CHAPTER VI
SOME CONTRASTS
In the Lambeth household the autumn passed by uneventfully. The rigour ofthe Archbishop's confinement had been mitigated, and he had been allowednow and again to visit his palace at Croydon; but his inactivity stillcontinued as the sequestration was not removed; Elizabeth had refused tolisten to the petition of Convocation in '80 for his reinstatement.Anthony went down to the old palace once or twice with him; and wasbrought closer to him in many ways; and his affection and tendernesstowards his master continually increased. Grindal was a pathetic figureat this time, with few friends, in poor health, out of favour with theQueen, who had disregarded his existence; and now his afflictions wererendered more heavy than ever by the blindness that was creeping overhim. The Archbishop, too, in his loneliness and sorrow, was drawn closerto his young officer than ever before; and gradually got to rely upon himin many little ways. He would often walk with Anthony in the gardens atLambeth, leaning upon his arm, talking to him of his beloved flowers andherbs which he was now almost too blind to see; telling him queer factsabout the properties of plants; and even attempting to teach him a littleirrelevant botany now and then.
They were walking up and down together, soon after Campion's arrest, oneAugust morning before prayers in a little walled garden on the river thatGrindal had laid out with great care in earlier years.
"Ah," said the old man, "I am too blind to see my flowers now, Mr.Norris; but I love them none the less; and I know their places. Nowthere," he went on, pointing with his stick, "there I think grows mymastick or marum; perhaps I smell it, however. What is that flower like,Mr. Norris?"
Anthony looked at it, and described its little white flower and itsleaves.
"That is it," said the Archbishop, "I thought my memory served me. It isa kind of marjoram, and it has many virtues, against cramps, convulsionsand venomous bites--so Galen tells us." Then he went on to talk of thesimple old plants that he loved best; of the two kinds of basil that healways had in his garden; and how good it was mixed in sack against theheadache; and the male penny-royal, and how well it had served him oncewhen he had great internal trouble.
"Mr. Gerrard was here a week or two ago, Mr. Norris, when you were downat Croydon for me. He is my Lord Burghley's man; he oversees his gardensat Wimbledon House, and in the country. He was telling me of a rascal hehad seen at a fair, who burned henbane and made folks with the toothachebreathe in the fumes; and then feigned to draw a worm forth from theaching tooth; but it was no worm at all, but a lute string that he heldready in his hand. There are sad rascals abroad, Mr. Norris."
The old man waxed eloquent when they came to the iris bed.
"Ah! Mr. Norris, the flowers-de-luce are over by now, I fear; but whatwonderful creatures of God they are, with their great handsome heads andtheir cool flags. I love to hear a bed of them rustle all together andshake their spears and nod their banners like an army in array. And thenthey are not only for show. Apuleius says that they are good against thegout. I asked Mr. Gerrard whether my lord had tried them; but he said no,he would not."
At the violet bed he was yet more emphatic.
"I think, Mr. Norris, I love these the best of all. They are lowlycreatures; but how sweet! and like other lowly creatures exalted by theirMaker to do great things as his handmaidens. The leaves are good againstinflammations, and the flowers against ague and hoarseness as well. Andthen there is oil-of-violets, as you know; and violet-syrup andsugar-violet; then they are good for blisters; garlands of them were anancient cure for the headache, as I think Dioscorides tells us. And theyare the best of all cures for some children's ailments."
And so they walked up and down together; the Archbishop talking quietlyon and on; and helping quite unknown to himself by his tender irrelevantold man's talk to soothe the fever of unrest and anxiety that wasbeginning to torment Anthony so much now. His conversation, like the veryflowers he loved to speak of, was "good against inflammations."
Anthony came to him one morning, thinking to please him, and brought hima root that he had bought from a travelling pedlar just outside thegateway.
"This is a mandrake root, your Grace; I heard you speak of it the otherday."
