"O yet, in scorn of mean relief,
Let Sorrow bear her heavenly fruit!
Better the wildest hour of grief
Than the low pastime of the brute!
Better to weep, for He wept too,
Than laugh as every fool can do."
Hon. Robert Lytton.
"Heard you the news, friends?" asked Mr Holland, coming into the Lamb,
on the evening of the 14th of August.
"News!" cried Dr Thorpe. "I am aweary of the news. There is news every
day. My Lord A. to the Tower, and my Lord B. delivered thence; and my
Lord C. to the Marshalsea; and my Lord D. to the Fleet; and my Lord E.,
that yesterday carried the sword afore the Queen, to-day hath his head
struck off; and my Lord F., that was condemned to die yestereven, shall
bear the Queen's sword this morrow. Pshaw! I am tired of it. 'Tis a
game of tables [backgammon], with players that have no skill, and care
for nought saving to rattle the dice."
Mr Holland laughed a moment, but immediately grew grave.
"But heard you my news?" said he. "Do you know Father Rose is
deprived?"
All cried out together. They had looked for this indeed, but not now.
Six months thence, when the Protestant Bishops were all sequestered, and
the Prebendaries in the Marshalsea, Bishop Gardiner might stoop to
lesser game; but that one of the very first blows should be struck at Mr
Rose, this they had not expected. It showed how formidable an enemy he
was considered.
"Deprived!" cried all the voices together.
"Ay, 'tis too true," said Mr Holland. "As a preacher, we shall hear his
voice no more."
"The lambs are like to fare ill," growled Dr Thorpe, "when all the great
wolves be let forth in a pack."
"Ah, mine old friend!" answered John, "not many weeks gone, you said of
my Lord of Northumberland, `Will none put this companion in the Tower?'
Methinks so many henceforward will scarce be over, ere you may say the
like with tears of Stephen Gardiner. The fox is in the Tower; but the
wolf is out."
"You speak but truth," said Mr Holland. "And now, my masters, after
mine ill news, I fear you will scarcely take it well of me to bid you to
a wedding; yet for that came I hither."
"Is this a time for marrying and giving in marriage?" groaned Dr Thorpe.
"I think it is," answered Mr Holland, stoutly. "The more disease
[discomfort] a man hath abroad, the more comfort he lacketh at home."
"But who is to be married?" asked John.
"I am," answered Mr Holland. "Have you aught against it?"
"You!" cried Avery, in a voice of astonishment, which Mr Holland
understood to imply the reverse of flattery.
"Upon my word, you are no losenger!" [flatterer] saith he. "Have I two
heads, or four legs, that you think no maid should have me? or is my
temper so hot that you count I shall lead her a dog's life? or what see
you in me, body or soul, to make you cry out in that fashion?"
"Nay, man," replied John, laughing, "thou art a proper man enough, and
as tall of thy hands as any in Aldersgate; and for thy temper, a dove
were crabbed in comparison. I did but think thou wert wedded to thy
cloths and thy napery."
"You thought I took counsel of velvet, and solaced myself with
broidery!" laughed Mr Holland. "Nay, friend; when I take a wife, I will
not wed a piece of Lincoln green."
"And who, pray you, is the bride?"
"Why, Avery, I had thought you should have guessed that without asking.
Who should it be, but mine old and true friend, Bessy Lake?"
"Then I give you joy," said John, "for you have chosen well."
Mr Holland's wedding took place at the Church of Saint Giles
Cripplegate, in August [it was in the first year of Queen Mary; exact
date unknown]. Bessy Lake, the bride, proved a very gentle,
amiable-looking woman, not pretty, but not unpleasing, and by at least
ten years the senior of her bridegroom. After the ceremony, the wedding
party repaired to Mr Holland's house. Mr Rose was present, with his
wife and Thekla; and Mr Ferris; and Mr Ive and Helen, who brought Mrs
Underhill's three elder little girls, Anne, Christian, and Eleanor.
Augustine Bernher did not appear until after dinner. Mrs Rose and
Isoult had a little quiet conversation; the former was still looking
forward to further troubles, and plainly thought Mr Holland was courting
sorrow.
"But thank God he is not a priest!" she said; and the tears rose to her
eyes.
Meanwhile, John and Mr Rose were engaged in their private discourse. It
was settled between them that the same day, two years later--August
20th, 1555--should be the date fixed, before which, if Robin should not
have been ordained, he should give up the expectation of it, and marry
Thekla. Mr Holland, being taken into confidence, not only expressed his
sense of the wisdom of this arrangement, but at once offered, if Robin
wished it, to receive him without premium. This part of the subject,
however, was left for future decision.
Helen Ive brought word from Mrs Underhill, that Mr Throgmorton had
readily promised to intercede for his cousin, as soon as he found a
satisfactory opportunity; which meant, when certain members of the
Council, adverse to Underhill, should be absent.
The persecution had begun in good earnest now. The imprisonment of
Bishop Ridley and Mr Underhill, and the deprivation of Mr Rose, were
only the beginning of sorrows. On the 16th of August, Mr John Bradford
of Manchester was sent to the Tower; and Mr Prebendary Rogers confined
to his own house, nor allowed to speak with any person out of it. And
on Friday and Saturday, the 18th and 19th, were condemned to death in
the high court at Westminster, the great Duke of Northumberland, who so
many years had been all but a king in England; and the Marquis of
Northampton, and the Earl of Warwick (son of the Duke), and Sir Andrew
Dudley, the Duke's brother, and Sir Thomas Palmer. The judges were the
Lord Treasurer, and the old Duke of Norfolk, the last only just released
from the Tower, where he had been a prisoner seven years.
"God's mill grindeth slowly, but it grindeth small." He sitteth at the
disposing of the lots--there is no blind chance, for Him: and it was the
Lord who had these sinners in derision, who sat above the water-floods,
and stilled the raging of the people.
And if God's earthly judgments, that come now and then, be so terrific,
what shall be that last judgment of His Great White Throne, when _every_
man shall receive the things done in the body?
