"O Lord, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders! whose
way is in the sea, and whose path in the great waters, and whose
footsteps are not known! We kneel before Thee this dread morrow, to
beseech Thee on behalf of Edward Seymour, by Thy grace and providence
Duke of Somerset. For causes unknown to us, but known to Thine
unfathomable wisdom, Thou hast given leave to his enemies to triumph
over him; and in Thy wise, and good, and just allowing and ordering of
men's ways, he is as this day cast for death. We know, O Lord, that Thy
judgments are right, and that Thou in faithfulness dost afflict and
chasten man, whether for sin, or for correction and instruction in
righteousness. Therefore we would not beseech Thee to remove Thine hand
from him--as, even at the last moment, Thou wert able to do--but rather
so to order this Thy very awful providence, that he may be strengthened
for death, and enabled to put his whole trust in Thy mercy, and in the
alone merits of the bitter cross and passion of Thy Son our Lord.
Suffer him not to depart from Thy fear, nor to lose his full and entire
confidence in Thy mercy. Let not the malice of the Devil, neither the
traitorousness and perfidiousness of his own evil heart, cause him to
fall short of Thy heavenly calling. O Lord God most holy, O Lord God
most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, suffer him not, in his last
hour, for any pains of death, to fall from Thee!"
He paused a moment, and all responded--"Amen." Yet he rose not. But
while they knelt, from within the wall of the Tower enclosure came a
sudden tumult, rushings to and fro, and shouts and cries of "Jesu, save
us!" After a few minutes all was quiet.
And when all was quiet, Mr Rose went on.
"Lord, bow down Thine ear, and hear! Open, Lord, Thine eyes, and see!
Reveal unto this dying man the glory of Thy kingdom, the beauty of
Thyself, that so he may count all things but loss that he may win
Christ. Open unto him the gates of pearl, which the righteous shall
enter into--make him to shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of Thee, O
Father. Grant him to endure this his cross for Thy love, and in Thy
strength, and after to reign with Thee in glory evermore."
He made another pause--a longer one; and again all responded, "Amen."
During his silence came another roar from Tower Hill; but all was again
silent [Note 2]. The minutes passed slowly to the kneeling group. It
seemed a long time ere he spoke again.
"O Lord, shed Thy peace over the last moments of this our brother in the
Gospel of Christ--in Thy kingdom and patience. Let Thy servant depart
in peace. Suffer not Satan to harass and annoy him, nor the thought of
his own sins to grieve and shake him. Fix his mind firmly upon Thee and
on Thy Christ. O holy and merciful Saviour, suffer him not, at his last
hour, for any pains of death, to fall from Thee!"
As Mr Rose uttered the last word, the Tower guns rang out, clear and
sharp, on the frosty morning air. Few sounds ever thrilled so straight
to the Gospellers' hearts as that. None uttered another word while they
knelt. Even the Amen was silent now. They might pray no more for
Edward Duke of Somerset.
Slowly, one after another, all rose. All still, in silent mourning,
they waited till the great clock of Saint Botolph's rang out eight
times. The next minute every door in the street was opened, and men
were pouring out in a mass toward Aldgate. Then Mr Rose, with a heavy
sigh, rose and held out his hand. That action unloosed the tongues of
the party.
"Ah! God be his rest!" said Dr Thorpe, meditatively. "He did not alway
the right, but--"
"Do you?" answered Mr Rose, pointedly enough, with a quick flash in his
eyes.
"As said poor King Harry, `Kingdoms are but cares,'" said John [Note 3].
"He hath found a better now."
"He hath found a better, I am assured," answered Mr Rose, "and is now
singing the new song before the Throne. Methinks he doth not wish
himself back now."
"I marvel," suggested Dr Thorpe, half sorrowfully, yet a little
scornfully, "how he and the Queen Katherine shall get along the one with
the other in Heaven?"
"I count, old friend," answered John, "that the Lutheran Queen and the
Gospelling Duke will each be taken up too much with the mercy that hath
forgiven his sins, to have any leisure for counting up those of the
other."
"Well, they will lack something of the sort," replied the old man.
"How can there be disagreement where each seeth clear?" said Mr Rose,
"or how any disliking in the presence of the Mediator?"
Dr Thorpe made no answer, but he shook Mr Rose's offered hand warmly;
and when he was gone, he said, "That is a good man. I would I were a
better."
"Amen!" responded Avery, "for us all."