The Archbishop took it, smiling, felt it carefully, peered at it a minuteor two. "No, my son," he said, "I fear you have met a knave. This isbriony-root carved like a mandrake into the shape of a man's legs. It isworthless, I fear; but I thank you for the kind thought, Mr. Norris," andhe gave the root back to him. "And the stories we hear of the mandrake, Ifear, are fables, too. Some say that they only grow beneath gallows fromthat which falls there; that the male grows from the corruption of aman's body; and the female from that of a woman's; but that is surely alie, and a foul one, too. And then folks say that to draw it up meansdeath; and that the mandrake screams terribly as it comes up; and so theybid us tie a dog to it, and then drive the dog from it so as to draw itup so. I asked Mr. Baker, the chirurgeon in the household of my LordOxford, the other day, about that; and he said that such tales be butdoltish dreams and old wives' fables. But the true mandrake is a cleanand wholesome plant. The true ointment Populeon should have the juice ofthe leaves in it; and the root boiled and strained causes drowsiness. Ithath a predominate cold faculty, Galen saith; but its true home is not inEngland at all. It comes from Mount Garganus in Apulia."
It was pathetic, Anthony thought sometimes, that this old prelate shouldbe living so far from the movements of the time, owing to no fault of hisown. During these months the great tragedy of Campion's passion wasproceeding a couple of miles away; but the Archbishop thought less of itthan of the death of an old tree. The only thing from the outside worldthat seemed to ruffle him was the behaviour of the Puritans. Anthony waspassing through "le velvet-room" one afternoon when he heard voices inthe Presence Chamber beyond; and almost immediately heard the Archbishop,who had recognised his step, call his name. He went in and found him witha stranger in a dark sober dress.
"Take this gentleman to Mr. Scot," he said, "and ask him to give him somerefreshment; for that he must be gone directly."
When Anthony had taken the gentleman to the steward, he returned to theArchbishop for any further instructions about him.
"No, Mr. Norris, my business is done with him. He comes from my lord ofNorwich, and must be returning this evening. If you are not occupied, Mr.Norris, will you give me your arm into the garden?"
They went out by the vestry-door into the little cloisters, and skirtingthe end of the creek that ran up by Chichele's water-tower began to paceup and down the part of the garden that looked over the river.
"My lord has sent to know if I know aught of one Robert Browne, with whomhe is having trouble. This Mr. Browne has lately come from Cambridge, andso my lord thought I might know something of him; but I do not. Thisgentleman has been saying some wild and foolish things, I fear; anddesires that every church should be free of all others; and shouldappoint its own minister, and rule its own affairs without interference,and that prophesyings should be without restraint. Now, you know, Mr.Norris, I have always tried to serve that party, and support them intheir gospel religion; but this goes too far. Where were any governanceat all, if all this were to come about? where were the Rule of Faith? thepower of discipline? Nay, where were the unity for which our Saviourprayed? It liketh me not. Good Dr. Freake, as his messenger tells me,feels as I do about this; and desires to restrain Mr. Browne, but he isso hot he will not be restrained; and besides, he is some kin to my LordBurghley, so I fear his mouth will be hard to stop."
Anthony could not help thinking of Mr. Buxton's prediction that theChurch of England had so repudiated authority, that in turn her own wouldone day be repudiated.
"A Papist prisoner, your Grace," he said, "said to me the other day thatthis would be sure to come: that the whole principle of Church authorityhad been destroyed in England; and that the Church of England would moreand more be deserted by her children; for that there w
as no necessarycentre of unity left, now that Peter was denied."
"It is what a Papist is bound to say," replied the Archbishop; "but it iseasy to prophesy, when fulfilment may be far away. Indeed, I think weshall have trouble with some of these zealous men; and the Queen's Gracewas surely right in desiring some restraint to be put upon the Exercises.But it is mere angry raving to say that the Church of England will losethe allegiance of her children."
Anthony could not feel convinced that events bore out the Archbishop'sassertion. Everywhere the Puritans were becoming more outrageouslydisloyal. There were everywhere signs of disaffection and revolt againstthe authorities of the Establishment, even on the part of the mostsincere and earnest men, many of whom were looking forward to the daywhen the last rags of popery should be cast away, and formalPresbyterianism inaugurated in the Church of England. EpiscopalOrdination was more and more being regarded as a merely civilrequirement, but conveying no ministerial commission; recognition by thecongregation with the laying on of the hands of the presbyterate was theonly ordination they allowed as apostolic.