The great traitors--Northumberland and Palmer--the lesser traitor,
Northampton,--and the innocent Warwick, were tried and sentenced to
death. On the following morning, mass was sung in the Tower; and the
Duke, the Marquis of Northampton, Sir Andrew Dudley, Sir Harry Gates,
and Sir Thomas Palmer, received the sacrament in one kind only. Then
the Duke, turning to those present (who were many) said "he had been
seduced these sixteen years by the false and erroneous doctrine of the
new preachers (namely, the Gospel), but he was now assured and did
believe that the Sacrament there present was our Saviour and Redeemer,
Jesus Christ." Then he knelt down and asked of all men forgiveness, and
said he forgave all men. The Duke of Somerset's sons were standing by
(who had something to forgive that miserable sinner), and the Lady Jane
saw the Duke pass by to the chapel from her window.
"Lo' you now!" said John, "this was the chosen head of the Lutheran
party!"
"He was never mine," replied Dr Thorpe.
"How long is it sithence you were a Lutheran?" answered he.
"Go thy ways, Jack!" was all Dr Thorpe would say.
In the evening Mr Ive came in; who said he had been to Newgate to visit
his friend, Mr Underhill.
"And poor Underhill," said he, "is fallen sick of a burning ague in that
loathsome gaol. He doth account the cause to be the evil savours and
the unquietness of the lodging; as may be also the drinking of a strong
draught wherein his fellow-prisoner would needs have him to pledge him.
He can take no rest, desiring to change his lodging, and so hath he done
from one to an other; but none can he abide, having so much noise of the
prisoners and naughty savours. Now his wife hath leave to come unto him
for to tend him in his sickness; but he is constrained to pay eightpence
every meal, and as much for her."
"And how is he treated of Alisaunder?" said John. "Not over well, I
warrant you."
"Nay, there you are out," said Mr Ive; "for (as Underhill told me), the
very first night that he went in, one of the prisoners took acquaintance
of him, whose name was Bristo, and would have him to have a bed in his
chamber. He had been with Sir Richard Cromwell in his journey to
Landrecies, that Underhill also was in, and could play well on a rebeck,
and was a Protestant, which yet he kept secret, or (saith he to
Underhill), `I had never found such favour as I do at the keeper's hand
and his wife's; for to such as love the Gospel they be very
cruel.'--`Well (saith Underhill), I have sent for my Bible, and, by
God's grace, therein shall be my daily exercise. I will not hide it
from them.'--`Sir (answered he), I am poor, but they will bear with you,
for that they see your estate is to pay well; and I will show you the
nature and manner of them, for I have been here a good while. They both
do love music very well; wherefore you with your lute, and I with my
rebeck, will please them greatly. He loveth to be merry and to drink
wine, and she also; and if you will bestow upon them every dinner and
supper a quart of wine and some music, you shall be their white son
[favourite], and have all their favour that they can show you.' And so,
as Underhill told me, he found it come to pass."
"And where is the babe?" said Isoult, pityingly.
"My Nell hath little Guilford," answered Mr Ive, "and maketh as much ado
of him, as she were his own mother. Concern you not for him; with God's
blessing, the child shall fare well."
On Tower Hill, whither they had sent so many better than themselves, on
the 22nd of August, Sir John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, and Sir
Thomas Palmer, ended their wretched and evil lives. With them died Sir
John Gates.
The Duke rehearsed his confession, as he had made it in the chapel;
avowing himself to be of the old learning, "and a Christian now, for
these sixteen years I have been none." Which last was the truth. And
he said, "he would every man not to be covetous, for that had been a
great part of his destruction." And so he tied the handkerchief over
his own eyes, and lay down on the block, and his head was struck off.
So ended this miserable man; for whom it had been a thousand times
better that he had never been born, than to have destroyed himself and
England together, and to have offended so bitterly Christ's little ones.
After him came Sir John Gates, who said little, and would have no
handkerchief over his eyes; and his head fell at the third blow.
Last came Sir Thomas Palmer, "nothing in whose life became him like the
leaving it." For when the people bade him good morrow, he said,--"I do
not doubt but that I have a good morrow, and that I shall have a better
good even." And then he went on to tell them, "that he had been
lawfully condemned, and that he did therein thank God for His mercy: for
that sithence his coming into the Tower, he had seen himself, how
utterly and verily vile his soul was--yea, he did not think any sin to
be, that he had not plunged even into the midst of it [Note 1]; I and he
had moreover seen how infinite were God's mercies, and how Jesus sitteth
a Redeemer at the right hand of God, by whose means His people shall
live eternally. For I have learned (said he) more in one little dark
corner in yonder Tower, than ever I learned by any travail in so many
places as I have been." And he desired the people to pray for him, for
he "did in no wise fear death." So, taking the executioner by the hand,
he said he forgave him heartily, but entreated him not to strike till he
had said a few prayers, "and then he should have good leave." And so he
knelt down, and laid his head on the block, and prayed; then lifting his
head again, once more asked all present to pray for him; and so again
laid down his head, which was stricken from him at one stroke.
And that night Isoult Avery wrote in her diary--"Verily, I do know that
the mercies of God are infinite; and I bless Him heartily therefor. But
had I been to say any that I knew which was little like to come unto
them, I had named this man. God be lauded if He hath shown him what is
sin, and what is Christ, in his last hours, and hath so received him up
to that His infinite mercy. I marvel what sort shall be the meeting
betwixt my Lord, and George Bucker, and the Duke of Somerset, and him."
At length Mr Throgmorton found his expected opportunity, and offered his
petition for Mr Underhill's release. This petition set forth "his
extreme sickness and small cause to be committed unto so loathsome a
gaol," and besought that he might therefore be released, offering
sureties to be forthcoming when called upon: these were to be himself
and his brother-in-law John Speryn, a merchant of London, and a man
"very zealous in the Lord." Poor Underhill was still very seriously
ill. "I was cast," he tells us, "into an extreme burning ague, that I
could take no rest; desiring to change my lodging, and so did from one
to an other, but none I could abide, there was so much noise of
prisoners and evil savours. The keeper and his wife offered me his own
parlour, where he lay himself, which was furthest from noise, but it was
near the kitchen, the savour whereof I could not abide. Then did she
lodge me in a chamber wherein she said never no prisoner lay, which was
her store-chamber, where she said all the plate and money lay, which was
much." [Harl. Ms. 425, folio 91, a.] Mr Ive reported that Mr Underhill
could be no weaker than he was, and live. His friend Dr Record had been
to see him in the prison, whom he describes as "Doctor of Physic,
singularly seen [very skilful] in all the Seven Sciences [Grammar,
Rhetoric, Logic, Arithmetic, Geometry, Music, and Astronomy], and a
great devyne." Mr Rose took his deprivation very quietly. Some of his
friends thought he might be all the safer for it, if the persecutors had
done all they cared about doing to him. He had hired three rooms for
the present in a house in Leadenhall Street. Tidings of further
persecution came now daily. "Robin's orders do seem going further off
than ever," lamented Isoult. For Bishops Hooper of Gloucester and
Coverdale of Exeter were cited before the Council; and the Archbishop,
and the Dean of Saint Paul's; and mass was now celebrated in many
churches of London. A rumour went abroad of the lapsing of the
Archbishop, and that he had sung mass before the Queen; but it proved
false. Again the altar was set up in Saint Paul's Cathedral; and when
Bishop Bonner came from the Marshalsea, great rejoicing was made. Many
by the way bade him welcome home, and "as many of the women as might
kissed him." No Gospeller would have kissed him for a King's ransom.