About the middle of March came Annis Holland to pay her farewell visit
to Isoult. She was a quiet, gentle-looking woman, rather short, and
inclining to embonpoint, her hair black, and her eyes dark grey. She
was to start for Spain on the 22nd of the same month, under the escort
of Don Jeronymo, a Spanish gentleman in the household of the Duchess of
Suffolk. The city to which she was bound was Tordesillas, and there
(where the Queen resided) she was to await the orders of the Marquis of
Denia, who was her Majesty's Comptroller. Annis promised to write to
her friend twice every year, while she remained abroad.
A few days after Annis's departure, there was a dinner-party at the
Lamb. The guests were Mr and Mrs Underhill, Mr and Mrs Rose, Thekla,
and Mr Holland.
Mr Underhill brought bad news. The King had fallen ill of small-pox,
and Parliament was likely to be prorogued, since he could no longer be
present at the debates. The idea that the royal presence might overawe
the members, and the consequent absence of the Sovereign from the House
excepting for state ceremonies, are no older than the Restoration. The
Plantagenet and Tudor Kings sat in their Parliaments as a matter of
course.
After dinner, Mr Holland, who was fond of children, set Kate on his
knee, and won her heart by permitting her to chatter as freely as she
pleased. Robin and Thekla crept into a quiet corner by themselves; Mrs
Underhill made Esther her especial companion; and the rest sat round the
fire.
"What think you," said Dr Thorpe to Mr Underhill, "should now hap, if
(which God of His mercy defend!) this sickness of the King were to prove
mortal?"
"How mean you?" Mr Underhill answered, "that the King should or should
not provide his successor?"
"Why," replied Dr Thorpe, "will he shut out his sisters?"
"There are that would right gladly have him to do so."
"Whom aim you at there?"
"My Lord of Northumberland and other," said he.
Dr Thorpe exploded, as was usual with him, at Northumberland's name.
"What, the Duke of Blunderhead?" cried he. "Ay, I reckon he would like
well to be John the Second. Metrusteth the day that setteth the fair
crown of England on that worthless head of his, shall see me safe in
Heaven, or it should go hard with me but I would pluck it thence!"
"I never can make out," answered Mr Underhill, laughing, "how you can be
a Lutheran, and yet such an enemy to my Lord of Northumberland, that is
commonly counted head of the Lutheran party, at the least in the sense
of public matters."
"Nay, my word on't!" exclaimed he, "but if I thought the Devil, by that
his proxy, to be head of the Lutheran party, in any sense or
signification whatsoever, I would turn Gospeller to-morrow!"
Mr Underhill roared with laughter. John said, aside to Mr Rose,--"He is
not far from it now."
"Come, you are over hard on Jack Dudley," said Mr Underhill. "He is an
old friend of mine."
"Then I wish you joy of your friends," replied Dr Thorpe, in a disgusted
tone: adding after a minute, "I yet look for your answer to my
question."
"I am no prophet," answered he, "neither a prophet's son; but it needeth
not much power of prophecy to see that a civil war, or something very
like it, should follow."
"In either case?" suggested Avery.
"In the case of the King making no appointment," he said, "very likely:
in the case of his so doing, almost certain."
"Eh, my masters!" continued Dr Thorpe very sadly, "when I was born,
seventy-one years gone, the Wars of the Roses were scantly over. I have
heard my father tell what they were. Trust me, rather than go through
such a time again, I would be on my knees to God to spare it unto us,--
ay, night and day."
"But in case no devise of the succession were made," said John, "the
Lady Mary's Grace should follow without gainsaying, I take it."
"Not without gainsaying," answered Mr Rose. "My Lord of Northumberland
knoweth full well that he could not reign under her as he hath done
under King Edward. Remember, she is no child, but a woman; ay, and a
woman taught by suffering also."
"And every Lutheran in the kingdom would gather round him," added Mr
Underhill.
"Round John Dudley?" cried Dr Thorpe. "Hang me if I would!"
"Saving your mastership," said Mr Underhill, laughing, and making him a
low bow.
"And every Papist would go with the Lady Mary," said John. "It were an
hard choice for us. How think you? Which way should the Gospellers
go?"
"Which way?" cried Mr Underhill, flaring up. "Why, the right way! With
the right heir of England, and none other!"
"I asked not you, Ned Underhill," answered John, smiling. "I know your
horse, and how hard you ride him. I wished to question Rose and
Holland."
Mr Rose did not answer immediately. Mr Holland said, "It were an hard
case; yet methinks Mr Underhill hath the right. Nothing can make right
wrong, I take it, neither wrong to be right."
"Truth: yet that is scarce the question," responded Avery. "Rather is
it, if the King made another devise of the crown, who should then be the
right heir?"
"Ah! now you are out of my depth," answered Mr Holland. "This little
maid and I understand each other better. Do we not so, Kate?"
"Well, Rose?" inquired John.
"Prithee, get Mr Underhill out of the house first," interposed Dr
Thorpe, laughing.