Anthony said a word to the Archbishop about this.
"You must not be too strict," said the old man. "Both views can besupported by the Scriptures; and although the Church of England atpresent recognises only Episcopal Ordination within her own borders, shedoes not dare to deny, as the Papists fondly do, that other rites may notbe as efficacious as her own. That, surely, Master Norris, is inaccordance with the mind of Christ that hath the spirit of liberty."
Much as Anthony loved the old man and his gentle charity, this doctrinalposition as stated by the chief pastor of the Church of England scarcelyserved to establish his troubled allegiance.
During these autumn months, too, both between and after the disputationsin the Tower, the image of Campion had been much in his thoughts.Everywhere, except among the irreconcilables, the Jesuit was being wellspoken of: his eloquence, his humour, and his apparent sincerity werebeing greatly commented on in London and elsewhere. Anthony, as has beenseen, was being deeply affected on both sides of his nature; the shrewdwit of the other was in conflict with his own intellectual convictions,and this magnetic personality was laying siege to his heart. And now thelast scene of the tragedy, more affecting than all, was close at hand.
Anthony was present first at the trial in Westminster Hall, which tookplace during November, and was more than ever moved by what he saw andheard there. The priest, as even his opponents confessed, had by now "wona marvellously good report, to be such a man as his like was not to befound, either for life, learning, or any other quality which mightbeautify a man." And now here he stood at the bar, paler than ever, sonumbed with racking that he could not lift his hand to plead--that supplemusician's hand of his, once so skilful on the lute--so that Mr. Sherwinhad to lift it for him out of the furred cuff in which he had wrapped it,kissing it tenderly as he did so, in reverence for its sufferings; and hesaw, too, the sleek face of Eliot, in his red yeoman's coat, as he stoodchatting at the back, like another Barabbas whom the people preferred tothe servant of the Crucified. And, above all, he heard Campion's stirringdefence, spoken in that same resonant sweet voice, though it broke nowand then through weakness, in spite of the unconquerable purpose andcheerfulness that showed in his great brown eyes, and round his delicatehumorous mouth. It was indeed an astonishing combination of sincerity andeloquence, and even humour, that was brought to bear on the jury, and allin vain, during those days.
"If you want to dispute as though you were in the schools," cried one ofthe court, when he found himself out of his depth, "you are only provingyourself a fool."
"I pray God," said Campion, while his eyes twinkled, "I pray God make usboth sages." And, in spite of the tragedy of the day, a little hum oflaughter ran round the audience.
"If a sheep were stolen," he argued again, in answer to the presuppositionthat since some Catholics were traitors, therefore these were--"and awhole family called in question for the same, were it good manner ofproceeding for the accusers to say 'Your great grandfathers and fathersand sisters and kinsfolk all loved mutton; _ergo_, you have stolen thesheep'?"
Again, in answer to the charge that he and his companions had conspiredabroad, he said,
"As for the accusation that we plotted treason at Rheims, reflect, mylords, how just this charge is! For see! First we never met there at all;then, many of us have never been at Rheims at all; finally, we were neverin our lives all together, except at this hour and in prison."
Anthony heard, too, Campion expose the attempt that was made to shift thecharge from religion to treason.
"There was offer made to us," he cried indignantly, "that if we wouldcome to the church to hear sermons and the word preached, we should beset at large and at liberty; so Pascall and Nicholls"--(two apostates)"otherwise as culpable in all offences as we, upon coming to church werereceived to grace and had their pardon granted; whereas, if they had beenso happy as to have persevered to the end, they had been partakers of ourcalamities. So that our religion was cause of our imprisonment, and _exconsequenti_, of our condemnation."
The Queen's Counsel tried to make out that certain secrets that Campion,in an intercepted letter, had sworn not to reveal, must be treasonable orhe would not so greatly fear their publication. To this the priest made astately defence of his office, and declaration of his staunchness. Heshowed how by his calling as a priest he was bound to secrecy in mattersheard in confession, and that these secret matters were of this nature.
"These were the hidden matters," he said, "these were the secrets, to therevealing whereof I cannot nor will not be brought, come rack, comerope!"