On the 5th of September came Mr Ive, with news of Mr Underhill at once
good and bad. He was released from Newgate, but was so weak and ill
that they were obliged to carry him home in a horse-litter, and the
gaoler's servant bore him down the stairs to the litter in his arms like
a child; and for all this, those who accompanied him (Mrs Underhill, Mr
Speryn, Mr Ive, and others) were afraid lest he should not live till he
came home. They were compelled to go very gently, and frequently to
halt; so that two hours were required to pass through the city, from
Newgate to Aldgate, and night fell before he could get to his house:
where he now remained in the same weak and deplorable state, and all the
Gospellers were asked to pray for him.
To the great relief of all Protestants, the Archbishop published a
letter in which he utterly denied that he had ever said or promised to
say mass, to gain favour with the Queen.
"I could have told you so much," said John. "My Lord Archbishop is not
the man to curry Favelle."
"Now, I had thought he rather were," said Dr Thorpe.
"One of your Lutheran fantasies," answered John.
Which rather annoyed the old man, who did not like to be reminded that
he was or had been a Lutheran; and such reminders he occasionally
received from Mr John Avery.
"Have you the news?" said Mr Rose, on the evening of the 14th of
September.
"Which news?" asked John. "We know all, methinks, touching my Lord
Archbishop, and the Bishops of Gloucester and Exeter, and that Mr Dean
is cited. What more?"
"And that Mr Latimer is had to the Tower?"
"Alack, no!" cried Isoult. "Is it assuredly so?"
"I shake hands with him on his way, and saw him go in," answered Mr
Rose, sorrowfully.
"With what cheer?"
"As bright and merry as ever I did see him. The warder at the gate was
Will Rutter, whom he knew of old; and quoth he to him, `What, my old
friend! how do you? I am now come to be your neighbour again.' And so
went in smiling, and is lodged in the garden, in Sir Thomas Palmer's
lodging."
"He is a marvellous man," replied John.
"My Lord of Canterbury," pursued Mr Rose, "likewise came into the Tower
yesterday. He is lodged in the gate against the Water-gate, where my
Lord of Northumberland lay."
"To the same end, I count, for both?" said Dr Thorpe, bitterly.
"The Lord knoweth," answered Mr Rose, "and `the Lord reigneth.'"
"And will they put down the service-book, think you?" said he.
"They will put down everything save God," said Mr Rose, solemnly; "and
Him also, could they but get at Him."
Before September was over, John and Isoult rode to the Limehurst to
visit Mr Underhill. They found him in very good spirits for an invalid
in a very weak condition, and he said he was improving every day, and
had a long tale to tell them when his strength would permit. Mrs
Underhill had been compelled to present herself before the Council in
order to procure his release, and had there to endure a severe scolding
from Lord Winchester for the relationship in which little Guilford had
been placed to Lady Jane Grey. She bore it quietly, and got for her
reward a letter to the keeper of Newgate, signed by Winchester, Sussex,
Bedford, Rochester, and Sir Edward Waldegrave, ordering the release of
Mr Underhill, who was to be bound before a magistrate, in conjunction
with her brother, Mr Speryn, to appear when summoned.
The progress of the Retrogression--for such it may be fairly termed--was
swifter than that of the Reformation had been. "Facilis descensus
Averni,"--this is the usual course. High mass was restored in Saint
Paul's Cathedral, and in very few London churches were Gospel sermons
yet preached. With bitter irony, liberty was granted to Bishop Ridley--
to hear mass in the Tower Chapel. Liberty to commit idolatry was not
likely to be used by Nicholas Ridley. The French Protestants were
driven out, except a few named by the Ambassador; Cranmer, Latimer,
Hooper, Coverdale, were cited before the Council; and on the 28th of
September, the Queen came to the Tower, in readiness for her coronation.
At one o'clock on the 30th, the royal procession set forth, fitly
preceded by a crowd of knights, doctors, bishops, and peers. After them
rode the Council; and then the new Knights of the Bath, to create whom
it had been the custom, the day previous to the coronation. The seal
and mace were carried next, between the Lord Chancellor (Bishop
Gardiner) and the Lord Treasurer, William Paulet, Marquis of Winchester.
The old Duke of Norfolk followed, with Lord Arundel on his right, and
Lord Oxford on his left, bearing the swords of state. Sir Edward
Hastings, on foot, led the Queen's horse. She sat in a chariot of
tissue, trapped with red velvet, and drawn by six horses. Mary was
dressed in blue velvet, bordered with ermine, and on her head she
carried not only a caul of tinsel set with gold and stones, but also a
garland of goldsmith's work, so massive that she was observed to "bear
up her head with her hands." She was subject to violent headaches, and
in all probability was suffering from one now. A canopy was borne over
her chariot. In the second chariot, which was "all white, and six
horses trapped with the same," sat the heiress presumptive of England,
the Princess Elizabeth, "with her face forward, and the Lady Anne of
Cleve, with her back forward:" both ladies were attired in crimson
velvet. Then came "four ladies of estate riding upon horses"--the
eccentric old Duchess of Norfolk; the Marchioness of Winchester;
Gertrude, the long-tried Marchioness of Exeter; and Mary Countess of
Arundel, niece of Lady Lisle. Both riders and horses were apparelled in
crimson velvet. The third chariot, covered with cloth of gold, and the
horses similarly caparisoned, while the peeresses within were clad in
crimson velvet--two ladies on horseback, in crimson velvet--the fourth
and fifth chariots, and more ladies on horseback, to the total number of
forty-six, and all in crimson velvet--these followed one another in due
course. Last came the Queen's women, riding upon horses trapped in
crimson satin, and attired in the same material. Among them, the third
of the eight maids of honour, looked out the sweet face of Anne Basset,
gentlest of "her Highness' women." [Note 2.]
