never been taught to restrain his passions; his past life, though
outwardly decent, had not been remarkable for constancy; his love of
pleasure, and his frequent opportunities of meeting the beautiful Anne
at court, exposed him to perpetual temptation; and he at length declared
himself, with the confidence of a monarch who felt that he had only to
make known his predilection, to be accepted as a lover. But in this he
was mistaken; for, although compelled to listen to his solicitations,
the lady fell upon her knees and made the following answer: "I deem,
most noble king, that your majesty speaks these words in mirth to prove
me; if not, I beseech your highness earnestly to take this answer in
good part, and I speak it from the bottom of my soul. Believe me, I
would rather lose my life than give encouragement to your addresses."
Henry, however, in the common jargon of the libertine, declared that he
would live in hope; when his perseverance in insult drew forth this
spirited reply: "I understand not, mighty king, how you should entertain
any such hope. Your wife I cannot be, both in respect of my own
unworthiness, and also because you have a queen already. Your mistress,
be assured, I will never be."
[The subsequent history of this unfortunate lady, her marriage with
Henry after the divorce of Catharine, the false charges brought against
her, her unhappy death under the axe, the reader will remember, along
with the legend yet preserved in Epping Forest.] On the morning of the
day which was to be her last, Henry went to hunt in that district, and
as he breakfasted surrounded by his train and his hounds under a
spreading oak which is yet shown, he listened from time to time with a
look of intense anxiety; at length the sound of a distant gun boomed
through the wood. It was a preconcerted signal, and marked the moment
when the execution was completed. "Ah ha, it is done!" said he, starting
up; "the business is done; uncouple the dogs, and let us follow the
sport." On the succeeding morning he was married to Jane Seymour.
MARGARET ROPER.
[DIED 1544.]
BALLARD.
The learned, ingenious, and virtuous daughter of the famous Sir Thomas
More, who intended his daughters to be such invaluable wives as he has
described: "May you meet with a wife who is not always stupidly silent,
nor always prattling nonsense; may she be learned, if possible, or at
least capable of being made so. A woman thus accomplished will be always
drawing sentences and maxims of virtue out of the best maxims of
antiquity. She will be herself in all changes of fortune, neither blown
up in prosperity, nor broken with adversity. You will find in her an
ever-cheerful, good-humoured friend, and an agreeable companion for
life. She will infuse knowledge into your children with their milk, and,
from their infancy, train them up to wisdom. Whatever company you may be
engaged in, you will long to be at home, and retire with delight from
the society of men into the bosom of one who is so dear, so knowing, and
so amiable. If she touches her lute, or sings to it any of her own
compositions, her voice will soothe you in your solitudes, and sound
more sweetly in your ear than that of the nightingale. You will spend
with pleasure whole days and nights in her conversation, and be ever
finding out new beauties in her discourse. She will keep your mind in
perpetual serenity, restrain its mirth from being dissolute, and prevent
its melancholy from being painful."
