EVENINGS OF A WORKING MAN, %c. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/eveningsofworkinOOoverrich EVENINGS A WOE KING MAN, BEING THE OCCUPATION OF HIS SCANTY LEISURE: Bv JOHN OVERS. WITH A PREFACE RELATIVE TO THE AUTHOR, By CHARLES DICKENS. LONDON: T. C. NEWBY, 72, MORTIMER STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 1844. Printed by J. & H. COX, BROTHERS (late COX & SONS), 74 & 75, Great Queen Street, Lincoln's-Inn Fields. €f)fe iltttlf toOOtt IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO DOCTOR ELLIOTSON, BY ONE WHO HAS FELT HIS KINDNESS TO THOSE WHO HAVE NO OTHER CLAIM UPON HIM (and on such a man can have no higher claim) THAN SICKNESS AND OBSCURE CONDITION. PREFACE. The indulgent reader of this little book — not called indulgent, I may hope, by courtesy alone, but with some reference also to its title and pretensions — may very naturally inquire how it comes to have a preface to which my name is attached ; nor is the reader's right or inclination to be satisfied on this head, likely to be much diminished, when I state, in the outset, that I do not recommend it as a book of surpassing originality or transcendent merit. That I do not claim to have discovered, in hum- ble life, an extraordinary and brilliant genius. That I cannot charge mankind in general, with having entered into a conspiracy to neglect the author of this volume, or to leave him pining in obscurity. That I have not the smallest VI PREFACE. intention of comparing him with Burns, the exciseman; or with Bloomfield, the shoemaker ; or with Ebenezer Elliott, the worker in iron ; or with James Hogg, the shepherd. That I see no reason to be hot, or bitter, or lowering, or sarcastic, or indignant, or fierce, or sour, or sharp, in his behalf. That I have nothing to rail at ; nothing to exalt ; nothing to flourish in the face of a stony-hearted world ; and have but a very short and simple tale to tell. But, such as it is, it has interested me; and I hope it may interest the reader too, if I state it, unaffectedly and plainly. John Overs, the writer of the following pages, is, as is set forth on the title-page, a working man. A man who earns his weekly wages (or who did when he was strong enough) by plying of the hammer, plane, and chisel. He became known to me, to the best of my recol- lection, nearly six years ago, when he sent me some songs, appropriate to the different months of the year, with a letter, stating under what circumstances they had been composed, and in what manner he was occupied from morning until night. I was, just then, relinquishing the PREFACE. Vll conduct of a monthly periodical : or I would gladly have published them. As it was, I returned them to him, with a private expres- sion of the interest I felt in such productions. They were afterwards accepted, with much readiness and consideration, by Mr. Tait, of Edinburgh ; and were printed in his Magazine, Finding, after some further correspondence with my new friend, that his authorship had not ceased with these verses, but that he still oc- cupied his leisure moments in writing, I took occasion to remonstrate with him seriously against his pursuing that course. I pointed out to him a few of the uncertainties, anxieties, and difficulties of such a life, at the best. I entreated him to remember the position of heavy disadvantage in which he stood, by reason of his self-education, and imperfect at- tainments; and \ besought him to consider whether, having one or two of his pieces ac- cepted occasionally, here and there, after long suspense and many refusals, it was probable that he would find himself, in the end, a happier or a more contented man. On all these grounds, I told him, his persistance in his new calling V1U PREFACE. made me uneasy ; and I advised him to abandon it, as strongly as I could. In answer to this dissuasion of mine, he wrote me as manly and straightforward, but withal, as modest a letter, as ever I read in my life. He explained to me how limited his am- bition was : soaring no higher than the estab- lishment of his wife in some light business, and the better education of his children. He set before me, the difference between his evening and holiday studies, such as they were; and the having no better resource than an alehouse or a skittle-ground. He told me, how every small addition to his stock of knowledge, made his Sunday walks the pleasanter ; the hedge- flowers sweeter ; every thing more full of inte- rest and meaning to him. He assured me, that his daily work was not neglected for his self- imposed pursuits; but was faithfully and ho- nestly performed ; and so, indeed, it was. He hinted to me, that his greater self-respect was some inducement and reward : supposing every other to elude his grasp ; and shewed me, how the fancy that he would turn this or that acqui- sition from his books to account, by-and-by, PREFACE. IX in writing, made him more fresh and eager to peruse and profit by them, when his long day's work was done. I would not, if I could, have offered one solitary objection more, to arguments so unpre- tending and so true. From that time to the present, I have seen him frequently. It has been a pleasure to me to put a few books in his way ; to give him a word or two of counsel in his little projects and difficulties ; and to read his compositions with him, when he has had an hour, or so, to spare. I have never altered them, otherwise than by recommending condensation now and then ; nor have I, in looking over these sheets, made any emendation in them, beyond the ordinary corrections of the press : desiring them to be his genuine work, as they have been his sober and rational amusement. The latter observation brings me to the origin of the present volume, and of this my slight share in it. The reader will soon com- prehend why I touch the subject lightly, and with a sorrowful and faltering hand. In all the knowledge I have had of John X PREFACE. Overs, and in all the many conversations I have held with him, I have invariably found him, in every essential particular, but one, the same. I have found him from first to last a simple, frugal, steady, upright, honourable man ; espe- cially to be noted for the unobtrusive independ- ence of his character, the instinctive propriety of his manner, and the perfect neatness of his appearance. The extent of his information : regard being had to his opportunities of ac- quiring it : is very remarkable ; and the discri- mination with which he has risen superior to the mere prejudices of the class with which he is associated, without losing his sympathy for all their real wrongs and grievances — they have a few — impressed me, in the beginning of our acquaintance, strongly in his favour. The one respect in which he is not what he was, is in his hold on life. He is very ill; the faintest shadow of the man who came into my little study for the first time half-a-dozen years ago, after the correspondence I have mentioned. He has been very ill for a long, long period ; his disease is a severe and wasting affection of the lungs, which has inca- PREFACE. XI pacitated him, these many months, for every kind of occupation. " If I could only do a hard day's work," he said to me the other day, " how happy I should be ! " Having these papers by him, amongst others, he bethought himself that if he could get a bookseller to purchase them for publication in a volume, they would enable him to make some temporary provision for his sick wife and very young family. We talked the matter over together ; and that it might be easier of accom- plishment, I promised him that I would write an introduction to his book. I would to Heaven that I could do him better service ! I would to Heaven it were an intro- duction to a long, and vigorous, and useful life ! But Hope will not trim her lamp the less brightly for him and his, because of this im- pulse to their struggling fortunes; and trust me, reader, they deserve her light, and need it sorely. He has inscribed this book to one whose skill will help him, under Providence, in all that human skill can do. To one who never could have recognized in any potentate on Xll PREFACE. earth, a higher claim to constant kindness and attention, than he has recognized in him. I have little more to say of it. While I do not commend it, on the one hand, as a prodigy, I do sincerely believe it, on the other, to possess some points of real interest, how- ever considered ; but which, if considered with reference to its title and origin, are of great interest. If any delicate readers should approach the perusal of these " Evenings of a Working Man," with a genteel distaste to the principle of a working-man turning author at all, I may perhaps be permitted to suggest that the best protection against such an offence will be found in the Universal Education of the peo- ple ; for the enlightenment of the many will effectually swamp any interest that may now attach in vulgar minds, to the few among them who are enabled, in any degree, to overcome the great difficulties of their position. And if such readers should deny the immense importance of communicating to this class, at this time, every possible means of knowledge, refinement and recreation ; or the cause we PREFACE. Xlll have to hail with delight the least token that may arise among them of a desire to be wiser, better, and more gentle; I ear- nestly entreat them to educate themselves in this neglected branch of their own learning without delay; promising them that it is the easiest in its acquisition of any : requiring only open eyes and ears, and six easy lessons of an hour each in a working town. Which will render them perfect for the rest of their lives. CHARLES DICKENS. London, June, 1844. CONTENTS. Leaves from the Register of the Lady Abbess of Godstow . . . . . . . . . . Page 1 The Dodder-Weed 57 Theology ; or, the Point at Issue . . . . . . 59 Good-bye ! good-bye ! . . . . . . . . 60 A Legend of Runna Mead and Magna Charta . . . . 61 Woman's Faithfulness .. .. .. .. ..114 Norris and Anne Boleyn . . . . . . . . . . 115 A Day-dream . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 76 The Costar' monger .. .. .. .. .. 184 Ring-a-tingle-dingle-ingle-ing-in-'n; Rap ! "Ba--ker!" 193 The Carpenter 199 ) LEAVES FROM THE REGISTER THE LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. CHAPTER I. Darkness, and solitude, and sighs, and tears, And all th' unspeakable train of grief, Attend my steps for ever. Dry den. The spiritual domination of the seven hills having already (Anno 1175) usurped the right of disposing of kingdoms, our own countryman, Nicholas Break - speare, then Pope Adrian IV. presented Ireland to our second Henry. The better to avail himself of the generosity of his holiness, Henry sent Robert Fitz- stephen and Earl Strongbow to conquer the Irish, and to take possession of the emerald ; which, through the treachery and cowardice of the native princes, was B 2 REGISTER OF THE easily done. Thereupon Henry proceeded to Dub- lin to receive the homage exacted by a conqueror, leaving the Saint of Godstow — (" For," says the Lady Abbess in her register, " lett ye Princys or Posterrite saye quhat thay whil, Rosamonde de Clif- ford hadde as pure a soule as ever inn ye breaste of Confessore should there abode") — in her mortal illness, with many protestations of a quick return. The time, however, had been long ; and the cor- roding touch of ever- waking grief : the secret feast- ing of a troubled mind upon its source and parent : was visible in the face of Rosamond. The hectic of her cheeks had given place to an ashy paleness, her eyes waxed dim, and every symptom told of com- ing dissolution. But neither word of desire, com- plaint, nor doubt had ever passed her lips. Her grief was all her own. And so the summer wore away. On Lammas eve the sufferer was much worse, but the grandeur of the setting sun as it glanced in glad and parting radiance through the latticed win- dow of her chamber; the serenity and hush there was about the sky and the air, and the stealing river in the distance ; the slumbering of the winds ; and the repose of the leaves and often dancing grass ; gave such a heavenly breath and presence to the scene, that Rosamond, forgetting her sufferings and weakness, LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 3 desired to be raised in her bed, that she might look through the open casement once more upon the flowery fields, the gladsome heath that basked in sunlight before the river, and the shadowy trees that lay beyond. Reclining on her couch, so pale and deathly, old scenes came upon her ; and she once more related the history of her first and only love to the eagerly- listening nuns. From that sprung purer thoughts, ending in a request that they would perform a solemn song which she might accompany in silence, a desire with which they were ready to comply for its own sake, independently of obliging one whose influence with the king had been of great advantage to their house. They accordingly commenced the "Diesirce, dies ilia ; " which was symphonised with the instru- ments they had used at vespers. Never was pure and rapt devotion so truly felt and pictured as it was then, by Rosamond. Never did voices pass from earth's confines with a sweeter cadence, rising like incense before the throne of God ! Never — no, never ! — had listener such a spell-bound soul, nor performers such a heart- felt pleasure. " Peace to all here," cried the king, stepping abruptly into Rosamond's chamber. " And peace to thee here, and hereafter," he said to her, as stooping down he kissed her sweet pale lips. b 2 4 REGISTER OF THE The presence of a man among the virgin sister- hood creating some consternation, they all retired : except a devoted attendant of Rosamond's, whose name was Geraldine. " From the empty pomp of state, and the heavy care of conquest, I came, Rosamond, hoping against hope, to find you better," said the king. " This pale cold brow, and these poor, weak, attenuated hands dash down the chalice of my desire ; and now I only wish to die, that our poor dust may mingle." The melancholy of the king brought tears into the sufferer's eyes, but, having snatched her hand to his lips, he hid his face, and did not see them. There was feeling enough, however, in that cold hand to tell of mutual scalding drops that trickled through its fingers. " Oh, Rosamond!" the king resumed in the bit- terest anguish, "it is cruel that the hell of em- pire, and that curse of kings, ambition, should tie us to the thing the heart abhors, ere it has found the haven of all its aspirations. Heaven was too niggard of its happiness, or I had lived and died, alone for thee." " Your Grace is but a solemn comforter to-night," said Rosamond, attempting to beguile his thoughts with assumed cheerfulness. " Forbear these old LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 5 regrets I pray you. Hope comes ever with your presence. You will not scare the sylph away ? " " How fares it with you then ? I thought not to see you smile, and hear these cheerful words. I have heard that where Death has set his seal, his bond is never cancelled : how is it with you ? " She felt that she had done her heart sad wrong and violence, and answered, " Even as your Grace fore- sees. But I shall pass as tranquil to the tomb as yonder orb declines behind the hills. You will spare me these few moments for the past ; you have served me much, and loved me more ; I thank your Grace, and feel the honour. But we have children — " Henry sat down on the side of her bed, and, clasping her hands between his own, mournfully uttered, "Go on j what of them ?" " When I am gone," she answered, " spare them from the taunts of legitimate sons — of princes — and for the sake of Rosamond de Clifford, whom you once called fair, place them above the world " What she would have added, was suppressed by her emotion ; fair Rosamond had swooned. " My heaven ! my hope !" exclaimed the king, as he bent over her. " Hear my assurance. Another word for your poor disconsolate lover ; only another word — only one to summon me. Then heaven, strike ! that our two souls may mingle." And he D REGISTER OF THE pressed his lips to hers with a murmur of feelings too great for utterance. While so doing, the window was darkened for a moment, and queen Eleanor, springing in, struck at them with a poniard ; but the blow was warded by Geraldine. Aroused by the well-known step, Henry turned in sufficient time to see the attempt, and the cause of its failure ; which good service he soon rewarded, by snatching Geraldine from the upraised arm of his disappointed and furious queen. " How now ?" he cried, placing himself between her and the objects of her hate. " How came you here ? Are we to be dogged about and hunted like a thief?" u Like the thief you are," returned Eleanor; '* stealing away, for ever, into this, your famous bower of Woodstock, to which I could not find the clue ! This is the cage of the fairy bird which rumour fixed in that romantic mansion ! Thank heaven, I have your secret ; the rest is easy." " Cease your taunting tone and hasten your de- parture, queen, ere we be pushed to worse ex- tremities," said Henry, with stifled rage. " When I depart, king, you go with me ; for, until you go, my foot budges not. You made the enfeoffing of John into the lordship of this new LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 7 conquest : this barbarous Ireland : the plea for such a hurried progress to the Court of Oxford ; but, as I never knew you hasten yet to benefit my sons, and heard your frequent sighs withal — Oh, those fierce furnace sighs ! — I followed you ! And, praise to God ! I have your secret. Beneath that window I heard almost your first remark. Go to, sir king." A long-drawn inspiration and a slight shudder of the limbs proclaimed the returning consciousness of Rosamond, and softened the tone of Henry. " Well, Eleanor, you have listened," he said, " but you are a woman. You have some lingering ten- derness in your nature. You see the scene is closing here ; you will depart and spare us this one night to assoil our souls together, and indulge in old and cherished memories ?" Rosamond, having opened her eyes, discovered the queen, whose glance was full upon her. Uttering a faint cry of alarm, she held up her hands to shut out the vision. "Aye, basilisk! I am here at last," exclaimed Eleanor. " Usurper of a wife's affections ! Destroyer of her happiness ! Guilty thing ! I come to see you die at last. And yet, not so : I will not see it. No, you shall die alone! Your paramour, the king my husband, returns with me to-night." REGISTER OF THE " Not to-night, Eleanor ; not to-night/' said he, imploringly. " To-night, sir king, to-night ! What, in the name of heaven ! would you have me sit down like a green young girl, and weep, while my rival has her favours ? No, Henry Plantagenet, you go with me to-night. I will not even stay to mock you, o'er her closing eyes." "Farewell, your grace," sighed Rosamond, " fare- well ; and Heaven be with you. Methinks I could not even die, in presence of that dreadful lady. Go, dear king, and only think of my request." " To forget his queen !" said Eleanor. " But that I know it would delight the king to linger here, we both would stay and see if you could die. As it is, he goes with me to-night." " I will not, Eleanor ! on my soul I will not," ex- claimed Henry. " Then, on my soul ! ere morning dawns, this poniard finds a sheath. I know your disregard of me, so we are best apart ; better that worlds should separate us. And on my soul it shall be so." u Wretch !" exclaimed the king. " Aye, wretch , for I have no gentler word to bestow ; give me the weapon, and then do as you list." So saying, he grasped at the poniard, but the LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. i) queen evaded him, and held it in a threatening attitude. "Another step, sir king," she cried, " and it shall find its home. Or come with me, or rush upon your fate." Rosamond again swooned with her fears ; which Henry perceiving, withdrew his jealous wife from the scene, purposing a quick return. As they passed from the chamber together, he still kept between his wife and Geraldine ; a precaution that Eleanor observed, and said, " For you another fate is prepared. You seem to love a mistress, and, if as a superior you admire one so, how much you would be pleased to reach her level ! I have gallant sons." With which significant words to the tremb- ling maid, she went forth, accompanying the king. 10 REGISTER OF THE CHAPTER II. She reigns more fully in my soul than ever ; She garrisons my breast, and mans against me Ev'n my own rebel thoughts with thousand graces, Ten thousand charms, and new discovered beauties. Lee. The sun arose on the following morning with the same serene and glad aspect it had worn on the preceding night. Not a cloud was visible, not a wind stirred. The air was redolent of perfume from fruit and flowers; and the dew that headed every twig and blade of grass was only shaken to the earth by the uprising of the lark, and the fluttering song-birds of the thicket. The earth looked as if it were no place for suffering or wrong : it was so bright and beautiful. But there were ten thousand eyes open- ing that morning wearily upon it, whose owners sighed that it was so. Among them was Rosamond de Clifford. Racked by a thousand fears for Henry after she had recovered from her swoon, she had passed the night in grief and wakefulness, till, worn down by suffering, her eyes closed just before dawn : exhibiting to the LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 11 watchful Geraldine, as she stood over her couch, the breathing semblance of the house of death. Matins had commenced in the convent before Rosamond awoke, but when she did so, the nuns adjourned from the little oratory to her chamber. A solemn and imposing spectacle the sick chamber was. Passing to her bed-side with burning tapers in their hands, the nuns knelt down and sang the part- ing hymn. God of the fatherless, shield Thou our sister ; God of the righteous, give peace to her soul ; God of the weak and the lowly, assist her To pass from earth's shadows to Heaven, the goal. Ease the pangs of her parting, dry the tears of her sorrow, Call her spirit to rest in an infantile sleep, Make her heart socontrite, that, ere dawns the world's morrow, Face to face with Thee, God, she no longer may weep ! The pious strain being ended, they arose and gave her the kiss of peace : at the same time extinguishing their tapers, as emblems of the extinction of her life. This done, they were warned of the approach of the king with the sons of Rosamond, and hastily with- drew. During a night of conflict and recrimination with his queen, Henry had found means to apprise Wil- liam and Geoffrey (his sons by Rosamond) of their mother's approaching dissolution, commanding them 12 REGISTER OF THE to meet him at Godstow when the morning dawned. It was at once a glad and a grievous announcement to them. Separated from their mother almost from infancy, her fame, which filled every mouth, had reached them in their boyhood ; and no pride of legitimate right or rank could equal what they felt in being the offspring of so much romance and un- doubted love. And differing as they did in constitu- tion — for while William was decided, choleric, and martial in his ideas, Geoffrey was meek, enthusiastic, and reflective — yet they agreed, not only in marked brotherly love from boyhood upwards, but in the high and irrepressible pride they felt in their origin. Often, indeed, had they made secret pilgrimages to Godstow, watching the nunnery " From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve, A summer's day," to catch a glimpse of their mother, voluntarily im- mured there. But these excursions had produced nothing but disappointment ; they had always but once returned wearily to their far-distant abode . Once, and once only, they imagined they had seen their mother. It was after a tedious watching at the convent gate, disguised in the garb and carriage of Pilgrim Penitents, doomed for a time to wear the badges of perdition, and to live on alms, for penance. The LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 13 wicket had been opened in answer to their knocking, but no alms came. The abbess was a precisian, and herself performed the menial duty of porter at the gate. Seeing that they w r ere wicked men, she was deaf to their solicitations for shelter and food : considering it equally good for their souls and for hers. The day was stormy and the wind was keen, yet they remained assailing the gate continually. Noon came and went, the evening wore, and night was at hand ; still beneath the gate they crouched, beseeching for alms or shelter. Nevertheless, the abbess was incorrigible. The dusk of night came ; and with it gentle voices, and tones of pity ; and the wicket creaked again. A lovely girl presented herself, with bowls of broth and flasks of wine, and cakes of the finest flour. She wore no veil, not even a nun's habit ; she ex- hibited neither surprise nor terror ; she studied no effect ; but gentleness was on her tongue and in her manners, and her features were a transcript fresh from heaven. It was Geraldine. Behind her, was a lovely form in middle life ; pale and melancholy ; but beautiful as an angel's visit to a dying saint. In her deportment, there was an indescribable grace and dignity that seemed full meet to mate with any king ; and the young men's hearts fluttered in their bosoms in a most unwonted manner. More to prolong the interview than to satisfy their 14 REGISTER OF THE hunger : though that would have furnished not a slight excuse : the pilgrims took the bowls with many- benedictions. From the hall of the convent, bright and languishing eyes were glancing over the shoulders of the abbess, who stood as sentinel over a dangerous and inflammable magazine, but the young men had no eyes for them. One, indeed, had almost forgotten his mother in the frenzy of his heart for Geraldine, from whom they learnt that the patroness of the con- vent had listened to their prayers, and saw their wants relieved. They felt that they stood in the pre- sence of their mother. The wind banged-to the wicket, and she was shut at once from their eyes and their purposed claim of kindred. When Geraldine opened it again, she was alone ; and when it was finally closed, she took with her the heart of the susceptible Geoffrey. Often did the brothers wander there again, but never more did face come to the wicket except that of the starched old abbess. It was, therefore, with no ordinary feelings that they received the commands of the king. The scene that followed their arrival at the con- vent was one of those which cannot be described. They were alone in Rosamond's chamber, from which nothing came, save sobs, and wailing, and the hum of whispered words. When admission was given, the young men were locked hand in hand, LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 15 supporting their mother in a raised position. Their eyes were bent upon her poor pale face, while tears trickled from them to her pillow. The king was bowed in grief, with his lips pressed to the thin cold hands he held in his ; and his body was shaken with his heavy sighs. The fountains of the great deep were broken up — the fathomless wells of love and devotion which lie hidden in the human heart beyond all sounding — and those holy and unutterable feel- ings which are repudiated by the heartless worldling, and are put down by a sneer, were in their spring- tide and fruition. Yet, supremely blest as Rosa- mond was, in the events of that hour, she was the first to feel the necessity of its abridgment, and summoned her attendant. Twice did Geraldine approach and twice retire, before she could address her mistress. But words came at length, and when they came, no fancied voice that calls one from the dead: no dismal boom of passing knell that tells a mother's gone : has ever shook the startled soul as that sweet whispering voice aroused young Geoffrey. " Mother ! whose voice is that ?" he asked, when the spell was broken. " A voice like thine was once," said the king, kissing the marble brow of Rosamond. 