And so closed this crimson pageant, meet inauguration of England's
bloodiest reign. Of other pageants there was no lack; but I pass them
by, as also the airy gyrations of Peter the Dutchman on the weathercock
of Saint Paul's.
On the west side of the Cathedral was a sight which more amazed the
party of sight-seers from the Lamb than any other with which they had
met that day. This was the Hot Gospeller, who had literally risen from
his bed to see the pageant. Mr Edward Underhill sat upon a horse--but
he shall describe his own appearance, for it must have been remarkable.
"Scant able to sit, girded in a long night-gown, with double kerchiefs
about my head, a great hat upon them, my beard dubed hard too, my face
so leane and pale that I was the very image of death, wondered at of all
that did behold me, unknown to any. My wife and neighbours were toto
[too-too, an archaism for _very_] sorry that I would needs go forth,
thinking I would not return alive. Then went I forth, having of either
side of me a man to stay me... When the Queen passed by, ... many of my
fellows the Pensioners and divers of the Council beheld me, and none of
them all knew me." [Note 3.]
"Why, Ned!" cried John, "are you able to sit thus on an horse and mix in
crowds?"
"No," said he.
"Then," he answered, "what brought you hither?"
"Marry, mine own obstinate resolvedness," said Mr Underhill, laughing
feebly, "that neither my Jane, nor Jack Speryn, nor Ive, could combat."
John rode with his friend to the Limehurst, and saw him safe home, to
the great relief of Mrs Underhill, who declared that she had not had a
minute's rest since he set out, expecting every hour to receive some
terrible news concerning him.
Sunday, the 1st of October, was fixed for the coronation. That ceremony
was almost invariably on the Lord's Day. There was no service in the
Cathedral; for none but unmarried Bishops or priests would the Queen
permit to officiate before her; and there were very few of the first.
Order was also issued that no married priest should minister again in
any of the churches.
The Gospellers were reduced to stratagem. Since the churches were
closed to them, they opened their own houses. By arrangement with Mr
Rose, service was held in the Lamb on the evening of the Coronation Day,
safety being secured by a preconcerted signal-tap. About forty persons
gathered, exclusive of the families of the host and the minister. A
small congregation; but a congregation of live souls, who were ready to
yield life sooner than faith. The majority of congregations are hardly
made of that material now. "If all the real Christians were gathered
out of this church," once said William Romaine to his flock, "there
would not be enough to fill the vestry." How frightfully uncharitable!
cries the nineteenth century--and I dare say the flock at Saint Anne's
thought so too. But there is a _charity_ towards men's souls, and there
is a charity towards men's feelings. If one of the two must be
dispensed with, we shall wish in the great day of account that it had
been the latter. The two "keeping-rooms" of the Lamb--which they called
the great and little chambers, but which we, their degenerate
descendants, might term the dining-room and drawing-room--were filled
with this living congregation; and Mr Rose read prayers from the now
prohibited Service-Book, and preached the prohibited doctrines. Before
all had dispersed, Mr George Ferris made his appearance, and supped at
the Lamb, as did Mr Rose and Mr Holland, with their respective families.
After supper, Mr Ferris, leaning back in his chair, suddenly said,--"If
you list to know the order of her Highness' crowning, I am he that can
tell you; for all this day have I been in Westminster Abbey and Hall."
He was universally encouraged to proceed.
"The Queen," said he, "came first by water to the old Palace, and there
tarried she till about eleven of the clock. And thence went she afoot
to the Abbey, upon blue cloth railed in on every side; and she ware the
same array as she came in through London. Afore her went the Bishops
(to wit, all the unwedded), their mitres on their heads and their
crosiers borne afore them. She was led betwixt old Tunstal of Durham
and an other Bishop, and right behind her came the Devil in the likeness
of Stephen Gardiner, a-censing her and casting holy water upon her all
the way, which must needs have spoiled her brave blue velvet gown ere
she set foot in the Abbey. In the Abbey was the throne, covered with
baudekyn; but I pray you, demand not of me a regular account of all that
was done; for it was so many and sundry ceremonies that my weak head
will not hold them. I know only there was kneeling and courtesying and
bowing and censing, and holy water, and a deal more of the like
trumpery, wherewith I am no wise compatient [the lost adjective of
_compassion_]; and going up unto the altar, and coming down from it; and
five several times was she led thereto, once to offer there her pall of
baudekyn and twenty shillings, and once, leaving her crimson velvet
mantle behind the travers, she was laid down on a cushion afore the
altar, while four knights held the pall over her; and anointed with
tedious and endless ceremonies; and crowned with three crowns (Saint
Edward's, the imperial, and one made for her a-purpose) by the aforesaid
Stephen Gardiner; and a ring of gold set on her finger; and a bracelet
of precious stones and gold set upon her arm by the Master of the Jewel
House; and the sceptre given her of my Lord of Arundel (the old
time-server!) and the ball, of the Lord Treasurer; and the regal of
gold, of the Bishop of Winchester; and the staff of Saint Edward, of my
Lord of Bath; and the spurs, of my Lord of Pembroke. Come, pray you
now, let me take breath!--Well, after all this, the Bishops and nobles
did homage to her Highness; but the time would not serve for all, seeing
the homage to the altar had taken so much away; so they knelt in groups,
and had a spokesman to perform for them. My Right Reverend Lord Bishop
of Winchester was for himself and all other Bishops; old Norfolk stood
alone as a Duke (for all the other Dukes were in the Tower, either alive
or dead); the Lord Marquis of Winchester was for his order; my Lord of
Arundel for the Earls, my Lord of Hereford for the Viscounts, and my
Lord of Burgavenny for the Barons. All these kissed her Highness' left
cheek; and all this time stood my Lord of Shrewsbury by her, aiding her
to hold up the sceptre. Well then, believe it who will, my masters, but
after all this came the mass. And no sooner begun, than the Bishop of
Lincoln and the Bishop of Hereford marched straight out of the church,
mitres and all. It was nigh four of the clock ere her Grace came from
the Abbey; and she came in a gown of purple velvet, with the crown upon
her head, and every noble and noble lady following in cramoisie, and on
their heads crownets [the old form of the word coronet] of gold. Three
swords were borne afore her, and a canopy over her, carried of the
Wardens of the Cinque Ports: and in one hand she held a sceptre of gold,
and in the other a ball of gold, which she twirled and turned in her
hand as she came. And no sooner had she set foot in the Hall, than the
people fell a-scrambling for the cloth and rails. Yea, they were not
content with the waste meat cast out of the kitchen to them, but they
pulled down and carried off the kitchen also."
