conservative England with a belief; on the other the strong spirit of secularism59, plus a few fanatics60 formed not by the English, but the Continental61 Reformation. Religion in itself troubled the Court party as little as anything could possibly do. It was because the spirit of Catholicism seemed to them to threaten their particular kind of national pride, and to interfere62 with their particular kind of worldly prosperity, that Cromwell in one great Tudor reign, Burghley[10] in the other, tried to put it down. They wished to get good citizenship63 acknowledged not as an ideal, but as the supreme64 ideal, and they cared not how much else was shovelled65 out of the way. Their only use for religion was to bring it well under the authority of the law and the supremacy of the Crown. They had no objection to high respectability, but a most violent objection to the supernatural life, because that gives to those who practise it a dangerous independence. Elizabeth wanted unity and peace. Her subjects were to be forced by statute to pray less and to pray all alike; and to be thereby trained, somehow, to put Sacraments and Saints and the Papacy out of their heads. English humankind were to forsake66 their happy wild life, as it were, in the Church Universal, and all become, as if by magic, one large tame pet lying in a ribboned collar on the royal hearth67. This is a vision which has appealed to many another head of a commonwealth68 as desirable, though unaccountably difficult! Some worthy69 persons have brought themselves to believe that nothing to speak of happened[11] at the Reformation. But at the time, everybody understood in the clearest fashion that an old moral system which would not come to terms had been dropped, and a more satisfactory one created. It was a working theory of that age, all over Europe, that a governor had the right to fix the belief of subjects. What was wanted in England was made to order, out of the rags of ruined doctrine and discipline. Foreign Protestants raged over its externals, as having too much of the old thing, but the bullying70 State, riding roughshod over Convocation and the laity71, was perfectly72 at ease, knowing that there was more than enough of the new thing to colour the whole, and to colour it once and for ever. There was no affection for “continuity” in those days except among the “Romans.” The attitude of their persecutors was that of men in a fury that any Englishman should dare to connect himself either with the world at large, or with his country’s own disclaimed73 yesterday. The State Trials, for instance, bear this out in a score of places. Many an official answer[12] resembles the one made to that interesting character Blessed Ralph Sherwin, when he said truly that his coming back to his own land was to persuade the people to Catholic Unity. “You well know,” so the Counsel reproved him in Westminster Hall, “that it was not lawful74 for you to persuade the Queen’s subjects to any other religion than by her Highness’s instructions is already professed75.” The “received religion,” or, as it was quite as often called, the “Queen’s religion,” was simply the new idea of nationalism torn away from relationship to the arch-idea of nations, which is the law of God. It was, in practice, no adoring angel at the Altar, but a capable parish beadle at the door. Now this was never the Catholic conception of what religion has been, or is meant to be. Happily, many thoroughly76 patriotic77 Englishmen felt that no least jot78 of Christian revelation, however much it stood in the way of C?sar, could, with their consent, be put by; and to keep it free they were willing to make themselves very disagreeable indeed to their revered79 sovereign, and to their more easy-going countrymen.[13] With that rude definiteness which is ever their chief family trait, the better Catholics threw their full force against the Oaths of Supremacy and Acts of Uniformity, as soon as they understood their meaning. The centuries passed since then prove that they succeeded in holding asunder80 what the Queen would join together. Was it unreasonable81 that she punished the men who tried to spoil her dream? And almost the chief of these men Edmund Campion was destined82 to be, though years were to pass before he lent his whole heart to the work God willed him to do.
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1 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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2 martyrs | |
n.martyr的复数形式;烈士( martyr的名词复数 );殉道者;殉教者;乞怜者(向人诉苦以博取同情) | |
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3 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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4 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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5 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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6 apprentice | |
n.学徒,徒弟 | |
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7 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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8 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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9 confiscated | |
没收,充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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11 eligible | |
adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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12 shrilly | |
尖声的; 光亮的,耀眼的 | |
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13 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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14 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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15 bevy | |
n.一群 | |
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16 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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17 pageant | |
n.壮观的游行;露天历史剧 | |
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18 pensive | |
a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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19 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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20 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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21 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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22 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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23 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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24 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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25 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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26 statute | |
n.成文法,法令,法规;章程,规则,条例 | |
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27 commissioners | |
n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 );长官;委员;政府部门的长官 | |
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28 jurisdiction | |
n.司法权,审判权,管辖权,控制权 | |
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29 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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30 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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31 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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32 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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33 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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34 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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35 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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36 Vogue | |
n.时髦,时尚;adj.流行的 | |
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37 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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38 flamboyant | |
adj.火焰般的,华丽的,炫耀的 | |
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39 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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40 layman | |
n.俗人,门外汉,凡人 | |
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41 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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42 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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43 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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44 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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45 prominence | |
n.突出;显著;杰出;重要 | |
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46 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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47 interred | |
v.埋,葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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49 astute | |
adj.机敏的,精明的 | |
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50 farces | |
n.笑剧( farce的名词复数 );闹剧;笑剧剧目;作假的可笑场面 | |
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51 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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52 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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53 royalty | |
n.皇家,皇族 | |
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54 chancellor | |
n.(英)大臣;法官;(德、奥)总理;大学校长 | |
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55 ironic | |
adj.讽刺的,有讽刺意味的,出乎意料的 | |
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56 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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57 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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58 muster | |
v.集合,收集,鼓起,激起;n.集合,检阅,集合人员,点名册 | |
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59 secularism | |
n.现世主义;世俗主义;宗教与教育分离论;政教分离论 | |
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60 fanatics | |
狂热者,入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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61 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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62 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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63 citizenship | |
n.市民权,公民权,国民的义务(身份) | |
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64 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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65 shovelled | |
v.铲子( shovel的过去式和过去分词 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份 | |
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66 forsake | |
vt.遗弃,抛弃;舍弃,放弃 | |
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67 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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68 commonwealth | |
n.共和国,联邦,共同体 | |
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69 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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70 bullying | |
v.恐吓,威逼( bully的现在分词 );豪;跋扈 | |
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71 laity | |
n.俗人;门外汉 | |
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72 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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73 disclaimed | |
v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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75 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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76 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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77 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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78 jot | |
n.少量;vi.草草记下;vt.匆匆写下 | |
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79 revered | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80 asunder | |
adj.分离的,化为碎片 | |
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81 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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82 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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