16 REGISTER OF THE M Fit for a knight to fight for, throughout Christen- dom," added William. "Whose was it, mother; was it yours? There is no one here beside, but I have heard that voice before. Explain it to me, mother." The thrilling appellation which Geoffrey had thrice applied to Rosamond, threw back life's sluggish cur- rent on her heart — it was so dear — so strange — so true — but so unwonted. She strained the speaker in her feeble arms to her maternal bosom, while they who wept for grief before, now wept anew for joy. Geraldine had passed into and out of the chamber unseen by any but Rosamond ; and she waited with- out the door, the blushing and unwilling listener to her own praise, until Rosamond again called her to her presence. The king and his sons gave place at her approach, but she heard the suppressed sigh of Geoffrey as his eyes met hers, and uttered things to which no language has a parallel ; the freemasonry of love, which all understand ; and which, added to the hand- some person of Geoffrey, seemed not unacceptable to her, if a tremulous voice, an agitated manner, and a mantling cheek, as their eyes met again, be any crite- rion. Geoffrey was speechless, but gazed upon her, with a charmed, bright, burning glance, that asto- LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 17 nished his brother. Meanwhile the king was too subdued in soul to see any thing except the wasting form before him ; the shadow of the thing which had formed the pith of his entire devotion. The dying Rosamond, well versed in love and all its mysteries, failed not to comprehend the feelings of the young people, and lighting up her expressive countenance — fair and intellectual even at the gate of death — with a languid smile, she took the hand of Geraldine, and beckoned to her son. " Geoffrey/ ' she said, M your mother is no nun, neither is this gentle creature here." The next moment saw him kneeling at her feet, partaking of what seemed a common sympathy and mutual consent, for Rosamond was about to join their hands. " Stop ! dearest, stop I " cried the king, stepping between them. " Delay this hasty pledge ; Geoffrey belongeth to the church; was vowed to it long since. It was a portion of our penance for stern Becket's death. Add not, dear Rosamond, to our other sins, the sacrilegious breaking of a vow." The faltering voice of Henry told plainly and clearly what mental agony he endured. " Does towering Becket haunt us after death, and, coming athwart our hopes, mar all our inclinations ?" Rosamond timidly inquired. 18 REGISTER OF THE " Even so," replied the king. H He does." " Then defend our mother's gift and blessing with your sword, Geoffrey. I will stand beside you though a thousand Beckets gathered on our path," exclaimed the choleric William. " So let it be, mother," Geoffrey rejoined. " Orders were forced upon me against my will; and for that which our father cannot control, he cannot suffer." " Well said, my son," returned Rosamond. M This is a union I have thought of often, but never dared to hope for. Geraldine has been to me, most kind and faithful ; the world much needs admixture with the good ; and she is good. May heaven unite and sanctify your hearts as I join your hands !" " But never till heaven has sanctified, may that betrothment be," said Geraldine : and withdrew her hand. " Oh that a curse on nature's truth should lurk within the garb of holy orders, which, not con- tent with making me an orphan, disturbs and poisons all the after-current of my life." Various amazement seized on all who listened to her words. Geoffrey was looking reproachfully into her eyes, when the abbess hurried in, wring- ing her hands, and crying in terror, " Fly, king ! fly ! Armed men are coming, escorted by the princes, and followed by a mingled host of hermits, LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 19 monks, and young ecclesiastics. Oh, the honour of my house ! Fly, king ! fly ! " The excitement of the abbess was instantly caught by William, who drew his sword, and exclaimed, " Let them come on ! let them come on !" as he rushed forth : followed by his brother and the king. ? c2 20 REGISTER OF THE CHAPTER III. He's a blessed man ! He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms The bold young men, that, when he bids 'em charge, Fall on like fire. Beaumont and Fletcher. " Glory to the ever-living God and a sword for His sepulchre ! Seats by the waters of eternal life ! Crowns and precedence before the prophets and the thrones and the elders in heaven, to those who shall rescue the grave of the God-head and His holy city from the Paynim ! Henry of England, I call on you for succour. " Such were the words that reached the ears of the astounded king and his sons as they crossed the threshold of the Convent into the midst of a dense mass, congregated in the court-yard. " Who calls the king?" demanded Henry, " And what is all this tumult ? " "It is the Spirit of God moving on the face of Christendom," answered the speaker, St. Bernard, who was thus preaching the second crusade. " It is the Spirit of God moving on the face of Christen- LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 21 dom, commanding it to cut down the Moslem and resume the inheritance of His people. Here be suf- ferers from Tyre and Sidon, and from Joppa and the Holy City; some without their ears or eyes, and some without their tongues ; whose silent elo- quence withal shall rouse up kings and warriors to win back the sepulchre. While they fight for God, slaves shall be free ! While they war for heaven, debtors' bonds shall all be cancelled ! outlaws shall have rights ! yea, murderers be forgiven ! So saith the Spirit/ - " It is the will of God ! It is the will of God !" was then the cry, as of old, from the excited mul- titude. " To you, O king ! I come for succour/' resumed Bernard. " Blessed be they who listen to the Spirit! Blessed be they who shall trample and crush the infidel! Thrice blessed by the Mother of God be he who cometh freely ! God giveth his foes to vengeance in these later times : justifying priests in taking up the sword, for which they are released by holy church from vows. The advent cometh, and the judgment is at hand. On to Pales- tine ! on ! On for God and for His sepulchre ! " The fanatical spirit he had aroused was not to be controlled. The king, unable longer to restrain his 22 REGISTER OF THE sons, saw them kneeling at the feet of Bernard, soli- citing his blessing for the enterprise. " Let them come, and forbid them not," exclaimed the saint, as he forcibly withheld them from Henry, who tried to beguile them from the resolution. The brothers inclined to Bernard, though their thoughts were quite distinct and different; — for while William gloried in the anticipation of valourous deeds, Geof- frey was more intent on taking Geraldine than that same Holy City. So, both received the cross. Then again arose the loud acclaim and the banner- cry, " It is the will of God ! it is the will of God ! " while the devotees who had suffered under the Mos- lem thronged upon and about them, dinning their ears with recitals of their tortures, and crying for revenge and the dear love of God ; the unarmed fub- bing their hands violently together in their excite- ment ; the armed lifting their shields aloft and beating them with their blades; while the churchmen present rent their vestments into shreds which they flung among the multitude : demanding swords : and re- iterating, each with the gesticulations of a maniac, " It is the will of God ! It is the will of God ! " As these cries subsided, a more fearful one was heard of, " Help ! help ho ! help ! Geoffrey ! Sir king! Crusaders! Help ho! help!" in the shrill LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 23 voice of a woman. And the king for the first time remembered the assurance of the abbess, that the princes were there. Moved by his intense love and fears for Rosa- mond, he rushed like a frantic man in the direction whence the voice proceeded, followed by Geoffrey and William, of whom one knew too well the music of the tongue, even in agony, to have any fears for the safety of his mother. Scarcely less dilatory to the rescue were the numerous followers of Bernard, who, with the king, immediately surrounded the fugitives. These were the princes Henry, Richard, and John : bearing along the terrified Geraldine. " Stop, caitiffs ! " thundered William as he sprung before them and opposed them with his sword. At the same moment, Geoffrey snatched Geraldine from the arms of John, and holding her in his em- brace, left himself open to the attack of the princes. William thrust and warded for his brother, well ; but the ponderous strokes of Richard beat down his arm, and broke his weapon through : an accident which had proved fatal to their hopes, had not a hermit — a fitful, grave, wild-looking man, with hair- cloth shirt and flowing beard, and savage girdle that ate into his loins — extended before them the sacred symbol of salvation, made of the cedars 24 REGISTER OF THE of Lebanon, and carried by his own hands from the Holy Land. The king was not a witness to this opportune relief. Judging that Eleanor was the grand projec- tor of the scheme, he left his sons in mortal conflict, while he hastened to the chamber of Rosamond. " If I could clothe these shrunk and withered limbs with health and vigour ; I should believe the fair Dalilah of my early life now stood before me;" cried the hermit, who had fixed his widely opened eyes on Geraldine ; and suddenly waving his cru- cifix above his head as his eyes brightened with the wandering fires of insanity, he cried, " Off with the disguise! Off with it ! Off!" Geraldine clung to her lover pale and panting with alarm ; while the devotees, believing in the her- mit's sanctity, and the awe-stricken princes stood, wondering and inert spectators. "Of what lineage are you?" he resumed in a more rational manner. " Whose blood is it dances in your veins and paints those rounded cheeks ? " " Her silence declares plainer than her tongue could speak, that she is base born," cried Richard. " And is our mother's slave," added John. ?• Wherefore we claim her," said Henry, attempt- ing to seize her. " I will defend her nobility," returned William, LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 25 snatching a battle-axe from a by-stander. But the rising passions of the young man were again con- trolled, as it would seem, by accident, for the hermit again waved his cross before them, uttering the cogi- tations of his unsteady mind. " I question God in the wilderness/' said he, M and the winds come into my ears, laden with prophecies. Before my cave among the mountains I inquire aloud of heaven's host, - Who hateth Satan, angels?' and a hundred voices speak distinct : and answer, ' Satan ? Angels ! Angels ! ■ Now what am I ? I ask of Jeza- bel her name ; she hears me not ! Is the adder coiled behind those dead deaf ears ? What is your lineage ?" he angrily demanded. Aroused to a sense of dignity, Geraldine stood before him and replied, " This is my lineage, Hermit. My mother was a Saxon, descended from King Ed- mund ; my father was a priest. Before the church tore those apart whom God had joined together, they were wedded ; but when the church stept in, he wan- dered forth to the Holy Land : leaving a charge to his forbidden wife to tell her child, I, then unborn, that this broad ring — an old heir-loom of all his fathers — would, ever when 'twas shewn, claim the paternal care of Jocelyn le Gascon." " Is it amethyst, with a lance poised so ? Look ! " cried the hermit, throwing his cross into the position. 26 REGISTER OF THE " It is," was the brief reply. " My God ! my God ! then I have found my child/' he cried ; and the malady of his mind recurring, he crouched down to peer into her eyes : and caught her hand in his, while he twirled his other fingers in her hair. "Jocelyn le Gascon and Edmund the Martyr," Geoffrey communed with himself, " why there throbs the purest blood of France and England." " What, ho ! my gallant sons !" said Queen Elea- nor, ironically, as she stood of a sudden in the midst. " Do you suffer your father's bastards and a silly dotard to rob you of your prize ? Shame on such degenerate manhood ! Take a lesson from your mother, striplings !" And again the familiar poniard ' was brandished over Geraldine. u Do you hear her, Geoffrey ? Do you hear our mother's enemy ? Take a lesson from a bastard's arm. Why not!" cried the irascible William. "Death!" exclaimed Prince Henry; "Strike Dick ! Strike John ! strike !" And suiting the action to the word, he made a furious lunge at William. Meanwhile Geoffrey took the proffered weapon of a soldier ; and nobly defended his brother and his charge. Crimson with rage, the queen exhibited even more activity than her sons in the strife : stimulating the LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 27 attack, now against Geoffrey, and now against Wil- liam, with increased vigour and fury; when some of the followers of Bernard becoming interested in their success, raised the cries of M Help for the young crusaders !" " Swords for our brothers of the cross !" These again were answered by, " Succour for the queen !" " True men for the princes \" and a fu- rious battle ensued. After some time the voice of Bernard was heard at the convent gate, crying, " Come forth, ye brawlers ! Come on and follow me to Palestine ; for God, and for His sepulchre ! " As he bounded onward with the banner, the whole multitude pressed after him. The princes and the sons of Rosamond were separated by the rushing men, and hurried forward with the rest. Each looked round in vain for Geraldine. She was not to be seen ; though still the human tide rolled on. 28 REGISTER OF THE CHAPTER IV. Before my fancy, still the furious queen appears. Elizabeth Rowe. Receiving the pass- word from the king, after he had fled from his conflicting sons and the Crusaders, the abbess opened the convent door in silence : mo- tioning him, as she dried her eyes, to Rosamond's apartment ; whither he proceeded, with a soft and cautious step. All was silent, as he listened for a moment with breathless fear ; no moan gave evidence that the sufferer lived ; and the tears of the abbess came into his mind like the recollection of a funeral dirge. Then, a gentle murmur reached his ears, like one awaking from a sleep ; anon it came again, followed by an outburst from his wife. " I have waited till you breathed again," she said, " that you may know who strikes the blow, and deals the death which shall no longer be delayed ; for thus I probe the heart that holds Plantagenet's love." Henry had stood paralysed at the voice ; but now , hearing the sound of feet, he burst into the room. LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 29 Foiled in her purpose, but nowise disconcerted, Eleanor struggled resolutely with him. " This is a death-wrestle if I quell you, Harry," she exclaimed, quite wild with rage, " Revenge like mine devours any prey." By a sudden and dexterous jerk, she released herself from his grasp, and rushed at him with her weapon. The king had certainly fallen before her rage, had not the sinewy arm of Bernard snatched her from her victim. The saint had followed Henry into the convent unperceived. Having effected his delivery, he re- marked with a tone of assumed calmness ; " That blow were well aimed at a Saracen : do ye practice for the holy wars ?" " Bernard, we owe you much for this prompt inter- vention," the king rejoined. " And we will take the cross : no less for the good of holy church than for riddance of this termagant." " Glory to God !" ejaculated Bernard, " glory to God!" " Glory in hell, and boundless joy ! For the tens of thousands ye will hurry thither," added Eleanor, with a scornful curl upon her lip. u When the fig-tree casteth untimely figs, know ye then that the end is nigh," Bernard audibly 30 REGISTER OF THE muttered in a solemn and reflective manner; "what are these heretical doctrines but untimely figs ?" " What is this sanguinary mockery which you charge on Heaven ?" returned Eleanor. "It is revenge ! revenge ! What do I seek for injured rights ? Revenge ! If your revenge be blessed on the Saracen, for a fancied wrong ? how much more should mine, upon my husband and his mistress there, be favoured ? Answer me that, most holy man ; and leave us to ourselves. " " Under malediction, depart from this presence !" commanded the excited saint ; " that shall be your only answer." And he waved his hand to the door. " I defy you, priest ! I defy you all ! I, and my gallant sons, found entrance to this royal harem. One they bear away ; who stood between me and my vengeance. The other " '* Save Geraldine ! — save her ! — save her, for the love of heaven !" said Rosamond faintly. " She is saved, dearest ; our sons preserve her," replied the king. " How ! Are my purposes crossed again, and by those accursed bastards ? Then, Eleanor must act in spite of priests and fulminations." " Away, then, and act out of my sight and hear- LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 31 nig," exclaimed the Saint, angrily snatching her forth from the chamber. Having taken the precaution to make fast the door, the saint then returned to the king, whom he found bending over Rosamond : breathing her breath : and reading dim visions of heaven in her eyes ; for her thoughts and imaginings had passed from the present into the dread confines of the future, where she held a whispering discourse with angels. The enthusiastic Bernard was touched by the scene, which his constant excitement predisposed him to feel. Kneeling down, he poured out such a torrent of eloquent prayer, that the king was beguiled from his sorrow ; and listened with as much awe as he would have done, to the angels, with whom Rosamond seemed to converse. And with her returning sense, the prayer reached her ears : as he closed it with assurance of the merciful judgment, and the fulfilment of hope ; saying, " Come, ye blessed of my Father, enter into the king- dom prepared for you from all eternity !" The "Amen," was lost in the rapt delight of Rosamond, who cried, " I come ! I come !" Then, turning to the king, with heaven beaming in her eyes, she clasped his hand, and told him all was over; and how, even while he stood present there, she was translated to the verge of Heaven ; where angels held 32 REGISTER OF THE a snow-white robe, awaiting her : and beckoned to the mansions of the blest. " Did you not hear them call me ?" she concluded. Henry made no answer to her phantasies except by tears ; he saw, and felt, that they were the usual indications of the fluttering soul, as it plumes its pinions for the final flight ; now catching glimpses of the sunlight in another world ; and now recurring to the pain and darkness that remains in this. He hung his head, and wept. During the silence that ensued, thoughts of the queen again came upon Rosamond. " Where is that vengeful woman who deals reproaches on my dying hour ?" she asked in an eager whisper. " Where the eaves shoot off* the torrents of the clouds, and the convent sinks discharge their refuse,'* replied Bernard. " Then, mercy ! she will be here again,*' gasped Rosamond, trembling with fear. " Guard me that window, I beseech you !'* Bernard closed the casement ; and stood by it as a sentinel. " Twice she has entered there, to wreak her fell designs/' Rosamond resumed ; " and there, she brought the princes through, who assailed me with coarse and brutal jests, while she laughed, and en- couraged them to further outrage.'' LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 33 "Death!" exclaimed the king, his lips quivering with passion, and his hands seeking his sword, " have they dared so far !" "And thence they bore away fair Geraldine," Rosamond added. H Bernard ! " cried the king, "lam mad ! Hea- ven's lightning on their heads and souls ! But we will punish them for this ! " and he hurried through the door. Desirous to turn the fiery spirit of family feud and private vengeance against what he was pleased to con- sider the common enemy ; Bernard immediately fol- lowed him. 34 REGISTER OF THE CHAPTER V. His love was passion's essence — as a tree On fire by lightning ; with etherial flame Kindled he was, and blasted. Byron. With the skill and promptitude of a general, the hermit, Jocelyn le Gascon, withdrew Geraldine from the fray so soon as she was released from the arm of Geoffrey ; and snatching her up, hurried her away to a place of concealment. From the convent-yard, he proceeded towards the hills in the distance : ex- hibiting an endurance and energy that would have worn down the most vigorous and robust youth ; for he halted not his rapid foot until he had reached the shelter of the umbrageous trees with which they were covered. There, he set his burden down ; and disposing of his cross beneath the underwood, that it might not impede his progress ; he hurried her by the hand, through the tangled branches, to a kind of cavern, or grot : which, though hidden now, seemed quite familiar to him. Here, Geraldine paused : unwilling to enter ; but again suddenly taking her in his arms LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 35 he plunged through the boughs that partly screened its entrance ; and uttered not a word. In the darkness of the grot, the danger and uncer- tainty of her position flashed on the mind of Geral- dine with redoubled power. She was about to fly j when the hermit, who had absented himself from her side, returned with the materials for kindling a light. This restored her, somewhat, to equanimity. " You see I am no stranger here," he said, as he suspended the lamp from the roof; but, turning to survey the grot, his look became embarrassed. Fol- lowing his eyes, Geraldine observed that the cavern was furnished with elegance ; and that its rocky sides were hidden with tapestry. " Hands have been here since mine/' resumed the hermit, when he had completed the survey. "- His hands who drove me hence to suit his purposes ? Things like it, have been done. No, no. Angels have made it their abiding-place, for her sake." His mind was in its bewilderment again, when his eyes suddenly rested on Geraldine. " Ha I" he continued, " are you there again ? You demon in an angel's form ! I know thee, Satan. O cruel fiend, to furnish, thus my cell, and come in such a tempting shape. Aroynt thee ! aroynt thee ! Are not the sacred groves of Lebanon d 2 36 REGISTER OF THE free from the evil spirit ? O unsubstantial devil ? would that I could clutch you." Shrinking back from his approaching step, Geral- dine felt her heart beat and nutter like an imprisoned bird ; but when, with his concluding words, he caught her by the arm, she shrieked aloud, and thought that she would die indeed. " Why, what is this ?" he exclaimed, with a glimpse of sanity, " it is warm ! it throbs ! it speaks ! Oh, iElgiva ! I have had a dream, made up of deso- late days and years ; where you and I were torn apart by something diabolical which said it was the church, and all infallible. I thought you were my wife : as now ; and I a gentle priest : as I remain : filled with the milk of human charity ; and because I was a priest and you my wife, I thought it said we were lost eternally, unless we suffered it to violate our mutual bond and vows before High Heaven. Thereto, I thought we did demur ; and then this huge, unholy Church did make a mockery of all our love, and curse it. Next, I thought we met clan- destinely, and in great fear, though we had never broken the laws of God, and had, indeed, complied with them, with warrant from his altar. Withal, the Church discovered, and condemned, and thrust us wide asunder; never, as it made us swear, to meet LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 37 again ! And then methought, iElgiva, that I went mad in solitude, while you gave birth to what should be our pride, but which that Church denounced. This overwhelming you with shame, you died, I heard, ere long, the victim of a broken heart ; and I — I cursed heaven ! Why repeat this to me, spirit ! You have told me this before. Why do you pluck my beard, and mock at me, and sink down there ! " His volubility ceased ; but still the frenzy was strong upon him, for he flung himself down on the floor of the cave, and grappled at the earth : watched by the tearful eyes of Geraldine, who had escaped from his relaxing grasp to a distance, while he ap- pealed to vacancy. It was strange that amidst all the darkness of his wandering, Jocelyn had a knowledge of the primary causes of his malady; curiously blent and min- gled, to be sure, with vague supernatural creations ; and often confounded, under terror of the Church, with the temptations and machinations of the evil one. Yet the demented man ever felt, when sanity returned, that it was true and real. And so it was. When Archbishop Anselm endeavoured to correct the debauched lives of the unbeneficed clergy, who were a scandal to society, he insisted strongly on the necessity of celibacy and continence. Paschal II., who was then pope, was too strongly 38 REGISTER OF THE imbued with the spirit of his predecessors not to see that human affections were stronger, even, than superstitious reverence for the Establishment and its aggrandizement ; and he comprehended at a glance, that if the ties of family, and the sympathies of nature, were denied and destroyed in priests, the Church would secure a host of zealots : bound only to exercise their thoughts and energy for its splen- dour and dominion. Therefore he fell into the views of Anselm. Jocelyn had but just married when the bull was issued which commanded all ecclesiastics to be sepa- rated from their wives ; and enjoined celibacy and continence, under pain of excommunication. He and iElgiva were two victims among ten thousand others, whose hopes, whose happiness, and whose lives, were thus embittered by an impious and un- natural decree. But the great end was attained ; the cruel, hard, unfeeling, desolating, hideous end. Some such thoughts as these, though failing in that strength of indignation and abhorrence with which succeeding time has invested them, occurred to Geraldine, as she stood watching the prostrate body of her father in its pitiable distortions, and in his graspings at a phantom. They were whole- some thoughts ; and she thanked Heaven that she was unfettered by vows and monastic obligations. LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 39 Then they recurred to Geoffrey ; and she sighed that he was bound up in the system. Meantime, the reason of Jocelyn had returned ; and he arose, oblivious of all that had latterly occurred. " You say you are my daughter ? That is impos- sible. I am a priest/' he said. " Priests have no daughters. The evil one, comes, tempting me, some- times, and prompting me ; and sets a vision before my eyes of a fair form like thine : which he informs me is my wife. I have no wife. I am a priest. The Church forbids a priest to have a wife." This chaos of his brain was suddenly enlight- ened ; for, starting, as if his ears caught some sound, and, catching her by the arm, he darted with her further into the cavern : crying in an im- petuous whisper, " They come ! they come ! the savage horde of Saracens. I hear their feet ; hark you ! Here, Mary of the Desert, here ! Hide you in my cell, till they have passed. Do you hear them ?" Geraldine fancied she did recognise the tramp of feet, and the buzz of voices. Still, slowly and silently retreating to the interior of the cave, the hermit came against a couch, which recalled his thoughts to the actual things of the past. " Yes !" he whispered, M here was the place of assig- nation after we were forbidden to meet. Here, in this 40 REGISTER OF THE cavern, girl, your mother hallowed my bright hours of life ; for days and nights we lingered here, blest in the society of each other, while the curse of Heaven was out against us ! " With the closing thought his aberration came on ; his look grew wild ; his thoughts were wandering. But he caught the sounds again ; and cried, under his breath, " Hark ! Do you hear them ? Do you hear the Saracens ? Do you hear them ?" Distinct sounds really reached the ears of Geral- dine, by this time ; and among them, were the voices of her captors, and the voice of Geoffrey. / LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 41 CHAPTER VI. And now I will unclasp a secret book, And to your quick -conceiving discontents I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, As to o'er -walk a current, roaring loud, On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. Shakspeare. Running, they scarce knew why ; and halting, like the rest, from sheer exhaustion ; the sons of Rosamond and Eleanor had arrived with Bernard and his fol- lowers at the hill where Jocelyn and Geraldine were concealed. Of all the assemblage, only two persons had noticed the departure of the latter from the con- vent-yard ; and they were the queen and Geoffrey. Each was intent upon pursuit — the one to preserve, the other to destroy ; and each felt that, from the retired habits of Jocelyn, the wooded hills were no unlikely resting-place for him to have sought. So soon, therefore, as Bernard had planted the banner of the crusade, Geoffrey issued forth in search of his 42 REGISTER OF THE object : while Eleanor, with her sons Richard and Henry, pursued the same course to attain hers. After much anxious listening and curious search, they accidently met together, before the mouth of the cavern. u Ha ! by the rood, here comes a bastard, Harry," exclaimed the queen, " leave him to tell no tales of capture." The princes needed no incentive ; for both were upon him, while she uttered the words. For some time, Geoffrey withstood the combined attack : his agility enabling him to avoid and parry the blows of both. Often, indeed, he put them on the defensive ; and once, making a desperate lounge at Richard with his sword, the latter was thrown to the ground by a tangled briar, into which he set his foot in stepping back. Eleanor, who had been looking on like a vulture, struck at Geoffrey from behind. Her dagger missing his breast, passed through the muscles of his arm ; and his sword dropped from his hand. Jocelyn had espied what was passing, from the interior of the cave. Rushing out, he caught the queen and Henry in either hand, and cast them with such violence from him, that they dropped, stunned and motionless, to the earth. LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 43 In the meanwhile, Richard had recovered; and with one blow of his battle-axe, he cleft the hermit's skull to the shoulders. At sight of this fatal catastrophe, every sentiment of fear and care for her own security departed from Geraldine. She flew from her concealment, to pros- trate herself on his lifeless body. As she thus indulged her grief, Richard planted himself between her and Geoffrey ; and, with that arrogance which became his characteristic in after- life, dared him to approach, and menaced him with his weapon. Ever and anon turning a watchful eye upon the weeping and unconscious Geraldine, while the queen and his brother were slowly recovering from the effects of the stalwart hermit's wrath. '1 Are you hurt, mother ? " he inquired, as she be- came sensible to his attentions. "lam hurt," she answered, " but I am hurt more, here, than outwardly," and she put her hand to her breast. " There is a wound made here, which leech may never heal. Who was't assaulted us, — your father ?" " It was that scare- crow hermit there," Richard answered : pointing to the body. " It is well," she returned. P Look yonder, Harry. What gallant men ye are to see a maid unmated ! 