"Come, Ferris, be reasonable in your Romaunts," said Mr Holland.
"Who did ever hear any man to be reasonable in a Romaunt?" asked he.
"But this is not romance, 'tis truth. Why, the kitchen was but cast up
of boards outside the Palace, for the time and occasion; and they made
it a waste indeed. It was candle-light ere her Grace took barge."
"But was there no pardon proclaimed?" said John.
"Lo' you, now! I forgat that. Ay, afore the anointing, my gracious
Lord Chancellor proclaimeth her Majesty's goodly pardon unto all
prisoners whatsoever and wheresoever--save and except an handful only,
to wit, such as were in the Marshalsea, and the Fleet, and the Tower,
and such as had order to keep their houses, and sixty-two more."
"Why, that were to except them all!" cried Mr Holland.
"Nay, they excepted not them in Newgate, nor the Counter."
"A goodly procession of pardoned men!" said John.
"Well," said Dr Thorpe, after a short pause, "the Queen's reign is now
fairly established; what shall the end be?"
"Ask not me," replied Mr Ferris.
"We know what it shall be," answered Mr Rose, thoughtfully. "`I will
overturn, overturn, overturn, until He come whose right it is, and I
will give it Him.' Let as pray for His coming. And in the mean time
have we a care that our loins be girded about, and our lamps burning;
that when He cometh and knocketh, we may open unto Him immediately. We
shall be unready to open immediately, if our hands be overfull of
worldly matters. It were not well to have to say to Him, `Lord, let me
lay down this high post, and that public work, and these velvet robes,
and this sweet cup, and this bitter one--and then I will open unto
Thee.' I had rather mine hand were on the latch of the door, looking
out for Him."
"But, Father Rose, men must see to public matters, and wear velvet
robes, and carry weights of all fashions--why, the world would stand
still else!"
"Must men do these things, Master Ferris? yet be there two ways of doing
them. Believe me, there is one other thing they must do--they must meet
Christ."
A jovial, merry, gallant gentleman was George Ferris; and a Protestant--
of some sort. But he outlived the persecution. It was not of such
stuff as _his_ that martyrs were made. The gorgeous pageants were over,
and the bitter suffering came back.
Parliament was opened on the 13th of November, with a solemn mass of the
Holy Ghost, the Queen herself being present in her robes; but as soon as
the mass began, the Archbishop of York, and the Bishops of Lincoln and
Hereford, rose and attempted to walk out of the House. Hands were laid
on the Bishop of Lincoln, and his Parliament robe taken from him; and
upon confession of his faith, (which he made boldly) he was cited before
the Council. The Archbishop and the Bishop of Hereford were suffered to
depart for that time; but rumour ran that Hereford would soon be
deprived, being a married priest. Perhaps he was not made of metal that
would bear the furnace; for God took His child home, before the day of
suffering came. The rough wind was stayed again in the day of the east
wind. But on the 14th of November came a more woeful sight. For the
prisoners in the Tower were led on foot to the Guild Hall, the axe
carried before them, there to be judged. First walked the Archbishop of
Canterbury, his face cast down, between two others. Then followed the
Lord Guilford Dudley, also between two. After him came his wife, the
Lady Jane, apparelled in black, a black velvet book hanging at her
girdle, and another open in her hand. After her followed her two
gentlewomen, and Lords Ambrose and Henry Dudley. The Archbishop was
attainted for treason, although he had utterly refused to subscribe the
King's letters patent for the disinheriting of his sisters.
Late in the evening Mr Ive looked in, to say that he hath spent all the
day at the Guild Hall, and brought the sad news that the gentle Lady
Jane and all the Lords Dudley were condemned to death. It was expected,
however, that the Queen would not suffer the sentence to be executed on
her own cousin Lady Jane. The Archbishop, Mr Ive told them, came back
to the Tower, looking as joyful as he had before been cast down. He was
entirely acquitted of treason, and remanded to be tried for heresy; for
which he blessed God in the hearing of the Court.
"One step more," said Mr Rose to Avery, whom he met in Cheapside. "The
old service-book of King Henry must now be used, and the new of King
Edward put away; and in every church in London shall the mass be next
Sunday or Monday. And Saint Katherine's Eve shall be processions, and
Saint Nicholas shall go about as aforetime."
So, slowly and darkly, closed the black year, 1553.
Married priests forbidden to minister--the English Service-Book
prohibited--orders issued for every parish church to provide cross,
censer, vestments, and similar decorations of the House of Baal--mass
for the soul of King Edward in all the churches of London. It was not
six months since the boy had died, with that last touching prayer on his
lips--"Lord God, preserve this realm from Papistry!" Was that prayer
lost in the blue space it had to traverse, between that soul and the
altar of incense in Heaven? We know now that it was not. But it seemed
utterly lost then. O Lord, we know not what Thou doest now. Give us
grace to wait patiently, to be content with Thy promise that we shall
know hereafter!
There was one bright spot visible to the tear-dimmed eyes of the
Gospellers, and only one. The Parliament had been prorogued, and the
Bloody Statute was not yet re-enacted. All statutes of premunire were
repealed, and all laws of King Edward in favour of reformation in the
Church. But that first and worst of all the penalties remained as yet
in the oblivion to which he had consigned it. But in recompense for
this, there was a very black cloud darkening the horizon of 1554. The
Queen had announced to her Parliament her intended marriage with Prince
Philip of Spain. All the old insular prejudices against foreigners rose
up to strengthen the Protestant horror of a Spanish and Popish King.
