Papistry or Protestantism
It was a strange weird sight, that large assembly, crowded together
in a fore-court of the fine old Castle, in the gathering gloom of
night. All sorts and descriptions of people had been gathered in
from every side, both rich and poor, high and low, gentle and simple,
good and bad, wise and unwise, those that were handsome and those
that were uncomely. They stood together in a mass, eager to hear of
matters of vital importance to them all, and heeding little the petty
class distinctions about which at another time their feelings might
be rancorous.
Here and there the light of a lantern or a flaming torch enlivened
the scene; but nearly all the torches and candles that could be got
together were grouped at one end of the court, where, upon a roughly
made platform, the chief landowners and the clergy were gathered
around Sir Hubert Blair, who was dressed richly in velvet and lace,
as befitted his rank, and who seemed to be the cynosure of all eyes.
As I saw him there, so young, yet looking wiser than his years would
warrant, and so handsome, yet humble withal, and remembered how he
had saved my life but yesterday, bearing me in his arms as if I were
a child, and bruising his own hands rather than suffer me to touch
the trees, my heart glowed within me and a wordless prayer rose from
it that his friendship for me and mine for him might be blessed and
strengthened mightily.
Just for a moment he caught my eye, as his keen glance swept over the
audience, and I could not be sure, but I thought a wave of colour
passed over his pale, proud features. Yet he turned his eyes
resolutely away from me, and I knew that just then, for the time
being, he existed only for the people with whom he was about to plead
and for whose sake he was there.
I did not hear much of what the first speaker, a white-haired
venerable old bishop, was saying, for his voice was feeble, and Lady
Caroline, who stood near me, whispered that it was only because of
his age and high position that the opening speech was apportioned to
him.
But, after having spoken a little while, the people listening at
first with reverence and then beginning to show signs of some
impatience, he seemed to call upon the audience for a hymn, for
suddenly, in most excellent voice, the whole assembly began to sing
the psalm--
To Sion's Hill I lift my eyes,
From thence expecting aid;
From Sion's Hill and Sion's God,
Who Heaven and earth has made.
Then thou, my soul, in safety rest,
Thy Guardian will not sleep;
His watchful care that Israel guards,
Will Israel's monarch keep.
And so on to the finish--
At home, abroad, in peace, in war,
Thy God shall thee defend;
Conduct thee through life's pilgrimage
Safe to thy journey's end.
The last words had scarcely died away when a stout curate, with a
fine, clear voice, began to speak about the Reformation, relating in
brief its history and the gross errors from which it had freed the
people, causing the abolition of so much that intervened between
themselves and God, for instance the jurisdiction of the Pope, the
doctrine of trans-substantiation, the withdrawal of the Holy
Scriptures from the people, the refusal of liberty to worship in a
tongue understood by the people, confession to a priest, penance and
the like.
I did not understand it all, not by a long way, but Timothy's graphic
comment--for he had found his way to my elbow--enlightened me not a
little.
''Tis just,' said he, 'as if those monks and cardinals of old had
busied themselves with setting up a lot of stone walls between folks
and their Maker, so that they might keep their distance; and it was
the same sort of thing the disciples of our Lord wanted to do when
they tried to keep the children off Him that the mothers brought.
"Go away," said they, "you are troubling the Master." But what did
He do? He called the little ones to Him and laid His hands upon them
and blessed them. That is _His_ fashion, and I reckon He is the same
now as He was then.'
And then, after that introductory speech, Sir Hubert Blair stepped
forward; and looking down upon the crowd with shining eyes, and it
seemed to me a light upon his face, he began to speak, at first
slowly and with laboured distinctness, but presently more rapidly,
with glowing words, and, ever and anon, gestures of great
significance.
'I have been,' said he, 'to a land where the blessings of the
Reformation do not exist, and I will tell you what sort of thing is
going on there. Bigotry, intolerant bigotry, holds the kingdom of
Spain in adamantine fetters. There, where the healing breath of the
Reformation, with its God-sent tolerance has not come, cruelty, death
and desolation are stalking through the land, leaving behind them a
track of blood and tears, broken hearts and mourners weeping for
their dear ones, whose innocent lives have been plucked from them by
the cruel and relentless hands of torture----' He broke down for a
moment or two, covering his face with his hands, and shuddering
violently as if at some awful recollection, and a whisper went round
among the more intelligent of the audience to the effect that he was
speaking about the Inquisition, which was rampant in Spain, and of
which traders and diplomatists had brought home many rumours.
