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The Golden Grasshopper: A story of the days of Sir Thomas Gresham, a novel by William H. G. Kingston |
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Chapter 13. Accession Of Queen Elizabeth |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN. ACCESSION OF QUEEN ELIZABETH Once again the fires at Smithfield, as well as in other parts of the country, never long together extinguished, burned up brightly and frequently. The people submitted, though with an ill grace. One day A'Dale came and told me there was to be another great burning. We had heard that several persons--priests, laymen, and women--were about to be committed to the flames. "The people have been murmuring more than ever, and would, I believe, if led on by bold men, attempt to rescue the prisoners. What say you, Verner? I am ready to risk my life if there is a prospect of success." "And I likewise," I answered, after a moment's thought. "Well then, there is no time to be lost. Get your cloak and sword, and if there is an opportunity we will not let it pass by." We hurried on. Large crowds were collecting from all quarters. It is strange that human beings should desire to see the sufferings of their fellow-creatures. Many, however, were going, we hoped, like ourselves, to sympathise with the sufferers, or to afford them assistance. As we went along, we judged from the words we heard uttered that we should not lack support. I have had so often before to describe the scenes at Smithfield, that I will not do so again. As we arrived at the place, we found the wide space entirely surrounded by a dense crowd, while every window and other elevated spot in the neighbourhood was thronged with people, who might gaze upon what was going forward. There was the platform with the great officers who had been directed to superintend the executions, and the pulpit for the friars who were to preach, and the stakes with chains and piles of faggots. We heard it again asserted by other bystanders that two priests were to be burned, and some said there was a little girl. On hearing this, A'Dale and I started, and inquired earnestly of the speaker if he knew that what he said was true. "Too true, I fear me, young masters," he answered. "These people would burn infants if they could get no others to burn." "Are men with hearts in their bosoms, and swords in their hands, to see such things take place, and not attempt to prevent it?" exclaimed A'Dale, in a determined voice. I seconded him; for at once the fearful suspicion came across me that our little Aveline might be the child spoken of. We were rejoiced to find that several bystanders echoed our sentiments. The feeling that something should be done to rescue the prisoners spread through the crowd. I wondered that such had not been done before: it might have saved the lives of many innocent men; for those tyrant priests would never have dared to inflict punishment on their victims if the nation had boldly risen up against them. We were at too great a distance from the platform clearly to distinguish the features of the prisoners; but when the guards opened out a little, so as to expose them to view, we saw two persons in the dress of priests, and in a group of women a young girl, whose figure was exactly that of Aveline. My heart sank as I saw her, and then it seemed to rise again and throb and boil with indignation. I felt capable of daring and doing everything to save the dear little girl. Even should it not be Aveline, I would do much; but I would risk liberty and life, and run every prospect of suffering the same fate, for the sake of rescuing her. And now the priests were led up to the platform, where stood a Bishop-- whom we supposed to be Bonner himself--with several other ecclesiastics round him. These seized the unhappy priests, and tore their robes from their backs, and then scraped on the crown of their heads and the tips of their fingers: this being to signify that the oil of anointing was scraped off. This operation occupied some time. It seemed as if the Bishop and his vile myrmidons took pleasure in prolonging the torment of their victims. Fierce words were spoken to the priests in loud tones. Though we could not hear the words, we knew this by the gestures and by the occasional sounds which reached our ears. At length, one by one, the martyrs were led down again from the platform towards the stakes to which they were to be secured for burning. Again they were asked if they would recant. Their reply was a stern refusal to give up what they knew to be the truth. Having stirred up the people round us, A'Dale and I, knowing full well the risk we ran, worked our way up still nearer to the platform, waiting here and there to ascertain the temper of the multitude. As far as we could judge, they were all in the same mood; all equally hating Rome and its fearful proceedings. As we got nearer, we had no longer any doubts as to who were the intended victims. In one of the priests I recognised my friend Overton; in the other, Friar Roger, whom I had wrongfully suspected; and there too stood with the females our little Aveline. She seemed perfectly undismayed. Her eyes were cast upward, and, so it seemed to me, an angelic smile played over her countenance. Could those demons in human shape have the heart to burn so young and innocent a creature? A'Dale and I, seeing this, began to speak more boldly to the people round us. We asked them if they were men to submit to such tyranny. Would they wish to see their own daughters, and wives, and sisters, burn before their eyes? "You see those innocent people about to be put to a cruel death!" exclaimed A'Dale; "after burning them, the same men will proceed on to burn those you love. Strike a brave blow now, and you will make them quail