True Stories of History and Biography by Nathaniel Hawthorne


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Page 86

So Mr. Temple proceeded to talk about the early days of


OLIVER CROMWELL.

BORN 1599. DIED 1658.

Not long after King James the First took the place of Queen Elizabeth
on the throne of England, there lived an English knight at a place
called Hinchinbrooke. His name was Sir Oliver Cromwell. He spent his
life, I suppose, pretty much like other English knights and squires in
those days, hunting hares and foxes, and drinking large quantities of
ale and wine. The old house in which he dwelt, had been occupied by his
ancestors before him, for a good many years. In it there was a great
hall, hung round with coats of arms, and helmets, cuirasses and swords
which his forefathers had used in battle, and with horns of deer and
tails of foxes, which they or Sir Oliver himself had killed in the
chase.

This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew, who had been called Oliver, after
himself, but who was generally known in the family by the name of little
Noll. His father was a younger brother of Sir Oliver. The child was
often sent to visit his uncle, who probably found him a troublesome
little fellow to take care of. He was forever in mischief, and always
running into some danger or other from which he seemed to escape only by
miracle.

Even while he was an infant in the cradle a strange accident had
befallen him. A huge ape which was kept in the family, snatched up
little Noll in his forepaws and clambered with him to the roof of the
house. There this ugly beast sat grinning at the affrighted spectators,
as if he had done the most praiseworthy thing imaginable. Fortunately,
however, he brought the child safe down again; and the event was
afterwards considered an omen that Noll would reach a very elevated
station in the world.

One morning, when Noll was five or six years old, a royal messenger
arrived at Hinchinbrooke, with tidings that King James was coming to
dine with Sir Oliver Cromwell. This was a high honor to be sure, but a
very great trouble; for all the lords and ladies, knights, squires,
guards, and yeomen, who waited on the king, were to be feasted as well
as himself; and more provisions would be eaten, and more wine drunk, in
that one day, than generally in a month. However, Sir Oliver expressed
much thankfulness for the king's intended visit, and ordered his butler
and cook to make the best preparations in their power. So a great fire
was kindled in the kitchen; and the neighbors knew by the smoke which
poured out of the chimney, that boiling, baking, stewing, roasting, and
frying, were going on merrily.

By and by the sound of trumpets was heard, approaching nearer and
nearer; and a heavy, old-fashioned coach, surrounded by guards on
horseback, drove up to the house. Sir Oliver, with his hat in his hand,
stood at the gate to receive the king. His Majesty was dressed in a suit
of green, not very new; he had a feather in his hat, and a triple ruff
round his neck; and over his shoulder was slung a hunting horn, instead
of a sword. Altogether, he had not the most dignified aspect in the
world; but the spectators gazed at him as if there was something
superhuman and divine in his person. They even shaded their eyes with
their hands, as if they were dazzled by the glory of his countenance.

"How are ye, man?" cried King James, speaking in a Scotch accent; for
Scotland was his native country. "By my crown, Sir Oliver, but I am glad
to see ye!"

The good knight thanked the king, at the same time kneeling down, while
his Majesty alighted. When King James stood on the ground, he directed
Sir Oliver's attention to a little boy, who had come with him in the
coach. He was six or seven years old, and wore a hat and feather, and
was more richly dressed than the king himself. Though by no means an
ill-looking child; he seemed shy, or even sulky; and his cheeks were
rather pale, as if he had been kept moping within doors, instead of
being sent out to play in the sun and wind.

"I have brought my son Charlie to see ye," said the king. "I hope, Sir
Oliver, ye have a son of your own, to be his playmate?"

Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to the little prince, whom
one of the attendants had now taken out of the coach. It was wonderful
to see how all the spectators, even the aged men, with their gray
beards, humbled themselves before this child. They bent their bodies
till their beards almost swept the dust. They looked as if they were
ready to kneel down and worship him.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Wed 24th Dec 2025, 17:12