'Yes, it is the Inquisition of which I am speaking,' Sir Hubert
continued, 'and God grant that it may never come to this country of
ours! I will tell you what it is. In brief, it is a court, or
tribunal, established in a Roman Catholic country for the examination
and punishment of heretics--heretics meaning persons holding or
teaching opinions repugnant or opposite to the Roman Catholic faith.
The way in which it is actually worked is like this: Many thousands
of people, called familiars, are employed as spies and informers, to
find out and inform the Holy Inquisition, as it is named, if they
know any one, living or dead, present or absent, who has wandered
from the faith, or who observes, or has once observed, the Jewish
laws or even spoken favourably of them, or any one who follows, or
has followed, the teaching of Martin Luther, or any one who has
formed an alliance with the devil, or who possesses a heretical book,
aye, even the Bible in the Spanish language, or, finally, any one who
has harboured, received, or favoured heretics. It is a wide field,
you see, my friends, as wide as the views of the Inquisitors are
narrow, and the thousands--some of high rank--who are acting as spies
do so on account of the privileges connected with the office.'
He paused a moment or two, and then went on to draw a graphic picture
of an honest man pursuing his daily avocation, and then, on his way
home to his wife and family, being seized by the officers of the
Inquisition and carried away, there and then, and from that moment
being entirely cut off from the world.
The prison into which the unhappy man would be thrust he described
vividly, as one who had seen it. 'In the upper cells of these
prisons of the Inquisition,' he said, 'a dim ray of light falls
through a grate, the lower cells are smaller and darker. Each
dungeon has two doors, the inner one, bound with iron, having a grate
through which food is introduced for the wretched prisoner. A
prisoner of the Inquisition is allowed no visits from relatives nor
friends, and is not permitted to have books, but is compelled to sit
motionless and silent. Unless for the purpose of obtaining evidence,
only one prisoner is placed in each cell.
'At his trial there is no hope for the prisoner of the Inquisition.
If he says he is innocent, he is threatened with torture, indeed he
is often subjected to torture in order to extort a confession. Those
who escape death by repentance and confession are obliged to swear
they will submit to all the pains and penalties the court orders.'
Then Sir Hubert described some of these fearful punishments, and
they, he said, were not the worst, but they were sufficiently
dreadful to make the audience groan and cry 'Shame! Shame!' whilst,
as for me, I felt as if I should faint.
Sir Hubert next went on to describe what the Spanish call the Holy
Auto-da-fé, which takes place on a Sunday, between Trinity Sunday and
Advent.
'When sentence of death is pronounced on a man,' said he, 'the
Auto-da-fé is ordered, and at daybreak the big bell of the cathedral
is tolled, and people come in crowds to see the fearful procession.
'The Dominicans walk first, with the banner of the Inquisition. Then
come the penitents, who are to be punished in various ways, and after
them, a cross is borne, following which walk the condemned men. The
effigies of those who have fled, and the bones of the dead who,
having been condemned after death, are not allowed to rest in their
graves, but are brought in black coffins, are carried next. Then
more monks and priests follow, and the dreadful procession passes on
through the streets of the city to the church, where a sermon is
preached and the sentences are pronounced. And then follow other
dreadful ordeals, which end in death by being strangled or burned
alive.
'My friends'--Sir Hubert glanced at me for the first time since he
began to speak--'I am cutting short the awful details, for I see that
some of you have not strength to endure the hearing of them. If it
is so, what must it be to live in a land where such doings are
customary, and where the condemned may be our own familiar friends or
loving relations? My friends, this is a danger which is menacing
England.' He paused.
'Menacing England!' The cry was caught up by many voices. 'England!
How can that be? England is now a Protestant country.'
'This island of ours--this happy England,' said Sir Hubert earnestly,
'if one of the firmest lands in the Continent of Europe to resist
papistry and the Inquisition, is in danger of yielding to that which
will bring in both, with all their attendant evils and all their
gruesome horrors.'
'But how?' cried the people. 'How can that be? The Reformed Church
is now our Church. King Edward VI., our dear young king, is for the
reformed faith.'
'Yes. Yes. So he is. But my friends'--Sir Hubert lowered his voice
as one who spoke of secret matters--'you must know this: Edward, our
king, is very ill, far gone in consumption, and even now dying.'