And again, when Sergeant Anderson interpreted a phrase of Campion'sreferring to the great day to which he looked forward, as meaning the dayof a foreign papal invasion, the prisoner cried in a loud voice:
"O Judas, Judas! No other day was in my mind, I protest, than thatwherein it should please God to make a restitution of faith and religion.Whereupon, as in every pulpit every Protestant doth, I pronounced a greatday, not wherein any temporal potentate should minister, but wherein theterrible Judge should reveal all men's consciences, and try every man ofeach kind of religion. This is the day of change, this is the great daywhich I threatened; comfortable to the well-behaving, and terrible to allheretics. Any other day but this, God knows I meant not."
Then, after the other prisoners had pleaded, Campion delivered a finaldefence to the jury, with a solemnity that seemed to belong to a judgerather than a criminal. The babble of tongues that had continued most ofthe day was hushed to a profound silence in court as he stood and spoke,for the sincerity and simplicity of the priest were evident to all, andcombined with his eloquence and his strange attractive personality,dominated all but those whose minds were already made up before enteringthe court.
"What charge this day you sustain," began the priest, in a steady lowvoice, with his searching eyes bent on the faces before him, "and whataccount you are to render at the dreadful Day of Judgment, whereof Icould wish this also were a mirror, I trust there is not one of you butknoweth. I doubt not but in like manner you forecast how dear theinnocent is to God, and at what price He holdeth man's blood. Here we areaccused and impleaded to the death,"--he began to raise his voice alittle--"here you do receive our lives into your custody; here must beyour device, either to restore them or condemn them. We have no whitherto appeal but to your consciences; we have no friends to make there butyour heeds and discretions." Then he touched briefly on the evidence,showing how faulty and circumstantial it was, and urged them to rememberthat a man's life by the very constitution of the realm must not besacrificed to mere probabilities or presumptions; then he showed theuntrustworthiness of his accusers, how one had confessed himself amurderer, and how another was an atheist. Then he ended with a word ortwo of appeal.
"God give you grace," he cried, "to weigh our causes aright, and haverespect to your own consciences; and so I will keep the jury no longer. Icommit the rest to God,
and our convictions to your good discretions."
When the jury had retired, and all the judges but one had left the benchuntil the jury should return, Anthony sat back in his place, his heartbeating and his eyes looking restlessly now on the prisoners, now on thedoor where the jury had gone out, and now on Judge Ayloff, whom he knew alittle, and who sat only a few feet away from him on one side. He couldhear the lawyers sitting below the judge talking among themselves; andpresently one of them leaned over to him.
"Good-day, Mr. Norris," he said, "you have come to see an acquittal, Idoubt not. No man can be in two minds after what we have heard; at leastconcerning Mr. Campion. We all think so, here, at any rate."
The lawyer was going on to say a word or two more as to the priest'seloquence, when there was a sharp exclamation from the judge. Anthonylooked up and saw Judge Ayloff staring at his hand, turning it over whilehe held his glove in the other; and Anthony saw to his surprise that thefingers were all blood-stained. One or two gentlemen near him turned andlooked, too, as the judge, still staring and growing a little pale, wipedthe blood quickly away with the glove; but the fingers grew crimson againimmediately.
"'S'Body!" said Ayloff, half to himself; "'tis strange, there is nowound." A moment later, looking up, he saw many of his neighboursglancing curiously at his hand and his pale face, and hastily thrust onhis glove again; and immediately after the jury returned, and the judgesfiled in to take their places. Anthony's attention was drawn off again,and the buzz of talk in the court was followed again by a deep silence.
The verdict of _Guilty_ was uttered, as had been pre-arranged, and theQueen's Counsel demanded sentence.
"Campion and the rest," said Chief Justice Wray, "What can you say whyyou should not die?"
Then Campion, still steady and resolute, made his last useless appeal.