The very children in the streets were heard to cry, "Down with the Pope
and the Spaniards!" Elizabeth would have known how to deal with such an
emergency. But Mary was blind and deaf. Disregarding this outbreak of
popular feeling, she went on, in the way which led to her ruin and
England's. It was only one of the two which was irremediable. The one
was followed by a summer day of glory; the other closed only in the
night of death.
The first news which reached the Lamb in 1554, was the startling
information--if any information can be called startling in that age of
sudden and shocking events--that the night before, Mr Ive had been
hastily apprehended and committed to the Marshalsea. He was soon
released, unhurt; but this occurrence quickened Mr Underhill's tardy
movements. He had already made up his mind to remove from the
Limehurst, where his abode was too well-known to the enemy; the arrest
of his friend and neighbour determined him to go at once. He took "a
little house in a secret corner at the nether end of Wood Street,"
Cheapside. About Epiphany was born Susan Bertie, the only daughter of
the Duchess of Suffolk. Shortly before this the Emperor's Ambassadors
came over to treat concerning the Queen's marriage, and were pelted with
snowballs by children in the streets of the City. The vacant sees were
filled up by Popish divines; Cardinal Pole was invited to return to
England (from which he had been so many years exiled), in the capacity
of Legate; the Queen dissolved the Court of First Fruits, and commanded
that the title of "Head of the Church in earth" should be omitted from
the enumeration of her titles in all future documents. Permission
granted to Lady Jane to walk in the Queen's garden and on Tower Hill
revived for a moment the hopes of the Protestants so far as concerned
her. No harm would come to her, they sanguinely repeated, if the Queen
were left to herself. Possibly they were fight. But what likelihood
was there that Gardiner would so leave her? and--a question yet more
ominous--what might Philip of Spain require in this matter? Men not yet
sixty years of age could remember the time when, previous to the
marriage of Katherine of Aragon, the Earl of Warwick, last surviving
male of the House of York, had been beheaded on Tower Hill. Once
before, the royal blood of England had been shed at the demand of Spain:
might the precedent not be repeated now? The only difference being,
that the victim then was a tercel gentle, and now it would be a white
dove.
In the middle of January, before his removal from the Limehurst, and
when he was sufficiently recovered to "walk to London an easy pace," Mr
Underhill made his appearance one afternoon in the Minories. He came
with the evident intention of telling his own story.
"And would you," said he, "hear the tale of my examination and
imprisonment?"
"That would we, and with a right good will," answered Dr Thorpe,
speaking for all. "We do know even what Mr Ive could tell us, but
nothing further."
"Then what Ive could not tell you," resumed he, "take from me [these
incidents in Underhill's life are given almost entirely in his own
words]. I guessed (and rightly so) what was the cause of mine arrest;
to wit, a certain ballad that I had put forth against the Papists, and
for that I was a Sacramentary. Well, when I came into the Tower, where
the Council sat, they were already busied with Dr Coxe and the Lord
Ferrers; wherefore I was to wait. So I and my two men went to an
alehouse to dinner in the Tower, and after that repaired to the Council
chamber door, to be the first taken, for I desired to know my lot. Then
came Secretary Bourne to the door, looking as the wolf doth for a lamb;
unto whom my two keepers delivered me, and he took me in greedily. The
Earl of Bedford was chief judge, next the Earl of Sussex, and Sir
Richard Southwell; and on the side next me sat the Earl of Arundel and
Lord Paget. By them stood Sir John Gage, the Constable, the Earl of
Bath, and Mr Mason; at the board's end stood Sergeant Morgan and
Secretary Bourne. And the Lord Wentworth stood in the bay window. Then
my Lord of Bedford (who was my very friend, owing unto the chance that I
had to recover his son, as I told you aforetime; yet would not now seem
to be familiar with me, nor called me not by my name), said,--`Did not
you set a ballad of late in print?'--I kneeled down, saying, `Yes,
truly, my Lord; is that the cause I am called before your
Honours?'--`Marry,' said Secretary Bourne, `you have one of them about
you, I am sure.'--`Nay truly, have I not,' said I.--Then took he one out
of his bosom and read it over distinctly, the Council giving diligent
ear. When he had ended,--`I trust, my Lord,' said I, `I have not
offended the Queen's Majesty in the ballad, nor spoken against her
title, but maintained it.'--`You have, sir,' said Morgan. `Yes, I can
divide your ballad, and make a distinction in it, and so prove at the
least sedition in it.'--`Yea,' I said, `you men of law will make of a
matter what ye list.'--`Lo!' said Sir Richard Southwell, `how he can
give a taunt! You maintain the Queen's title with the help of an arrant
heretic, Tyndale.'--`You speak of Papists there, sir,' said Mr Mason.
`I pray you, how define you a Papist?'--`Why,' said I, `it is not long
since you could define a Papist better than I.' With that some of them
secretly smiled, as the Lord of Bedford, Arundel, Sussex, and Paget. In
great haste Sir John Gage took the matter in hand. `Thou callest men
Papists there,' said he; `who be they thou judgest to be
Papists?'--`Sir,' said I, `I do name no man, nor I am not hither to
accuse any, nor none I will accuse; but your Honours do know that in
this controversy that hath been, some be called Papists and some
Protestants.'--`But we will know whom thou judgest to be Papists, and
that we command thee upon thine allegiance to declare.'--`Sir,' said I,
`I think if you look among the priests in Poules, ye shall find some old
_mumpsimuses_ there.'--`_Mumpsimuses_, knave!' saith he, `_mumpsimuses_!