before you." The people applauded us, but few seemed disposed to move. They had no weapons except thick sticks, and the guards were well-armed. Whether notice of the temper of the crowd reached the ears of the authorities, I know not, but they seemed eager to hasten on with the executions. A band of vile ruffians, who for wretched pay would commit any atrocity, were engaged in surrounding each stake with faggots. In a few minutes more, fire would be set to the piles. "There is no time to be lost!" I exclaimed to A'Dale; "we must make the venture now, or it will avail nothing." "Men, Englishmen, countrymen, will you allow those innocent ones to perish before your eyes, and not endeavour to save them?" exclaimed A'Dale. "On, men, on!" but the crowd stood back. A few bold spirits joined us in urging on the rest; but unless a general rush were made, nothing could be done. I felt as if my heart would burst with indignation and dread--indignation that strong men should see innocent ones suffer, dread lest our efforts might be unavailing. A'Dale and I rushed among the crowd, calling on them to come on. Our actions were perceived, though our words may not have been heard, by those in authority. Guards were advancing towards us. The magistrates ordered the executioners to proceed with their work. Already the victims were chained to the stakes, and the ruffian assistants hurried forward with faggots. We shouted--we implored the people to face the guards, and to rescue the prisoners. All our efforts, we feared, would be in vain. The magistrates shouted to the executioners to bring forward the torches. Happily they had been forgotten, and no one was ready with a light. The Bishop and the priests stormed and raged. At length some ruffians were seen in the distance, waving torches and hurrying on towards the stakes, where the victims were thus cruelly kept. But their hearts were lifted up in prayer, their eyes turned towards heaven. They heeded not what was taking place around them. The young Aveline knew that there her sainted mother had yielded up her life, and she was sure that the pathway she was about to tread would carry her in the same direction. And now there was a loud cry, and a man on horseback was seen galloping towards the spot. We could not hear the words spoken, but there seemed to be great agitation among the magistrates and priests. The crowd swayed to and fro to let the horseman pass. "Stay the execution! Stay the execution!" he shouted, seeing that the men with torches were about to cast them on the piles of faggots. "I command you in the Queen's name. She will have no more burning in Smithfield!" "This is an impostor!" exclaimed the Bishop. "Our good Queen would not hinder so holy a work." "What Queen sends you?" asked the magistrate. "Queen Elizabeth!" cried the herald. "Queen Mary is dead! And by the command of our new Queen, Sir William Cecil despatched me instantly to put a stop to these murderous proceedings. Long live Queen Elizabeth!" The cry was taken up by the crowd, who, rushing forward, dragged away the faggots from round the prisoners. The magistrates and the priests fled, the guards dispersed. Those who had charge of the garments of the prisoners brought them. A'Dale and I rushed forward to assist Aveline, who threw herself, weeping, upon my shoulder. When the friars' garments were brought to Overton and Roger Upton--such was his name--they put them aside. "No, no; we will never again use those habits of the worst of slaveries," they answered; and, on hearing this, some kind people in the crowd brought them cloaks and hats, which they thankfully put on. Of the other persons who were about to suffer death, I need not make mention. They all had friends, who joyfully came forward to receive them. The cruel cords which had bound Aveline's ankles and wrists to the stake had so hurt her that she could with difficulty walk. A'Dale and I were about to lead her off, though she was in a sad plight to pass through the streets, when a female in the crowd stepped forward, and, in a gentle voice, begged that her servants might be allowed to carry her. "I have a hand-litter close by; she is not fit to be taken to her home in any other way." We were thankful to accept this offer. The lady was, from her appearance, evidently of rank. Two men who attended her lifted Aveline up, and carried her off amidst the crowd. Just as they were going, the body of the guards returned, and seeing Overton and Upton still there, took them again into custody. "We have no order for your release," they said; "and it will not do to let all our prisoners escape us." "As you will, my masters," said Overton; "we would rather have had our liberty, but we will not resist your authority." I heard that they were to be carried to the Fleet, and had just time to bid them farewell, and hurry after Aveline. "You are right to be watchful over the young girl," said the lady, when I overtook them, "as you cannot tell what treachery might be played her. I came, however, to this terrible place in the hopes of being able to assist some poor person who might perchance escape the flames. Many of those I loved on earth have been cut off during the late unhappy reign, and I have devoted myself to soothe and comfort those who are about to suffer, or those who might escape death." The lady now asked me in what direction Aveline desired to go. I told her to Master Gresham's house in Lombard Street. She seemed well pleased at hearing this, and hastened onwards. I was in fear, however, all the way lest those who had taken Overton and his companion into custody might come in search also of Aveline. On what account they did not seek her, I could not tell; but thankfully we reached Master Gresham's house in safety. Lady Anne's joy on seeing Aveline was very great, for news had