As Margaret had, in the early part of her life, by an unwearied
application and industry, made herself well acquainted with the learned
languages, so she seems afterwards to have been as eagerly bent on the
prosecution of the studies of philosophy, astronomy, physic, and the
Holy Scriptures, the two last of which were recommended by her father as
the employments of the remaining part of her life; so that one might
imagine from hence that the chief of her learned and most admired
compositions were wrote at that time when her thoughts were free from
all uneasiness and perplexities of temporal affairs. But soon after this
the scene was changed, when her principal delights and enjoyments seemed
to have their period in the untimely loss of her invaluable father. Upon
the oath of supremacy being tendered to Sir Thomas, and his refusal to
take it, he was sent to the Tower, to the inexpressible affliction of
Margaret [Mrs Roper], who, by her incessant entreaties, at last got
leave to pay him a visit there, where she made use of all the arguments,
reason, and eloquence she was mistress of, to have brought him to a
compliance with the oath; but all proved ineffectual, his conscience
being dearer to him than all worldly considerations whatsoever, even
that of his favourite daughter's peace and happiness. I shall add, from
Dr Knight's "Life of Erasmus," that "after sentence was passed upon Sir
Thomas, as he was going back to the Tower, she rushed through the guards
and crowds of the people, and came pressing towards him. At such a
sight, as courageous as he was, he could hardly bear up under the
surprise his passionate affection for her raised in him; for she fell
upon his neck, and held him fast in the most endearing embraces, but
could not speak one word to him; great griefs having that stupifying
quality of making the most eloquent dumb. The guards, though justly
reputed an unrelenting crew, were much moved at this sight, and were,
therefore, more willing to give Sir Thomas leave to speak to her, which
he did in these few words: 'My dear Margaret, hear with patience, nor do
not any longer grieve for me. It is the will of God, and therefore must
be submitted to.' And he then gave her a parting kiss. But after she was
withdrawn ten or a dozen feet off, she comes running to him again, and
falls upon his neck; but grief again stopped her mouth. Her father
looked wistfully upon her, but said nothing, the tears trickling down
his cheeks--a language too well understood by his distressed daughter,
though he bore all this without the least change of countenance. But
just when he was to take his final leave of her, he begged her prayers
to God for him, and took his farewell of her. The officers and soldiers,
as rocky as they were, melted at this sight; and no wonder, when even
the very beasts are under the power of natural affections, and often
show them." "Good God," adds the same elegant writer, "what a shocking
trial must this be to the poor man! How could he be attacked in a more
tender part?"
After Sir Thomas was beheaded, she took care for the burial of his body,
and afterwards bought his head, when it was to have been thrown into the
river. She likewise felt the fury of the king's displeasure upon her
father's score, being herself confined to prison; but after a short
confinement, and after they had in vain endeavoured to terrify her with
menaces she was released, and sent to her husband.
ELIZABETH LUCAS.
[BORN 1510. DIED 1537.]
BALLARD.
The daughter of Mr Paul Withypoll, was born in London in the year 1510.
She had a very polite and liberal education given her by her father;
and, having an excellent genius, she became exquisitely skilful in all
kinds of needlework; was a curious caligrapher; very knowing in
arithmetic; an adept in several sorts of music; and she was a complete
mistress in the Latin, Italian, and Spanish tongues; all which
attainments were acquired at the age of twenty-six.
I can say nothing more concerning her than what her monument-inscription
informs me, which, though a rude composition, I will here exhibit, as it
was engraved on a plate of brass in the south aisle of the parish church
of St Michael in Crooked Lane, London, being unwilling to omit anything
that may preserve the memory of so ingenious a person.
"She wrought all needle-works that women exercise
With pin, frame, or stool; all pictures artificial;
Curious knots, or trailes, what fancy could devise;
Beasts, birds, or flowers, even as things natural;
Three manner of hands could she write them fair all;
To speak of algorism or accounts in every fashion,
Of women, few like (I think) in all this nation.
"Dame Cunning her gave a gift right excellent,
The goodly practice of her science musical,
In diverse tongues to sing and play with instrument,
Both viol, and lute, and also virginall,
Not only upon one, but excellent in all;
For all other virtues belonging to nature,
God her appointed a very perfect creeture.
"Latin, and Spanish, and also Italian
She spake, writ, and read with perfect utterance;
And for the English she the garland won
In Dame Prudence' school by grace's purveyance,
Which clothed her with virtues from naked ignorance
Reading the Scriptures to judge light from dark,
Directing her faith to Christ, the only marke."
GASPARA STAMPA.
[1500.]
HALLAM.
She was a lady of the Paduan territory, living near the small river
Anaso, from which she adopted the poetical name of Anasilla. This stream
bathes the foot of certain lofty hills, from which a distinguished
family, the counts of Collalto, took their appellation. The
representative of this house, himself a poet as well as soldier--and, if
we believe his fond admirer, endowed with every virtue except
constancy--was loved by Gaspara with enthusiastic passion. Unhappily she
learned, only by sad experience, the want of generosity too common to
man; and sacrificing, not the honour, but the pride of her sex, by
submissive affection, and finally by querulous importunity, she
estranged a heart never so susceptible as her own. Her sonnets, which
seem arranged nearly in order, begin with the delirium of sanguine love.