44 REGISTER OF THE Did your father ever do so ? Shame on you ! who are content to blush and to be flogged like boys, while you are full of fiery blood ; who boast that ye are men, yet suffer your old father to outliber- tine you ! It is like your crouching, craven spirits. You are a crowned and anointed king, Harry, why not have the realm ? Why not have this throne of England or assume your Norman dukedom ? I could not be less happy at your Court than I am here, at my own. Why, Richard, have not you Anjou, Poictou, and fairer still, King Louis' daughter Alice : whom your father smiles upon ? Poor pitiful boys, be ye obedient, or be whipt. But I forget. You are princes ! ha ! ha ! ha ! " "It was those cursed nimble shanks that brought us to this pass," exclaimed Henry, as he ran up to Rosamond's son, and gashed his legs with his sword in very wantonness. " They shall not follow, this time, on our track." . '* I told you I had gallant sons," said Eleanor tauntingly : as she lifted Geraldine from the body, " It was kind of you to meet them here." " O save me ! save me, Geoffrey ! " she cried in piteous accents. " Geoffrey first must learn to save himself," said Richard. " When you recover, bastard, you will LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 45 want an occupation. Take this ; and fell tim- ber/ ' and he flung his battle-axe towards him as he spoke. And so : laughing in their brutal mirth : the queen and the princes took Geraldine away between them. During these events, the methodical enthusiasm of Bernard had been developing itself in the midst of his followers. None knew better than he, that the best and holiest cause will sleep with the multi- tude, if it be not kept awake by constant agitation. Therefore, he proceeded to harangue them on his favourite topic, before they had well come to a halt. H Ye men of the Redemption ! " he began, " Even as the Moabites were given to the swords of Israel, so shall the Moslem be destroyed by you. The end cometh ; the day of wrath is at hand ; the second trumpet is sounding ; and a great mountain of fire is falling into the deep, which is the power and the wrath of the Saracen. It shall be destroyed; and the sea shall become as blood, by reason of the great slaughter of the Paynim. The fall of the Antichrist is come; when he and his followers shall be given to the pit. The time, and times, and half a time, which were to precede the end, have arrived and are expiring, even now. Blessed are they who remain 46 REGISTER OF THE faithful, and waver not ; blessed are they ! And here, behold ! is sent an elucidation and a sign of the Infidel. This glistening snake which glide th now between my feet, post- shadows their insinua- tion into church and sepulchre. Lo ! he has found a refuge. So have they; but thus shall each be dragged away, and trampled to the death." As Bernard stooped to pluck forth the unfortunate reptile, he drew out with a startled air the cross of Jocelyn; round which the snake was coiled. Instantly recovering his self-possession, he proceded to turn the incident to his advantage. " Honour to the cross for ever and ever !" he ex- claimed : holding it up. " See ! The reptile coils about the cross for mercy ; so must the Moslem. Glory to Heaven and to our Saviour ! It is the sign of healing and of triumph in the wilderness and the Promised Land. So we receive it. But this sym- bol ? this miraculous cross ? Surely it belongs to Jocelyn, the holy Hermit of Lebanon. How came it here ? Where is he ?" Amidst the buzz of voices that ensued armed men came hurrying towards Bernard : bearing the dead body of the hermit ; the axe with which he had been slain ; and the wounded Geoffrey. " Christ's passion!'' exclaimed the saint, aghast LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 47 at the frightful spectacle, " what have we here? The slain, the slayer, and his instrument ? Glory- to Heaven who hath given him into our hands ! Out with his eyes while we devise some torture ! The blood of the saints crieth to Heaven for vengeance ; out with his eyes !" Geoffrey heard the dreadful command without a word ; for, from loss of blood, and astonish- ment at his position, his tongue clave to his mouth! With his silence construed into evidence of guilt, he was instantly bound with his back to a tree, while the instruments were prepared for the ferocious operation. Still he uttered no word ; his lips and his tongue moved, but emitted no sound. The followers of the saint closed round in a circle : while he looked on with a stern and thoughtful visage. " Come, then, and kneel ! You pitiful craven ! " cried Geoffrey's brother William, as he burst through the circle with a huge two-handed sword across his shoulder ; and the Prince John dragging by his other hand. " Kneel, and swear to serve against the infidel; on that condition I have spared your life, and on no other will I release you;" with which words, he flung him into the centre, before Bernard. They had met by accident in the wood, and renewed 48 REGISTER OF THE the conflict of the Convent : in which John had been totally vanquished. Struck by the universal silence, and the anxious countenances of the assembly, William glanced round and beheld the cause. " My brother!" he exclaimed: bounding to his side, " who dares maltreat my brother ? Against saint or Saracen, I will defend him." The long sword soon severed the cords that bound Geoffrey to the tree ; and seating him at its foot, William again stood on his defence. Clamours of disapprobation arose, but William only wielded his weapon in reply. "Hew them down for the glory of Heaven!" thundered Bernard. A hundred blades flashed in the morning beams. But they were arrested by the cry of Geoffrey. " It was England's princes, and not I, who slew the hermit," he exclaimed. "Hold!" cried Bernard, as the probable truth impressed itself upon him. The soldiers paused at the brother's feet. M Save the Crusader ! Save the Crusader !" cried a voice ; and one ran into the midst, followed by panting soldiers. " We have found this blood- stained dagger where the hermit fell," continued the LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 49 speaker as he held it up to Bernard ; " it is the same that I saw aimed against the young man's heart, at yonder convent, by a woman ; I know it by the blazing gems upon its hilt." "Enough; I know it also," Bernard rejoined. " Glory to Heaven for giving us mercy and forbear- ance ! Lead on, to the spot !" And on they went : their savage spirit subdued as suddenly as it had been aroused ; bearing Geoffrey tenderly in their arms, and listening to his tale, while William was caressed as a brave and worthy brother of the cross. The obsequies of Jocetyn were performed in haste before the entrance to the cavern : Bernard planting the cross he had borne, at the head of his grave, and giving forth the " DeProfundis," which was sung by the wild assembly under the green canopy of trees, while the sun shone brightly through them, with an unshadowed radiance on the last low cell of the hermit. The wood was searched in vain for Geraldine; and the whole party were diverging in pursuit ; when a trumpet was heard proclaiming the advent of roy- alty. Then, came the flashing rays from burnished helmets ; and a body of troops, headed by the king, appeared in view. E 50 REGISTER OP THE The monarch bent his head at sight of Geoffrey ; and prayed for maledictions on Eleanor and the princes, when he heard his tale. " But cheer up," said he. "We will make peace with the pontiff and the church, to gain a dispensa- tion for you, and to win this maid. Bear up, Geoffrey, she shall be found ; and whoso harms her, wife or son, have seen their last of sunshine, fields, and liberty. Failing to find her in the precincts of the convent, we came forth in search, and fell in with these our loyal troops, marching on to Oxford. Soldiers ! a horse here, and a litter. " While Geoffrey's seat was being prepared, his brother ran across the heath where they had met, to the ruins of one of those baronial castles which the king had demolished for his own security. Tracing footsteps in the dew, over the heaps of dismantled stones which had once formed tower and buttress, he came to a vault, which was part of what had been the dungeon of the stronghold. Listening there, he heard the sound of voices, which he soon distin- guished were those of the princes : quarrelling for the possession of Geraldine. " Come forth, dishonourable caitiffs/' he cried, " come forth ! And answer this to me!" The echoes of his words were still reverberating in the vault, when Eleanor made at him from the dark LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 51 interior, with the fury of a tigress. She was armed with a broken spear ; and she thrust and struck at Longsword (as William was now called by the cru- saders) with the desperation that only revenge in- spires. He, scorning to strike, held his two-handed weapon across his body by its hilt and point : and so warded off each blow she aimed, until the princes, leaving Geraldine in their hiding-place, came forth to the queen's assistance : when William's defence was changed into a furious attack. The clank of weapons being faintly heard by the crusaders, the king struck spurs into the horse he rode, with so much fierceness, that the animal bounded several yards in its pain, and reached the sceue just as William was sinking under the ex- haustion of the combat. " Hold ! you murdering crew," exclaimed the king. u Will your thirst remain unsatiated until you have spilled the blood of ours and ourself ?" " Strike ! Harry, for your mother's honour/ ' re- turned the queen. " These noxious bastards and their virtuous mother are all that he considers his. Richard ! Strike ! or give your sword to me." As the king descended from his horse, prince Henry strove to do his mother's bidding; but William brought down his heavy sword with such huge force upon his head, that it laid him low. Snatching his e 2 52 REGISTER OF THE weapon as he fell, Eleanor put the king on his defence ; while Richard sprung upon the exhausted William in a deadly wrestle. The troops coming up, stayed the unnatural conflict. One of the soldiers, breaking from his comrades, rode briskly up to Eleanor ; and, bending his head down to her ear, informed her that he was her second son, Geoffrey of Anjou, who had so long been in tacit rebellion against his father, to obtain additional possessions to his wife's dower of Bretagne ; and that the soldiers then present, though part of the king's levy for the conquest of Ireland, were merce- naries in his pay : then at her service. Eleanor kissed his hand for joy, and directed him to place a guard over the dungeon, that Geraldine might not escape : while the rest helped her against the king, who had just succeeded in separating Richard and Longsword. " What ho ! Harry of England ! " she cried to her first-born; "here be soldiers, waiting to do you homage. Guards ! secure that old man, and bear him to the court of your new monarch, Henry the Third. Yet stay ; first rid me of that carrion there !" A dozen weapons were lifted at once against Longsword: when Bernard and the crusaders, who had followed, poured in, and saved him from de- struction. LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 53 " Heaven be praised ! " exclaimed the king. "Heaven be praised for this assistance! Seize yonder queen and those rebellious princes ; not one of them shall be at large within our realm." The crusaders, still led by Bernard, made a rush at them ; and a battle ensued. Meanwhile the king caught sight of Geraldine, who stood trembling on the verge of a tottering tower which had been left standing to mark the site of the castle ; and within whose wall was concealed a stair, leading to the dun- geon : which she had ascended. The king rode up to .the tower at once; and Geral- dine sprung into his arms. He put his steed upon his mettle without delay ; they were off at full speed towards Godstow. Glancing round as they flew, the king perceived horsemen in pursuit. He turned his horse's head to the wood from which she had been abducted. w Fear not !*• he said, as he dismounted with her at the edge of the wood. Scarcely had he uttered the words, when the horse plunged in among the trees, with an arrow buried in his flank. " By the rood ! " exclaimed the king again, " but the danger closes on us still. There is a cave at hand, known only to ourself and Rosamond, from which there runs a secret passage to the cloisters of the convent. Once there, we are secure." 54 REGISTER OF THE And in they hurried, hand in hand; the voices of those in pursuit growing louder in their ears at every step. The terrified Geraldine passed the her- mit's grave with a faultering foot ; and was hurried into the cavern, suffused with tears. Startled by the burning lamp, the king drew his sword, and paused ; but striking it down as he heard the sound of feet without, he lifted the tapestry from the floor, and struck into a subterranean passage. When he listened again for a moment as the tapestry fell, all was silent ; and they went their way. Fighting with the courage of lions, the crusaders soon defeated the queen and the Bretons, though they failed to capture either her or the princes. These latter, with their mercenaries, fled in the greatest disorder ; the crusaders, keeping up a hot pursuit, still hung upon their rear ; and passed far from the neighbourhood of Godstow. William Longsword, in the meantime, conducted his brother back to the convent. When the king and Geraldine emerged from the passage, into the silent precincts of the religious house, they were again confronted by Eleanor : who had just dismounted from her steed. " Well met, Harry ! " she cried. " If Rosamond, thy dear love, were not so far spent that life is hope- less, I had provided that which would have spoiled LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 55 her beauty, and helped to make my husband-king remember me. I saw it would be thrown away on her, and so preserved it. It is here ; and thus I try its power !" With these words, she flung the contents of a phial into the face and eyes of Geraldine ; and, vaulting again into her saddle, gallopped off, as Geoffrey and William came in view. Writhing and senseless, Geraldine was borne into the convent by the king, where he was immediately joined by the sons of Rosamond. She had died without a relative to press her hand in the parting hour; without a word of comfort or of con- solation from her other self — her blood and her affec- tions. Her eyes were fixed on the door of her chamber : looking, though glazed in death, as if they sought some dear object, a faint vision of which they might bear to the tribunal of another world. But the vision came not, until they were unconscious of its presence ; when the king and her sons knelt down, and wept before them. There is nothing more to be extracted. How Eleanor and the princes fled into Normandy, where she was captured, and afterwards imprisoned during 56 REGISTER OF THE LADY ABBESS. the life of the king ; while her sons quarrelled with each other, and warred simultaneously upon their father till they broke his heart. How Bernard awakened Europe to another holy war ; and William Longsword grew into the dignity of Earl of Salis- bury, while Geoffrey, his brother, became Arch- bishop of York — is all inscribed on the tablets of history. The subtle poison, which Eleanor had thrown into the face of Geraldine, robbed her of the sight of her eyes, and blighted and withered her features ; knowing it, she steadily refused to unite herself with Geoffrey, and, devoting her life to piety, ultimately became abbess of Godstow ; a meek and holy nun ; who, between the time spent at her devotions, and her frequent visits to the hermit's grave, beguiled her blameless life with the compilation of this register. THE DODDER-WEED. As I mused in the forest, I fancied there passed From a sad blighted tree, a proud voice to the blast ; And listening, attent if it were so indeed, I heard, " Life's all prey to the brave dodder- weed." " A most rascally creed," Quoth I, wroth, " And base boasting ; come ! prove it, thou vile dod- der-weed." " I spring from the earth: from the meanest of mould : And I grovel and grasp till I 've strength to be bold, For I creep and caress till the noblest must feed The prime love of self in the brave dodder-weed." " So most scoundrels proceed," Quoth I, wroth, " O prolific and wide grows the vile dodder-weed." 58 THE DODDER WEED. " Adroitly I twine round some nourishing bole, To feast on his riches and worm to his soul. In sunshine and shadow still scatter my seed, And suck out his life to make more dodder- weed/* " Thou 'ft a villain indeed !" Quoth I, wroth, " But no taunt can affect thee, thou vile dodder- weed. ,, " At length when the forester marks the decay Of the vigourous oak, and turns sadly away, I laugh at the ruin ; I know 'tis my deed ; His loss was my gain. I am fat dodder- weed." " O infamous greed ! " Quoth I, wroth, " Gorging honour and life ! O thou vile dodder- weed ! " " And who looks so fair as the dodder- weed now, As I shut out the sunshine and dew from his brow ? What is left but to throw forth my husks to a creed, And be dubbed a pure saint, and a brave dodder- weed ?" " What else were thy meed," Quoth I, wroth, " Most fair and unspotted and good dodder- weed ?" THE DODDER-WEED. 59 " Yet to crush thee, base fibre, in city and soil, Ere thy villany creeps to the heart it would spoil, I would labour for ever — but who shall succeed Where good honest principle's certain to bleed ? Worth and virtue take heed," Quoth I, wroth, " For the world is a jungle of vile dodder- weed." THEOLOGY : OR, THE POINT AT ISSUE. u Put trust in Con" quoth pious Doctor Pusey, " By Con, the fact, will heaven hold or lose ye." " I say 'tis Tran" cries learned Doctor Wiseman ; " Tran is the truth, wherein salvation lies man." Thus — cunning prigs — they mystify the nation, While Con and Tran both want substantiation. GOOD-BYE! GOOD-BYE! Hark, hark ! The battle's clangor comes, Farewell, dear Ellen ! Time may be, When trumpet's cry nor rolling drums Shall have a charm to call from thee. Hark, hark ! My anxious war-steed neighs, Come, Ellen, dry that tearful eye, We meet again in other days, Though now I say, Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Nay, cling not thus unto my arm, Nor soil the badge my country gave, Nor rob me by some new-born charm Of honour, or a glory- grave. Again, again, War's 'larum shrieks, A kiss must stop that rising sigh, My heart, my soul, bright honour seeks ! Once more, dear girl, Good-bye ! Good-bye ! A LEGEND RUNNA MEAD AND MAGNA CHARTA. CHAPTER I. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, ****** The graves stood tenantless. Shakspeare. Environed and oppressed by superstition, tyranny, and famine ; in the year of God 1211, our dear Eng- land was but a desolate isle and a wilderness. The scanty crops were ungathered : the rich earth was untilled. Pope Innocent III. had exercised the power confided to him by his church, and had laid our fathers and our land prostrate under an interdict, in retaliation for the individual actions of King John. Every temple of religion was closed ; every church- yard was forbidden alike to the dead and the devout.* * The priests were enjoined to perform the rites of sepulture and baptism, but very commonly refused both. 62 RUNNA MEAD AND The rank grass and brambles which bound the hum- ble graves, had stretched themselves across the paths and obliterated them. The church steps were green with moss ; and from the interstices of the stones had sprung up a nourishing vegetation, creeping be- neath the very doors of the churches. No public prayer was heard : no wedding peal : no passing knell. The curfew was untolled; men looked terror- stricken and woe-begone. The boisterous mirth of childhood sank to a timid whisper; the garrulity of age had ceased. The glad old Sabbath was a day of gloom and discontent. The serf and the husband- man neglected the seasons ; and the artisan forsook his handicraft. The alehouses and the market- crosses were untenanted ; unattended : and nothing throve but the monks. In London, and other cities, weeds accumulated on the house-thatch, which fell to decay ; while " toad- stools" and fungus sprung up from the rotting beams and timbers of the tene- ments beneath. The public crosses were disman- tled ; the shrines of the saints were locked up ; and their effigies thrown down. Morals were driven mad ; the sexes cohabiting like beasts of the field, because priests would not administer the rites of marriage, the confessional, or sepulture. Every ditch and vacant place was crowded with unburied dead, sweltering and filling the air with pestilence, MAGNA CHARTA. 63 which hourly increased the already frightful calamity. Despair and murder stalked openly abroad; every man looked upon his fellow as an enemy and com- mon prey. His holiness our father the Pope, and our holy mother the Church, had blighted nature, and brutalized mankind. Just within that portal of the city of London, called the Cripples' Gate ; between a leper covered with his loathsome disease, and a wretch shivering with palsy, and surrounded by persons maimed in body and limb, who exposed their frightful contor- tions to excite alms ; sat a young woman on a bier, beside the corpse of a beautiful boy, whose dead and tiny hand she held in hers. A storm had come on, which gradually became more and more violent. The thunder roared and rolled incessantly, and the livid lightning hissed upon the earth like a serpent. Here and there, individuals crouched in door-ways, and beneath the projecting stories of the houses ; but not one ventured to run through the cataract to a more kindly shelter. Be- neath the gate, the maimed and the diseased, for- getting their lesser calamities, huddled closer toge- ther : and sought security in mutual support. The young mother: for such she was to the dead child : hastily arose on feeling the pressure. " Stand off!" she cried. " Pray crowd not on my 64 RUNNA MEAD AND beautiful child. Have I borne him, dead, so many- miles to have him crushed by lepers? Pray stand off !" Her vehemence only encreased tbe pressure, which was accompanied by some angry muttering. " Room here, I entreat you ! " she again ex- claimed, pushing away the nearest persons. ".Would you irritate a frantic and most miserable woman? Why have I saved my beauty from the wolves but to give him Christian sepulture ? Would ye devour him ?" " Is he fresh ?" a voice demanded. "Before the storm came on, there were wretches prowling among the thousands on yonder fen, where all is putrid and black; they could not get a mouthful. Is he fresh? They will make him into food. Mind me ! They will make him into food, for they are starving." With which words the speaker came forward, and lifted the covering from the smiling corpse. The very cripples shuddered with fear as they looked upon the man, who was well known in London by the name of Ruffo, the Red ; and who, in his turn, was considered to be a cannibal by the populace, from his continual wandering among the dead ; whom he was in reality solicitous to bury, that he might pre- vent the horrid climax of their want and desperation. The young mother gazed at him for a moment, wonder-stricken. Then assuming a fearful calm- MAGNA CHARTA. 65 ness, and laying her finger on his arm, she said, " Have you been made a wretch by this bad king ; yet have you some common ties of nature which he has not destroyed ?" " I have/' he answered. " I was a true man once ; and though now I seem a loathed wretch, I am as harmless as your child." Marking his glistening eye, she doubted his sanity, but exhibited her purse. " Look here/' she cried, M I could not give my offspring to the earth, without the holy rite. From priest to priest I have borne him many, many, weary miles, and none would pray over him ; no holy word would any utter for his soul. I seek good Anselm now, who serveth neither church nor king, but God and His humanity. Bring him to me ; here is gold for your reward." Ruffo looked at the money, and started into the storm. Suddenly altering his mind, he turned again and gazed upon the child, as if afraid to leave him. Then withdrawing his glance, he turned upon her, and holding out his hand, demanded one of the coins. Terrified again, by his looks and manner, she threw herself upon the corpse while she proffered the money. " Nay, come with me," he cried. " You have put trust in me, and I will not betray you. Come with me ! I know where to find him." 66 RUNNA MEAD AND " I cannot relinquish my child. — Away ! — Help me people ! Hear you not, how heaven thunders through its fires, forbidding you ?" she replied. " Come along fool ! or you will see his bones flung into the sweltering ditch that stretches from yonder Barbican," said Ruffo. At this moment the vespers of the brotherhood of Corpus Christi reached them from the neighbouring church of St. Giles. " Come on ! " cried Ruffo again, " or Anselm will be gone his round to relieve the sick and needy. Follow me. " And snatching up the corpse, he broke through the crowd into the city. Through many a narrow lane and narrower alley he hurried on with the child, closely followed by the panting mother. Regardless of the streams con- tinually poured upon them from the monster-heads that formed the spouts, and over-shot the pavement, they proceeded direct to the house of Anselm the Good, which crouched beneath the church of St. John Zachary. Entering, they found Anselm just ready to go forth with the viaticum to a dying man, whose son waited to accompany him. " Here, father ; bury this child with Heaven's blessing/' said Ruffo, setting down the corpse. Anselm and the young man stood aghast at the MAGNA CHARTA. 