"Or we shall have a pitched battle. I would like nothing better!" said
Mr Underhill, rubbing his hands, and laughing in his turn.
"Brother," said Mr Rose, turning to him, "the wisdom that cometh from
above is peaceable."
"But first, pure!" answered Mr Underhill, quickly.
"There were little of the one, if it should lack the other," responded
he.
"Come, give us your thought!" cried Mr Underhill. "I will endeavour
myself to keep mine hands off you, and allgates, if I grow very warlike,
Avery and Holland can let me from blood-shedding."
"When I find myself in the difficulty, I will," replied Mr Rose, with
his quiet smile.
And no more could Mr Underhill obtain from him: but he said that he
would demand an answer if the occasion arose.
The King had no sooner recovered from the small-pox than he took the
measles; and the Parliament, seeing no hope of his speedy amendment,
broke up on the 15th of April.
Mr Rose stepped into the Lamb that evening.
"There is a point of our last week's matter, that I would like your
thought upon," said Avery to him. "Granted that the Gospellers should
make a self party, and not join them with Lutherans ne with Papists,
touching public matters, where, think you, look we for a leader?"
Mr Rose shook his head. "We have none," said he.
"Not my Lord Archbishop?"
"Assuredly not; he is by far too gentle and timid. We lack a man that
could stand firm,--not that should give up all short of God's Throne for
the sake of peace."
"Nor my Lord of London?"
"Dr Ridley is a bolder man than his superior; a fine, brave follow in
every way: yet methinks he hath in him scantly all the gear we lack; and
had we a command for him, I misdoubt greatly if he should take it. He
is a man of most keen feeling and delicate judgment."
"My Lord of Sussex?"
"Gramercy, no! Nature never cut _him_ out for a general."
"Mr Latimer, _quondam_ of Worcester?"
"As fiery as Ned Underhill," answered Mr Rose, smiling; "indeed,
somewhat too lacking in caution; but an old man, with too little
strength or endurance of body--enough of soul."
"Nay, then, I see but one more," continued Avery, "and if you say nay to
him also, I have done. What think you of my Lord's Grace of Suffolk?"
"`Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel,'" he answered. "A man weak
as any child, and as easily led astray. If he be your head, Avery, I
would say it were scarce worth to turn out for the cause. You would
have an halter round your neck in a week."
"Well," responded John, "I cannot see any other."
"I cannot see _any_," was Mr Rose's answer.
"Then we have no leader!" said Dr Thorpe, despondently.
Dr Thorpe was beginning to say "we" when he meant the Gospellers.
"We have no leader," said Mr Rose. "We had one--an Heaven-born one--the
only man to whose standard (saving a faction) all England should have
mustered, the only man whose trumpet should have reached every heart.
And but three months gone, his blood reddened the surfeited earth upon
Tower Hill. Friends, men may come to look upon that loss as upon a loss
never to be amended. Trust me, we have not seen the worst yet. If it
should be as you guess--and that may well be--there shall yet be a
bitterer wail of mourning, yet a cry of agony ringing to the Heaven, for
the lack of Edward Seymour."
"Ay, I am afeard the black clouds be not done opening themselves yet,"
sadly replied John.
"I think they have scantly done gathering," answered he. "The breaking,
the tempest, cometh on apace. But it is not yet come."
"When shall it come, think you?" said Dr Thorpe.
"Shortly," he answered. "A word in your ear: the King is more grievous
sick than men wot of. He may tide over this his malady; very like he
will. But he hath no power within him to do battle with such disorders.
His strength is worn out. He is scarce like to outlive an other."
"Nay, my master! Worn out at fourteen!" cried Dr Thorpe.
"Men reckon time by days; God by endurance," said Mr Rose, mournfully.
"And this boy hath borne, these three years, more than you or I wot of.
The sword is too sharp for the scabbard. It may be we have hardly known
how to rate his true worth; or it may be that his work is over. Either
way, it shall not be long now ere he enter into God's rest and his. Ay,
I know it is a woeful saying, yet again I say it: King Edward is worn
out at fourteen. We may not seek to keep him; but this I am assured--
the angel's call to him shall be the signal for a fearful contest in the
realm he leaveth. God defend the right! and God strengthen and comfort
us, for I warn you we shall need it."
"Alack! when shall all this end?" sighed Isoult.
"When Christ cometh again," answered Mr Rose.
"No sooner?" she cried.