They are extravagant effusions of admiration, mingled with joy and hope;
but soon the sense of Collalto's coldness glides in and overpowers her
bliss. After three years of expectation of seeing his promise fulfilled,
and when he had already caused alarm by his indifference, she was
compelled to endure the pangs of absence, by his entering the service of
France. This does not seem to have been of long continuance; but his
letters were infrequent, and her complaints, always vented in a sonnet,
become more fretful. He returns, and Anasilla exults with tenderness,
but still timid in the midst of her joy.
But jealousy, not groundless, soon intruded, and we find her doubly
miserable. Collalto became more harsh, avowed his indifference, forbade
her to importune him with her complaints, and in a few months espoused
another woman. It is said by the historian of Italian literature, that
the broken heart of Gaspara sunk very soon under these accumulated
sorrows into the grave; and such, no doubt, is what my readers expect,
and, at least the gentler of them, wish to find. But inexorable truth,
to whom I am the sworn vassal, compels me to say that the poems of the
lady herself contain unequivocal proofs that she avenged herself better
on Collalto by falling in love again. We find the acknowledgment of
another incipient passion, which speedily comes to maturity; and while
declaring that her present flame is much stronger than the last, she
dismisses her faithless lover with the handsome compliment, that it was
her destiny always to fix her affections on a noble object. The name of
her second choice does not appear in her poems, nor has any one
hitherto, it would seem, made the very easy discovery of his existence.
It is true that she died young, but not of love.
The style of Gaspara Stampa is clear, simple, graceful. The Italian
critics find something to censure in the versification. In purity of
taste I should incline to set her above Bernardino Rota, though she has
less vigour of imagination. Corniano has applied to her the well-known
lines of Horace upon Sappho. But the fires of guilt and shame that glow
along the strings of the AEolian lyre ill resemble the pure sorrows of
the tender Anasilla. Her passion for Collalto, ardent and undisguised,
was ever virtuous; the sense of gentle birth, though so inferior to his
as perhaps to make a proud man fear disparagement, sustained her against
dishonourable submission. But, not less in elevation of genius than in
dignity of character, she is very inferior to Vittoria Colonna, or even
to Veronica Gambara, a poetess who, without equalling Vittoria, had much
of her nobleness and purity. We pity the Gasparas. We should worship, if
we could find them the Vittorias.
ANNE ASKEW.
[BORN 1529. DIED 1546.]
HUME.
Anne Askew, a young woman of merit as well as beauty, who had great
connections with the chief ladies at court, and with the queen herself,
was accused of dogmatising on that delicate article [the presence of the
body of Christ in the sacrament]; and Henry (the Eight), in place of
showing indulgence to the weakness of her sex and age, was but the more
provoked that a woman should dare to oppose his theological sentiments.
She was prevailed upon by Bonner's menaces to make a seeming
recantation; but she qualified it with some reserves which did not
satisfy that zealous prelate. She was thrown into prison; and she,
therefore, employed herself in composing prayers and discourses, by
which she fortified her resolution to endure the utmost extremity,
rather than relinquish her religious principles. She even wrote to the
king, and told him that, as to the Lord's Supper, she believed as much
as Christ Himself had said of it, and as much of His divine doctrine as
the Catholic Church had required. But, while she could not be brought to
acknowledge an assent to the king's explications, this declaration
availed her nothing, and was rather regarded as a fresh insult.