"It was not our death that ever we feared. But we knew that we were notlords of our own lives, and therefore for want of answer would not beguilty of our own deaths. The only thing that we have now to say is, thatif our religion do make us traitors, we are worthy to be condemned; butotherwise are and have been true subjects as ever the Queen had. Incondemning us, you condemn all your own ancestors," and as he said this,his voice began to rise, and he glanced steadily and mournfully round atthe staring faces about him, "all the ancient priests, bishops, andkings--all that was once the glory of England, the island of saints, andthe most devoted child of the See of Peter." Then, as he went on, heflung out his wrenched hands, and his voice rang with indignant defiance."For what have we taught," he cried, "however you may qualify it with theodious name of treason, that they did not uniformly teach? To becondemned with these old lights--not of England only, but of theworld--by their degenerate descendants, is both gladness and glory tous." Then, with a superb gesture, he sent his voice pealing through thehall: "God lives, posterity will live; their judgment is not so liable tocorruption as that of those who are now about to sentence us to death."
There was a burst of murmurous applause as he ended, which stilledimmediately, as the Chief Justice began to deliver sentence. But when thehorrible details of his execution had been enumerated, and the formulahad ended, it was the prisoner's turn to applaud:--
"_Te Deum laudamus!_" cried Campion; "_Te Dominum confitemur._"
"_Haec est dies_," shouted Sherwin, "_quam fecit Dominus; exultemus etlaetemur in illa_": and so with the thanksgiving and joy of the condemnedcriminals, the mock-trial ended.
When Anthony rode down silently and alone in the rain that Decembermorning a few days later, to see the end, he found a vast silent crowdassembled on Tower Hill and round the gateway, where the four horses werewaiting, each pair harnessed to a hurdle laid flat on the ground. Hewould not go in, for he could scarcely trust himself to speak, so greatwas his horror of the crime that was to be committed; so he backed hishorse against the wall, and waited over an hour in silence, scarcelyhearing the murmurs of impatience that rolled round the great crowd fromtime to time, absorbed in his own thoughts. Here was the climax of thesedays of misery and self-questioning that had passed since the trial inWestminster Hall. It was no use, he argued to himself, to pretendotherwise. These three men of God were to die for their religion--and areligion too which was gradually detaching itself to his view from themists and clouds that hid it, as the one great reality and truth of God'sRevelation to man. He had come, he knew, to see not an execution but amartyrdom.
There was a trampling from within, the bolts creaked, and the gate rolledback; a company of halberdiers emerged, and in their midst the threepriests in laymen's dress; behind followed a few men on horseback, with alittle company of ministers, bible in hand; and then a rabble of officersand pursuivants. Anthony edged his horse in among the others, as thecrowd fell back, and took up his place in the second rank of ridersbetween a gentleman of his acquaintance who made room for him on the oneside, and Sir Francis Knowles on the other, and behind the Towerofficials.
Then, once more he heard that ringing bass voice whose first soundsilenced the murmurs of the surging excited crowd.
"God save you all, gentlemen! God bless you and make you all goodCatholics."
Then, as the priest turned to kneel towards the east, he saw his facepaler than ever now, after his long fast in preparation for death. Therain was still falling as Campion in his frieze gown knelt in the mud.There was silence as he prayed, and as he ended aloud by commending hissoul to God.
"_In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum._"
* * * *
The three were secured to the hurdles, Briant and Sherwin on the one,Campion on the other, all lying on their backs, with their feet towardsthe horse's heels. The word to start was given by Sir Owen Hopton whorode with Charke, the preacher of Gray's Inn, in the front rank; thelashed horses plunged forward, with the jolting hurdles spattering mudbehind them; and the dismal pageant began to move forward through thecrowd on that way of sorrows. There was a ceaseless roar and babble ofvoices as they went. Charke, in his minister's dress, able now to declaimwithout fear of reply, was hardly silent for a moment from mocking andrebuking the prisoners, and making pompous speeches to the people.
"See here," he cried, "these rogueing popish priests, laid by theheels--aye, by the heels--at last; in spite of their tricks and turns.See this fellow in his frieze gown, dead to the world as he brags; andknow how he skulked and hid in his disguises till her Majesty's servantsplucked him forth! We will disguise him, we will disguise him, ere wehave done with him, that his own mother should not know him. Ha, now!Campion, do you hear me?"
And so the harsh voice rang out over the crowd that tramped alongside,and up to the faces that filled every window; while the ministers belowkept up a ceaseless murmur of adjuration and entreaty and threatening,with a turning of leaves of their bibles, and bursts of prayer, over thethree heads that jolted and rocked at their feet over the cobblestonesand through the mud. The friends of the prisoners walked as near to themas they dared, and their lips moved continually in prayer.