'Dying!' cried the people with deep groans. 'Dying? Edward, our
king, dying? Oh, say not so! say not so!' they wailed.
'It is a fact. I come from Hampton Palace, where, the other day, I
had an interview with him in his bedroom. "I am very young to die,"
he said, and he looked so sad I could have wept for him, but, the
doctors having said I was to keep a cheerful countenance, I
restrained myself. However, he is dying, I saw it plainly. Edward
VI is dying.'
'Edward is dying,' echoed the audience, and then such lamentable
sighs, groans and sounds of weeping ensued as touched me strangely,
whilst Lady Caroline sobbed upon my shoulder.'
'And after he has gone,' Sir Hubert asked in grievous tones, 'what
will become of England, if his Roman Catholic sister, Princess Mary,
succeeds to the throne?'
In an instant the sound of weeping ceased, and an angry murmur passed
like a wave through the dense crowd.
'A Papist! To rule over us? Never! Never!' cried a voice, which
recalled to my mind all at once the smell of newly cut grass and the
aspect of an old covered shed and a big roughly made cart within it,
whilst again, I trembled, yet breathed more feebly because of the
kindness of the tones.
Jack Fish it was indeed, and he continued to ejaculate--
'A Roman Catholic Queen! God forbid we should come to such straits
as that! A Papist!' and such like, until the people caught it up and
cried with one voice, 'A Papist? To rule over us? Never! Never!
Never!'
'What do you mean?' asked Sir Hubert. 'Is this only sentiment? Or
does your heart go with your cry? Answer me. Yes or no.'
'Yes! Yes! Yes!' shouted all, or almost all.
'It is well,' said Sir Hubert. 'It is well for you, people of
England, that you feel like this. With Mary for its queen this
country would be plunged back into Roman Catholicism. Perchance Mary
would wed the King of Spain----'
He was interrupted by angry and excited cries.
'We will not have Mary to reign over us!' shouted loud voices. 'We
will not! We will not!'
When they were a little calmer Sir Hubert said--
'I rejoice that your voices ring true and that your hearts are in the
right place, while your intellects recognize the enormity of the
affliction into which this country would be plunged if a woman
steeped in Papistry and so benighted, so bigoted that Edward, our
king, tried in vain to win her to the true Faith, were to ascend the
throne. Let me tell you that there are good and great statesmen
round our king who will do all in their power to secure the
succession to a true Protestant who, like yourselves, abhors Papistry
and all its attendant evils.' After saying that, being thoroughly
exhausted, he sat down.
And the people cried with one voice, 'A Protestant, and none but a
Protestant, shall rule over us!'
Jack Fish and other countrymen then made short emphatic speeches,
which so stirred the audience that they began to grow overpoweringly
noisy, whereupon my men and Lady Caroline's made a way through the
people for us, and we retired into the castle, leaving the gentlemen
to close the meeting in the best way they could.
I did not see them return to the castle that night, for Lady Caroline
would have me go to bed at once, declaring that I looked thoroughly
worn out. I therefore went to my room, and suffered Betsy to take
off my fine clothes and replace them by a warm gown, after which I
sent her away, and sat by the lancet-shaped window looking out into
the night, listening to the distant shoutings of the people and
watching their lanterns and torches presently leaving the courtyard
and glimmering away into the darkness beyond. They were going to
their homes, carrying with them big thoughts, pregnant with meaning,
given to them chiefly by Sir Hubert Blair; and soon I, too, should be
gone to a very different sphere, near London, taking with me also new
ideas imparted by him and Lady Caroline, and what would be the end of
it all?
I could not tell. But it seemed to me that I had left my childhood
behind me in my father's house, with Hal and Jack, and was entering
into the new untried life of a woman, in times which bid fair to be
troubled and tempestuous, and I felt afraid.
But just then, from the garden below my window, proceeded the sound
of a sweet-toned lute, played so exquisitely that I could have wept
for joy.
I leaned out of a window and looked down upon the player, and he
looked up to me, the while he played even more beautifully than
before. And I felt soothed and comforted, for, whatever had happened
and was going to happen, there was Sir Hubert Blair, and he was my
friend and I his, and I prayed in my heart for him--for him and for
myself--that God would bless us, and bless our friendship, so that
nothing but good might come of it. When he had gone away, which he
did in a few minutes after playing for me that lovely strain, I went
to bed; and the feeling of happiness which that music had brought to
me was such that I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow,
and knew no more till it was time to rise the next morning.