67 spectre before thern, with his lank red hair and beard dropping with rain : his body emaciated : and his thin and attenuated fingers stretched forth imploringly. But, the young man's anxiety over- coming his fear, he rushed past him to the door, and quickly returning, apprised the priest that the storm was abating. "Then, I must go, friend," said he to Ruffo. M A sinful soul struggles and slides upon the brink of eternity, and needeth help." " Nay, good father !" exclaimed the woman, pros- trating herself at his knees, " suffer not my offspring to be cast forth like a dog. For many a weary hour I have borne him to obtain the rite which shall admit him to the company of the blessed. In all that time he is the only friend that I have found." " He ! What, RufFo the Red ?" quoth Anselm. " He, who is the terror of the city, and of whom men say that he is a cannibal !" u A mildew on the souls of king and churchmen, for the character," returned the condemned. '* There was a time when I was loved and gentle. Then — 'fore God ! — they wronged, and robbed, and made a wretch of me, and now they wonder at my being one. Well — 'fore God ! — it gives me strength. Will you bury that child ?" " Your threatening aspect, son, with me has no f 2 68 RUNNA MEAD AND intimidation. What have I to fear ? I have braved the curses of the Pontiff, backed by all the terrors of the Church, here and hereafter : I remain in opposi- tion to the king and his malignity ; and what have I to fear ? I can pity, but think not I can fear you. The quick before the dead. I will bless and bury the child, but first let me save a soul." And taking up the host, he crossed the threshold. For the first time since her bereavement the woman enjoyed the luxury of tears : tears of joy, that the hopes of her woeful pilgrimage were about to be ac- complished. From these she was aroused by the rude voice of Ruffo, summoning her to the church- yard. " Bring me the child," said he. "A score of bodies fester on the graves, uncovered, rotting upon holy ground. Bah ! More holy are the maws of the ban -dog and the wolf, than those of men ; so, come ! I have scooped a grave, and Anselm will be here anon." He came. And when the solemn office was per- formed, and the child was laid in his earthy bed, Ruffo the Red knelt down and wept. Yes; the touching words and fervent aspirations which the good Anselm had uttered over his " departed brother," had touched the chord of his humanity ; and the for- lorn man who was called a cannibal : for whom there MAGNA CHARTA. 69 was no voice of sympathy nor love : no prayer, nor home, nor kindred : thrilled and throbbed with pity. And he wept. Before they left that mansion of the dead, each naked corpse that had been flung over the walls since Anselm last was there, had found a grave, a prayer, and a covering. Ruffo appeared to the mother now, another being ; and, in the flood of awakened feeling, he looked with affection where he had refused reward. So they came forth together. Turning from the church-yard gate, which Anselm locked behind them, they heard the tramp of horses ; and presently men in armour galloped up, and were upon them. There was a simultaneous recognition between the woman and the principal horseman, who was distinguished by a plume on his helmet, and a saddle-cloth of cloth of gold. " Ha ! by my halidom ! but you escape me no more," he exclaimed ; and spurring his horse, he caught her by the arm, and snatched her to his saddle. After an ineffectual struggle to release herself from his grasp, she flung her purse to RufFo. As the haggard man was about to take it, he was stricken down by the sword of one of the horsemen, who dismounted at the same moment, and, having 70 RUNNA MEAD AND snatched it from the earth, vaulted again on his steed. "Well done! Black Hugh," shouted their chief ; and the whole party quickly passed through the Alder's Gate with their prize. MAGNA CHARTA. 71 CHAPTER II. Ruin seize thee ! ruthless king. Gray> When the storm broke over London, King John was holding a council at his palace in South wark. Information had been given to him that the Pope had granted an indulgence to all who would make war on him, and had made a present of his realm to the King of France, who, prepared to take possession, was then about to invade it. An angry debate ensued on the expediency of the king giving way, or giving battle. The Poitevins were for making terms with Philip : the Anglo-Normans for appeasing the Pope. But neither suggestion pleased the monarch. Vacillating and cowardly as he naturally was, he still could make a great resolve, although he lacked the nerve to sup- port it. In this instance he determined to resist both powers ; and commanded his adherents to proceed with him to inspect the royal fortresses, and to visit all such places as were favourable to him : to raise sub- sidies : and arouse the barons to arm their vassals. While the thunder of heaven was rolling above them, 72 RUNNA MEAD AND everything was prepared for an instant march ; and they only awaited its abatement to proceed. It was the period, of all others, in England's history when God's own image and likeness, man's soul, was smothered and defaced ; and when the man-beast was predominant in his might and vengeance. Most of the chivalry of the realm had emulated Richard of the Lion Heart, in zeal for the crusade ; and after the splendid achievements and romantic fortune of that monarch, it had become a degradation to a house and name, if its proprietor had not fleshed his sword in the Saracen. Thus, every year saw fresh hordes proceeding to Palestine to propagate " Peace on earth, and good will toward men," by the gentle reasoning of sword and spear. The " kingdom which is not of this world," was supported by the most horrible atrocities that ever disgraced the human annals. But it was Papal doctrine, and, necessarily, imma- culate. Godfrey Bohun was amongst the last who joined the enterprise before the Pope's curse was denounced against England. The younger son of a noble house, he eschewed arms for minstrelsy : deserting the sword and battle-axe, to dally with the lyre and sweet song. In the character of a troubadour, he was a constant inmate of the palace, and gave many a lesson to his sovereign. But Richard threw aside MAGNA CHARTA. 73 the arts of peace ; and while he was astonishing the confederated princes with his prowess in Pales- tine, Godfrey continued his quiet occupation under John. The enthusiasm of the crusade affected even him at last, and stirred him up to war. From singing songs in its praise, he acquired a love for its glory, and a desire to obtain it. Taking the badge of the broad Red Cross, he prepared for his pilgrimage : and, com- plying with the common custom of the time, previous to his departure made Editha Langton his bride. King John saw her and was enamoured, not only of her beautiful form and features, but likewise of her accomplished mind. To him, a woman's honour was nothing, a woman's feelings less. He encouraged a dishonourable passion, and urged the departure of his minstrel. Nothing loth to part with her lord, in what she conceived such a dutiful and holy cause, Editha re- tired to the castle of William de Sancta Maria, bishop of London (and a distant kinsman), to await tidings of Godfrey's valour. A greater anxiety, however, soon presented itself; she was about to become a mother. Yet the king took occasion to urge his suit, till, tired with her fidelity and rebukes, he feigned news of the death of her husband, supposing, by such means, to accomplish his designs. But his stratagem 74 RUNNA MEAD AND had an opposite tendency. From the moment she received the intelligence, the king was forbidden her presence. At this juncture Archbishop Hubert died, and William de Sancta Maria was an active pioneer of the church militant on the occasion, by throwing every available obstacle in the way of the king, who was for presenting the Archbishoprick to Simon de Gray, Bishop of Norwich. Meanwhile, the Bene- dictines of St. Augustine's Abbey, at Canterbury, elected Reginald, their sub-prior, to the archiepiscopal chair ; but subdued by the threats of the king, the monks ultimately abandoned their prior, and installed the bishop. To this arrangement, Pope Innocent gave a decided negative, and raised Cardinal Stephen Langton, an English doctor of the Sorbonne, to the spiritual throne. The monks, changing again, du- tifully forsook the king at the Pope's command, and received the Cardinal. Whereupon, John expelled the fraternity from their hive. For this resistance, Innocent afflicted the country with his interdict; thereby forbidding to a whole nation communion with its God, whom in those days all men sought through the mediation of a priest. William de Sancta Maria was one of the three bishops who, by the pope's appointment, published and pro- nounced the curse. The raging monarch imme- MAGNA CHARTA. 75 diately proclaimed sentence of banishment against all the clergy; and for three years the gates of heaven (through the church) had been closed against our fathers at the time when thi3 history commences. The bishop had already fled, when John sur- rounded his castle with troops, and commanded it to surrender. In answer to the summons Editha ap- peared on the ramparts. " What is the meaning of that trumpet's call?" she asked. " Whoever makes that bold demand, 'twere well that he should learn no vassal dwelleth here. Why come ye, sirs ?" " To release the queen of beauty from the tyrant ogre/' answered the king. " If you jest with me, I know no tyrant saving John the King of England, cursed of God and of his church," she replied. " Who are you ?" " Even he, the accursed whom you wot of. Let De Sancta know, lady, that his king demands an audience with him." " The bishop is not here, my liege. Already an exile, he seeks the pontiff's further orders for his conduct to your grace." " A ruse I a ruse ! Unfurl our banner, Hugh. Our kingdom to a cowl, but there be surpliced traitors here ! Down with the drawbridge, and up 76 RUNNA MEAD AND with those barriers, lady, or John of England will use arms uninjured by a shaven dotard's curse/' " Nay, impious king ! Whom Heaven bans, the sister of Stephen Langton shall never obey. By the souls of your murdered nephew, and my husband ; by the wrongs of your divorced and imprisoned wives; the relict of Godfrey Bohun defies you! From this moment I make the church, and Heaven, my protectors." Ere she had uttered the words, Black Hugh had snatched an arrow from his sheaf, and rested it with fatal aim upon his bow, when the king struck it down with his sword. Meanwhile Editha was kneel- ing on the ramparts with her eyes and hands turned towards heaven. "Luke's face! Hugh! What would you do?" cried the monarch. " By the immaculate mother ! that stern proud dame delights us much ; she must be ours. Knights, invest the walls. Let not a living thing escape. Forward to the assault V* A shout of exultation arose from the troops as they deployed ; but Editha was heard above the din of the movement, as, waving her hand in defiance, she made the woods echo, crying, " Farewell, false king ! ere we meet again, your brow shall kiss the dust, and your stubborn neck be broken to the yoke." MAGNA CHARTA. 77 " On, soldiers ! on ! Bewray the knave who spares the shaven traitor ; but trebly beshrew him that strives not for yonder lady. An abbey's land for yonder lady !" Such were the exclamations of the king as Editha disappeared. To scale the castle wall had been but the work of a few moments, if the king had not dreaded an am- buscade within, and proceeded cautiously in his de- sign. There was no need. Hastily summoning together the few remaining domestics of the bishop, Editha briefly explained their situation ; and, securing a small casket of gold, proceeded, with her child, to a secret subterranean passage beneath the castle, in the charge of a faithful servant. Threading their way with much difficulty through the dark and dripping road, they emerged, at length, far in the forest of Stratford-le-Bow, From hall to chamber : from dungeon to turret of the castle : King John sought for the fugitives. The bishop had indeed already departed, but John be- lieved that Editha and he were still concealed together. Hideous tortures were applied to the few unfortunate servants to make them divulge their hiding-place, until at last, raging with disappoint- ment, he closed them up in a room together, and set fire to the edifice ; so working, as he imagined, a double revenge. 78 RUNNA MEAD AND Knowledge came to him, soon after, that the bishop was indeed in Rome; but he had no tidings of Editha. Their next meeting — as we have seen — was at the churchyard gate of St. John Zachary. Forgetting the precarious condition of his king- dom, he continued to urge on his horses ; taking neither food nor rest for the live long night, nor till he reached Nottingham Castle. Drenched as Editha was, with the storm, she was kept in the same condition ; suffering in mind and body, nature gave way ; and for some hours the king bore a senseless form at his saddle-bow. Yet, despite her fatigue and grief, as she reclined there in that sleep of stupor which is the closest approximation to death, the carnation came to her lips, and the roses returned to her cheeks, while the blue veins which were just indicated on her fair neck and eye- lids, disclosing themselves occasionally through her golden hair which floated in the wind, gave to her beauty that empyrean stamp which men call spiritual. Twice or thrice as he gazed on her, his heart smote him with his perfidy; twice or thrice, he grieved to think how he had deceived her with the death of Godfrey Bohun, and Mm with the rumour that she had become his sove- reign's mistress; and deserted, had died of shame and grief. But thoughts like these, were soon MAGNA CHARTA. 79 stifled by the reality of possessing her, and the ex- citement attending on it. Having secured her in his fortress : he promoted her recovery by every possible means, watching by her during the delirium of her fever : and growing more enamoured of her even in her frenzy. Earnestly pressing his suit when she recovered ; he was sub- jected to a thousand disappointments ; and despairing of success, he determined that force should supply the place of persuasion. One night, the Castle of Nottingham betrayed its impregnable trust. King John had commanded every individual to leave it except Black Hugh, who was for the nonce to be the warder, and see the strict performance of the king's command. That night the monarch and Editha were alone in a tapes- tried chamber. There was a dead silence within and without ; the walls reverberating the sound of their voices with a hollow ringing. There were rich meats before them, and wine. Passion was in the king's eyes, and persuasion on his lips ; but Editha was cold, constrained, and obdurate. At the gate of the castle, there was a low, and timid, and oft-repeated knocking, succeeded by an effeminate voice calling, " Warder ! warder, love!" and other endearing names. Black Hugh listened for some time unaffected, when a thought flashed 80 RUNNA MEAD AND across him that he might turn it to his advantage ; and as it was evidently intended to be a silent and clandestine meeting, he conceived he could well sup- ply the warder's place even there. Having brought his cogitations to this agreeable point, he again heard the knocking, followed by the words, " War- der, love ! Pray let me in. I will not speak indeed." Rejoicing within himself he gently unbarred the postern to the applicant ; and the next moment he fell to the earth, with a dagger in his heart. There was a loud noise in the tapestried chamber. King John had risen from his seat and was strug- gling with Editha. The massive oaken table was overset, and the thunder of its fall echoed with many a repetition through the rooms of the castle. "Hugh! Black Hugh ! Attend, here, help !" cried the king. But no Hugh came. The struggle was renewed. Editha grew faint and powerless. At length she fell on the floor. N God and my saints, preserve me now !" she gasped ; and swooned. The monarch was seized by a powerful hand ; and, hurled to a distance, his head struck on the fallen table ; and he lay as still and senseless as his res- cued victim. When she recovered her conscious- ness she was in a champagne country, where there MAGNA CHARTA. 81 were few traces of man ; the stars were twinkling from their distant spheres, upon the path ; and she was encircled by the arms of Ruffo the Red. Being recovered from the stunning blow he had received at the gate of St. John Zachary's, by the meagre people who had followed the king with their execrations ; he had obtained a knowledge of the perpetrators of the cruelty ; and, nerved and strength- ened by revenge, had followed them on to Notting- ham, where with such acuteness and sagacity as the circumstances suggested and enabled him to exert, he had effected the liberation of Editha. 82 RUNNA MEAD AND CHAPTER III. Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends, Where rolTd the ocean, thereon was his home, Where a blue sky and glowing clime extends, He had the passion and the power to roam ; The desert, forest, cavern, breakers' foam, Were unto him companionship ; they spake A mutual language, clearer than the tome Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake For nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. But in man's dwellings he became a thing Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome. Byron. By easy marches and unfrequented routes, the delivered and the deliverer wended their glad and grateful way towards London. A daily visitor to the last resting-place of her child, she might afterwards have been found inhabit- ing a wooden house at the corner of Huggin Lane, with no friend save Ruffo the Red, who never failed to salute her with his " Good den," and u Good even," at the break and close of day. Since their first meeting, he had become a different being ; and MAGNA CHARTA. 83 much men marvelled at the change. Fitzalwyn, the mayor, had given him employment, in the humble occupation of cresset-bearer to the watch. One evening, in the balmy time of spring, when the thoughts of Editha were far and deep in the past and all its holy memories, she was startled from her reverie by a loud halloo, and the entrance of a wild worn man into her dwelling. She was dressed in the close and muffled habit of the period : with a long cloak dragging on the floor : and a head-dress consisting of several folds of linen. This, by being brought down low on the forehead, and ornamented with a hanging whimple, effectually concealed the features of the wearer if she so desired. Editha, living in constant fear of another outrage from the king, had ample reason for concealing hers ; which she had done completely. The intruder belonged to the new order of monks, called Carmelites, as was evident from his white habit. There was a peculiar expression of gentleness about his mouth and eyes, which might have pre- disposed observers in his favour ; but his black hair fluttering behind him as he walked, or hanging in striking contrast on his garment, gave him a strange, and doubtful character. Yet Editha s heart yearned to him at once. It might be, because she had suf- fered wrong and learnt to pity, or it might be because g 2 84 RUNNA MEAD AND the promptings of some undiscovered instinct of na- ture ; — whatever it was, she concealed him, as he besought her earnestly to do. Presently his pursuers came past, panting and hooting, as if in pursuit of a thief. Editha proceeded to her door and was thus questioned by the populace : — M Mistress, have you seen the new St. John pass by your house ?" " I have seen no one pass my house," she an- swered. Away went the querists in another direction, hal- looing as before. " Did you see people seeking Cedron, the monk of the Holy Land, mistress ?" inquired a fresh troop of tormentors, who came running up immediately after. " I did. They are gone round by the Grande," she replied ; and closing her door retired within. Thereupon the monk issued from his refuge. Af- ter looking on her with a lively gratitude, he said, " Come forth with me, kind spirit. Leave the pes- tiferous city for the woods and wilds of Nature. Your voice recalls to me, fond thoughts and cruel recollections. But no perfidy comes with the dawn to the breezy hill- tops ; no treachery is hidden in the summer flowers ; no wrong glares in the vesper- star. I am a lone, lorn man, with cause to hate mankind ; I only pity them. Will you come with me ?" MAGNA CHARTA. 85 Editha felt an uncontrollable emotion at his voice and words, followed by a sense of suffocation which relieved itself in tears. Cedron was moved at the sight, and lifted the latch to depart. " Will you leave this crammed and fetid atmos- phere, and come with me ?" he inquired again. M Through the sand of the desert and the shingle of the coast; through the tangled underwood of the forest and the briars of the wilderness ; I have passed unheeded and unseen, to avoid the human kind, and seek for peace where all my peace has been destroyed. Will you come with me to the valleys and the wilds, and make peace for me ?" Again she sobbed and lost her utterance, but shook her head for answer and denial. H Ever so has it been with me," he continued. "Hope smiles invitingly on before me, and passes from me like the mirage. The breaking day of happiness — of bliss — is ever darkened by a threatening cloud, which, if it do not burst in outrage (as it seldom does), still leaves me disappointed, gloomy, and despairing. And must I bear it still ? I go then alone. What is the midnight storm and hurtling tempest to this spirit -conflict ? What place have I, what friend, what home, what haven, amidst these stifling dens of wrong — these savage wolves ? Fare- well ! farewell ! " Closing her door, he was gone in an instant. 86 RUNNA MEAD AND Often, when the city slept, the same voice came with its complainings and entreaties beneath the window of Editha ; but morning never dawned upon him in the dwellings of men, nor did his figure ever darken their thresholds. He was too great an enthusiast to be barred up in the styes which he detested ; but in her thoughts he was often present ; and a strange feeling of sympathy was growing up in her breast towards him. Meanwhile King John submitted to the pope. Cunning and cautious, Innocent had given the realm of an anathematized and apostate king to Philip. The kingdom of a penitent and a Christian was quite a different matter. He had received Avignon as a douceur from France ; and, expecting nothing further from that quarter, had, with a duplicity which not unfrequently characterized the proceedings of the holy see, proposed on the part of the Church, an intervention to John : whereby the invasion of England might be prevented. John accepted the offer, and was summoned to meet Pandulph, the legate, at Dover : proceeding whither, he arrived in London with an army of sixty thousand men. Favoured by the intense darkness of the night, and accompanied by his old and steadfast friend, the Earl of Pembroke, they went round the city with the picquet, to ascertain the amount of disaffection among the troops. Rounding the corner of Foster MAGNA CHARTA. 87 lane, they discovered a twinkling light in the church of St. John Zachary, and found the gate open. Pro- ceeding noiselessly, over the newly- turned graves, to the porch, they saw that the edifice was full of people, attending a midnight mass. There was only one light ; and that burnt upon the altar for the perform- ance of the mysteries. The priest was Anselm the Good. The king paused midway in his step as he dis- covered a solitary communicant at the rails ; and grasped the arm of Pembroke as he scrutinized the figure. It was Editha. Waiting till she had received, the king whispered into the ear of his companion ; and as she returned down the aisle, she was snatched up between them, and borne out of the church. It was so suddenly done, that the congregation were ignorant of the circumstance. Hurrying through the dismal streets wherever chance happened to take them, they saw a cresset bearer of the watch. " Cresset ! cresset : Light here ! light!" cried the king, as they ran on towards it. At the sound of the king's voice, Editha had fainted. Throwing their mufflers over her head for conceal- ment, they came up with the light. "What gate is nearest, watch ?" asked Pem- broke. " Here is a lady, dead, whom we must bury 88 KUNNA MEAD AND somewhere before the dawn. Direct us to the suburbs : where is the nearest gate ?" " That by the alders," quoth the cresset bearer ; "you are upon it now. It is at the next corner's turn/' " Then forward with the light/ ' commanded the king. They were just at the corner; but the man stopped, and attempted to flash his light upon the speaker, which Pembroke prevented by beating it down. "Now, Pembroke, for the Holy Ghost his sake ! forward with her to Bedford Castle/' the king whispered, as they hurried through the postern. The cresset heard the words, and was confirmed in his suspicions of the speaker ; but the clatter of horses' feet from among those which constantly plied outside the city gates for hire informed him as truly that they were past his pursuit or ven- geance. With an oppressive and harrowing presentiment of the truth, Ruffo the Red — for he it was who bore the light — turned himself to the house of Editha ; but, meeting groups of the midnight congregation on his way, his fears were confirmed before he reached it. The next time he heard of the king was on the 15th of May, 1213, when he knelt before Pandulph, the MAGNA CHARTA. 89 legate, in the church of the Templars, in the presence of his barons, prelates and knights ; and taking the crown from his head, laid it at the feet of the pope's representative, who, holding up the king's hands be- tween his own, dictated that craven oath — the very same oath which vassals took to their lords — whereby he bound himself and his heirs to hold the kingdoms of England and Ireland as fiefs of the Roman see. Not satisfied with this, the most monstrous degrada- tion ever inflicted on a king, the insolent churchman demanded an annual sum of one thousand marks, as an acknowledgment of the dependance. The bond being given, Pandulph trampled it and the crown together beneath his feet. Shortly afterwards, the treacherous, tyrannous, cowardly king, who had furtively sought the aid of Mohammed-al-Nassir, the conquering Moor of Gra- nada, against the Church, was compelled to repeat his oath of fealty to Cardinal Nicholas ; whom it pleased, as the pope's representative, to return the crown to John, and to remove the interdict from England. 90 RUNNA MEAD AND CHAPTER IV. Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man : They sell the pasture now to buy the horse ; ****** For now sits expectation in the air ; And hides a sword, from hilt unto the point, With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets. Shakspeare. In heaven, the purest essence was father to the blackest devil. On earth, from the sweltering of tyranny and revenge, sprang forth the beautiful spirit of liberty. There were but few barons who had not some injury or indignity to resent on the king ; and the old pride of nobility rose indignantly above the cope and the cassock. The feudal lords entered into a confederacy, and mustered their retainers at Stamford to enforce their demands. John was cognizant of the gathering tempest. He took the most cruel and unscrupulous measures to resist it; and to pursue his revenge in France. MAGNA CHARTA. 