The chancellor Wriothesley, who had succeeded Audley, and who was much
attached to the Catholic party, was sent to examine her, with regard to
her patrons at court, and the great ladies who were in correspondence
with her; but she maintained a laudable fidelity to her friends, and
would confess nothing. She was put to the torture in the most barbarous
manner, and continued still resolute in preserving secrecy. Some authors
[Fox, Speed, Baker] add a most extraordinary circumstance: That the
chancellor, who stood by, ordered the lieutenant of the Tower to stretch
the rack still further, but that officer refused compliance. The
chancellor menaced him, but met with a new refusal. Upon which, that
magistrate, who was otherwise a person of merit, but intoxicated with
religious zeal, put his own hand to the rack, and drew it so violently,
that he almost tore her body asunder. Her constancy still surpassed the
barbarity of her persecutors, and they found all their efforts to be
baffled. She was then condemned to be burned alive; and, being so
dislocated by the rack that she could not stand, she was carried to the
stake in a chair.
Together with her were conducted Nicholas Belenian, a priest; John
Lassels, of the king's household; and John Adams, a tailor, who had been
condemned for the same crime to the same punishment. They were all tied
to the stake; and, in that dreadful situation, the chancellor sent to
inform them that their pardon was ready drawn and signed, and should
instantly be given them, if they would merit it by a recantation. They
only regarded this offer as a new ornament to their crown of martyrdom;
and they saw with tranquillity the executioner kindle the flames which
consumed them. Wriothesley did not consider that this public and noted
situation interested their honour the more to maintain a steady
perseverance.
[While Anne Askew was in Newgate, she made what she called a ballad,
which began thus:--
"Like as the armed knight
Appointed to the field,
With this world will I fight.
And Faith shall be my shield."
And having recounted her bitter conflicts, and firm trust in God, the
only comfort she had in her affliction, she concludes with these
charitable and truly Christian lines--
"Yet, Lord, I Thee desire,
For that they do to me;
Let them not taste the hire
Of their iniquity."
The whole ballad is published by Bale.]
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
[BORN 1533. DIED 1603.]
HUME--MACAULAY.
There are few great persons in history who have been more exposed to the
calumny of enemies and the adulation of friends than Queen Elizabeth,
and yet there scarcely is any whose reputation has been more certainly
determined by the unanimous consent of posterity. The unusual length of
her administration, and the strong features of her character, were able
to overcome all prejudices; and, obliging her detractors to abate much
of their invectives, and her admirers somewhat of their panegyrics, have
at last, in spite of political factions, and, what is more, of religious
animosities, produced a uniform judgment in regard to her conduct.
Her vigour, her constancy, her magnanimity, her penetration, vigilance,
and address, are allowed to merit the highest praises, and appear not to
have been surpassed by any person that ever filled a throne. A conduct
less rigorous, less imperious, more sincere, more indulgent to her
people, would have been requisite to form a perfect character. By the
force of her mind she controlled all her more active and stronger
qualities, and prevented them from running into excess. Her heroism was
exempt from temerity, her frugality from avarice, her friendship from
partiality, her enterprise from turbulency and a vain ambition: she
guarded not herself with equal care or equal success from lesser
infirmities--the rivalship of beauty, the desire of admiration, the
jealousy of love, and the sallies of anger.
Her singular talents for government were founded equally on her temper
and on her capacity. Endowed with a great command over herself, she soon
obtained an uncontrolled ascendant over her people; and while she
merited all their esteem by her real virtues, she also engaged their
affection by her pretended ones. Few sovereigns of England succeeded to
the throne in more difficult circumstances, and none ever conducted the
government with such uniform success and felicity. Though unacquainted
with the practice of toleration, the true secret for managing religious
factions, she preserved her people, by her superior prudence, from those
confusions in which religious controversy had involved all the
neighbouring nations; and though her enemies were the most powerful
princes of Europe,--the most active, the most enterprising, the least
scrupulous,--she was able, by her vigour, to make deep impressions on
their states. Her own greatness remained, meanwhile, untouched and
unimpaired.
The wise ministers and brave warriors who flourished under her reign,
share the praise of her success; but instead of lessening the applause
due to her, they make a great addition to it. They owed, all of them,
their advancement to her choice; they were supported by her constancy;
and, with all their abilities, they were never able to acquire any undue
ascendant over her. In her family, in her court, in her kingdom, she
remained equally mistress: the force of the tender passions was great
over her, but the force of her mind was still superior; and the combat
which the victory visibly cost her, serves only to display the firmness
of her resolution and the loftiness of her ambitious sentiments.