"No sooner," said he. "There may be gleams of light before then; but
there can be no full day ere the Sun arise. There may be long times of
ease and exemption from persecution; but there can be no stable
settlement, no lasting peace, till He appear who is our peace. He that
is born after the flesh must persecute him that is born after the
Spirit. `If ye were of the world, the world would love his own.' It is
because we are not of the world that the world hateth us. Sister, let
us comfort ourselves and one another with these words. Christ will not
fail us; see we that we fail not Him. We may yet be called to go with
Him, both into prison and to death. It may be that `the Lord hath need
of us' after this manner. If it be so, let us march bravely in His
martyr train. We must never allow His banner to fall unto the dust, nor
tremble to give our worthless lives for Him that bought us with His own.
If we can keep our eyes steady on the glory that shall follow, the
black river will be easier to cross, the chariot of fire less hard to
mount. And remember, He can carry us over in His arms, that the cold
waters touch not so much as our feet."
When Mr Rose was gone, John said, his voice a little broken,--"Will _he_
be a martyr?"
"God avert it!" cried Isoult.
"Child!" said Dr Thorpe, solemnly, "'tis of such stuff as his that
martyrs be made."
But the King's work was not yet quite finished. He recovered from his
double illness.
The Londoners were terrified in the beginning of June by what they
regarded as a fearful sign from Heaven--a shower of what is commonly
known as "red rain." In their eyes it was blood, and a presage of
dreadful slaughter. The slaughter followed, whatever the shower might
mean. The last year of rest was at hand.
"What say you to my Lord of Northampton?" suddenly inquired John Avery
of Mr Rose, one morning when they met in the Strand.
It was an odd and abrupt beginning of conversation: but Mr Rose
understood its meaning only too well. The thoughts of the Gospellers
were running chiefly now on the dark future, and their own disorganised
condition.
"What had Nehemiah said in the like accident to Sanballat?" was his
suggestive answer.
The Papists, who were not disorganised, and had no reason to fear the
future, were busy catching dolphins,--another portent--which made their
appearance at London Bridge in August.
The new service-book, as its contemporaries called it--the second Prayer
Book of Edward the Sixth, as we call it--was used for the first time in
Saint Paul's Cathedral, on All Saints' Day, November 1, 1552. Bishop
Ridley's voice was the first that read it, and he took the whole duty
himself; and preached in the choir, habited only in his rochet. In the
afternoon he preached at the Cross,--what was _then_ called a long
sermon--about three hours. My Lord Mayor, who ought to have been
present, was conspicuous by his absence. When remonstrated with, that
dignitary observed that "Bishop Ridley's sermons were alway so long,
that he would be at no more, for he was aweary of so long standing."
Wherein my Lord Mayor anticipated the nineteenth century, though it sits
out the sermon on cushions, and rarely is called upon to lend its ears
for one-third of the time which he was expected to do. Dr Thorpe was
not far wrong in the conclusion at which he arrived:--that "my Lord
Mayor's heart passed his legs for stiffness."
The early winter of 1552 brought the first letter from Annis Holland.
"To the hands of my right worthy Mistress and most singular dear friend,
Mistress Avery, dwelling at the sign of the Lamb in the Minories,
without Aldgate, by London, give these.
"My right dearly beloved Isoult,--After my most loving commendations
remembered, this shall be to advertise thee of my safe landing in the
city of Santander, in Spain, and my coming unto the Queen's Highness'
Court at Tordesillas. So much as to set down the names of all the towns
I have passed, betwixt the two, will I not essay. It hath been a
wearyful journey and a long, yet should have been a pleasant one, but
for the lack of victual. The strangest land ever I did see, or think to
see, is this. The poor men hereaway dwell in good houses, and lack
meat: the rich dwell in yet fairer, and eat very trumpery. I saw not in
all my life in England so much olive oil as in one week sithence I came
into Spain. What I am for to live upon here I do marvel. Cheese they
have, and onions by the cartload; but they eat not but little meat, and
that all strings (a tender piece thereof have I not yet seen); and for
ale they drink red wine. Such messes as they do make in their cooking
like me very ill, but I trow I shall be seasoned thereto in due time.
"The first night we came to this city, which is sixteen days gone.