91 Among the Jews and Christians who had already- been the victims of his rapacious cupidity, he had had recourse to Anselm the Good. Editha he had been obliged to leave in the care of the Earl of Pem- broke, while he returned himself to attend to the emergencies of his situation. From the church of St. John Zachary, Anselm was conveyed to the palace in Southwark, where, for declaring he was poor, he was stripped of his priestly robes ; spat upon, and abused by the guards ; and thrust into the oozy vaults underground, to ruminate at his leisure. Shortly after, with that coarse and brutal mirth for which he was so famous, the king took him a cope of lead, with guards to fix it on his person. When the reverend man was enveloped in it from head to foot, John caused it to be soldered down the back : with the sarcasm, that having lost his own vestments he w needed something to keep him warm." A greedy incumbent pounced upon St. John Zachary's ; but its aisles were vacant ; and its porch and its altar, thenceforth, were deserted. Ruffo the Red had lost his friends; but he was a reclaimed, though a desolate man. Sunk into a lethargy of feeling, which deadened his sense and destroyed his energy, he still lingered about the house of Editha with that uncertainty of purpose which sometimes results from affectionate remem- 92 RUNNA MEAD AND brance and regret. Pausing one night, on his duty ; and leaning within the door-way of the deserted house ; he was aroused from his reverie by the melody of a voice near him : chaunting, to a plaintive tune, thus. " Spirit of tenderness ! come from the babel Of cities and discord and treachery ; — come. Heaven scatters its bounty, earth spreads her free table, And nature invites us ; — come, sweet spirit, come. Come ; sweet spirit, come ! ,f RufFo listened to the mysterious words with inte- rest. The voice proceeded : — " Though my home's in the desert, the cavern, and wild wood, To be from mankind and their perfidy free ; Fond memories come like the dreams of my childhood, And link nature's truth and her beauty to thee. Come ; sweet spirit, come V* Curious to see the singer, the red man passed to the corner, and beheld Cedron. " Man of the watch," said he, ceasing from his song, " guarding the doors, within which some count out dishonest gold wrung from confiding men and orphans ; some toss in their sleep and dream of wrongs and sufferings which are too prone to come ; guarding the doors within which, others, watching all the long night through, wear out their years and MAGNA CHARTA. 93 brains (already seared and shortened by the toil and drudgery of life) to catch the in grate, fame ; who, carping at their living hopes, will dance upon their coffin-lids, and thrust their very bones into some charnel-house, beneath a mocking monument ; among these and the thousand other kindred things you guard and watch, within the frightful, stifling city ; know you any thing of a tender spirit who resided here ?" " I do." " Has she left the earth's contamination for the pleasures of the saints ?" " No." "Is she gone to the mountains and the caves? Strolls she by the river's margin ? Does she find dear brothers in the torrents, and the forests, and the rocks ?" •< No, 'fore God ! She pines in Bedford Castle : a prisoner of the king." " Accursed, false king ! God speed the barons' league, to punish him and succour innocence." The last words barely reached the ears of Ruffo, for the Carmelite had started at his words, and uttered the aspiration in his flight. Ruminating on their import, Ruffo decided on joining the adventure, and forthwith proceeded to Brackley, where the barons then were. 94 RUNNA MEAD AND Defeated and morose, King John had returned from Bouvines and Bretagne (whither he had con- ducted a hundred thousand men to subdue Philip, at the instigation of the perfidious pope) ; and found his barons up in arms against him. Surrounded thus by anxiety and peril, his passion for Editha had given place to vengeance ; and amidst his perpetual terror, when he found time to be cruel, he failed not to remember the prisoner of Bedford Castle. An utter stranger to human society, she had long been shut up in the donjon of the keep, where the roaring of the wind through the ancient trees by which it was surrounded, kept her in constant re- membrance of Cedron the Carmelite. Indeed, she often attempted, in her solitude, to picture to herself the content he would feel in such a situation : and even began to love it better for his sake. While watching, late one night, at her devotions, which she never forgot ; as she still remained upon her knees, gazing, through the arrow- slit which formed her only window, at the stars ; she fell into the old train of reflection. Anon, the hooting of an owl, from some of the crevices of the castle, echoed through the night ; and, all unearthly as it was, it gave an agreeable variation to the solitude and silence. Again and again it came, as it had often done be- MAGNA CHARTA. 95 fore, but followed now, as she thought, by a human voice : distant and indistinct at first : but gradually- growing nearer and more defined. Again the owl hooted ; and these words intermingled with her mid- night song : " Beneath the owl's wild cry shall be Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! A cautious friend to succour thee. Teu-fhwit I Too-hoo I Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! One from the green and flowery glen, Abhorrent of the haunts of men, Will nightly traverse round and round, By turret-donjon, and by ground. Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! Teu-fhwit I Too-hoo ! Seeking some sign of where thou art, Some benizon to grace the deed ; Then, then ! to bear thee, ne'er to part, Where never tender hearts may bleed. Teu-fhwit! Too-hoo! Teu-fhwit! Too-hoo! Give sign of whereabout to do." Teu-fhwit ! Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! The voice was Cedron's, and her heart leaped for joy. After many an effort, made while the repeated words were dying away in the distance, she succeeded in flinging her mantle partly through the loop-hole, where it fluttered in the wind. Now, fresh sounds reached her ears. Shock — shock — shock — shock — like the well-timed march of 96 RUNNA MEAD AND many men. These again were overborne by the tramp of many horses ; and then she heard the sound of a distant trumpet. This was answered by the warder ; and the castle became all bustle and activity. Voices hallooing to each other ; words of command and of submission ; footsteps running along the battlements ; and the lumbering sounds of heavy engines and imple- ments of war; were now mingled in wild confusion. She trembled for the safety of the Carmelite, and commended him to heaven in her prayers. Presently a trumpet sounded a parley, and then she heard the words, "I, Robert Fitz waiter, Marshal of the army of God and holy Church, hereby command the constable of Bedford to surrender his fortress, with all his stores, forthwith, into the hands of the confederated barons of England, till John the king shall sign and grant the Charter of our liberties and rights, with those of holy Church. " In answer, the right of the barons was rejected, and their power was defied. Then followed the cry of " God and our right 1" and the roar and thunder of furious onslaught. Spurred on by their failure at Northampton, the forces of the confederacy emulated their feudal lords, and warred with desperate valour : which the besieged repelled with unflinching courage. Now, a storm of arrows whistled through the air, succeeded by the MAGNA CHARTA. 97 battering of battle-axes on the gate, and the planting of scaling ladders against the walls. The mantle of Editha was just distinguishable in the breaking dawn, and invited a thousand shafts to seek its folds. Its owner witnessed its destruction from her donjon ; and more than once wished it had been the heart of the king. As she listened, forming vague ideas of her fortune and final destination, the groans of the wounded and dying arose from the fosse ; some in their death agonies cheering on their comrades ; others commending their last remembrance to the dear ones of home. And as this brought back bleed- ing memories, she regretted the stern necessities of war ; bad, even for liberty, but detestable for con- quest and aggression. Then, arose a shout of triumph from the forlorn hope ; and, ere the sound had well ceased, the daring troop was dashed down, ladders and all, by some tremendous missive. The retreat of the besiegers before the desperate sortie followed, mingled with clashing of arms, imprecations, and crying for quarter. After this, came the reflux of the mailed men, and the proud but savage roar of conquest, as they rushed back on the daring few, and, passing through the breach, reached to the heart of the citadel. And so till morning broke, the strife continued. Then, the H 9S RUNNA MEAD AND besieged capitulated, and ceased from the hopeless struggle. The loop-hole of Editha's dungeon had not re- mained unattempted. Scaling ladders had been reared, but it was too narrow to admit the ingress of a man, though they had ascertained that an occupant was within. Vainly did they seek an entrance after- wards through the castle : no door nor opening .was to be found. Editha had been admitted by a sub- terranean passage and a trap- door. Quiet had reigned for a couple of hours during the fruitless search, only occasionally broken by the neighing of a steed, or the clank of the armourer's hammer : when a breach was made in the donjon ; and Editha was taken to the presence of the con- querors. Surrounded by warriors, the barons sat on an ele- vated bench in the court-yard. Eminent above them all, was Robert Fitzwalter. After the conquered had been examined and admitted to the league, or unceremoniously executed ; as they swore fealty to the confederates, or remained faithful to the king : Editha was confronted with the marshal. Her towering beauty, despite her suffering, obtaining for her marked attention. " Heaven's light ! but I should remember some- MAGNA CHARTA. 99 what of that face, exclaimed Fitzwalter, after a rapid glance. " Have I seen it in my dreams, or is it of my youthful fancies ? What is your condition ? Whence come you ? What is your name ?" " I will answer you," said Editha. M The relict of a soldier of the cross, I am now a prisoner at the dishonourable suit of the king. "Another victim !" said Fitzwalter, with an ap- pealing look at the barons. u My name is Editha Bohun. "And was Langton ?" exclaimed Fitzwalter. " The same," answered Editha. " Unloose her gyves," exclaimed the marshal. " Heaven's will be done ! here is new strength given to our cause. This, my peers, is the only daughter of my kinsman, Lord de Birmingham. When he was banished by the treachery of John, in the regency of Longchamp, I took charge of his two children : son and daughter. The estate being con- fiscate, I saved them from a sense of degradation, and placed the boy with a strict brotherhood at Rouen. To keep this lady, who was then a handsome girl, from the iniquity of John, I found her an asylum with the Langtons, parents of our friend Stephen, the primate. They never knew their benefactor; but you knew that harp-twanging, mild, peace-loving man, Godfrey Bohun : and the sequel." h 2 100 RUNNA MEAD AND "Death and perdition to the king !" shouted the indignant lords. M Amen ! and Amen ! M added the rest. " But, I remember, Editha," pursued the marshal, gravely, as with some sudden recollection, " when we lay before the walls of Ascalon, a report came to the camp that you had submitted to the king. Is it true, or did he force you, as he did my daughter ?" "Neither, my lord. The flames of Stratford, and the treason of Nottingham, were signals of my escape. Latterly, hatred : welcome hatred : has supplied the place of his detested love." " Heaven's will be done ! Nobles, you hear ! Soldiers ! march on ! Our confederate citizens of London, are waiting to receive us." And so, encircled by the barons of the league, Editha was borne on a litter : inflaming their minds, and exciting their pity, by the relation of her ad- ventures. MAGNA CHARTA. 101 CHAPTER V. Yet hence Britannia sees Her solid grandeur rise ; hence she commands TV exalted stores of every brighter clime ; The treasures of the sun, without his rage ; Hence, fervent all with culture, toil, and arts, Wide glows her land ; her dreadful thunder hence Rides o'er the waves sublime, ****** Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world. Thomson. Bonfires were lighted in every street of London as the sun went down ; and tables laden with flagons and viands were set before the houses : the doors whereof were embowered " with greene birch, long fennel, St. John's wort, orpin, white lilies, and such like, garnished upon with garlands of beautifull flowers." V The army of God and of Holy Church" had entered the city, and received a hearty welcome. In Cheapside : which was then a broad and open road, between gardens and orchards, away from the bustle of the city, with here and there a church, a few scattered houses, crosses, and conduits, ex- tending on one side to the city wall, and on the 02 RUNNA MEAD AND other, to the banks of the river ; in Cheapside were displayed the various feudal banners and armorial bearings of the different lords assembled. The re- tainers of Robert Fitzwalter were lodged at his castle, Baynard, on the river, opposite the palace of the king. Lord Mountsiquit, who had openly re- turned from his banishment in France to join the league, had located his men in his castle of Mount- siquit. The Earl of Shrewsbury was at the Herber with his horsemen ; and at his huge mansion in Warwick Lane, the Earl of Warwick had harboured his serfs. The Earl of Oxford occupied his hall, near London Stone ; and, in like manner, were dis- posed the other confederates at their different houses. That afternoon they had held a council of de- termination on a letter received from the Archbishop of Canterbury, then residing with the king at Ox- ford; wherein he had informed them that the monarch suspected his secret instructions ; and that he had intimated the possibility of a renewal of the terrors of the church, as a punishment for the in- sinuation : adding that then was the time for them to move boldly on their sovereign, and to give him battle if he refused their demands. Enforcing, again, the prior claim of the church, and its confirmation, MAGNA CHARTA. 103 as the price of his adherence or otherwise, he con- cluded by bestowing the blessing of the Most High on those who should procure for the altar its due share of the oil and the wine ; which, in English, sig- nified supreme dominion and legal battening grounds for the monks and clergy. Such was Cardinal Stephen Langton and his di- plomacy. A faithful servant to his creed, he sacri- ficed his temporal to his spiritual allegiance, and treacherously betrayed his king into the hands of his powerful and rebellious subjects. John was detest- able, both as a man and a king ; but, had he been blameless as, Socrates and just as Aristides, still, if he had also been in opposition to the church, Langton, as a churchman, was bound to the course that he pursued. Whatever tended to strengthen that establishment; though it weakened the monarchy, gave more arbitrary power to the barons, or inflicted greater cruelty on the people ; it was his ecclesiasti- cal business to promote ; and he did it ; with the aid of a little farce of opposition got up between the Pope and himself. M The Charter of Liberties" was principally drawn up by him from grants of Edward and Henry, and it gave to Englishmen an acknow- ledged title and position in society — that of unmi- tigated slavery and bondage. Yet, undesignedly, he 104 RUNNA MEAD AND had laid the foundation of legal rights and distinc- tions within this monstrous fabric of spiritual and feudal supremacy ; and the temple of civil freedom overtopped the structure which has gone down to the dust of the barbarous age that bowed before it and acknowledged it. Well weighing the cardinal's communication, the barons unanimously determined to proceed forthwith to Runna Mead, there to await the issue. Mean- while they suffered themselves to be regaled by the citizens. Morris dances and pageants enlivened the night, which was illuminated by thousands .of lamps and torches hanging from every house. Here, revelled the retainers of the Earl of Warwick, in their red jackets, embroidered, before and behind, with his cog- nizance of the bear and ragged- staff. There, the mayor on horseback, with his giant and his sword- bearer before him ; " footmen and the like torch- bearers about him ; henchmen twain, upon great stirring horses following him ;" and constables " in bright harness, some over-gilt, and every one ajornet of scarlet thereupon, and a chain of gold ;" three pageants, minstrels, and cresset-lights. Next, might be seen the serfs of the Earl of Oxford, in their livery of Reading-tawney, with his cognizance of the blue MAGNA CHARTA. 105 boar on the left shoulder. And so, in succession, the forces of every baron passed and repassed before the assembled lords, as they sat feasting in West Cheap during the serenity of a night in June. Only one lady graced the assembly of these warlike men ; and she was Editha. Under the joint care of Fitzwalter and her old friend William de Sancta Maria, she sat at the head of the board : again and again recounting her story to the excited listeners. Feeling more at ease, now, than when she was released from Bedford castle, she expatiated on the assistance about to be afforded to her there, by Cedron, till, in their excitement, they swore to discover and reward the man. At this period, an uproar of threatening voices was heard approaching them. " A spy ! a spy !" was the cry ; at which every angry baron sprung from his seat, prepared to wreak his vengeance. Presently men-at-arms came running up ; pikemen, billmen, archers, axemen, macemen, pillagers, and bearers of every conceiveable weapon ; jealously surrounding the unresisting Cedron. " A spy ! a spy !" they shouted again in concert, as they presented him to their leaders. "He is no spy !" shouted Ruffo, who had created the uproar ; and had already received many blows for persisting in the denial. 106 RUNNA MEAD AND " I say he is no spy, my lords/' said Ruffo again stepping boldly to the front. " He is a hermit of" the woods and dells, too innocent of guile to practice as a spy. Speak to him, my lords. I have crossed him whilome in the city when the bats were out, and men were barred within their dwellings ; and he pitied them ; and spake such gentle words, that had I not a quarrel to avenge upon the king, I would have passed with him into the solitudes of earth and been an eremite myself." Editha had caught a glimpse of Ruffo and the Carmelite ; and she would have spoken, but some- thing struggled at her throat, and grew, and grew, and rose to choke her words and stop her breath, until at last she fell powerless to the ground, without uttering a word. Many of the rude soldiers now inclined to the side of Ruffo : and a dispute ensued while the barons were recovering Editha: of which Cedron took advantage, and started off at the top of his speed. Being fleet of foot, he soon distanced his armed pursuers. The recovery of Editha was the signal for the breaking up of the party. Shortly after this, cities and streets of tents might have been seen by the Thames between Staines and Windsor. On one side, flaunted the emblazonments MAGNA. CHARTA. 107 which had appeared together in West Cheap ; on the other, the pavilion of King John and the es- cutcheons of his adherents. The men and officers were resting on their arms in martial array, with their vision concentrated on the plain of Runna Mead, where the powerful estates of the kingdom were assembled. On a throne surrounded by his loyal lords, sat King John with a table before him, on which was a fair manuscript of vellum. Beside it, stood Stephen Langton, William de Sancta Maria, the bishop of Ely, and other ecclesiastics, as mediators. Opposite, were the warlike figures of the stern-browed barons of the League: with guards. The manuscript had been read; and the king had demurred to its provisions. To this, they had not replied ; they meant not to reply. A general amnesty for the past had been demanded as a contingent ; and John de- murred again. " Will your Grace receive us loyal, or must we vindicate our rights and honour with our swords ?" demanded Fitzwalter boldly. "Luke's face!" cried the furious king, "why stop to parley ? Why not demand our kingdom and share it among you ?" " We only want our right," replied the marshal firmly. 108 RUNNA MEAD AND " And if we sign this deed, we are to hang no rebels ? We will not sign it." " We accept no other terms/ ' exclaimed Fitz- walter. And he unsheathed his sword. A hundred hands were on their hilts at the same instant, but Langton arrested the marshal's arm. " Hold !" cried the king, cowering at the menace, " We will insist upon but one omission. Reginald de Birmingham shall remain in banishment/ ' " He shall not ! " exclaimed a reverend man, com- ing forward. u Recognise in me, the Baron whom you would disclaim. Reginald de Birmingham/ ' The king appeared incredulous ; and Fitzwalter astonished. " Do you know me?" demanded the Baron as he shuffled off his mail, and exhibited Anselm the Good, in his priestly vestments. The monarch trembled at the apparition. u My peers and friends," said Anselm, addressing the confederates. " You all remember that for an open insult, I struck down this man who has since become your king. He banished me. I took upon me orders ; and when he had brought down the curse of God upon his country, I returned, officiat- ing at St. John Zachary. It was against the orders MAGNA CHARTA. 109 of our holy Father ; so be it ; it is done. Let alms-deeds cover it. I gave the whole I gathered to the poor ; and consolation to sad souls. Even the vessels of the altar, and its ornaments, I sacrificed for them. I saw no reason why the senseless temples should abound in riches : and living temples of the Holy Spirit should lack them. He seized me for my wealth ; but I was no usurer ; I was no Jew ; I had no riches, save the poor man's blessing. Then he incarcerated me, and would have tortured; but mark how Heaven has foiled him. One of my own retainers : one whom I had snatched from my own moat when he was a boy and drowning : was my guard. To him I divulged myself; and here I will defend my liberty." The old man panted and paused with his emotion, and stepping up to the very footstool of the king ; cried out, " I had children — twain. Strange vil- lanies came to my ears about my daughter, which, when your power was paramount, I could not seek explained. Now, where is my daughter ?" Fitzwalter had Editha near him, with intent to confront her with the king ; but he now presented her to her father. " Take her, noble kinsman. A widow truly ; 110 RUNNA MEAD AND but, by her own courage and address, untainted : undefiled. She has a strange history to tell you." Editha fell at the old man's feet. She had loved him as her spiritual father, but how much more as her natural parent ! The baron raised her up ; and gazing in her face, exclaimed exultingly, " What ! my last communi- cant ! Then I know all ! She has confessed to me, and I am happy I" The father pressed her to his heart, while his hot tears rained down upon her hair. While they were thus engaged, another scene was passing before the confounded king. Cedron the Carmelite was there ; and he had seen, and heard it all. "Poor pitiable king!" he said, standing like a prophet before the throne, " I have touched my harp often, when your soul was sad, to charm away your care. I have brought in the cowslip from the mea- dow, and the hyssop from the wall, to scent your sick apartment. I gathered lilies from the brook to deck your mistress' raven hair ; sought out the glow- worm for your courting-lamp when the hour came ; gave you songs and similes to win her favour ; and thus I am requited ! Thus I, Godfrey Bohun : who, having my ears abused to the effect that my dear MAGNA CHARTA. Ill wife was dissolute and dead, joined Aimeric upon Mount Carmel, to wander on the borders of mis- antrophy, and become a monomaniac. Blush, wretched king! and let this be your punishment. Behold my wife ; and my revenge !" He rushed into the arms of Editha : who having heard his voice, forsook her father to receive him. A loud shout of acclaim burst from the confede- rate barons. The glad shout was echoed by the " Army of God ;" and many of the outstanding lords came over to the League. King John trembled at this desertion ; he sought the pen, but his hand shook too much to grasp it ; and fixing his eyes on the ground, he panted for breath. The barons were variously affected ; some smiled in contempt ; others became more grave ; and some were moved to tears. Taking advantage of the pause, Ruffo the Red drew Fitzwalter and Anselm into conversation. After awhile, he exclaimed aloud, '• I have suf- fered worse than death. I have been an outcast wretch. I was a pious monk, but suffered yonder king to make me drunk, my greatest sin. It was not I, Fitzwalter, 'fore God ! it was not I. I always thought and feel 'twas he. Aye ! and I will wring it from him now ! " And breaking from them, he faced the now deserted king. 112 RUNNA MEAD AND " Do you know me?" he demanded. John raised his eyes, and started with confusion. " Who did the deed within my cell at Rouen ? The damning proof was there : the violated nun was dead — murdered! — and I lay by her drunk. But who did the deed ! who did the deed ?" The conscience- stricken king was secretly sup- ported on his throne by Langton. " Men said 'twas I," shouted Ruffo again, " and I was hunted like a hideous thing, till I became the thing indeed. But do me justice, king, at last • clear me of the supposition, and I will not harm you. Say now, was it I ?" " No ! No ! Death ! for a hole to hide my head in," was the king's reply. " Father accept your son," said Ruffo, stagger- ing into the embrace of Anselm. When he un- locked his arms he looked into his father's face, but the eyes were set ; and the spirit was in eternity. King John saw the result, and the barons, grown fierce with stifled feeling, closed in upon him. " Take all," he tremulously uttered, M take all that you require. We grant the pardon." At these words, Langton placed the pen in his hand, and he signed the parchment. The cardinal immediately affixing the great seal thereunto, the king hastily departed. MAGNA CHARTA. 113 And so was obtained The Great Charter of England. Recumbent behind the door of St. Martin's church in Birmingham, the mutilated " effigies" of Anslem the Good may be seen to this day. WOMAN'S FAITHFULNESS! Sigh not for me, my heart is brave ; Like thine, 'twill never yield, But risk with thee the foaming wave, Or dare the battle field : Will shrink not in the jungle drear, Nof in the desert wide : Her heart must neither fail nor fear Who once becomes a bride. Content were I in dungeon deep, If captive thou should'st be, So on my bosom thou could'st sleep And dream of liberty. In pain and fever, weal and woe, Whatever may betide, My heart will cling to thine, and glow As best becomes a bride. NORMS AND ANNE BOLEYN. CHAPTER I. The course of true love never did run smooth. Midsummer Night's Dream. Ever foremost, among the relics of barbaric pomp and idle pageantry which descended from the feudal age to the era of the Reformation, were the romps and revels of Christmas : with its feasting, mum- ming, masques, and gatherings. It was an un- bending time : an annual holiday for all estates. The castle halls of the barons and the mansions of the gentry were flung open to their tenantry ; and the wayfarer was bidden to halt, to feast, and to be glad. Such was the Yule-tide of 1525 — 6. The portcullis was up, in the frowning gateway of Hever Castle ; and great fires blazed on the summits of the round towers which flanked the entrance : to serve the double office of beacons and ministers of comfort to the warders who were stationed there on i2 116 NORRIS AND the look-out. Huge torches and splinters of pine threw their increasing light along the crisp snow of the court-yard, as the eve of the new year closed into night, and fresh gusts of wind and drifting snow came on with the dark. The shouts and laughter of revelry which echoed from the hall between whiles, and the constant flitting of shadows across the lancet windows : emblazoned with the arms of the Howards, Warrens, Mowbrays, Hoos, St. Legers, Malmains, Ormonds, and various others : gave evidence of jollity and roystering within. The castle-moat had become a pathway with the intense frost ; and huge icicles depended from the Gothic turrets and battle- ments. A large shed had been erected in the keep, to litter down the homely horses of the humble guests : the castle- stables being filled with steeds belonging to visitors of gentle blood. The day was flitting westward in its shroud of mist, when a party of horsemen were descried galloping toward the castle. The warders wound their horns with a note of apprisal, which echoed far away over the weald of Kent, and reverberated again to the castle walls. The party dismounted at the shed ; and having left their horses, came forth in the garb of pilgrims. In this altered guise, they passed into the court-yard ; and night having fallen, the port- cullis was let down behind them. ANNE BOLEYN. 