CHAPTER SEVEN.
SAD TIDINGS.
"But of all sad words by tongue or pen, The saddest are these--`It might have been!'"
Though the majority of the nation were comparatively indifferent to thereligious changes that had been effected, there were certain politicaloccurrences which they viewed with less equanimity. One of these wasthe vast number of Spaniards brought over by Philip. It was reckoned--doubtless with some exaggeration--that in September, 1554, threeSpaniards might be seen in London to every Englishman. The rumour ranthat five thousand more were on the way. The nation was both vexed andalarmed. Was England to be reduced, like the Netherlands, to thecondition of a mere outlying province of Spain?
Before eight weeks had run out from the day of Philip's arrival inLondon, his hand upon the reins was plainly visible. He had been heardto say that if he believed a member of his own body to be tainted withheresy, he would amputate it immediately and without remorse. TheGospellers were not left quite ignorant of what they might reasonablyexpect.
It was on a quiet morning in October that Agnes was on her way toHorsepool, when she was overtaken by Cicely Marvell, carrying a yoke ofwater-pails like herself.
"Good morrow, Mistress Marvell!" said the former. "Dear heart! but youlook something troubled belike. Is any sick with you?"
Cicely and Agnes were quite aware that their religious sentiments werealike. It is in the cloudy and dark day that those who fear the Lordspeak often one to another.
"Heavy news, my maid!" said Cicely in a low voice, and shaking her head."Yesternight sixty folk were arrest in London for reading of Lutheranbooks."
"Poor folk, trow?"
"All manner, as I do hear."
Neither high nor low, in those days, were safe, if suspicion of heresywere once roused against them. The higher class were the more likely tobe detected; yet there was a little more hesitation in bringing them tothe stake. But it was easy to see, then as now, that as a rule it wasthe poor of this world whom God had chosen to be rich in faith. Forevery rich man or titled lady who incurred bodily danger throughfaithfulness to the truth, there were at least fifty of those whom theworld regards as "nobody."
There was a strange mixture of comedy and tragedy in the events of thosedays. The miracle-play alternated with the pillory, and the sight-seerswent from the burning of a heretic in the morning to see the newathletic games, introduced by the Spaniards, in the afternoon in PalaceYard. A grand tournament at Court preceded, and a bear-baitingfollowed, the humiliating spectacle of the Parliament of Englandkneeling at the feet of Cardinal Pole, and abjectly craving absolutionfrom Rome. One man--Sir Ralph Bagenall--stood out, and stood up, whenall his co-senators were thus prostrate in the dust. He was religiouslya Gallio, not a Gospeller; but he was politically a sturdy Englishman,and no coward. Strange to say, no harm came to him. Nay, is itstrange, when we read, "Them that honour Me, I will honour," and"Whosoever shall lose his life for My sake and the Gospel's, the sameshall save it?"
There were no longer any sermons preached at the Cross that a Gospellercared to hear. One was forthcoming regularly every Sunday; but thepreachers were Pendleton the renegade, Feckenham the suave, or Gardinerthe man of blood. The uneasy feeling of a section at least of thepopulace was shown by frays at Charing Cross, incipient insurrections inSuffolk, assaults on priests at the altar, and unaccountableiconoclasms. The image of Becket was twice found broken by mysteriousmeans; and a cat, tonsured, and arrayed in miniature vestments, wasdiscovered hanging on the gallows in Cheapside, while the offer of alarge reward failed to reveal the offender.
During this time, Mistress Winter's piety had been blooming in awonderful manner. She kept Saint Thomas of Canterbury on a small table,with a lamp burning before it, and every morning diligently courtesiedto this stock and stone. When her hands were not otherwise busied, arosary was pretty sure to be found in them, on which she recountedPaters and Aves with amazing celerity. The bitterness of her tonguekept pace with her show of religiousness. Ugly adjectives, and ugliersubstantives, were flung at Agnes all the day long, and whether shedeserved reproof or not appeared to make no difference. But thoughwords and even blows were not spared, Mistress Winter went no further.Agnes was much too useful to be denounced as a heretic, at least so longas she remained at her post in Cow Lane. She did all the unpleasantwork in the house, besides filling the convenient offices of a vent forJoan's temper, and a butt for Dorothy's ridicule. But though gettingrid of her was not to be thought of, words were cheap, however peppery,and a box on the ear was a great relief to the feelings of the giver--those of the recipient not being taken into account. So Agnes gotplenty of both.