Master Jeronymo (that hath showed me much courtesy, and had a very great
care of me) brought me into the house of a gentleman his kinsman, whose
name is Don Diego de Mendoza [fictitious person], (which is to say,
Master James Mendoza). This Don Diego is a rare courtier, all bows,
smiles, and courtesies; and Madam Isabel his wife [fictitious person]
cometh not far behind. And (which I cannot away with), she is not
called Dona Isabel de Mendoza, after the name of her husband but
cleaveth to her own, as though she were yet a maid, and is called of all
men Dona Isabel de Alameda. Methought this marvellous strange; but this
(Master Jeronymo telleth me) is the custom of his country, and our
fashion of names is to the full as strange to them. So when we came
into the house (which is builded with pillars around the court, and a
fountain in the midst, right fair to see) Master Jeronymo leadeth me
forward, and courtesieth well-nigh down to the ground. Quoth he to Don
Diego,--`Senor and my cousin, I beseech the high favour of kissing your
hand.' And to Dona Isabel,--`Senora and my cousin, I entreat you to
bestow upon me the soles of your feet.' [Note 5.] Verily, I marvelled
at such words; but Dona Isabel in return louteth down to the earth,
with--`Senor, I am your entirely undeserving scullion. I beg of you the
unspeakable honour to present me to the serenity of the most highly-born
lady beside you.' Marry (thought I) how shall I ever dwell in a land
where they talk thus! But I was not yet at the end of mine amaze.
Master Jeronymo answers,--`Senora, this English damsel, which hath the
great happiness to kiss your feet, is the most excellent Senora Dona
Ines [Note 6] de Olanda (marry, I never thought to see my name cut up
after such a fashion!) that shall have the weight of honour to be writer
of the English tongue unto our most serene Lady the Queen Dona Juana.'
Then Madam Isabel louteth down again to the floor, saying,--`Senora, I
have the delightsomeness to be your most humble and lowly serving-maid.
This your house is wholly at your disposal'--`Master Jeronymo (quoth I
in English), I pray you tell me what I must say?'--`Say (answereth he)
that you are the Senora's highly favoured slave, and are not worthy to
stand at the threshold of her door.'
"Eh, Isoult, dear heart, what a land is this!
"Master Jeronymo said unto me afterward that this his cousin would be
very good unto me in her meaning; for the Spaniards say not that of
their house being yours, without they mean much grace and kindness unto
you.
"Well, after this, Madam Isabel took me away with her into an other
chamber, where she gave me a cup of red wine and some cakes, that were
not ill to take. And in this chamber were great cushions spread all
about the floor, like unto the mattress of a bed; the cushions of velvet
and verder [a species of tapestry], and the floor of marble. Upon these
she desired me to repose me for a season; and (saith she) `At seven of
the clock, mine excellent cousin Don Jeronymo and my lord Don Diego, and
I your servant, shall take you up to the Castle, into the most ineffable
presence of the most glorious Lord Marquis of Denia.' O rare! (thought
I.) If the Queen's Comptroller be so glorious and of so ineffable a
presence, what shall his mistress be? So when even came (my Senora
Madam Isabel having meantime reposed and slumbered on the cushions), I
shifted me into my best and richest apparel for to enter this ineffable
presence, and went up unto the Castle, Don Diego leading me by the hand,
and Madam Isabel coming after with Master Jeronymo. This was but across
the court; for no sooner had I reached the door, than what should I see
but two mules, richly-caparisoned, there standing. I was somewhat
surprised, for the Castle is but a stone's throw from the house; but
Master Jeronymo, seeing my look, whispereth unto me that in Spain,
ladies of any sort [ladies of rank] do ride when they go of a journey,
be it but ten yards. Methought it scarce worth the trouble to mount the
mule for to 'light off him again so soon: howbeit, I did as I was bid.
Madam Isabel suffered her lord to lift her upon the other; and away hied
we for the Castle, our cavaliers a-walking behind. When we 'light, and
the portcullis was drawn up, Master Jeronymo prayeth the porter to send
word unto the ineffable Lord Comptroller that the English damsel sent
hither by the most noble Lady, Dona Catalina (so they call my Lady of
Suffolk's Grace) doth entreat for leave to kiss the dust under his feet.
This is their country mode; but I do ensure thee I had been little
gladded for leave to kiss the dust; and it doth yet tickle mine ears
whensoever I hear it. So up the stairs went we, through a fair court
bordered with orange-trees, into a brave chamber hung about with silk,
and all over the floor a carpet of verder spread. Here we awaited a
season; at the end whereof come in three or four gentlemen in brave
array, before the foremost whereof all we bowed down to the ground.
This was mine ineffable Lord Marquis. A tall, personable gentleman he
is, something stiff and stately.
"`Senora,' saith he, inclining him unto us, `you are welcome as the
light!'
"And raising him up, he called in a loud voice for the Senora Gomez.
Come forth from the chamber beyond, a middle-aged dame, apparelled in
black.
"`Take this lady to her chamber,' saith he. `Dona Ines is her name.
And remember what I told you!'
"So I took my leave of Master Jeronymo, and of Don Diego and Dona
Isabel, with many protestations and loutings; and again making low
reverence unto my Lord Marquis, away hied I with Madam Gomez. She led
me on by so many lobbies, one after the other, that methought we should
never make an end and come to a chamber; but once, when I would have
spoken, she checked me with a finger on the lip. At last she turned
into a fair large chamber, well hung and garnished. She shut to the
door, and then her lips unclosed.