117 Still adjusting the barrier, the warders were alarmed by the dashing of a steed against the iron- coated defence : and by an imperative voice, demand- ing help and admission. Instantly plying the levers, they hoisted the ponderous slide, and, with many awkward apologies, admitted the knight, who was full mailed and armed. Having again secured the entrance, they hastened to join the more fortunate retainers in the hall. In Hever Castle, observances were continued in emulation of the holidays of still earlier times. On the dais, which stretched across the hall at the end opposite the entrance, sat Sir Thomas Boleyn, with his daughter Anne, and the rest of his family and noble guests. An immense fire, which glowed on the ample hearth in the centre, flung its ruddy light down the whole length of the great apartment : and brought out the persons who surrounded it, in high relief. From the lofty cope, hung several massive lamps, in which glared the superabundant fat of the feast ; but their light was dimmed by the blazing logs which were burning in two chimneys, surrounded by glowing embers, which emitted a fierce blue flame. Suits and fragments of arms and armour hung against the wall between the windows, which were surmounted with great bows of holly and ivy ; and a little forest of misletoe hung from the roof-tree in the centre. 113 NORRIS AND Beneath this, on one side, was ranged the long table, covered with substantial fare, which some of the guests were perpetually assailing. Opposite, a stage had been erected, under the direction of the master of the revels, for the purposes of the interlude and mummeries. In the spacious centre, a motley, grotesque, and animated assembly was pursuing the intricacies of Sellenger's round : to the sounds of the tabret, the dulcimer, and rebeck ; stopping, often, to snatch a kiss beneath the misletoe. Regardless of all ; and crouched within the hearths ; tumblers, jugglers, old men, priests, and jesters roasted their apples, and splashed them, hissing hot, into the drinking-horns and tankards of their fellows: who kept the ale-flagons for ever a- tilt, and laughed and roared till the roof rung again. Seeking light and inspiration at her eyes, a host of noble youths and gallants moved like satellites round Anne Boleyn, who, then in her eighteenth year, was extremely handsome in person, and was especially distinguished by the exquisite ease and gracefulness, which she had acquired in the court of Francis I. These attentions and all this merriment were a cruel satire to her now. Her first love, which had been freely given to young Lord Percy, the heir of North- umberland, whom she had met while in attendance on queen Catherine, was blighted by the connivance of ANNE BOLEYN. 119 Wolsey, at the command of the king. The fond pair were forbidden all intercourse, and exiled from court. A strong veneration for those whose sandals had trodden the dust of the Holy Land, and lain at the door of the sepulchre, remained predominant with the people. On the entrance of the pilgrims, whom we left at the castle-gate, the revellers ceased from their dance and merriment : and encircled the stran- gers with the whispering of awe. The belted knight followed them with a dignified tread ; after a few words with Sir Thomas Boleyn, the latter arose ; and the knight occupied the chair of state. The pilgrims had grouped themselves at the foot of the dais, to sing carols — as was the wont of such per- sons — and, with some obscure reference to the Na- tivity, one of them poured forth a stream of verses, bewailing the forced pilgrimage that separated him from his idol, and his willingness to forsake all, even hope and life, for the repossession of that which he loved so devotedly. There was a melancholy persua- sion in his mysterious ditty, which seemed to be comprehended by Anne Boleyn alone. Blushes came up in her cheeks, her eyes glanced uneasily, and her sighs were audible, as she listened to the allegory, whose every stanza iterated the mournful burden, Exiled from all I love, I spurn The stern command, and thus return. 120 NORMS AND The stranger knight watched the gestures of Anne and the pilgrim ; and the workings of angry passion within were visible on his countenance. Beckoning Sir Thomas Boleyn to his side, an earnest conversa- tion ensued in whispers : after which the sons of Sir Thomas and some of the guests were called to the conference. The face of Anne grew suddenly pale ; and, rising from her seat, she thus, in a low voice, improvised the singer in a sweet melody. Ah ! wherefore come you, pilgrim dear, For death to spread your gentle bier ? Hope trims the lamp that lights regret And breathes the words — forgive, forget : Not yet. — Return. Ere long : not yet. There was evidently a concealed sentiment in the words, understood by the pilgrim, but which appeared not in the delivery ; for that only seemed to advise him not to return to his forbidden love, whatever it might be : till he had learnt the Christian lesson of pardoning an inflicted injury. The pilgrim went on with his carol, which further deplored his inability to carry his idol with him into some one of the beautiful solitudes of the earth : there to serve and worship it until his dying day. Meanwhile, the excitement of the knight and his host had become intense ; their whispered words ANNE BOLEYN. 121 broke into sounds hasty and confused. Anne's manner was likewise anxious ; she plainly struggled with strong emotions ; and, starting from her seat, again took up her melody. I hear a bird ill-omened, sing, Swords shall from sheathing scabbard's spring. Fly, pilgrim dear ; dear anchoret, For truth and love. — Forgive, forget. Not yet. — Return. Ere long : not yet. " Ho ! retainers to your post," cried her father, ere she had closed the sentence. " Prevent all egress from the castle. A Percy is here, the traitor ! " This announcement was like a thunder- clap to the intoxicated servants and tenantry : who rushed to the door at the behest, so that the general wedge per- mitted none to escape. The supposed pilgrims as suddenly divested themselves of their weeds, and, fully armed as they were, leaped on to the dais : where their swords clashed with those of the sons and guests of Boleyn, even over the head of Anne, for her possession. The stranger knight singled out Lord Percy for his attack ; with a vengeance that was only equalled by the cool skill with which his thrusts were parried. Catching up his daughter in his arms, Sir Thomas Boleyn bore her to her chamber. Lord Percy and the knight fought with unyielding 122 NORRIS AND valour from dais to hall ; from hall to antechamber ; and back again among the revellers ; who, being pot- valiant, scuffled and bayed like so many angry dogs. Many of them had gone to the assistance of their hereditary lords : and numbers had overpowered the companions of Percy : when Sir Thomas Boleyn again made his appearance among them. " Where is the king ? Heaven protect the king !" he cried, missing him from the dais. " A thousand marks for him who saves the king I" Amazement and inquiry were on every face. " What king, sir ?" inquired the heir of Hever Castle, scrutinizing the defeated pilgrims. " His grace of England ! The knight who sat by me but now. Henry, my liege 1" The revellers had enclosed him and Percy, whose youthful agility more than counterbalanced the strength and weight of the king, then on the point of being beaten by fatigue. A rush was made at once to his rescue, and capturing hands were laid on Percy ; but he passed from them like a phantom. He was gone ere they could close their grip. Among the persons engaged by the master of the revels was one Harry Norris, a mechanist. Norris had been constructing a secret passage for Beel- zebub : who, after being directed by Vice, in the interlude, to some offenders, his legitimate property, ANNE BOLEYN. 123 then boozing in the hall : was to appear among them, and shrink with them, suddenly, through a secret door ; then, before they could recover from their ter- ror, his infernal majesty was to drop them from the ramparts into the moat : the ice whereof was to be broken for their especial benefit and reformation. It was through this door that Norris snatched Lord Percy. Beside the strong sympathy of youth, for they were nearly of an age, there was a remarkable affinity of personal appearance and chivalrous feeling between them. Norris had been a concealed spec- tator of the proceedings ; and, early in the carol, had formed a shrewd opinion of the real state of affairs. Subsequently, when his suspicions were confirmed, he resolved to assist the young lord, if need were for assistance. The need came ; and Norris rendered efficient aid. Dropping a bar across the inside of the door, they were on the battlements long before any in the hall could conceive where Percy was gone : for it was important to the grand aim of the interlude, that the secrecy of this contrivance should be preserved. Clinging by the ancient ivy which. had long scaled the highest stone of the wall, to which Norris led him, Lord Percy descended in safety to the moat : exactly opposite the shed where his horse was littered. This gained, to mount his steed and scour north- 124 NORMS AND ward over the wolds was but the work of an instant. He was miles away before they could have commenced a pursuit. Harry Norris stayed to catch the last sounds of his horse's hoofs on the frozen ground, when he was aroused by the warder's horn and a numerous party creeping from the castle-gate, with burning torches, in the direction of the shed. Placing in his bosom a small packet which Percy had entrusted to him to convey to Anne at a fitting opportunity, he again sought the hall, where he marvelled with the rest at the mysterious escape. The circumstance having disorganised the merriment, and deferred the inter- lude, the master of the revels kept his suspicions to himself. King Henry was already deeply in love with Anne. For this, he had really made his present visit to Hever. For this, he had separated Percy and her, by pro- curing each to be withdrawn from court by parental authority; and, finding he had to contend with a vigorous and daring rival on one side, and with a deeply devoted love on the other, he shortly after- wards destroyed all the hopes she entertained, by compelling Percy to marry Lady Mary Talbot — a painful connection to both. Policy of course dictated the withholding of all knowledge of the king's share in this act from Anne : ANNE BOLEYN. 125 who attributed it to the perfidy of Percy. Indifference, therefore, or rather pride, effaced the impression of that love which would otherwise have cost her many a pang. Yet memory frequently presented to her the scene of New Year's eve, and the kind words and gallantry with which Norris had delivered the packet on the morrow. The manner of Percy's escape remained a com- plete mystery to the king, until it was related to him by the old Earl of Northumberland. Conceiving a partiality for the youth who had effected it, he sought Norris out and privately retained him in his service. 126 NORMS AND CHAPTER II. Love, justice, nature, pity, and revenge. Spanish Friar. May morn of the year 1528 was as bright, warm, and beautiful, as the first opening of Eve's eyes in Paradise. London was up and a- Maying; the stithies were cold; the butcher had forsaken the fetid ordure of the shambles ; dust gathered on the looms ; and the saw and hammer were at rest. All the inhabitants were abroad, save the miserable huckster ; he remained at home, in the hope of ex- •ercising his beggar-making occupation to the unfor- tunate bed-ridden. Work there was none, except the bustle and plash of watermen on the river ; and the perpetual running of publicans to their cellars. The larks were aloft at their matins ; the blackbirds trilled from the hedge ; and the sun looked down like a fond father on his family. A little while, and the streets were all replete with life. Groups of maids and children, grandfathers and matrons, passed joy- ously along, laden with huge blossomy boughs, and garlands of spring-flowers. Then, came parties of ANNE BOLEYN. 127 citizens and 'prentices, overburdened with the spoil of suburban gardens and hedges, to decorate the May-pole on Corn-hill. Here and there, a cluster of these merry idlers — arrested by the passing of some steed in his trappings of white velvet and burnished steel, proceeding in charge of a groom to the tilting and jousts which were that day to be holden at York House, by Cardinal Wolsey, in honour of the king — would pause to look, admire, and wonder. And then remembering that the king was coming from Green- wich, they hurried on to prepare the May-pole, and watch his progress. It was the migration of the royal household to Richmond for the summer ; and the king chose to pass up the river with his jester. The queen and Henry had met, neither at bed nor board, for some time. The delicacy of the king's conscience (king's consciences are very scrupulous at time's) had thus divorced them. Still, he affected to love her ; but to regret the sinful life they had lived together. For Wolsey, to be revenged on the Em- peror Charles for obstructing his attainment of the Popedom, had filled Henry's mind with scruples con- cerning the legality of his marriage with Katherine (who was aunt to the emperor) ; and his pride and passions being fed and flattered thereby, he was fully determined to cast her off. She had some suspicion or intimation of this ; and determined to proceed in 128 NORRIS AND privacy, with the household, direct to Richmond : leaving the Princess Mary to attend the pageant of Wolsey with the king. Fully aware of her dignity, Mary passed slowly and in state on her litter, amidst the clamours of the people, attended by her confidante, Mabel Smeton. This was a little mis-shapen being, who, exercising considerable unseen influence in this history, it is necessary to describe. Her origin was obscure, but, by cunning, she had ingratiated herself into the favour of the princess, whose character was somewhat congenial to her own. In person, she was little more than a dwarf. Above her head, she wore a steel frame-work, to which was attached a band, which, passing under her chin, prevented her face from dropping on to her breast : the main shaft of the machine passing down her back, and being fast bound to her person. She had a sharp, austere visage ; little ferret eyes ; and great pretensions to sanctity — some even, to prophecy. In her mistress' service, she was almost ubiqui- tous. Mary regarded these offensive qualities as so many recommendations favourable to her designs and secret inquisitions; and she cherished her accord- ingly. This amiable creature and her companion were pre- vented from passing direct through Lud Gate, by ANNE BOLEYN. 129 a crowd of people congregated before the Black Friars' Monastery : whose door was assailed with a violent knocking. Inquiring the cause, they learnt that the old wooden bridge over the Fleet ditch, being loaded with people anxious to catch a glimpse of the king, had broken down ; and that one poor creature had had a long, sharp splinter forced into her side. The woman had been snatched up by a young man, who had hurried with her to the Black Friars, to obtain medical aid (for to succour the sick and unfortunate was a part of the Friars' profession) : the crowd still clinging at his heels. A cry now reached their ears, " Ho ! friars within ! help ! the woman is dying ! " And the knocking was repeated. M Press not on her, people. Be more charitable than these surly friars," was uttered by a female voice. u Hear you that, my lady ?" asked Mabel Smeton of Mary. M There is a deadly viper hereabout, and it is either she or I. Detect you not the voice of Anne Boleyn ?" The knocking again commenced, with the addition of blows from some 'prentices' cudgels ; at length a slide was drawn from an iron grating in the gate, which divulged the flushed face of Forest, Queen Katherine's confessor. 130 NORRIS AND " Who thunders at our gate, so boldly and dis- respectfully ?" he inquired, with evident choler. " I ! — I thunder at your gate. Here is a woman, dying for a leech's aid. Perhaps you will attend her ? " exclaimed Harry Norris ; for it was he ; still holding the woman in his arms. " Haste, friar, for sweet Jesu's sake ! The death- damp is gathering on her forehead, " cried Anne Boleyn : as she wiped the brow, and staunched the side, of the insensible woman. A supercilious smile played about the friar's lips, but he opened not the gate. "Will you open your door ?" shouted Norris in the friar's face : his legs trembling under their burden. " Spend your fury, fool, upon the wind. By Mistress Boleyn's interest there, I suspect you bear a heretic." « A deep sigh from the sufferer gave the first indi- cation of life ; immediately afterwards, she opened her eyes to light and consciousness. " Brereton ! Brereton ! Husband ! Where is my husband ?" she cried, in a wild but feeble manner. " Good people, will you force this door, and gain the woman help ?" asked Norris. " You see, citizens, how these heartless monks and friars ; forbidden all domestic ties, and shut from ANNE BOLEYN. 131 natural sympathies; you see how they can treat your wives and their sufferings/ ' observed Anne, in an impassioned manner. " Those words decide me," said Forest, who now had several shaven heads behind him. M We will not admit her, till she makes the holy symbol, and repeats her creed. We give no aid to accursed Luthe- rans." The poor woman shook her head, and cried in scarcely articulate sounds, " Heaven have mercy on me ! Brereton ! Oh, my husband V " There is nothing more to interest us here, my lady," said Mabel to her companion. " The friars know their duty and their dignity. Ho, guards ! proceed.' ' An impious curse upon religion almost rose to the lips of Harry Norris, as he laid down his burden ; when, recollecting that it was not religion, but its perverters, who did the wrong, he snatched a cudgel from a bystander, and dealt a blow at the friar, which fell harmless on the grating. Some one had apprised Brereton of his wife's con- dition, and now he pushed the people aside like straws, exclaiming, " Where is my wife ? Where is my angel ? Where is my dear wife ? " He fell on his knees at her side ; and took her k 2 132 NORMS AND hands in his, and kissed her. Life seemed to return at his touch, and she recognized him. A tear dropt on the manly cheek of Harry Norris, as he looked upon the scene, and turning again to the grating, he said, " We want but a mouthful of wine to revive her." " Then get it at the vintners/' was the churlish reply. The slide was closed, and the friars disap- peared. " Here is my purse/' said Anne to Brereton, who gave her an imploring and grateful look. " Take her home, man, and Heaven speed you. If there be further need, inquire for Anne Boleyn, at court. I will befriend you. He took the purse, but he had no words to thank her. " Help, my masters ; help a bereaved man/' he said in a sorrowful tone to the by-standers, who perceived with him that her heart was well nigh at its last pulsation. " Help, my masters," echoed Norris. " Aye, help me ! Let us beat these barbarous hounds within their kennel." And he again plied the cudgel at the door. A cry was raised that the king was in sight, which passed from mouth to mouth with the rapidity of lightning, till it reached St. Paul's. Thence ANNE BOLEYN. 133 rushed a mob of 'prentices and others, from the supposed tomb of the good Duke Humphrey — at which it was their annual custom, on May- day, to pay their devoirs — expecting to catch a sight of the king from the Black Friars : whose garden commanded an extensive view of the river. Finding they were barred therefrom, and claiming entrance as a right, they made a clamorous demand for admission. Harry Norris had been privately commissioned to escort Anne Boleyn to the joust; but seeing Sir Thomas Wyatt ride up to her, he left him to con- duct her. The populace having forced the barrier, the friars offered a fierce resistance to their pro- gress within ; and Harry was soon in the midst of the turmoil. 134 NORMS AND CHAPTER III. What's he, who with contracted brow, And sullen port, glooms downward with his eyes ? Mourning Bride. The booming of ordnance from York Gardens, answered by the gunners of the Tower and the Knights of the Temple, announced the disembarka- tion. As the king was landing, Wolsey walked to the water-gate to receive him. Sir Thomas More arrived at the same moment from his house at Chel- sea, with Pater son, his fool. " Good morrow ! my lord cardinal. Good mor- row, our worthy councillor/' exclaimed Henry, holding out a hand to each. And heartily shaking theirs, he stept within the cardinal's garden. u God save you my liege ! " cried both courtiers together, in reply. " Good morrow, Peacock ! Good morrow, Zany ! " squeaked Patch, the king's jester, to Lawrence Laitch- bury, the cardinal's Abbot of Unreason, and to Henry Paterson ; as he leapt ashore, and hugged them both. " Be not we the three wise men of Goshem ? and those, three most foolish masters, quotha?" ANNE BOLEYN. 135 " Who be they, sirrah ? " demanded the king, as he turned sharply round and grasped at the jester's ear ; but he slipped away like a shadow. " Pride, concupiscence, and wit ! " shouted Pater- son promptly : bounding at once to his motley brother. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Excellently well shot 1 th' centre," observed Lawrence, just as Henry's foot reached his cope and lifted him into the Thames. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Excellently well shot indeed," echoed a merry ringing laugh and a musical voice immediately behind the king; who, turning, dis- covered Anne Boleyn at his elbow. " My poor abbot is a pleasant foot-ball for your grace," remarked the cardinal with the utmost gra- vity. Henry laughed. u Yet he has been used your highness, as a com- panion at board and hearth " Henry affected to laugh again. " He must think the king is rude, or he him- self transformed into an eel-pot : your highness being but a boor to kick him in," pursued the car- dinal, aside. But a party of spiritual and lay lords now sur- rounding the cardinal, he ushered the king to the banqueting-hall in silence. 136 NORRIS AND Meanwhile, the Abbot of Unreason had been snatched from his peril by the king's watermen : his motley cowl and cope being all dank and sullied. When he was placed ashore, the royal jester and Henry Paterson shook him by the hand, and laughed, and slapped him on the back : congratulating him on the very marked manner in which his highness had noticed him : and assuring him that from beginning to end, it was a most excellent joke. Lawrence, however, persisted that he could not see that it was any joke at all ; not a bit. " A fool made by immersion/' quoth Paterson. " Nay, that's wrong," said Patch ; " immersion made by a fool." " Good, again," quoth Laitchbury. " To please two fools made by nature." And so they parried and thrust, by the hour : to the great amusement of the spectators. Shields and banners were brought forth by pages and esquires, as the cardinal's guests issued from his hall to hasten to the jousts. Suits of mail inlaid with gold ; cloaks of velvet and crimson damask ; fancy doublets, and bonnets waving with many a plume of ostrich and kingfisher's feathers ; ladies in brocaded, jewelled, minivered, and spangled robes ; and priests in sacred vestments ; were crowded toge- ther in elegant confusion. The people, who had ANNE BOLEYN. 137 been amused during the repast with some old aquatic sports upon the river, hurried to disembark : which produced a pantomime of fun and accident. Amidst the general joy, Henry alone seemed grave and thoughtful : retiring to a private court to indulge in a few moment's meditation. His abstraction had not escaped the watchful eyes of Wolsey, who mentally exclaimed, " I have brought him to his knees. Let him beg pardon of his ghostly father." Exulting thus, he busied himself in the court, but the king paid him no regard. Writhing beneath the contempt, he boldly turned upon his sovereign. " Your highness sinks beneath the burden of the state to-day. There was a time when the Chan- cellor of England was fully competent to ease a monarch's shoulders. He has some power even now." " Then get us our divorce ; we must have our divorce," answered Henry. " The Church is to be sued, your Highness, not commanded," retorted the cardinal. " God's death ! my Lord Chancellor, perhaps your wisdom can inform us, whether it be the duty of a subject to obey or to rebel ?" u It is but a step, your grace, to the golden tiara 138 NORMS AND from this red hat : whose colour, as you know, impels us to pursue, through blood, its power and attain- ment. That one step taken, he who stands upon its eminence has the proud right to call him subject, who calls others rebels." " Aha ! By St. Bennet we will not be half a king in this dear realm of ours ; as he shall learn, whoever be the traitor." " And Sampson called unto the Lord, and said, O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, only this once, O God ! that / may be at once avenged of the Philistines." Such was the cardinal's audible com- muning with himself, in studied unconsciousness of Henry's presence : to whom he deigned no other answer. " God's face !" shouted the choleric king, " has the son of the butcher of Ipswich forgotten the hatchet and the block ?" He had forgotten them, and liking not the manner of this obtrusion of them on his memory, evaded the point by calmly observing, " A shepherd of the flock has need to remember everything." " Yea ! even that a butcher and a wolf is dis- guised in a shepherd's doublet," said a sepulchral voice. They both looked round, but nothing was to be seen, save a glance of sunlight from polished ANNE BOLEYN. 139 steel, and the stunted figure of Mabel Smeton pass- ing through a distant doorway. But, now, a flourish of trumpets called the knights to the lists; and the spectators to their seats. A long train of courtiers, who had been searching for the king and the cardinal, entered the court simultaneously; so terminating, for a time, their mutual defiance. Anne Boleyn was the grand attractor of the court gallants, many of whom surrounded her, with every demonstration of devotion ; when she caught the glance of the king. Quick, intelligent, and pos- sessing that power of comprehending a man's cha- racter at once; which most women enjoy in a re- markable degree ; she already knew that she had made a conquest. Believing too — as most of the nobility and doctors of the time believed, under the seal and assurance of Warham and the bishops — that Henry's marriage with Catherine, his brother's relict, was void and adulterous ; she naturally enough felt high ambition stirring in her breast; and resolved to improve her advantage. ^ Another flourish of trumpets was heard. Wolsey approached the king, saying, M The king- at- arms waits to conduct your highness to your seat at the lists, if it be your grace's pleasure. The jousting has commenced." 140 K ORRIS AND " But it is our pleasure to decline," replied Henry. " When York grows traitorous, we covet not his feats of arms." " Will your highness to the park, and see the rustic sports and pastimes ?" asked Anne Boleyn, with eager delight. " We will anywhere with thee," answered Henry, with his blandest smile. The cardinal, who had looked angrily on, without venturing to reply, bent a malicious frown on Anne ; and, bowing, departed with his retinue. Mabel Smeton ran screaming with delight ; everywhere announcing the quarrel ; and prophecying Wolsey' s immediate disgrace. Passing through the garden, the king and his court observed Wolsey and his adherents in violent altercation with the citizens, at the river's edge. Seeing the king approach, the royal Jester ran to- wards him, shouting, "Behold the fruition of philoso- phy, good Nuncle ! Here be fifty bloody coxcombs come of fifty staves, demanding judgment of your grace. Set 'em to't again, good Nuncle ! Set 'em to't again." " I appeal from your judgment, my lord cardinal, to the king." " And I." " And I." " And so do we," cried a score of persons. " I will decide, I tell you ; and punish too," said Wolsey, sternly. ANNE BOLEYN. 