thou art an heretic knave!' and sware a great oath.--Says the Earl of
Bath, `I warrant him an heretic knave, indeed.'--`I beseech your
Honours,' said I (speaking to the Lords that sat at the table, for these
other that stood by be not now of the Council), `be my good Lords. I
have offended no laws, and I have served the Queen's Majesty's father
and her brother long time, and in their service have spent and consumed
part of my living, never having as yet any preferment or recompense, and
the rest of my fellows likewise, to our utter undoing, unless the
Queen's Highness be good unto us; and for my part I went not forth
against her Majesty, notwithstanding I was commanded, nor liked those
doings.'--`No, but with your writings you will set us together by the
ears,' saith the Earl of Arundel.--`He hath spent his living wantonly,'
saith Bourne, `and now saith he hath spent it in the King's service;
which I am sorry for: he is come of a worshipful house in
Worcestershire.' [Note 4]--`It is untruly said of you,' said I, `that I
have spent my living wantonly. I never consumed no part thereof until I
came into the King's service, which I do not repent, nor doubted of
recompense if either of my two masters had lived. I perceive you are
Bourne's son of Worcester, who was beholden unto my uncle Wynter, and
therefore you have no cause to be my enemy, nor you never knew me, nor I
you, before now, which is too soon.'--`I have heard enough of you,' said
he.--`So have I of you,' said I, `how that Mr Sheldone drave you out of
Worcestershire for your behaviour.'--With that came Sir Edward Hastings
from the Queen in great haste, saying, `My Lords, you must set all
things apart, and come forthwith to the Queen.'--Then said the Earl of
Sussex, `Have this gentleman unto the Fleet, until we may talk further
with him.' (Although I was knave before of Master Gage.)--`To the
Fleet?' saith Master Southwell, `have him to the Marshalsea!'--`Have the
heretic knave to Newgate!' saith Master Gage again.--`Call a couple of
the guard here,' saith Bourne, `and there shall be a letter sent to the
keeper how he shall use him, for we have other manner of matters with
him than these.'--`So had ye need,' said I, `or else I care not for
you.'--`Deliver him to Mr Garret, the Sheriff,' said he, `and bid him
send him to Newgate.'--`My Lord (said I unto my Lord of Arundel, for
that he was next me, as they were rising) I trust you will not see me
thus used to be sent to Newgate; I am neither thief nor traitor.'--`Ye
are a naughty fellow,' said he; `ye were alway tuting in the Duke of
Northumberland's ear, that ye were.'--`I would he had given better ear
unto me,' said I; `it had not been with him then as it is now.'--Mr
Hastings pushing by me (mine old adversary, with whom I had been
aforetime wont to reason touching the Sacrament), I thought good to
prove him, although he threatened before now.--`Sir,' said I, `I pray
you speak for me that I be not sent unto Newgate, but rather unto the
Fleet, which was first named. I have not offended. I am a gentleman,
as you know, and one of your fellows, when you were of this band of the
Pensioners.'--Very quietly he said unto me, `I was not at the table, Mr
Underhill, and therefore I can say nothing to it.' But I think he was
not content with the place I was appointed to. Well, I count Ive told
you all he saw, touching my progress to Master Sheriff, and thence to
Newgate. But while I waited in the Sheriff's house, my Lord Russell
heard my voice, and showed very sorry for me; and sent me on the morrow
twenty shillings, and every week as much while I was in Newgate. I
count Ive told you moreover of my sickness."
"Ay, and of the ill savours and noise that you could not abide," said Dr
Thorpe; "and of your changing of your lodging; and how Dr Record did
visit you, and divers other things."
"Then he told you all," said Mr Underhill. "And now (for 'tis past nine
of the clock) this great knave, rogue, and heretic, must be on his way
home."
Mr Underhill left behind him a new ballad which he had lately published.
Since it probably does not exist in print now, it shall be subjoined,
and in the orthography of its author.
"Love God above all thyngs, and thy neyghboure as thy selffe;
Thatt this is Crist's doctryne, no mane cane it denye;
Wyche litle is regarded in Yngland's common wealthe,
Wherefore greate plags att hande be, the realme for to distroye.
"`Do as thow woldest be done unto,' no place here he cane have,
Off all he is remised, no mane wyll hym reseave;
Butt pryvate wealthe, thatt cursed wreche, and most vyle slave,
Over all he is imbraced, and ffast to hym they cleave.
"He thatt hathe this world's goode, and seeth his neyghboure lake,
And off hym hathe no compassyone, nor showithe hym no love,
Nor relevithe his nesessite, butt suffers hym go to wrake,
God dwellithe nott in thatt mane, the Scriptures playnely prove.
"Example we have by Dyves, thatt dayntilye dide fare,
In worldely wealthe and ryches therein he dide excell,
Off poore Lazarous' mesery he hadde theroff no care,
Therfore was sodenly taken and tormentide in Hell."
[See Note 5 for explanations.]
Ten quiet days followed. For many a month afterwards, quietness was
only to be remembered as a lost luxury.
"Have you the news?" inquired Mr Underhill, suddenly opening Avery's
door, and coming in hastily.
"I have heard you put that question five-and-twenty times," responded Dr
Thorpe.
"Well!" he answered, "you may hear it yet again so many. There is like
to be some trouble."
"Then that is good news," said the doctor, sarcastically, "for during
some time there hath been trouble, not there hath been like to be."
"What is it, then, Ned?" inquired John.
"Why," answered he, "the Lord Cobham and Tom Wyatt be up in Kent, and my
Lord Warden of Dover, and many another, to resist the Queen's marriage,
and to remove certain councillors from her, which (as I take it) is
another way of spelling Stephen Gardiner's name: and my Lord of Suffolk,
and his two brothers [John and Thomas Grey], are fled from Shene (on
pretence of going to the Court), no man knows whither: and Rochester
Bridge is taken of one set of rebels, and Exeter of them in Devon--"
"Alack the day!" cried Isoult, her Devon blood stirring.
"And five hundred harnessed men are called to take the field against
Wyatt. We Pensioners go down to White Hall to guard the Queen."
And Mr Underhill shut the door, and they saw no more of him.
There was some trouble. On the 30th of January, the old Duke of Norfolk
and others marched against Sir Thomas Wyatt, but the same night they
came back in disorder, flying over London Bridge with only a fourth part
of their company. Mr Brent, the Lamb's next neighbour, who was one of
the little army, came home with his "coat turned, and all ruinated, and
not a string to his bow." They brought news that Wyatt was coming fast
on Southwark.
On the 1st of February came the Queen herself to Guild Hall, her sceptre
in her hand, which was a token of peace; and Bishop Gardiner attending
her, which was a token of blood. She made an oration to the people,
which she had learned without book; and when it was done,--"O how happy
are we," cried Bishop Gardiner, "to whom God hath given such a wise and
learned Queen!" Which outcry Dr Thorpe said was "as good as proof that
the Bishop himself writ the oration."