"`Here, Senora, is your chamber,' saith she. `Two small alcoves for
sleeping be on the right, for yourself and your bower-woman; you have
been looked for of long time, and she awaiteth you. I will send her to
you when I depart.'
"`I thank you,' quoth I. `May I pray you of her name?'
"`Her name,' she answered, `is Maria Porcina' (the which should in
English be Mary Little-pig. Methought it an unfair name). `It will
please you,' she went on, `to speak but lowly, seeing your chamber is
nigh unto those of our Lady.'
"I thought that should please me but little. `Senora,' quoth I, `shall
I have the honour to see the Queen's Grace at supper, think you?'
"The Senora Gomez looked at me; then she went to the door and drew the
bolt, and let back the curtain that was over the door. This done, she
came back and sat in the window.
"`Senora,' she saith, in a voice little above a whisper, `to the world
outside we do not tell secrets. But unto a damsel so wise and discreet
as your serenity, I will not fear to speak freely.' (Much, methought,
she knew of my discretion!) `You desire to know if you shall see our
Lady this even. No; you will never see her.'
"`But,' said I, `I am come hither to read and write English for her
Highness.'
"`You are come to read and write for the Lord Marquis,' she answered;
`not for her.'
"`Certes,' said I, `that was not told me.'
"`It is never told to any,' she replied.
"`But what is the secret, I pray your excellency?' I asked. `Is the
Queen's Highness sick, that she is never seen?'
"`She is mad,' answered she.
"`God have mercy on her!' cried I.
"`_Y la Santisima_!' (And the most holy Virgin!) saith she. `That is
what is said to the world. Be you ware, Dona Ines, that you gainsay it
not.'
"`Mean you that it is not true?' cried I.
"`I mean,' quoth she, `that my Lord Marquis of Denia is master here, and
is an ill one to offend. Say as he saith--that is our rule.'
"`Then,' said I, `there is somewhat behind, which men may not know.'
"`Behind!' she saith, with a low crafty laugh that it liked me not to
hear. `Ay, there is Don Carlos the Emperor, son of our Lady, behind the
Lord Marquis. Have a care what you do and say. _Con el Rey y la
Inquisicion, chiton_! (which is a Spanish saw [proverb], meaning, Be
silent touching the King and the Inquisition.) And if you speak
unadvisedly of the one, you may find you within the walls of the other.
I speak in kindness, Senora, and of what I know. This palace is not all
bowers and gardens. There be dungeons beneath those bowers, deep and
dark. Santa Maria defend us! You tread on mines--hold your peace!'
"`I thank you, Senora, for your warning,' answered I. `Go with God!'
"`And rest with Him!' she answered. [`Vaya (_or_ quede) usted con
Dios.'] (In this fashion do the Spaniards take their leave.) Then she
left me.
"Isoult, dear heart, I am well assured herefrom that this is an evil
place, and my Lord of Denia an ill man. But there is yet more to tell
thee.
"When I went down to supper, I there found my Lord and Lady of Denia;
Fray Juan de Avila, confessor to her Highness; and her Grace's
bower-women, whose names be Dona Ximena de Lara [fictitious], a young
damsel (I hear), of very high degree, that is stately and silent; Dona
Catalina de la Moraleja [fictitious], a middle-aged dame, grave and
sedate; Dona Leonor Gomez, of whom I have spoken; and Dona Rosada de Las
Penas [fictitious], a young maid of gentle and kindly look. And if thou
wouldst have their names in English--Ximena, I cannot interpret therein,
for it is a name particular unto these parts; but the others should be
Katherine [Note 7] and Eleanor, and Rose. Dona Leonor Gomez, I do find,
will be saddest of any when my Lord's or the confessor's eyes be upon
her, but will talk away like very water let out when she hath one alone.
"It was some days ere I was called to any work. The Tuesday thereafter,
my Lord Marquis sent for me, to read a letter come to him from England.
'Twas but filled with compliments and fair words--scarce worth the
sending, methought. Very grave is this Lord Marquis, yet extreme
courteous withal. As I stood a-reading come in Fray Juan.
"`How fareth her Highness?' asks my Lord.
"`She requires you,' answered the Friar.
"`I go,' his Lordship made answer. `Is it the _premia_?'
"The Friar shrugged up his shoulders, but said nought; and my Lord, so
soon as I had made an end of reading, sent me away quickly [Note 8].
Now I marvelled much what they meant, seeing that _premia_ signifieth a
reward or kindness done unto one; and wherefore that should be I knew
not. When I was in my chamber, I asked Maria what _premia_ meant.