been brought her of the fearful fate to which she had been destined. On seeing the lady, she greeted her with much respect, appearing to know her, although she did not address her by name. The lady, after exchanging a few words with Lady Anne, took her departure. "She desires not to be known," observed Lady Anne, when I inquired who she was. Richard's delight on the recovery of Aveline was very great; he scarcely liked to let her out of his sight. The young girl had suffered greatly, and it was necessary to have a physician to attend on her. He ordered that she should be kept perfectly quiet, and sent some cooling draughts, by which her nerves might be quieted. Lady Anne wisely forbore questioning her as to how she had been carried off, or what had afterwards happened to her. Next morning, I went to the Fleet, where I was able without difficulty to gain access to Overton. He told me that he had been seen by some of Bonner's spies when he entered London, that he had been followed from place to place, and that the most convenient opportunity of seizing him had occurred when he was speaking to Aveline. His friend, Roger Upton, had been seized at the same time, and very speedily condemned to death, a fate to which Bishop Bonner had also doomed his young niece. The next day Master Gresham summoned me to attend him to Hatfield, where he was about to pay his respects to her Majesty. We arrived there early in the day, when my patron was at once admitted to an audience. He was very cordially received by Queen Elizabeth, who promised to attend to his interests. He did not fail also to give her Majesty wise counsel. Among other things, she promised him that, when he was abroad on her business, she would not only keep one ear shut to hear him on his return, but also that should he do her even as much service as he had done to King Edward and to Queen Mary, she would give him as much land as they both had done. These two promises greatly inspirited my patron. Before he took his departure, the Queen desired him to proceed forthwith to Antwerp, where there was business of importance for him to perform. As the journey was a hurried one, and he would not be long absent, he did not on this occasion take me with him. In the meantime Aveline had recovered from the effects of her cruel imprisonment, and the great terror of her life into which she had been put. Through the intervention of Master Gresham, Overton and his friends were liberated, he liberally offering them an asylum in his house until they could obtain employment. Great was the happy change which the nation experienced. It was soon known that Queen Elizabeth was no friend to the Romish customs. Directly she came to the throne, she refused to attend mass. This was on Christmas Day. The Queen had gone to the chapel as usual, and there she sat while the Gospel was read; but as soon as it was concluded, having seen a Bishop preparing himself by putting on his robes in the old form, she and her nobles left the chapel and retired to her privy chamber. Two days after this, a proclamation was issued, forbidding the elevation of the host. It was also ordered that the Gospels and Epistles, the Creed, and Lord's Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and the Litany should be used in English. Her respect for the Bible, and her desire to have it spread throughout her realms, was still more clearly shown on the occasion of her progress from the Tower to Westminster, the day before her coronation, on the 15th of January, 1559. I cannot describe the magnificent way in which the City was decorated, nor the numerous pageants which were prepared to do her honour. From one, a child--who was intended to represent Truth--let down, by a silk lace, an English Bible, richly bound, before the Queen. She kissed both her hands, with both her hands she received it, afterwards applying it to her breast, and lastly, standing up and thanking the City for its gifts, promised to be a diligent reader thereof. When any good wishes were cast forth for her virtuous and religious government, she would lift up her hands towards heaven, and desired the people to answer "Amen." My patron was not long absent. I had been labouring in the shop that day, and at supper had joined the family, my master, who had been absent at court, having just returned, when Sir John Leigh came in. The conversation turned on various matters abroad. News had just been received that King Philip had actually quitted Flanders and gone to reside for the future in Spain. The Queen's ministers had therefore resolved to send an ambassador resident to his court. For this office Sir Thomas Chaloner, who had hitherto been in Flanders, was appointed. "And I understand my friend Sir Thomas Gresham is to fill his place at Brussels in the capacity of an ambassador," observed Sir John Leigh, bowing to my patron. "What!" exclaimed Lady Anne. "You are not joking with my husband?" "No, assuredly," answered Sir John; "this very day he has received the honour of knighthood, and as I came here I heard of the appointment I have mentioned." "Sir John speaks the truth, my dear wife," said my patron, turning to Lady Anne. "I have received that honour from the Queen's Majesty, but I wished that another might tell you of it rather than myself. I am ready to devote my powers to the service of our good Queen, and therefore gladly accept the office she has put upon me, albeit it may be rather to my loss than profit." I will not repeat the congratulations of Lady Anne, or of the guests who were present. No time was to be lost, as the matter was pressing; and I was well pleased to find that I was to accompany my patron in the character rather of a secretary than a page. Truly he had been kind and generous to me. _ |
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