"Sweet-heart, how earnest by yonder black eye?" anxiously demanded JohnLaurence, on the last Sunday afternoon in January, when Agnes and hewere coming back from their favourite stroll towards Clerkenwell.
"'Tis nought new, belike," said she with a smile.
"Please God," returned he, "it shall be ancient matter and by-gone, verysoon."
He stood still a moment, looking over the crowded chimneys of the City,just beyond the green field through which they were walking.
"Doth the thought e'er come to thy mind, Agnes," asked he, "how soon allthings shall be bygones? At the most afore many years,--yea, afore manydays, it may be,--thou and I shall be away hence from this world. Andeven this great city, that doth look thus firm and substantial, ere longshall not be left thereof one trace. Yea, heaven and earth shall passaway: but Christ's words shall not pass away."
Agnes listened with interest, but gave no answer beyond a gesture ofassent.
"I have fallen to think much of late," said the Black Friar, "of oneword of His,--assuredly not to pass away, nor be forgotten--`Whosoevershall deny Me before men, him will I also deny before My Father which isin Heaven.' Verily, it were awful matter, to draw down on a man's headthis public denying of Jesu Christ."
"Dear heart!" said Agnes, at once sympathetically and deprecatingly.
"Ah!" he replied, with a sigh of self-distrust: "hope is one matter, andbelief another."
"Dost fear some ill work, trow?" she asked doubtfully.
John Laurence did not answer at once. He spoke after a minute,dreamily, as if to himself; a habit to which Agnes was now quiteaccustomed.
"`Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no morethat they can do. But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear Him,which after that He hath killed hath power to cast into Hell.'"
The Friar walked on for a few seconds with his usual rapidity, and thensuddenly stopped again.
"Men think lightly of these things, dear heart," said he. "Most menhave a far greater care lest they break a limb, or lose an handful ofgold, than lest they be cast into Hell. Yet see thou how Christ tookthe same. And He knew,--as we cannot know,--what is Hell."
"The good Lord keep us!" ejaculated Agnes fervently.
"Amen!" responded the Black Friar. "`He shall keep the feet of Hissaints.' It is not we that keep ourselves. 'Tis not we that hold Him,no more than the babe holdeth himself in his mother's arms. And themother were more like to leave the babe fall into the fire or the water,than He to loose hold upon His trustful child."
He was trying to prepare her for what might come. But she was notprepared.
Cold though it was, they had a pleasant walk that afternoon. The timeof release was drawing so near, that Agnes felt almost as bright andglad as if it were already come. At Cow Cross, her betrothed bade herfarewell, saying with his grave smile that he would not come further,lest it should cost her an extra taunt from Mistress Dorothy.
Agnes was quite satisfied to be saved the small torment in question.She did not realise how soon the time might come when it would seem toher a lighter thing to endure Dorothy's ridicule for a calendar year,than to miss one glimpse of that face.
We recognise such facts as these--when they come.
The next day passed over uneventfully. The Tuesday morning rose,brig
ht, clear, and frosty. Agnes was in spirits perfectly marvellous,considering what she had to endure. She was making melody in her heartas she carried her pails to the pump, thinking gladly how short her timeof trial was growing, and how bright her future would be. It matterednothing to her that she would have to work as hard as ever; nothing,that she must live in a single room of a crowded street in the heart ofthe City; nothing, that John Laurence was a worn, gaunt man of more thantwice her years, and utterly unattractive in the eyes of the world;nothing, that the day was bitterly cold, and her thin bed-gown a veryinsufficient protection. Everything was rose-colour to her. Had shenot Christ in Heaven, and one honest heart that loved her upon earth?