141 " We will decide ourself," said Henry, stepping into the midst. Half-a-dozen burley friars instantly dragged a young man before him : whom he recognized as Harry Norris. " Bring forward father Forest," said one of the custodians. Supported between two friars, the father was led forward in most deplorable condition. His skull was muffled in wrappers and bandages, which were va- riegated, here and there, with a touch of crimson. Scarcely a feature of his face was visible. Henry laughed heartily at the sight : much to the discomfiture of the Dominicans. " Flattered by the appeal, the king is merry at the battery of a religious," muttered Wolsey. " Away with the culprit to your dungeons." " He shall to no dungeon till his king be there, proud churchman. We know the city's grievances with these friars ; and we commend the youth for his retaliation." A loud shout from the surrounding citizens ex- pressed their satisfaction. " Neither do we hear complaints or pleas to-day. What do they call you, youth ?" " Harry Norris, an't please your highness," said he : catching the king's policy. 142 NORRIS AND " Then, Harry Norris, keep you near our person for to-day ; we will provide you in our household. You could serve a gentle lady as esquire, now ?" The youth bowed low, and laid his hand upon his breast. " Humph !" said the monarch, eyeing his manly and well-favoured figure. " Keep you in our train. For- ward, gentlemen !" And so the royal retinue departed : leaving the haughty cardinal, mute with rage and disappointment. ANNE BOLEYN. 143 CHAPTER IV. The colour of the king doth come and go, Betwixt his purpose and his conscience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles sent ; His passion is so ripe it needs must break. King John. At a window, overlooking the magnificent garden of Richmond Palace ; with the beautiful river stealing on beyond ; the king sat one morning in the summer, thoughtful and alone. The rolling away of the stormy morning clouds, exposing vast tracks and patches of clear blue sky, bright with the sunlight ; the carol of the birds ; the tremulous motion of leaves and flowers, glistening with their watery diamonds, produced no holy thoughts or grati- tude in him. He was too deeply gone in love and passion's whirlpool, to feel the calm delight of na- ture's smiles and bounty. The ambitious cardinal, the deserted queen, and the fairy form and laughing eyes of Anne Boleyn, mingled curiously and dis- tractingly before him. Near the door of the apart- ment stood Harry Norris, and Mark Smeton — a musician, and brother to Mabel — careless of each other, neither knew how important his commission was to their mutual future fate. 144 NORMS AND Norris had been regularly installed in the office of esquire to Anne Boleyn ; in which capacity he had come and gone on many missions to and from the king. Anne had been created Countess of Pem- broke ; and, in her honour, her father had been made Earl of Wiltshire. She had left the Court to pass a few weeks at the paternal estate ; at- tacked by severe illness. To make this unwel- come announcement, Norris had arrived that morning. Summoning him again to the presence, Henry drew a resplendent ring from his finger, saying, " Take that, Sir, to your mistress. Tell her it bound the king's heart-finger. It is a ring worn by St. Bruno ; and was attached for many years to the chalice on the high altar of St. Peter. There is a talisman of life about it. There is, in it, a fragment of stone chipped from the Holy Sepulchre ; it has been thrice dipped in the Jordan ; and was conse- crated by an apostle. The holy father, Clement, presented it to us with our title ; since which time it has never left our finger. We made a vow it never should ; but take it — its value is as nothing to her life. Preserve it as you would your own. Do our behest faithfully, and we will reward you." Norris placed his hand on his breast ; and bowed, on receiving the ring. ANNE BOLEYN. 145 " Haste now, faithful Harry. And tell her, that our life hangs upon hers." As he departed, the king held him by the sleeve ; still increasing the message, until they reached the door. "Fly now!" he added, "and bring us information twice a day." Shortly after, Smeton was called to beguile the monarchy thoughts with his dulcimer. Day after day passed on ; still Anne's recovery remained doubtful. Mabel Smeton publicly attri- buted her illness to the vengeance of Heaven ; and threatened the dissolution of the king if he pre- sumed to cling to her, and to continue estranged from Katharine : a threat, which was fostered and believed by Forest, Fisher of Winchester, and many other fanatics. Thus, shaken in his nerves by the dread of death ; in his love by the uncertainty of Anne's recovery ; and in his superstition by the harangues and denunciations of the priests ; the energy of his character forsook him. He humiliated himself before Wolsey ; fled again to his queen, with whom he apparently lived in contented conjugality ; " de- voutly confessed his sin* every day ; and received the Sacrament on every Sunday and festival."* * Lingard's History of England. 146 NORRIS AND Nevertheless, on the arrival of a legate from Rome, and the recovery of Anne Boleyn, a court was hold en to try the question of the divorce. At its second meeting, evidence was taken, touching the consummation of the marriage between Katharine and Prince Arthur. The court was extremely crowded ; and as propriety forbade the Princess to be present in person, she deputed Mabel Smeton to attend : who accordingly ensconced herself in an obscure corner, to note such particulars as might give her mistress satisfaction. Harry Norris was likewise ordered by Anne to attend ; and watch the progress of the suit. The young man soon saw that every thing was favourable to his mistress ; and dis- covering Mabel at her task, determined to withdraw her attention from the proceedings. The better to conceal herself, the little woman wore a long cloak and hood, which she had drawn over the machine which remedied her deformity ; and which, adding to her height, gave her somewhat the appearance of a clerk of the law, engaged in his profession. Harry took advantage of this, to annoy her. " What is the business before the Court, most learned clerk ? " he inquired, over her shoulder. " My business is to mind what I am about," an- swered Mabel tartly. " Sage, and of sufficient brevity," said Norris; ANNE BOLEYN. 147 " to what great doctor of laws am I indebted for the aphorism ?" and stooping down, he looked into her face. After gazing a moment with feigned astonishment, he cried, " A woman, by Jupiter ! nay, a she divinity ! Beautiful Iris, with her bow!" " I command you to leave me, impertinent Sir," said Mabel with the greatest chagrin. " Say not so, sweet Constellation. I would fain learn the law from wise Minerva. Do you under- stand the point before the Court?" " I understand that you are a saucy fool!" she answered, rising in wrath. " In taking you for a clerk, I presume ; and, finding you a woman, in doubting your knowledge of the point," he observed, laughing. The diminutive creature made no reply, but attempted to listen to the depositions, which, at that moment, were none of the most delicate. n An' I were a little woman, now, methinks that that would make me blush," Norris whispered in her ear, as he caught the evidence. The remark called up a blush to the leathern cheeks of Mabel ; and her eyes glanced fire at her tormentor. Finding that she could neither shake him off, nor continue her notes while he remained, she folded up her papers and departed. Harry l2 148 NORRIS AND politely offering to escort her through the populace without. Cardinals Campegio and Wolsey coming to no decision, the Court was adjourned. Irritated beyond measure at the result, Henry sent the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, to demand from Wolsey, the great seal : which he gave to Sir Thomas More ; with orders to Cromwell to form a new minis- try, favourable to his wishes. He even quarrelled with Anne Bole)m, because she would not accede to his desires ; and submit to a clandestine marriage. " Once more, dear Anne !" he said at the close of a persuasive conversation, " will you grant me this request ? We are not prone to sue, who have but to command ; on the truth of a king and a lover, we would not do violence to thy simplest wish ; but, an' thou wilt consent to be our loving wife awhile, in secret ; by heaven and earth ! thou shalt be our fair queen anon." " Your Highness knows my mind. I cannot, and I will not, do it. An' it be judged by learned and holy men that poor unfortunate Katharine — whom from my soul I pity — is not a wife indeed ; then will I plight my troth to thee, as a humble and obedient consort ; till then, my liege, howeverso my heart incline — and that I love you, you have wrung confession from me — I must keep my pur- ANNE BOLEYN. 149 pose and mine honour. Perhaps Anne Boleyn still may find a corner in your Grace's favour. If so, and your Grace love me, O dearest Henry, pursue me not. Farewell ! " and with the proud dignity of conscious innocence, she essayed to withdraw. "Nay, light of my soul! we cannot part thus," said Henry : catching her arm and imprinting a kiss upon her cheek. " What is the sacrifice of which you speak, but the nectar of the flower, sweeter in the taking, than the dull possession ? A sacrifice of selfishness to share the bliss of gods and all love's essences. Behold me suppliant — if you love me, grant me this request ; I have a supple priest, at call, will knit us twain in one." His heart palpitated as he knelt, and marked her hesitation ; and he added in a persuasive tone, " Say, shall it be ?" " Urge me not, dear Prince, I must not consent," said Anne. u Then go, faithless ! for you love me not," he replied, as he gently flung her hand from his. She went : with the big tears gathering in her eyes. It was the critical moment of her life, for he had believed she would give way beneath the taunt ; and, returning, fling her arms about his neck, and so accomplish his desire. A moment's reflection, after she was gone, increased his love and admiration. 150 . NORRIS AND Wolsey having, at this time, become utterly ob- noxious to him by the impediments he had put in the way of his possession of Anne, was banished from his court and councils. Being afterwards attainted of high treason, the king seized his effects, and sum- moned him to London to take his trial ; an indig- nity which never befel the fallen cardinal, for, being taken ill on his journey, he stopped and died at Lei- cester Abbey. Cromwell, in the meantime, was active and ener- getic in the service of his master. After following out the suggestion of Cranmer to obtain the judg- ment of the various European universities, he ap- plied himself to the digestion of the mass of evidence so furnished ; and finding it in favour of the divorce, he sent to the Pope : upbraiding his tergiversation, and demanding an adjudication in the spirit of those learned decisions. He held out a threat too, that if his Holiness did not accede, the end would be ac- complished without his aid. During these negotiations ; namely, on the 15th of July, 1531 ; Queen Katharine was ordered to leave Windsor Castle, and convey herself from the presence of the king. In answer to the command, she said, " Go where I may, I shall still be his law- ful wife." After resting for awhile at two or three of the ANNE BOLEYN. 151 royal manors, she took up her permanent abode at Ampthill, near Dunstable. They never met again. One and twenty months afterwards ; at the olden holiday of Easter, 1533 ; the citizens of London excelled themselves in magnificent display. Wreaths and garlands of evergreens were stretched from house to house, on opposite sides of the way ; and festoons of flowers were suspended, one over another, on the projecting stories from the ground floor to the roof. Blazing flambeaux were attached to the gable coignes and cornices ; the balconies were piled with plate ; and the porches hung with pictures. Here, was a dwell- ing covered with the most exquisite tapestry and cloth of gold ; and there, another, hidden by flags, devices in arms, and heraldic blazonry. Each one vied with his neighbour to produce something grand and novel, by way of show; and the halls of the various companies were decorated with all their wealth and insignia. Ordnance reverberated every moment on the ear; bells clanged, or rung out a merry peal; and the conduits streamed with wine. King Henry and Anne Boleyn were passing through the city in state, after having been privately married ; the divorce remaining incomplete ; on the 25th of January preceding : which event had been proclaimed on Easter eve. Handsome youths and maidens, in fancy attire danced, hand in hand, before the proces- 152 NORRIS AND sion : strewing the way with flowers. Old fathers smiled, and bowed ; and snatching their caps from their bald heads, waved them about for joy. Women thrust themselves forth from the windows, waving their kerchiefs in the air ; and the young men ran, and strove, and fought, and struggled in the press ; and all shouted at intervals, " Long live the King and Anne Boleyn !" ANNE BOLEYN. 153 CHAPTER V. Envy at last crawls forth from Hell's dire throng, Of all the direfull'st. Cowley. Numbers of ecclesiastics were opposed to the king and his measures ; some for principle ; more for prejudice ; more for pelf. Queen Katharine was of this party, independent of her domestic reasons. She purchased relics, endowed priests, and founded chantries ; one, in particular, beyond the Charter House : which, with a huge straining after effect, she christened Mount Calvary. Anne Boleyn did none of this. An act had been passed, called the Law of Succession, securing the throne to her descendants, and excluding the Princess Mary. This act gave great offence to the church- men, and many of them, led on by Mabel Smeton, harboured and promulgated sedition. Of this mal- content body, Father Forest was a prominent mem- ber ; and when Henry subsequently threw off the su- premacy of the pope, and established his own ; Forest, among many others, stubbornly refused to take the required oath. For this offence, nominally, he was 154 NORMS AND tried and condemned; though, being suspected of conspiring against the life of the king, his guilt was really of a much earlier date. On a new gallows, erected in Smithfield ; in the presence of two-thirds of the denizens of London ; he was hanged by his middle and armpits alive ; and, a fire being kindled beneath him, was so burnt to a cinder. Just as the flames had enveloped the body of the friar, Harry Norris arrived at the scene, catching the words : " There passed my good and worthy friend !" Turning to look at the speaker, he discovered it to be Lawrence Laitchbury. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! most sentimental Lachrymal, and no crocodile ! " exclaimed Patch, who was standing near. " Did your friend weep in the cal- dron, when Bishop Fisher boiled John Roose, his cook, to death ; did he Jeremiah ? He was foremost at the cooking. * There passed my good and worthy friend/ quotha, eh ? Thy good and worthy friend had influence at the stews that harbour mendicants : else wouldst thou have found it hard, brother, to get a belly-full. Out upon thee ! thou dost smell of lewdness." " Who's this talks of lewdness ? " answered Laitchbury. " Silenus's fool, transmuted to a saint ! ANNE BOLEYN. 155 tempora ! mores ! When the master quits his wife, and robs the church, and roasts the clergy ; when his most obtuse and chamber- swel ting fool reads homilies on chastity ; when he himself, the master again, is bedded with a hot, voluptuous mistress " Unable to bear the slander of his lady, Harry Norris stepped suddenly between them, and vigor- ously applied his hand with great good will and precision, to Laitchbury's cheek. " Take that, sirrah," said he, " for your slander of the queen ; were you a man of mark, I would truss you with my rapier !" " A valiant threat for a chamber gallant, truly ; and well worthy of a favoured suitor,' \ maliciously exclaimed a woman's voice. " But, my Lady Rochford," cried the brother of Mabel; who fostered the malignity of his sister, and was a convenient communicator to her of what passed between the king and Anne Boleyn ; " my dear Lady Rochford ! If favours received be a warrant to give chastisement, Master Harry Norris is not the only chamberer who is authorized to ad- minister it, as I, Mark Smeton, can boast of my familiarities. So take you that, on my account, my blab-tongued motley ; and that — and that " Mark gave the unfortunate Lawrence two or three 156 NORRIS AND apparently very fierce and indignant, but, in reality, very gentle and treacherous, blows, to illustrate and establish his calumny ; but Lawrence, being in high dudgeon, repaid him with considerable interest. " I won't fight any more ; I won't ; I won't for any- body," whined the musician after he had had a good drubbing. And, holding down his head, he ran round the ring : attempting to bore it through that impenetrable barrier. " Give way, people, for a favourite of the queen, Anne Boleyn," cried Mabel, echoing the lie. " Upon him again, Lawrence ; upon him again ! and you shall join my household," cried Lady Roch- ford : who was imposed upon both by brother and sister ; and believed that he was indeed a favourite of Anne's. u Why not help the craven, Master Norris ? You have a common cause." "He is a poltroon and a liar ! " replied the indi- vidual appealed to. "I care not, if he be pummelled to death." " Reasoned like a rival, Sir ; go to," she responded. " I say it here before the base and lying hound," Norris answered warmly, M whoso thinks him treacherous, in this wise, to the queen, does my mis- tress wrong ; yet he is, most treacherous, in another wise. Oh ! It is well to go about with whispering innuendoes, and rancorous malice, as do these, and ANNE BOLEYN. 157 you, my Lady Rochford : who, being expelled from court for your carriage to the king, seek to destroy the reputation which you most abhor !" " Stop, stop, Sir Boy ; that is but a poor reputa- tion which needeth help from you. A dainty repu- tation ! To draw her brother to her arms, for what on his part should be mine; on hers, the king's, I trow." " O here be secrets for my nuncle ! • Here be refreshments, and congratulations, and enjoyments, and honey- moons, and antlers, and marriage- unction ! Bauble and sceptre ! but I will tease my nuncle ! " cried Patch ; spinning round, and laughing like a mad creature. Norris gazed into the face of Lady Rochford with astonishment. " Base and abandoned woman ! " at length he exclaimed, " I detect no blush upon the face that uttered that foul calumny, atrocious and false as hell ! Would you were a man. This moment, you should bite the dust for that un- natural falsehood. I cannot breathe the common air with so much turpitude ; but, — mark me ! — this wrong shall return to your own threshold." Pale with his indignation, he strode proudly away. u Most delectable sir, it returneth not to me until you are visited; mark you that," she said: looking after him ; " mark you that ! " " Truly not. While Mabel Smeton has power or 158 ' NORRIS AND cunning, my Lady, I will help you," whispered that little deformity into her ear ; a feat which she accom- plished by hanging her whole weight on the arm, and so bringing down the head of her ladyship. In her eagerness to ruin Anne, she regarded not her brother's extra beating. Smeton having received the additional allowance provided for him, sneaked pitifully away, followed by his sister and Patch : who amused himself by dwelling sorrowfully on the misery of the musician, and point- ing out his bruises by way of condolence. Lawrence and Lady Rochford departed together.* * This infamous woman was subsequently executed with Catharine Howard, Henry's fifth wife, for introducing gallants to that lady's chamber. She died, as she deserved : at once despised and detested. ANNE BOLEYN. 159 CHAPTER VI. I must speak ere I die. Were all your greatness Doubled upon you, you're a perjured man, And only mighty in your wickedness Of wronging women ! Thou art false, false prince ! ****** Thou art all That all good men must hate ; and if thy story Shall tell succeeding ages what thou wert, Oh, let it spare me in it, lest true lovers, In pity of my wrongs, burn thy black legend, And with their curses shake thy sleeping ashes ! A King and no King. Gentle, liberal, and confiding ; conscious of her own rectitude, and prone to forgive, rather than to resent ; Anne Boleyn exclaimed against the cruel tor- tures and violent deaths which Henry inflicted, alike on friend and foe, Protestant and Papist. So she fell under his displeasure. By her firm adherence to the principles of the Reformation, that displeasure was greatly aggravated. She not only treated the pope's assumption of supre- macy, with scorn ; but failed to discover the infalli- bility of the same assumption in the king. Her character had changed; the volatile and laughing nymph had become a sedate and thoughtful woman. She had already given birth to the Princess Elizabeth ; 160 NORRIS AND and was then heavy with the burden of a mother. The scandalous and frequent amours of the king had somewhat dashed the entire and pure devotion so necessary to conjugal felicity. She was a woman, and felt the wrong. Shadows came over her ; misgivings of her posi- tion ; fears that the formal divorce pronounced by Cranmer : her own public marriage and coronation : were but acts of a farce on which the curtain would be suddenly dropped, at the will of a tyrant. The reli- gious consolations offered to her by the archbishop weighed but little against these impending evils : she saw too plainly that, though he coincided with the views of the Protestants, he had not yet sufficiently thrown off his papal prejudices, openly to avow his convictions and abide by them. Amidst these things, the faithful and chivalrous devotion of Norris was a pure source of gratification to her ; and frequently occupied her thoughts. Impelled by her natural benevolence, and the hope of obtaining peace hereafter, she gave liberally to the poor; in nine months expending, in such donations, £14,000 — the lavish bounty of Henry in the first transports of his passion. Her private hours were passed in devotional exercises and the study of the Scriptures, which were read to her, alternately, by her brother and Norris. These religious observances ANNE BOLEYN. 161 brought their blessings and regrets ; the calm assur- ance of virtue and good intent ; and the sorrow of having been lifted from her quiet sphere, to the dangerous pre-eminence on which she tottered then. She might possibly have lived to pass into a quiet solitude, similar to that in which Katharine had been influenced by the same feelings ; had not the death of the latter brought on the crisis of her fate. In January, 1536, the recluse of Ampthill shook off her mortal coil. Marked funeral honours were paid to her remains. The virtuous monarch even tricked his face with tears ; and ordered the court into solemn mourning. Anne Boleyn was too elated to weep. A cloud had passed from her existence. " Thank heaven \" she cried, " I am now indeed a queen." With the rap- ture and ecstacy of a child, after her long depression, her joy knew no bounds ; she decked herself in her gayest apparel ; old feelings in some measure returned ; she " laughed and was glad." Futile hope ! Empty mockery ! Deceitful pros- pects ! Despair and death were in the dregs of the sweet cup. In the fulness of her heart she sought the king; she found him caressing her maid, Jane Seymour ; and intoxicated with her charms ! Jane released herself from his embrace, abashed; but Anne fainted at the discovery. When nature rallied, 162 NORRIS AND no word passed between them ; she gave the king an upbraiding look, which was returned in anger ; and they passed to separate apartments. Apprised of these things, "Every court sycophant," in the language of Burnett, " now became her ene- my ;" and she was subjected to open insult and con- tumely. The Duke of Norfolk, urged on by the clergy and the unhoused monks, and to pursue his own family aggrandisement; undertook to head a conspiracy against her. To complete her destruction, every despicable agent was employed. Mary, Mabel Smeton, and Mark; Lady Rochford, Lawrence Laitchbury, and Weston, an old servant of Katha- rine's, who had returned to court ; appearing most conspicuous. Harassed and annoyed : a prey to the corroding fever of jealousy : and grieving at her altered state: Anne gave premature birth to a prince. In this, by destroying the king's hopes and expec- tations, she increased his rancour and her own danger. Resolved, again to release himself from his wife, and indulge in a new passion, Henry listened with avidity to the conspirators ; and encouraged their plot by instituting a secret commission of inquiry into Anne's conduct. Pending these proceedings, a joust was proclaimed to be holden on May-day, 1536 : to which the gal- ANNE BOLEYN. 163 lants of the time repaired in great numbers. No one was more delighted by the opportunity of exhibiting his skill and prowess than Harry Norris, who en- tered the lists incognito. His cognizance was a lady's glove, fixed upon his buckler. Having, by the favour of the king, been made groom of the stole ; he pre- pared to support his new dignity with true knightly bearing. He had procured a suit of mail in anticipation of some such occasion as this, when, appearing with- out a name, he hoped to win one as a reward. Con- cealing the armour in a closet of his chamber, he re- joiced over his secret ; but what was his surprise on May morning, at finding a particularly small and ele- gant glove, thrust into the breast of his haubergeon ! Encouraging and discarding a thousand thoughts con- cerning it, he resolved to display it to advantage, and wait until time should reveal the mystery of its appearance. The king and queen sat at opposite sides of the centre of the lists, with their attendants : to watch the sport. Many a horse and rider had rolled toge- ther in the dust, before Harry Norris made his essay. At length he broke a lance with the victor; and the superiority of either being undecided, they proceeded to fight at the barriers. There, the issue was for a long time doubtful. Striving together like m 2 164 NORMS AND two giant oaks in a tempest, neither could strike nor bear the other to the ground. The monarch fre- quently cheered them on ; and the courtiers (strange in courtiers too !) echoed his plaudits. As they approached the barrier, sparks flew in gleaming showers from their swords ; and their mail rang with many a dint. The strife was fearful ; inch by inch the ground was contested ; but Harry's onward foot was too firmly planted to be turned, and grappling his antagonist, by a desperate effort, he hurled him over the barrier : bringing down the pennon flaunting there, with its lord. Staggering some paces from the force of his exertion, Harry Norris sunk ex- hausted beneath the balcony of the queen. " Well, and boldly fought, knight of the baby's mitten/ ' cried Henry. " God's glory ! but that were a sturdy rival for a lady's love. Bring the young lion to us here." Then, the knights and nobles tossed their caps into the air with shouts ; and the ladies clapped their hands, and waved their kerchiefs in very love. Norris had lifted his vizor, and removed his casque : which steamed like a boiling cauldron : to obtain a draft of cooler air. Noticing his distress, Anne Boleyn dropped her handkerchief upon his face. It was a kind and innocent act ; but eyes glanced at each other as it was performed: and ANNE BOLEYN. 165 then at the jealous and infuriated king, who had likewise witnessed it. "Aha! Christ's blood! Is it so?" he cried in his wrath. " Drag me the traitor here ! Seize me the queen ! By the face of the mother of God ! heads shall fall for this. Have I no loyal hearts nor arms to rest upon ? Traitors ! seize me that gallant and the queen ! " Astounded by the fury of the irascible monarch, no foot had stirred to do his bidding ; but now a hundred eager individuals rushed at the behest. The queen made light of the proceeding; while Harry Norris confronted the monarch : firmly and composed : to learn his pleasure. "Vile traitor!" he cried, "would you pass to dalliance in our sight? 