The fame of this princess, though it has surmounted the prejudices both
of faction and of bigotry, yet lies still exposed to another prejudice,
which is more durable, because more natural, and which, according to the
different views in which we survey her, is capable either of exalting
beyond measure, or diminishing the lustre of her character. This
prejudice is founded on the consideration of her sex. When we
contemplate her as a woman, we are apt to be struck with the highest
admiration of her great qualities and extensive capacity; but we are
also apt to require some more softness of disposition, some greater
lenity of temper, some of those amiable weaknesses by which her sex is
distinguished. But the true method of estimating her merit is to lay
aside all these considerations, and to consider her merely as a rational
being placed in authority, and entrusted with the government of mankind.
We may find it difficult to reconcile our fancy to her as a wife or a
mistress; but her qualities as a sovereign, though with some
considerable exceptions, are the object of undisputed applause and
approbation.
(MACAULAY.)
Of all the sovereigns who exercised a power which was seemingly
absolute, but which, in fact, depended for support on the love and
confidence of their subjects, Elizabeth was by far the most illustrious.
It has often been alleged as an excuse for the misgovernment of her
successors, that they only followed her example; that precedents might
be found in the transactions of her reign for persecuting the Puritans;
for levying money without the sanction of the House of Commons, for
confining men without bringing them to trial, for interfering with the
liberty of Parliamentary debate. All this may be true. But it is no good
plea for her successors, and for this plain reason, that they were her
successors. She governed one generation--they governed another. It was
not by looking at the particular measures which Elizabeth had adopted,
but by looking at the great general principles of her government, that
those who followed her were likely to learn the art of managing
untractable subjects. If, instead of searching the records of her reign
for precedents which might seem to vindicate the mutilation of Prynne
and the imprisonment of Eliot, the Stuarts had attempted to discover the
fundamental rules which guided her conduct in all her dealings with her
people, they would have perceived that their policy was then most unlike
to hers, when, to a superficial observer, it would have seemed most to
resemble hers. Firm, haughty, sometimes unjust and cruel in her
proceedings towards individuals, or towards small parties, she avoided
with care, or retracted with speed, every measure which seemed likely to
alienate the great mass of the people. She gained more honour and more
love by the manner in which she repaired her errors than she would have
gained by never committing errors.
If such a man as Charles I. had been in her place when the whole nation
was crying out against the monopolies, he would have refused all
redress. He would have dissolved the Parliament and imprisoned the most
popular members. He would have called another Parliament. He would have
given some vague and delusive promises of relief in return for
subsidies. When entreated to fulfil his promises, he would have again
dissolved the Parliament, and again imprisoned his leading opponents.
The country would have become more agitated than before. The next House
of Commons would have been more unmanageable than that which preceded
it. The tyrant would have agreed to all that the nation demanded. He
would have solemnly ratified an act abolishing monopolies for ever. He
would have received a large supply in return for this concession, and,
within half a year, new patents, more oppressive than those which had
been cancelled, would have been issued by scores. Such was the policy
which brought the heir of a long line of kings, in early youth the
darling of his country, to a prison and a scaffold.
Elizabeth, before the House of Commons could address her, took out of
their mouths the words they were about to utter in the name of the
nation. Her promises went beyond their desires, and their performance
followed close upon her promises. She did not treat the nation as an
adverse party, as a party who had an interest opposed to hers, as a
party to which she was to grant as few advantages as possible. Her
benefits were given, not sold, and when once given, they were never
withdrawn. She gave them, too, with a frankness, an effusion of heart, a
princely dignity, a motherly tenderness, which enhanced their value.
They were received by the sturdy country gentlemen, who had come up to
Westminster full of resentment, with tears of joy, and shouts of God
save the Queen.
LADY JANE GREY.
[BORN 1537. DIED 1554.]
HUME.