When Agnes came in sight of the pump, she perceived a little childsitting crouched upon the step of the trough, and evidently crying. Herheart was not hard to touch, and setting down her pails she laid herhand on the boy's shoulder. He had been too much absorbed in his griefto notice her approach, but when she spoke he looked up, showing the nowtear-stained face of little Will Flint.
"Why, Will, my little lad!--what matter now?"
Will burst into a fresh paroxysm without answering.
"Metrusteth thou hast not been an ill lad?"
Will shook his curly head.
"Nay, what then? Is Mother sick?"
Another shake.
"Come, tell me what it is. Mayhap we shall find some remedy."
"O Mistress Agnes!" came with a multitude of sobs.
"Nay, then, tell me now!" pleaded Agnes.
"O Mistress Agnes, they have ta'en him!"
"Ta'en whom, my lad? Sure, thy little brother Dickon is not stoleaway?"
"No!" sobbed Will. "But, O Mistress!--they've ta'en him to yon uglyprison, afore those wicked folk, and they call him an here--heretic, andthey say he'll ne'er come out again--nay, never!"
This was manifestly something serious.
"But ta'en whom, Will, dear?--not thy father?"
"Oh nay, nay!--the Black Friar."
"What Black Friar, Will?" Agnes hardly knew her own voice.
"Why, our Black Friar--Father Laurence. There was only one."
For a minute there was dead silence in reply--a minute, during which therose-colour died out of sky and earth, and the glad music was changed tofuneral bells. Then Agnes rose from her stooping position.
"There was only one!" she repeated, with a far-away look in her eyes,which were fixed on the tower of the Cathedral, but saw nothing.
"He was so good to me and Dickon!" sobbed Will.
"Child, wilt do thy best to find out whither they have ta'en him, andwhen he is to be had afore the Bishops, and then come and tell me?"
Will, occupied in rubbing his eyes with his small sleeve, nodded assent.Agnes filled her pails mechanically, and carried them home. The worldmust go on, if the sun would never rise any more for her.
Early the next morning Will brought her news that the six prisoners, ofwhom John Laurence was one, had been taken to the Counter, and that onthe eighth of February they were to appear before Bishop Gardiner atWinchester Palace, Southwark. Knowing that Mistress Winter would soonhear of the arrest, if she had not already done so, Agnes made noattempt to conceal the news. She told it herself, and requestedpermission to go and hear the examination.
"What, on a brewing-day!" cried Mistress Winter. "Good sooth, nay!They be right sure to be put by to another day. If that be not brewing,nor baking, nor cleaning, nor washing-day, may be thou canst be let gofor an half-hour then."
"Prithee, Mistress Sacramentary, don thy velvet gown!" spitefully addedDorothy.
The hall of the Bishop's Palace was crowded that morning. The sixprisoners were led out in order, according to their social rank:--first,William Hunter, the apprentice-boy of Brentford, only sixteen years ofage; then Thomas Tomkins, the weaver; Stephen Knight, the barber ofMaldon; William Pygot, the butcher of Braintree; John Laurence, theBlack Friar; lastly, Thomas Hawkes, the only one in the group who wrotehimself "gentleman." They were such common, contemptible people, thatGardiner thought them beneath his august notice, and scornfully referredthem to Bonner's jurisdiction. They were marched at once to theConsistory sitting in Saint Paul's Chapter-House, whither the crowdfollowed.
The Consistory demanded of the accused persons--
"Do ye believe that the body of Christ is in the Sacrament, without anysubstance of bread and wine remaining?"
The prisoners replied that this doctrine was not agreeable to Scripture.
"Do ye believe that your parents, your sponsors, the King, Queen,nobility, clergy, and laity of the realm, believing this doctrine, weretrue and faithful Christians, or no?"
"If they so believed," was the answer, "they were therein deceived."
"Did ye, yourselves, in time past, truly believe the same, or no?"
They said, "Ay, heretofore; but not now."
"Do ye believe that the Spirit of Christ has been, is, and will be, withthe Church, not suffering her to be deceived?"
"We do so believe," replied the prisoners.