Every now and then as Anthony craned his head, he could see Campion'sface, with closed eyes and moving lips that smiled again and again, allspattered and dripping with filth; and once he saw a gentleman walkingbeside him fearlessly stoop down and wipe the priest's face with ahandkerchief. Presently they had passed up Cheapside and reached Newgate;in a niche in the archway itself stood a figure of the Mother of Godlooking compassionately down; and as Campion's hurdle passed beneath it,her servant wrenched himself a few inches up in his bonds and bowed tohis glorious Queen; and then laid himself down quietly again, as a chorusof lament rose from the ministers over his superstition and obstinateidolatry that seemed as if it would last even to death; and Charke too,who had become somewhat more silent, broke out again into revilings.
* * * *
The crowd at Tyburn was vast beyond all reckoning. Outside the gate itstretched on every side, under the elms, a few were even
in the branches,along the sides of the stream; everywhere was a sea of heads, out ofwhich, on a little eminence like another Calvary, rose up the tall postsof the three-cornered gallows, on which the martyrs were to suffer. Asthe hurdles came slowly under the gate, the sun broke out for the firsttime; and as the horses that drew the hurdles came round towards thecarts that stood near the gallows and the platform on which thequartering block stood, a murmur began that ran through the crowd fromthose nearest the martyrs.--"But they are laughing, they are laughing!"
The crowd gave a surge to and fro as the horses drew up, and Anthonyreined his own beast back among the people, so that he was just oppositethe beam on which the three new ropes were already hanging, and beneathwhich was standing a cart with the back taken out. In the cart waited adreadful figure in a tight-fitting dress, sinewy arms bare to theshoulder, and a butcher's knife at his leather girdle. A little distanceaway stood the hateful cauldron, bubbling fiercely, with black smokepouring from under it: the platform with the block and quartering-axestood beneath the gallows; and round this now stood the officers, withNorton the rack-master, and Sir Owen Hopton and the rest, and the threepriests, with the soldiers forming a circle to keep the crowd back.
The hangman stooped as Anthony looked, and a moment later Campion stoodbeside him on the cart, pale, mud-splashed, but with the same serenesmile; his great brown eyes shone as they looked out over the wideheaving sea of heads, from which a deep heart-shaking murmur rose as thefamous priest appeared. Anthony could see every detail of what went on;the hangman took the noose that hung from above, and slipped it over theprisoner's head, and drew it close round his neck; and then himselfslipped down from the cart, and stood with the others, still well abovethe heads of the crowd, but leaving the priest standing higher yet on thecart, silhouetted, rope and all, framed in the posts and cross-beam, fromwhich two more ropes hung dangling against the driving clouds and bluesky over London city.
* * * *
Campion waited perfectly motionless for the murmur of innumerable voicesto die down; and Anthony, fascinated and afraid beneath that overpoweringserenity, watched him turn his head slowly from side to side with a"majestical countenance," as his enemies confessed, as if he were on thepoint of speaking. Silence seemed to radiate out from him, spreading likea ripple, outwards, until the furthest outskirts of that huge crowd wasmotionless and quiet; and then without apparent effort, his voice beganto peal out.
* * * *
"'_Spectaculum facti sumus Deo, angelis et hominibus._' These are thewords of Saint Paul, Englished thus, 'We are made a spectacle or sightunto God, unto His angels, and unto men';--verified this day in me, whoam here a spectacle unto my Lord God, a spectacle unto His angels, andunto you men, satisfying myself to die as becometh a true Christian andCatholic man."
He was interrupted by cries from the gentlemen beneath, and turned alittle, looking down to see what they wished.
"You are not here to preach to the people," said Sir Francis Knowles,angrily, "but to confess yourself a traitor."
Campion smiled and shook his head.
"No, no," he said: and then looking up and raising his voice,--"as to thetreasons which have been laid to my charge, and for which I am come hereto suffer, I desire you all to bear witness with me, that I am thereofaltogether innocent."