(This is a good, kindly, simple lass I have.) `Senora,' said she, `it
signifieth a reward.' And she plainly knew of no other signification.
"But in the night, I was waked from my sleep by the dreadfullest sound
ever I heard. Surely I was deceived, but it did seem to me like shrieks
of some poor wretch in mortal pain. Maria awaked also, and sitting up
in her bed, she cries under her breath, `All the saints preserve us!'
"`What can it be?' said I.
"`Senora,' quoth she, `may it please your serenity, I know not. I have
heard it once afore, some time gone, but none would tell me the cause
thereof. Methinks the Castle is haunted by goblins.'
"And she fell to crossing her and saying Ave Marys by the score.
"The screaming ceased not for some time, and then by degrees; but I
slept not again.
"The morrow after came Dona Leonor into my chamber; and after some talk
on things indifferent, she saith, `Did aught disturb you this night?'
"`Dona Leonor, what was it?' said I.
"`What heard you, Dona Ines?' quoth she.
"`Why,' said I, `horrible screaming, like unto the shrieks of a soul in
Purgatory.'
"`We hear them sometimes,' she answered.
"`But what is it?' I repeated.
"`Dona Ines,' said she, `there are things not to be spoken about. But
do not you fancy that the Castle is haunted by goblins.'
"And not an other word might I have from her. But I am assured there is
some terrible matter afoot in this Palace; and I would I were safe
thereout.
"I must close my letter somewhat shortly, for Dona Isabel de Alameda,
that promised me to send it with one of hers that goeth to Cales
[Cadiz], hath sent her brother's son, Don Juan de Alameda [fictitious],
to request the same, and I must not keep him awaiting. Be not thou
disturbed, dear heart; God is as near to Tordesillas as to London, and
He is stronger than all evil men and devils. Unto His keeping I commend
thee. From Tordesillas, this Monday.
"Thine own to her little power, Annis Holland.
"I pray thee, make my commendations unto Mr Avery and all thine."
When Christmas Day came, the Averys did what half London was doing: they
walked down to Westminster, to the great pulpit set up in the King's
garden. Into the pulpit came a rather tall, spare old man, with a
wrinkled face, a large Roman nose, shaggy eyebrows, and radiant, shining
eyes. And before the sermon was over, the eyes had kindled with a live
coal from the altar of the Lord, and the firm voice was ringing clearly
to every corner of that vast gathering. The preacher was Hugh Latimer.
He was about to leave London the next morning for Grimsthorpe, where he
had undertaken, at the request of the Duchess of Suffolk, to deliver to
her and her household a series of lectures on the Lord's Prayer. After
the sermon, those quick bright eyes speedily found out Edward Underhill,
and the old man came down from the pulpit and shook hands with him.
Then he turned to Isoult Avery, who stood near. He remembered meeting
her at Ampthill and Guildford, some ten years before; and he blessed
her, and asked what family she had; and when she told him, "Three," he
said, "God bless them, and make them His childre." Then he laid his
hand upon little Kate's head and blessed her; and then away, walking
with a quick firm step, like a man whose work was but half done; with
Augustine Bernher behind him, carrying the old man's Bible.
This year Saint Nicholas "went not about." The ceremony had previously
taken place on his eve, December 5, when the priests carried his image
round from house to house, and gave small presents to the children as
from the saint. The modern American custom of "Santa Claus" is a relic
of the old procession of Saint Nicholas; though the Dutch form of the
name shows it to have been derived not from the English, but the Dutch,
settlers. Kate's Protestantism was not yet sufficiently intelligent to
prevent her from regretting Saint Nicholas; but Dr Thorpe coaxed Esther
to make a handful of sugar-plums, whereon he regaled his disappointed
pet.
The close of the year brought treats for both parents and children. At
Saint Paul's, Bishop Ridley preached for five evenings together; and at
Cheapside, with the new year, came the Lord of Misrule--again George
Ferris--making his proclamations, and dining in state with the Lord
Mayor. And at Shene, my Lord of Northumberland founded the first
hot-house, and presented a nosegay of living flowers to the King on New
Year's Day.
So, in flowers and laughter, came in the awful year 1553--most awful
year of all the century.
One morning in January, as Isoult stood waiting for John, to go with him
to Latimer's sermon, who should walk in but Philippa Basset, whose stay
in Cheshire had been much longer than she anticipated. She brought many
a scrap of Northern news, and Lady Bridget's loving commendations to
Isoult. And "Whither away?" asked she.
"Truly," said Isoult, "to the King's Garden, to hear Mr Latimer preach."
"Marry," said she, "I did never yet hear that mighty Gospeller. Have [I
will go] with you, an' you will take me."