"Have you," pursued Bonner, "being infamed to me as heretics, not been agood space in my house, and been there fed, and instructed by thosedesirous of your soul's welfare--and yet you refuse this belief?"
The accused admitted all this.
"Will ye now conform?"
"In no whit, until it be proved by Holy Scripture," came the decisiveanswer.
"If not," demanded the Bishop, "what grounds have you to maintain youropinion? Who is of the same opinion? What conference have ye hadtherein with any? What comfort and relief had you from any, and theirnames and dwelling-places?" [Note 1.]
This was a deliberate request that they would accuse their friends andteachers. But the prisoners did not respond.
"We have no ground but the truth," they said, "which we were taught byDoctor Taylor, of Hadleigh, and such other."
Since Taylor of Hadleigh was already burnt to ashes, this admissioncould do him no harm.
The accused persons were then remanded until nine o'clock the nextmorning, and advised in the meantime to "bethink them what they woulddo."
It was Cicely Marvell who told all this in a low voice to Agnes Stone,as they stood together under a tree in the meadow behind Cow Lane.
"Keep a good heart, dear maid!" said Cicely encouragingly. "May be itshall be better than we might fear. `The Lord is very pitiful, and oftender mercy.'"
But Agnes shook her head. To such a trial she at least anticipated noother end than death. Too well she knew that, like the Master whoseservant John Laurence was, "for envy they had delivered him."
Perhaps, too, her spirituality was of a higher type than that of Cicely.She recognised that the Lord's tender mercy lies not in sparing pain toHis chosen, but in being with them when they pass through the purifyingwaters, and bearing them in His arms through the fire which is toconsume their earthliness, but not themselves. His is a love which willinflict the pain that is to purify, and tenderly comfort the sufferer ashe passes through it.
Agnes hardly knew how she passed that Friday evening. Her usual dutieswere all done; but she went through them with eyes that saw not, withdeafened ears on which Mistress Winter's abuse fell pointless, for whichDorothy's sarcasms had no meaning. God was in Heaven, and John Laurenceand his persecutors were on earth: beyond this there was to her nobodyand nothing. The vexations for which she used to care were such mereinsignificant pin-pricks that it was impossible even to notice them now.
So the Friday evening, and the sleepless night, wore away: and theSaturday morning broke.
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Note 1. These questions, in point of wording, are very much condensed.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE CROWN OF LIFE.
"Welcome scaffold for precious Christ."
_Reverend James Renwick_.
It so happened that the 9th of February, to which the prisoners had beenremanded,
was not a day devoted to baking, brewing, cleaning, orwashing, in the household of Mistress Winter; who, not in complimentarylanguage, gave Agnes her permission to spend half-an-hour in theChapter-house.
Already, before the sitting of the Consistory, Bishop Bonner had sent,first for Pygot and Knight, and afterwards for Tomkins and Hunter, intohis "great chamber," and asked them if they were willing to recant.They all refused, "not being persuaded in their consciences" that thedoctrines propounded to them were true. These four were then broughtinto the Consistory, and a paper was offered them to sign, containing asynopsis of their belief. The statement appears to have been a fair andtrue definition of their creed, for all four attached their names to itwithout hesitation.
It was just at this time that Agnes entered the Chapter-house, as theseprisoners were being removed, and John Laurence was brought forward.
"Pray you, come hither to me," said Bonner, with a show of friendliness,due to his prisoner's priesthood.
Calmly enough, to outward show, Agnes looked on his face as he came upto the Bishop,--that face so plain and uncomely to other eyes, so dearand beautiful to hers. There would be time enough for weepinghereafter, in that dreary future, of which the vista seemed to stretchbefore her in illimitable desert: but now she could afford to lose notone of that yoke, no moment of the time permitted for gazing on thatface. She might never see him again until they should stand togetherbefore the throne of God.
John Laurence answered every question asked of him calmly and firmly.He admitted that he was a priest, eighteen years in orders, and sometimea Black Friar professed. But Bonner's spies had told him more thanthis; and it was not his wont to omit the wringing of a heretic's heart.