There was a chorus of anger from the gentlemen, and one of them called upsomething that Anthony could not hear. Campion raised his eyebrows.
"Well, my lord," he cried aloud, and his voice instantly silenced againthe noisy buzz of talk, "I am a Catholic man and a priest: in that faithhave I lived, and in that faith do I intend to die. If you esteem myreligion treason, then am I guilty; as for other treason, I nevercommitted any, God is my judge. But you have now what you desire. Ibeseech you to have patience, and suffer me to speak a word or two fordischarge of my conscience."
There was a furious burst of refusals from the officers.
"Well," said Campion, at last, looking straight out over the crowd, "itseems I may not speak; but this only will I say; that I am whollyinnocent of all treason and conspiracy, as God is my judge; and I beseechyou to credit me, for it is my last answer upon my death and soul. As forthe jury I do not blame them, for they were ignorant men and easilydeceived. I forgive all who have compassed my death or wronged me in anywhit, as I hope to be forgiven; and I ask the forgiveness of all thosewhose names I spoke upon the rack."
Then he said a word or two more of explanation, such as he had saidduring his trial, for the sake of those Catholics whom this a concessionof his had scandalised, telling them that he had had the promise of theCouncil that no harm should come to those whose names he revealed; andthen was silent again, closing his eyes; and Anthony, as he watched him,saw his lips moving once more in prayer.
Then a harsh loud voice from behind the cart began to proclaim that theQueen punished no man for religion but only for treason. A fierce murmurof disagreement and protest began to rise from the crowd; and Anthonyturning saw the faces of many near him frowning and pursing their lips,and there was a shout or two of denial here and there. The harsh voiceceased, and another began:
"Now, Mr. Campion," it cried, "tell us, What of the Pope? Do you renouncehim?"
Campion opened his eyes and looked round.
"I am a Catholic," he said simply; and closed his eyes again for prayer,as the voice cried brutally:
"In your Catholicism all treason is contained."
Again a murmur from the crowd.
Then a new voice from the black group of ministers called out:
"Mr. Campion, Mr. Campion, leave that popish stuff, and say, 'Christ havemercy on me.'"
Again the priest opened his eyes.
"You and I are not one in religion, sir, wherefore I pray you contentyourself. I bar none of prayer, but I only desire them of the householdof faith to pray with me; and in mine agony to say one creed."
Again he closed his eyes.
"_Pater noster qui es in caelis._"...
"Pray in English, pray in English!" shouted a voice from the minister'sgroup.
Once more the priest opened his eyes; and, in spite of the badgering, hiseyes shone with humour and his mouth broke into smiles, so that a greatsob of pity and love broke from Anthony.
"I will pray to God in a language that both He and I well understand."
"Ask her Grace's forgiveness, Mr. Campion, and pray for her, if you beher true subject."
"Wherein have I offended her? In this I am innocent. This is my lastspeech; in this give me credit--I have and do pray for her."
"Aha! but which queen?--for Elizabeth?"
"Ay, for Elizabeth, your queen and my queen, unto whom I wish a longquiet reign with all prosperity."
* * * *
There was the crack of a whip, the scuffle of a horse's feet, a ripplingmovement over the crowd, and a great murmured roar, like the roar of thewaves on a pebbly beach, as the horse's head began to move forward; andthe priest's figure to sway and stagger on the jolting cart. Anthony shuthis eyes, and the murmur and cries of the crowd grew louder and louder.Once more the deep sweet voice rang out, loud and penetrating:
"I die a true Catholic...."
Anthony kept his eyes closed, and his head bent, as great sobs began tobreak up out of his heart....
Ah! he was in his agony now! that sudden cry and silence from the crowdshowed it. What was it he had asked? one creed?--
"I believe in God the Father Almighty." ...
The soft heavy murmur of the crowd rose and fell. Catholics were prayingall round him, reckless with love and pity:
"Jesu, Jesu, save him! Be to him a Jesus!"...
"Mary pray! Mary pray!"...
"_Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem._"...
"_Passus sub Pontio Pilato._"...
"Crucified dead and buried."...
"The forgiveness of sins."...
"And the Life Everlasting."...
* * * *
Anthony dropped his face forward on to his horse's mane.
By What Authority? Page 19