"With a very good will," said Isoult.
So she went with them, and listened to Latimer's sermon, wherein there
were some things which Isoult felt would vex her; for the subject was
praying to saints, and he said, "Invocation declareth an omnipotency."
But not a word could Isoult get from her when they came home (for she
stayed and dined with them), which showed how she liked it. Only she
would say, "The man speaketh well; he hath good choice of words," and
similar phrases; but on all points concerning his doctrine she kept
silence.
As Isoult sat at her sewing the next morning, with Walter at his
hornbook, and Kate at her arithmetic beside her, a rap on the door
brought Ursula to open it. Isoult fancied she knew the voice which
asked "if Mistress Avery there dwelt," but she could not think all at
once whose it was; yet the minute she came into the chamber, she well
knew her old friend and colleague, Beatrice Vivian.
Beatrice was fair and rosy, and looked well and happy, as she said she
was. So when the ladies had sat and talked a little, and Beatrice had
kissed the children, and told Isoult that she had two, whose names were
Muriel and Alice, and that Mr Vivian was well, and other details: she
said--
"Isoult, I have news for thee, which by thy leave I will have thee to
guess."
"Is it good or bad?" said Isoult.
"Why, good, I hope," said Beatrice. "'Tis a wedding, and both bride and
bridegroom we know."
"Dear heart," sighed Isoult, "I am an ill guesser, as thou wist of old.
Is it Mr Dynham?" [Fictitious person.]
"What, my brother Leonard?" said she. "Nay, sweet heart; he hath been
wed these six years."
"Is it over, or to come?"
"Over, this New Year, or should be," answered Beatrice. "Dost thou lack
help? what thinkest of my Lady of Suffolk her own self?" [The date is
fictitious. It was probably about Christmas, 1552.]
"Beatrice, dear heart!" cried Isoult. "Thou meanest not that?"
"Ay, but I do," said she, laughing. "And now, whom hath her Grace
wedded?"
"I would guess," said Isoult, "some gentleman of great riches and very
high degree."
"Well, as to riches," she answered, "I fancy he hath hitherto earned
every penny he hath spent; and in respect of degree, hath been used to
the holding of his mistress' stirrup. Canst thou guess now?"
"Mr Bertie!" cried Isoult, in amazement. "Surely no!"
"Surely so," answered Beatrice, again laughing. "Her Grace of Suffolk
and Mr Bertie be now man and wife. And for my poor opinion, methinks
she hath chosen well for her own comfort."
"I am rarely glad to hear it," Isoult answered; "so think I likewise."
But for all that, she was exceedingly surprised.
There was some murmuring in May. The Duke of Northumberland, in the
King's name, had ordered all the churches to furnish an account of their
goods; and on the first day of that month, the treasuries were robbed of
all the plate, money, jewels, and vestments, which were confiscated to
the King's use; and the very bells of the churches shared their fate.
Dr Thorpe had been growling over the matter in April, when it was but a
project; averring that "when he had caught a man's hand in his own
pocket, it little amazed him afterward to see it in his neighbour's:"
but now, when the project reached open burglary, his anger found vent in
hotter words.
"Lo' you now! this cut-purse hath got his hand into an other man's
pocket, even as I said. _Will_ no man put this companion into the
Tower? Can none clap him therein under any manner of warrant?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. A gesture well understood at that time, when plain speech was
often perilous--the half-clasped hands resting upon the head in the form
of a crown. By this gesture, fifty years later, when past speech, Queen
Elizabeth answered the question of Robert Cecil concerning her
successor. She meant, and he understood her to mean--"Let it be a
King."
Note 2. The cause of the first tumult was a sudden panic, occasioned by
the running of some of the guards who arrived late; the second was due
to the appearance of Sir Anthony Browne, whom the people fancied had
been sent with a reprieve.
Note 3.
"Kingdoms are but cares,
State is devoid of stay,
Riches are ready snares,
And hasten to decay."
_King Henry the Sixth_.
Note 4. Don and Dona are prefixes restricted to the Christian name. An
Englishman using Don with the surname (an error to which our countrymen
are strangely prone) commits the very same blunder for which he laughs
at the Frenchman who says "Sir Peel."
Note 5. A common Spanish greeting, the absurdity of which makes us
sympathise with Lope de Vega's Diana, in her matter-of-fact
reply,--"Estan a los pies asidas" (They are fixed to my feet).
Note 6. Inez, the form more familiar to English readers, is the
Portuguese spelling.
Note 7. Katherine is not really a translation of Catalina, but they
were considered interchangeable at this time.
Note 8. Denia was at one time anxious to get rid of De Avila, because
he was too gentle and lenient!