"Art thou not ensured unto a maid in way of marriage?"
"I am so, my Lord," said John Laurence.
"Didst thou truly propose to wed with her?"
"By God's leave, I did."
And Agnes Stone, standing in the crowd, heard herself thus confessedbefore God and man--a confession which, she full well knew, stamped himwho made it, in the eyes of these his judges, with indelible disgrace.
"And what is thine opinion on the Sacrament?" inquired Bonner in aconfidential manner.
"It is a remembrance of Christ's body."
"Then what sayest thou of them which believe, as we do, that it _is_Christ's body?"
"I say that they are deceived."
"Thinkest thou that all do err which believe not as thou dost?" saidBonner with his usual bluster.
"I do say so, my Lord," was the determined answer.
Once more the prisoners were remanded, but only until afternoon. Agnesdid not dare to stay. She had ascertained from Cicely Marvell, whom shesaw in the crowd, that prisoners' friends were often permitted afarewell interview between sentence and execution; and if she meant toapply for that, she must not risk Mistress Winter's anger by remainingnow. Cicely promised to bring her news of the sentence.
"Lo' you now! here cometh my fair Lady Dominica!" was Dorothy'ssalutation, as Agnes re-entered the kitchen. "What news, sweet MistressBlackfriars? Is thy goodly sweet-heart consecrate Lord Bishop ofDuneery, or shall he but be Master Doctor Dean of Foolscap?"
Agnes vouchsafed no answer.
"Woe betide us! here is Madam Gospeller hath lost her tongue!" criedDorothy. "Do but give me to wit, prithee, sweetest Sacramentary! Sodear love I all Black Friars, I may never sleep till I know."
"They be yet again remanded," replied Agnes dreamily.
Though she felt sure what the end would be, it was impossible to realiseit. Surely all that was passing must be some dreadful dream, from whichshe would presently awake, perhaps in the little bed which used to behers in her aunt's pretty cottage, and find that all the past, for eightyears, had been a groundless vision.
Yet Dorothy's torturing pin-pricks were real enough. All day long shepersisted in worrying Agnes by pretended sympathy--so patently pretendedthat it was excessively annoying. The towel was snatched from her asshe was washing her hands, with an entreaty that Dorothy might take thattrouble for her; the mop was hidden where she could not find it, with anassurance that it would but increase the bitterness of her sorrow todiscover it; invisible strings were stretched across the kitchen whereshe was sure to fall over them,--in order, as Dorothy tenderlyintimated, to turn her thoughts from the painful anxiety which she mustbe enduring. It seemed to Agnes as if night and certainty would nevercome. Yet how could she wish it, when she felt so sure what the awfulcertainty would be? The hours wore on; the dark came at last; and whenthe night had fairly set in, Cicely Marvell's soft tap was heard onMistress Winter's door. Agnes opened it herself. Dorothy had indeedrushed to do it, but fortunately Agnes contrived to reach it before her.It was evident that Cicely was loth to tell her terrible news, thoughDorothy begged her, over Agnes' shoulder, to relieve her heartrendingsuspense. Was it from one faint throb of womanly feeling in her usuallyhard heart, that Mistress Winter, in sharp tones, summoned Dorothywithin, and left Agnes to hear the news alone?
"Speak, Mistress Marvell," said Agnes, in that preternaturally calmmanner which she had worn from the first. "It is death."
"Ay, poor Agnes! It is death by fire."
"And in the meantime?--"
"They lie in Newgate. He shall be taken to Colchester to suffer, beinghe was there born, the 28th of this March."
"Then he dieth on the 29th?"
"E'en so."
He was to die on the very day they had fixed for their marriage. To_what_ had Agnes been looking forward so joyfully during those pastweary months?
When the prisoners had reappeared before Bonner in the afternoon, theywere asked, for the last time, if they would recant their heresy.
"We are not heretics," they replied; "the contrary is heresy."
Then, on these six contumacious men, was passed in due form the sentenceof death.