Wyatt and his company entered Southwark on the eve of Quinquagesima
Sunday, by four o'clock; and before five he had made a bulwark at the
bridge-foot, and fortified himself; but the Queen's men still held the
bridge against him. The next morning, Mr Rose, with Mrs Rose and
Thekla, came to the Lamb, read the service out of the Prayer Book, and
preached: but they were afraid to sing. At nine o'clock on Tuesday
morning Wyatt drew off his men, seeing that he could not take the
bridge, and turned towards Kingston.
In the evening came in Mr Underhill, in armour, with his pole-axe in his
hand, which he set down in a corner, and sat down and talked for an
hour.
"So Wyatt is gone?" said Dr Thorpe.
"Gone about to strengthen himself," answered Mr Underhill. "He is
coming back, take my word for it. He said unto his soldiers that he
would pay them the next time in Cheapside; and unto the men that held
the bridge quoth he,--`Twice have I knocked, and not been suffered to
enter; if I knock the third time I will come in, by God's grace!'"
"What did you at the Court?" said Dr Thorpe. "Is good watch kept?"
Mr Underhill laughed.
"Marry, I did nothing," said he, "for I was not suffered. I put on mine
harness, and went up into the Queen's chamber of presence, where were
all her women weeping and wringing their hands, like foolish fluttering
birds, and crying they should all be destroyed that night. And then Mr
Norris, the Queen's chief usher, which was appointed to call the watch,
read over the names from the book which Moore (the clerk of our check)
gave him; but no sooner came he to my name than quoth he,--`What! what
doth he here?'--`Sir,' saith the clerk, `he is here ready to serve as
the rest be.'--`Nay!' saith he, and sware a great oath, `that heretic
shall not watch here! give me a pen.' And so strake my name off the
book. So Moore cometh to me, and `Mr Underhill,' saith he, `you are not
to watch; you may depart to your lodging.'--`May I?' said I; `I would be
glad of that,'--thinking I had been favoured because I was not recovered
of my sickness; but I did not well trust him, because he was also a
Papist. `Marry, I depart indeed,' said I; `will you be my
discharge?'--`I tell you true,' said he, `Mr Norris hath stricken you
out of the book, saying these words--That heretic shall not watch here:
I tell you true what he said.'--`Marry, I thank him,' said I, `and you
also; you could not do me a greater pleasure.'--`Nay, burden not me
withal,' said he, `it is not my doing.' So away went I, with my men and
a link. And when I come to the Court gate, I fell in with Mr Clement
Throgmorton (that was come post from Coventry to the Queen with tidings
of the taking of the Duke of Suffolk) and George Ferris,--both my
friends, and good Protestants. So away went we three to Ludgate, which
was fast locked, for it was past eleven of the clock, and the watch set
within, but none without. And lo' you, for all our calling, and
declaring of our names, and the like, would they not open the gate. Mr
Throgmorton cried to them that he would go to his lodging within, and Mr
Ferris said he was sent with weighty affairs to my Lord Will Howard
within: but they did nought but laugh, and at long last said they had
not the keys. `What shall I do?' said Mr Throgmorton; `I am weary and
faint, and I wax now cold. I am not acquainted hereabout, nor no man
dare open his doors in this dangerous time, nor I am not able to go back
again to the Court; I shall perish this night.'--`Well,' said I, `let us
go to Newgate; I think I shall get in there.'--`Tush!' said he, `it is
but in vain; we shall be answered there as we are here.'--`Well,' said
I, `and the worst fall, I can lodge ye in Newgate: you know what
acquaintance I have there, and the keeper's door is without the
gate.'--`That were a bad shift!' said he; `I had almost as lief die in
the streets; yet I will rather wander again to the Court.' Howbeit, I
did persuade them to try at Newgate; and there found we my friend Newman
to be constable of the watch, which saith, `Mr Underhill! what news,
that you walk so late?' So he let us through the gate with a good will,
and at long last we reached each man to his lodging."
At four o'clock on the morning of Ash Wednesday, London was awoke by
drums beating all through the streets of the city. John and Robin rose
hastily, and went out to ascertain the cause. They came in shortly,
saying that the drums beat for all soldiers to arm and repair to Charing
Cross, for that Wyatt was seeking to come in by Westminster, and had
reached as far as Brentford. About one or two o'clock, Wyatt came, and
marched past Charing Cross, without hindrance (except that as he passed
Saint James's the Earl of Pembroke fell upon his rear), and so marched
along the Strand, and up Fleet Street, until he came before Ludgate.
There they knocked to come in, falsely saying that the Queen had granted
their request and pardoned them; but Lord William Howard was not to be
thus deceived, as others had been on the way. His answer was a stern
cry of "Avaunt, traitor! thou shalt not come in here." For a little
while Wyatt rested upon a seat at the Belle Sauvage gate; but at last,
being weary of this pastime, he turned back on Charing Cross. When he
reached Temple Bar the Queen's horsemen met him, and the battle began.
When he saw the fight going against him, Wyatt yielded. And so Sir
Maurice Berkeley and others brought him and his chief captains to Court,
and at five o'clock they were taken to the Tower by water. And as they
passed in, Sir John Bridges, the Lieutenant, ungenerously upbraided the
prisoner, saying that "if it were not that the law must justly pass upon
him, he would strike him with his dagger." To whom Wyatt answered,
"with a grim and grievous look"--"It were no mastery now." And so they
passed on.
Thus was Wyatt's rebellion quashed. The stars in their courses fought
against him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. In addition to his cruel persecution of the Gospellers, he had
been a notorious libertine.
Note 2. Cott. Ms., Appendix, twenty-eight, folio 93, 94.--Miss
Strickland says (Lives of the Queens, three, page 459), that this was
Mary, wife of James Basset; but the Tallies Roll for 2-3 Philip et Mary
distinctly names this lady as one of Queen Mary's maids of honour, in
recording the payment of her pension--"_Anna_ Basset, virginis Reginae."
Note 3. Harl. Ms. 425, folio 92, 93.
Note 4. Underhill is a Warwickshire family, but Anne Wynter, the mother
of Edward Underhill, was a Worcestershire woman.
Note 5. Notes on this poem. See Harl. Ms. 424, folio 9. Plags means
plagues. "Wealthe" means "personal interest." "Wreche" means "wretch."
"Lake" means "lack." "Wrake" means "wrack."