Each was to suffer at the place of his birth: Thomas Tomkins inSmithfield, on the 16th of March; William Hunter, the poorapprentice-boy, at Brentford, on the twenty-sixth; William Pygot atBraintree, and Stephen Knight at Maldon, on the twenty-eighth.
It was only one interview with the prisoner for which Agnes dared tohope, and she waited for it until the day before he was to be degradedfrom his priestly office. Mistress Winter's momentary sympathy, if ithad existed, was over, and she grumbled a good deal when Agnes preferredher request for a few hours' leave of absence. But she granted the boonat last.
"It will be the last time," said Agnes quietly.
No more meetings at Paul's Cross,--no more summer walks toClerkenwell,--no more readings from the Cathedral lectern! Instead ofthat, for him the chariot of fire, and then the King's welcome home, thewhite robe, and the palm of victory, and the crown of life. And forher,--ah! what? It might be a forty years' wandering in the Wildernessof Sinai, with the River of Jordan at its close, ere she could come tothe shore of the Promised Land. Yet the Promised Land was sure, as wasthe Promiser.
A strange specimen of human nature was Alexander, the keeper of Newgateprison: a man who could request Bishop Bonner to burn some more hereticsbecause the cells were inconveniently crowded, and then, after a goodsupper, sit down and play the fiddle. He was extremely fond of music,though it scarcely exercised a soothing influence in his exceedinglysavage breast.
Happily for Agnes, this gentleman happened to be in a good temper whenshe presented herself at his gates. He admitted her into the greathall, and after a short delay took her down to the low damp cell wherecondemned prisoners were confined. There she found John Laurence.
They were both very calm,--these two, to each of whom in that hour'slast meeting the bitterness of death was passing. Each tried to bebrave for the other's sake; each strengthened the other's hand in God.
"This is scarce what we looked for, sweet-heart," said the Black Friar."We had gathered a fair dish of honey, but our good Master saw it shouldharm us, and appointed us in the stead thereof a dish of wormwood.Neither is all the
honey gone from us, for it is sweet to suffer for Hissake."
"I am glad thou hast stood firm," said Agnes quietly.
"Thou shalt have the bitterer portion, my poor heart! Yet it is for nolong season. We must meet soon, in our Father's House."
"Truly. And the time may be very short," she answered.
"And canst thou give me up, mine Agnes, for Christ's sake? For markthou, that which is wrenched away is not given."
She looked up with fixed, tearless eyes.
"Ay, John. I can give thee up for Christ's sake. But I could not forany other."
So they parted--for the last time. For when they should meet again inthe Father's House, they would part no more for ever.
"Not for any other!" Is there no special tenderness in the heart of theloving Saviour, for those who have given up that one thing which wouldnot, could not, be resigned for any sake but His?
The next day there was the bitter mockery of degradation. Everyvestment of the priesthood was put upon the martyr; one by one they weretorn from him with curses. The crown of his head, where the tonsure hadbeen cut, was defaced; the anointed head and hands were roughly scraped,to deprive them of the sacred unction. But the unction from the HolyOne was beyond their reach.
Then came the journey to Colchester, and, lastly, the _auto da fe_."Not able to go, his legs sore worn with heavy irons, as also his bodyweakened by evil keeping," John Laurence was borne in a chair to hischariot of fire. We are told that at this martyrdom there were seenlittle children running round the stake, crying, "Lord, strengthen Thyservant, and keep Thy promise!" God did keep His promise, andstrengthened His servant.
It was soon over; and they had no more that they could do.
There were martyr-crowns for such men as John Laurence. But were therenone for women such as Agnes Stone, whose martyrdom lasted, not an hour,but a lifetime,--who laid on the Lord's altar, not their lives, but allthat made life precious?
We are not told what became of her. Nor does it much matter. Ratherthan sketch a fancy future for such a life as hers, let us remember thetrue end, when that life was over. For three hundred years, more orless, these two, who gave each other up for Christ, have been given backby Christ to each other: together they have followed the Lambwhithersoever He goeth; the Lord has been their everlasting light, andthe days of their mourning have been ended.
For the Master's Sake: A Story of the Days of Queen Mary Page 7