'Twas a shrewed device, that glove. What gallant would play false beneath his lady's favour ! Who are you ?" " Your grace's servant, Sir Harry Norris." "Sir Harry Norris?" echoed Henry; and the blood for a moment left his lips. He remembered his long intimacy with Anne. Pausing to conceal his emotion, his eye again caught the young knight's cognizance. " What device is that you bear?" he pursued. " Whose glove may it be ?" The conspirators exchanged significant glances. " Indeed, my liege, I know not." 166 NORMS AND " Liar ! We will proclaim it, if you will not tell. Hand us that favour." And snatching it fiercely from the hand that proferred it, he proceeded. "We will probe him with the pang of jealousy, and teach him what it is. Yes, we will find the owner of the mitten. Henry Tudor is betrayed !"he exclaimed under his breath. " This glove, with tiny sandals, was sent to me by a dame of France : the specimen and proffer of her form and fealty. I gave them to Anne Boleyn : deeming them, till I saw her, as only fitting for a child. Now, she hawks them to her gallant, who wears them here in open triumph! Confine her ! Fool that I have been ! Break up this mockery, and assemble our council. But first, secure this base, ungrateful traitor. He shall to the block. The king is betrayed!" After uttering this angry exclamation, he hastily withdrew. Vainly did Anne demand an audience with him, and protest her innocence. She was closely guarded in her chamber that day ; and on the next, was con- veyed to her prison in the Tower. Sir Harry Norris ; with Smeton, Weston, and Brereton : whom she had raised to the dignity of a gentleman in waiting ; were cited to their trial in Westminster Hall, for certain traitorous familiari- ties with the queen. Norris, indignant at the ac- cusation, made an impassioned and eloquent appeal ANNE BOLEYN. 167 to the court, in her behalf and his own : declaring himself not guilty, even in idea. Smeton, infa- mously boasted of familiarities, several times repeated : charging Weston — whose foolish vanity gave it some colour — and Brereton, with the same act, at her soli- citation ; and on that plea, he sued for pardon. The evidence was, in every case, inadequate, un- satisfactory, and contemptible. Anne was never con- fronted with her accusers, nor had she any one to plead her cause in the court, except Norris. Yet, idle and preposterous as the charges were, such was the truckling spirit of the times, that the whole four were found guilty by the disgraceful panders who formed the tribunal; and they were condemned to suffer death. Lord Rochford and Anne were tried by their peers, in the king's hall in the Tower. So certain was Rochford of acquittal, that he contented himself with simply denying the monstrous charge ; relying on the several characters of himself, the queen, and his un- principled wife. Amidst a mass of shameful and shameless insinuations, the only real fact elicited was, that he had several times leaned upon the queen's bed — his sister's bed — in a familiar manner ; and that, in the presence of several persons ! Anne ; better understanding the ferocious nature of the king, and the treachery of her judges ; replied to, and repelled, every charge. When an attempt was 168 NORRIS AND made to extort a confession from her : in sincere and eloquent language, she defended her conduct, both as a wife and a queen : adding — " I could, some good while since, have pointed out her, for whom I now am, as I am. But let that pass. If that the king, my husband, has predetermined me to die, let it not be with this foul slander clinging to my memory. Once more, my lords, several and particular : I am not guilty. Respecting Smeton ; who . as I hear, accuses me ; there is malice — fierce, plotted, poisonous malice, somewhere. And for that glove, of which so much is made, I know no more, my lords, than you — perhaps not so much. Albeit I have done. I pray to God, that He will forgive the king this cruelty to me, with mine enemies, his in- struments. However you decide, my lords, may He, at that general judgment- seat at which both I and ye must soon appear, pardon their conspiracy against Anne Boleyn. I am entirely innocent of all these accusations, so that I cannot ask pardon of God for them." Notwithstanding this moving appeal, the Duke of Norfolk pronounced her guilty. Her sentence was, that she should be burnt or beheaded, according to the king's pleasure. Overwhelmed by the cruelty of the decree, she cried out in the most pathetic and impassioned manner, "Oh, Father ! Oh, Creator ! ANNE BOLEYN. 169 Thou who art the way, the truth, and the life ! Thou knowest that I have not deserved this fate !" and again proceeded to make the most solemn asseverations of her innocence. They were of no avail. She was reconducted to the Tower, to await her execution. Cranmer owed her much, and immediately sent an expostulatory letter to the king in her behalf; praying of him : but in a tame and parasitical manner ; to rescind the judgment. Only two days after, he pro- nounced sentence of divorce between them. Anne yet had hope. She likewise wrote a letter to the king " from her doleful prison in the Tower :" reiterating her innocence : and praying that " if ever the name of Anne Boleyn had been pleasing in his ears, his displeasure might not touch those poor gentlemen who were likewise in strait imprison- ment." It was disregarded. On the day Cranmer pronounced judgment, they were led to the scaffold. Shedding tears for their doom, which never ap- peared for her own, she heard of their fate with dismay. Of the fidelity of Norris, she was kept ignorant ; and, mentally labouring with her sorrow, she cried, M And hast thou, too, Norris, accused me ? And we shall die together ! " Meanwhile, Henry was greatly dissatisfied with the perjury of Smeton. His charges had fallen 170 NORRIS AND pointless to the ground. Longing to whet his rage upon a certainty of guilt, he sought the dungeon of Norris : to obtain the paltry satisfaction. The injured man bowed, with his old attachment and devotion, as the king entered. The manner of the act so softened him : even him, king Henry the Eighth : that he felt unwilling such a servant should die. "We come, Harry," he said, " to offer you life and liberty ; nay, honours and dignity." Norris clasped his master's knee ; and tears trickled down his cheeks. He would fain have concealed or prevented them ; but he could do neither. " How long has this criminality with our late wife continued ?" pursued the king. "Explicitly condemn her ; and all is yours." Norris arose from his knees with dignity and evident indignation. Calmly folding his arms, he looked steadily into Henry's face, and said, " My liege, the queen is innocent. I am about to die ; but I would rather suffer a thousand deaths than conspire to wrong that innocent woman." " And die you shall ! to fill the measure of our revenge !" the king replied. With those words, he passed at once from the dungeon. The multitude at the execution was immense ; and the people were excited, in no common degree. After his condemnation, the wretched Smeton was unceas- ANNE BOLEYN. 171 ing in his lamentations for having perjured himself. When they appeared on the scaffold, each solemnly- declared that he was wrongfully adjudged ; and the populace felt that they were the victims of Henry's lust. In the midst of the hush immediately preceding the decapitation, Mark Smeton recognized his sister standing near. " She is there ! " he suddenly cried, " My murderess ! There is the fiend who drew me on : first to insinuate : and then to swear ! 'Twas I who put the glove in Master Norris's corse- let, by her direction ! I never pranked it with the queen, never ! so help me Heaven ! She persuaded me to swear that I did ! She ! my sister there. Help me, people, help ! help ! Oh ! I would tear her heart from her false, malicious body ! Help me ! help !" The guards arrested him in the midst of his paroxysm, under the impression that he was mad. Harry Norris heard it not ; his thoughts and ears were far away, in higher mansions, and with happier society. The people pressed, to see the sister-fiend whom Mark had pointed out to them. But she was not to be found. Beaten down in the crush, her groans were stifled by the tramp of men ; her breast was trodden in ; and, crunching her beneath their heels, 172 NORMS AND they scattered her brains upon the pavement. Im- mediately afterwards, one by one, from the violent hands of the executioner, the condemned passed into eternity. But two days more had elapsed, when Anne Boleyn followed them; which time she spent in the most devout and exemplary manner. Indeed, so serene was her conscience, and so calmly had she come to look on death, that she sent to the king, thanking him " for sending her to be a saint in heaven." The night preceding her execution, the 15th of May, 1536, she obtained permission of Kingston, the keeper of the Tower, to take a walk on the ram- parts, and hold her last communion with Nature ; with Nature, in the dim and twilight state in which we see her, at her best, in this poor world. As she stept forth, she stood to listen for a moment to that busy hum of life from which she was shut out for ever ; but not a sound reached her ears, save the footfalls of the sentinels as they paced their measured watch. With a heavy sigh, she turned for sympathy to the distant skies. The stars were bright and many ; and the wind was moaning solemnly around the moat and bastions of the fortress : a rusty vane on one of the towers ever and anon creaking a doleful requiem. The frowning walls of the massive pile ; its armoury, its ANNE BOLEYN. 173 altars, and its dungeons ; were all inhabited by mild and melancholy moonlight : marking the shadow on the dial as distinctly as a summer noon. The placid river, stealing on beneath her feet, whispered his- tories of its conflicts with the gothic bridge above ; and the calm sense of loneliness and solitude made such a powerful impression on her soul, that she desired to be dissolved, and at rest. While meditating thus, light flocks of clouds sailed on beneath the moon, and passing in quick succes- sion, imaged her own thoughts. Being of mortal mould, she had many things to regret, but few to lament ; and when the shadow passed, the subsequent brightness was more pure and vivid. And so she paced, and thought, and prayed, until the stars grew dim : when she retired again to her prison. Morning dawned ; and a vast concourse assembled on Tower-hill. Many,' and loud, were the execra- tions uttered by the people, mingled with some cries of " Rescue I" but Kingston had taken the precau- tion to erect the scaffold on the green, within the fortress. As the sounds reached Anne's ears, and were echoed by the few spectators, she turned to them, saying, " Forbear, good people, forbear ! I trust I have made my peace with God, and I come here to die, according to the law : therefore, I pardon my 174 NORMS AND enemies, and hope to depart in peace. To Jesus Christ I commend my soul." A murmur of compassion ran through the crowd, as the signal gun boomed out the intelligence that she had bowed her head to the block. In the same moment, the executioner of Calais struck it off at a blow. He struck deep into the souls of the people ; even of the people of that day. They held down their heads, and wept. When the spectators looked again, the body was lifted into an old arrow-chest, which served it for a coffin. And there it lay, like a desolate city, within its walls. The fires of the soul were out; the hearths of the affections cold. The fountains of the heart had ceased to play ; the senses had lost their tone ; the pulses had stopped their dance ; and the sweet mystic music of the brain was still for ever. The sound of the gun which was fired as the axe fell reached Henry's anxious ear at Richmond, as he lay on the river's brink, and listened for its roar. A smile passed over his features as it went echoing along ; and, rising, he saw the black flag, which had been hoisted by telegraph. The next day this Defender of the Faith : God's anointed and appointed upon earth : was married to Jane Seymour. And who has not heard and read of ANNE BOLEYN. 175 " bluff King Hal ?" — the merry, roystering monarch — nothing more ! with a roving taste for beauty, per- haps ; but great customs curtsey to great kings : and to this hour you shall see paintings of him, as he looked when graciously accepting Bibles from the hands of pages. A most religious king ! On that great day, when sea and land give up their dead ; and a long train of ghostly phantoms shall cry, with more than human wail, " We are from the block, the rack, the gibbet, and the stake !" on that great day, the Faith will defend its bluff defender. Do not doubt it. A DAY-DREAM. I love among old legends wild, Of sunny mead, or haunted spot, Or castle's gloom, or dripping grot, Or prelate swinging incense high, Or knight in jousting panoply, To wander like a truant child. I love to furbish forth a name Oblivion's rust has fastened on, Where monkish walls fail to proclaim The man who gave their towers to fame ; And like sepulchral watch-lights, fling Sad mockery o'er the mouldering ; Lighting the tomb whose tenant's gone. I love them ; for they all relate How life is not so desolate But that the darkest times may give, Reasons for man to hope and live ; Joys that the poorest slave may feel, Balm, better than the grave, to heal. And oft, while they my soul allure, My fancy hears a troubadour, A DAY-DREAM. 177 Who sings ajl day of the greenwood bower, Or warder watch in the turret-tower, Where waited a lady at grey-eyed morn For the welcome sound of the distant horn, And the hurrying clatter of armour and hoof ; For all night she kept from her chamber aloof, To broider a scarf by the glow-worm's light And the moon's, in the mystic depths of night ; While light fairies danced on the emerald mead Where none of the shades of the mountains fell ; And the music of night through the jointed reed, Was sweet as the dew in the asphodel. There the winds in the depths of the forest lay As serene as they sleep on a sultry day ; And the night-loving bat spread his plumeless wing, And the grasshopper ceased from his chirruping ; And each daisy enfolded its pink eye-lash, While the meadow-sweet stooped to the brook to wash. Nought else was awake, save that lady fair, And the stars, who kept watch like young lovers there. Fast and fondly she plied her busy hand, As the leaves on the tremulous aspen -shook; And fearful she looked at the lessening sand, As a ripple appeared on the gentle brook ; 178 A DAY-DREAM. But long ere the lark sang his morning hymn, And before the stars in the west grew dim ; While the vassal was dreaming of hopeless toil, And the child at his elbow awoke with a smile, She finished the scarf she hoped would be The love- spell of her destiny ; Awaiting the dawn, whose dewy feet Should find the charm, with prayer com- plete. Meekly she knelt, at matin hour, To breathe the matin hymn ; And ? Ave mare stella ' 'woke Music to mate with seraphim. But songs of angels o'er the earth, In fervency were utter dearth, To her dear hope for him. Who charmed the camp, and courtly train, With minstrel's harp and poet's brain. But not the pomp of regal might When gathered for a country's right, Nor conquest for sweet Jesu's rood Over the ireful Moslem brood, Nor minstrel's fame 'neath castle-tower, Could urge his soul to use its power Like Geraldine within her bower. A DAY-DREAM. 179 His were the gentle arts of love, The simile and sigh ; No batter' d casque his brow above, No glaive upon his thigh : Never had he laid lance in rest, For tournament or fray ; Never desired he, shield nor crest, But twanged his lyre away ; Yet now, when Geraldine's hot sire : A haughty knight with soul of fire : Swore Geraldine should ne'er be bride To one in warlike lists untried ; He buckled on the helm and plume, The corselet and the shield. What charms, 'gainst hers, could fame assume? What star, like Geraldine, illume The castle or the field ? Fleet as a stag from beagles' bark ; Swift as a falcon from his height ; Or tempest o'er a drifting barque, Or rocket in its fiery flight ; He sought the lists — distinction — bride — With heart of love, and brow of pride. And low, to her, on bended knee, His fond and fervent prayers did plight : While she that zone of gramarye n2 180 A DAY-DREAM. Bound featly round her minstrel knight. Potent its broidered almagest, In cabalistic forms imprest And Memphian mazes, many ; Armour and strength for every pore She dreamed 'twould give to him that wore, With conquest over any. Equipped, he gazed upon her charms, Then in mute prayer did bow, Then, rising, round her clasped his arms, And thrice did kiss her brow. So, looking in each other's eyes, They lingered, hand in hand, Like those who hear strange mysteries They may not understand. So parted. Wherefore did they part ? Unblest, unblessing, bride ! Alas ! that necromance should fail ! The minstrel's courage did not quail ; But 'gainst fierce knight, and heavier mail, What boots a faithful heart ! First to engage, but first to yield : The earliest conquest of the field : Breathing her name, he died ! The conflict raged ; the field grew red ; As horse and rider groaned and bled ; A DAY-DREAM. 181 But she, O woman's love sincere ! She spake not ; sighed not ; shed no tear ; Her eyes no more knew rest. 'Twas sad To see them roll so wild and mad ; But thus it was : — with hope destroyed, Quick heart half burst, and soul all void, The prize of that old knightly day, An idiot thing was borne away. So sung chivalric minstrels rare, On whom life's sunshine fitful shone, Yet, looking round, they spurned despair, And sighed, and smiled, and chanted on. Like us, they knew, care, death, and woe, Must come to all who here sojourn, Like clouds in sunshine : — be it so, Man was not made, alone to mourn ; Who sleeps may feel, who wakes may learn, How hearts can thrill, rejoice, and burn. For nature builds a happy bower In life's entangled web : Where man can dream in honied flower And wait the tidal ebb. Watching, when the stars are bright Upon the vestal crown of night, Apart from the homes and haunts of men, In dingle, mead, or lonely glen ; 182 A DAY-DREAM. Or pressed by a city's hurrying throng All those who will bend an inquiring ear And listen in love, shall be gladdened to hear Life sing them a sweet and a holy song. Thus, stringing memory's pearls together In camp or castle, hall or heather ; In courts of love, or murderous fight, In chivalry, and love's delight ; Is rich reward, and an ample spoil For many a weary hour of toil. Yet on the fair illumined page Of chronicler and monkish sage, A startling tale is sometimes told, How maiden young, with eyes all light, And lips like fire, and hair like night, And cheeks (full many such there be) Like blossoms on an apple-tree ; And with a soul that could not brook An unkind word, or scornful look, Was chaffered for a lecher's gold ! Such is the store of olden time ; Bearing some charm from every clime! In song or lesson, still 'twill bless The student's labour with largesse ; A DAY-DREAM. 183 Still feed the soul, and fill the hour With spells ; still, by its wizard pow'r, Resuscitating buried years, To which the bygone scene adheres ; The hopes of many a mouldered heart ; The joys and sadness that depart ; The heavy cares which still have flown ; The feelings, kindred to our own. Kindred, but not the same, I ween, When such strange centuries intervene. THE COSTAR'MONGER. xThe costar* monger is of either gender. The feminine is commonly distinguishable by a brazen face beneath a crushed and flattened bonnet ; a cable of coral about her neck, set off by a flashy bandanna ; large pendants in her ears ; and petti- coats that make rather an ostentatious display of her legs — an excusable vanity, perhaps, for she has capital legs for her own walk in life. The masculine carries his nose over a short pipe ; his hair in " Newgate drops ;" his gullet in a shawl ; his corpus in fustian ; his toes in " crabs ;" and his honesty in private. The neuter gender is wrinkled with age — has petticoats and an old hat ; a man's coat ; and a standing in the street, over a sewer grating. It likes "bakkey," and abhors gin — out of its reach; and knowing how to give change for nothing, it " don't care for nobody." If society were constructed on architectural prin- ciples, the costar'monger would be an important part of the foundation ; almost the first stone, for he lies the costar'monger. 185 at the lowest depths of the base. Extremely igno- rant of every thing beyond his circle, he stands as a cipher in the body politic. His companions, his enjoyments, his places of resort, are all exclusive. When he goes to the theatre ; and he does very often go ; his " pals" are always with him. One of them is the visible bearer of their concentrated wk : which he carries in the shape of a three-gallon bottle of veritable " heavy." They are rough fellows ; and, consequently, esta- blish themselves in the front row of the gallery, where they sling their ladies' bonnets, and their own hats and coats over the rail, for the admiration of the pit : which they also accommodate, according to their supreme pleasure, with personal compliments, and orange-peel. Meanwhile, the bottle becomes empty : when " Bunting Sail" proposes to " Hoppy Jack" to M goo an* fetch a drain o* gin." Hoppy Jack, first making a collection for the pur- pose, disappears ; the others getting up a screech and a whistle that rival the music of Pandemonium. The spirit is brought ; and, the bottle passing from mouth to mouth, is soon imbibed : when they conde- scend to countenance the play. " Ancore com-bat!" " Bravo scenery !" " Go it Scarrots !" (Scarrots being a spouter to their taste) are the first manifestations of their wisdom. This is generally seconded by a 186 the costar'monger. fight with some simple liege who is foolish enough to expostulate. Rag fair is broken down in the scuffle, and descends into the pit : whereupon the costar'- mongers spin a yarn of varieties, and lower the same, to recover the precious property. The first link of this tether is a dirty cotton shawl, perfectly odoriferous with red herrings ; the next a ragged handkerchief; succeeding this, is a frowsy flannel, a costar'monger's dress waistcoat. Then comes another shawl ; then a blue apron, fra- grant with onions ; then a bright silk handkerchief, purchased at a tally-shop ; then a mangey boa, reek- ing with turpentine. And so the chain reaches to the pit at last. Watched by a thousand eyes, it coils its folds about the lights and cushions of the boxes : fascinating the ladies with its elegance, and refresh- ing them with its breath : while the costar'mongers —amidst frequent allusions to various component parts of their bodies, such as their eyes, and limbs ; and their souls, too, sometimes ; — angrily demand, M Why nobody don't tie on the toggery ?" Peep we now into the sanctum of the bye-house where he " spends his browns," and which is patro- nised, almost exclusively, by his order. There ; crowded so close together that the ladies furnish the gentlemen with seats in their laps ; enveloped in an atmosphere of tobacco smoke ; and soddened with the costar'monger. 187 beer and smuggled gin (for it is a beer- shop) ; the costar'monger is to be seen, in all his glory. We must shut our eyes to certain tender scenes that are passing around us ; and suffering our ears to be tortured by the painful jerks of " the fiddler" who is perched up at the other end of the room ; at- tend to the couple, male and female, who are danc- ing a jig in the centre. She is a great powerful girl of eighteen ; he is a person with the bump of lo- cality strongly developed : also is capable of mi- nutely describing some of the passages and wards in the House of Correction. They have their re- spective partisans in the room ; and, as it is a chal- lenge on the lady's part against a noted foot, both are doing their best. " Do that flash step wot yer done at Grinidge, Poll/' says one. " Eyes an' lims ! goo it Tom. There's a shuffle," exclaims the opposition. " Semitater ! wot der yer think o' that ? Braa-vo Poll ! Larther away," responds an admirer of Poll's style. " Don't he toe an' heel it scrummy ! Jist hark ut his tabbor ! It's o* no use Poll, you aint o' no ekount," returns a female from the other side. Poll meets this remark with renewed exertions ; 188 the costar'monger. Tom developes still greater powers of leg and foot ; a perfect rapture of double- shuffling ensues. A general laugh follows ; and Poll's admirer, charmed to excess, lifts her in his arms, and bears her off, exclaiming, " Sir Sniggerme Peter ! if yer aint both reglar flicks. " Tom "tabbers his crabs" a moment longer, when his duck puts her arm about his neck with, " What d' yer think o' my lad ? Come an' sit down my dear, she can't shuffle like you nowheres." The ambiguous compliment sinks into Tom's sus- ceptible soul, and he subsides at once into her lap and his pint pot. A noisy dispute as to their respective merits en- sues; when Poll's " duck" allays the storm by prepar- ing himself, at her request, to sing. "Hold yer nises!" Poll exclaims to every body. " Now chaunt, Billy." And Bill chaunts either something of the Roches- ter school, or of this : — They told me in the gaol I should die. They told me in the gaol, That the candles that I stole, Should light me to the hole Where I lie. the costar'monger. 189 I sailed up Holborn-hill In a cart. I sailed up Holborn-hill, At St. Giles's drunk my fill, And at Tyburn made my will, In a cart, and so forth. Then Tom solicits his lady for a favour, and thus chaunts Caroline : Jemmy is the lad wot I do admire, Jemmy is the lad wot I do adore, Now for him his love is a dying, For fear as how she never shall see him no more — and so, to the end of the ditty ; with a great many helping voices ; broken and rather harsh, to be sure, from their susceptibility to the pathos ; but yet lustily exercised, and with right good will. And so the game is kept up till they retire in pairs to their lodgings or the fields : as the case may be. There is a more favourable point of view for the costar'monger. It is a May morning, in London. The shops are closed ; and those who keep them, and whom they keep, are still coiled up in their beds, though the sun is gilding tower and steeple ; gable- ends of houses ; tall chimneys ; prisons ; and murky factories ; from their bases to their summits. Oblique rays are dancing on the river : now beneath the keel of the shell-like wherry: now round the spiteful- 190 the costar'monger, looking teeth of the steamer's funnels : and now upon the fluttering streamer at the mast-head of a huge East-Indiaman ; while hawks are sailing and hovering above, in quest of the pigeons of Spitalfields. The clock of St. Paul's points to five ; and the costar'- mongers are hurrying from the markets, along and across the squares, and streets, and avenues, and alleys, of London's multitudinous thoroughfares and dwellings : bearing with them that poetry of earth — the flowers. The dirty dens of St. Giles ; the crowded abodes of pestilence that abound between Gray's Inn and St. John Street: Barbican and St. Luke's Church : Finsbury and the Mint ; and the hundred other residences of squalor, depravity, disease, and misery ; are made fragrant with blos- soms. The costar'monger is the temporary angel of health : diffusing his blessings among the pest- houses of the City. On his basket you shall find the ranunculus, the peony, the wall-flower, the nar- cissus, the cowslip, the lilac, the tulips with their thousand dyes; the labernum, with its clusters of blossoms dancing like golden flies in the air; the beautiful pyramids of the horse-chesnut ; the odorous May-bough ; and a hundred others ; backed by a forest of sweet-briar, which makes the pestiferous places through which he passes redolent with the scented air of Eden. THE COSTAr'mONGER. 191 Indeed, to us pent-up dwellers in the sweltering City, the costar' monger is the poet of the seasons : telling us, in his peculiar way, the history of the months and of the country ; and bringing their spoil and their produce to our very doors. In his cries, mysterious and unintelligible though many of them are, there is more food for reflec- tion, than in the prosings of many a matter-of-fact philosopher. " Two a pinny sw r eet smellin* bower- pots, two fura pinny!" and, "Lublewin, lugrowin, flow'r- roots furyer gard'ns !" brings to our me- mory the morning of life, with the progress of Spring ; while, " Tupence a pottle, obise," and M Tupence apound cherries, all ripe cherries/ ' tell us of prolific gardens, summer-bowers, and our own midway in life. Then come, u Tolorompo ! ugraut apeck !" and, " Green ayeskins, fresh gather'd I" which, pertain to whatever they will, insure to us the flowery fields and sunny lanes of Midsummer ; not without some vague idea of a gastronomical relish into the bargain. Next follow Autumn and " Melerpears ;" and, " Auripe plumbs thripence a nalehouse quart here ;" with U Upinny a rope here, sound keepin' inguns." Then steals on November with a rapid foot, and, M Stevin' mussels;" when we grow grave on our old age, and gather wisdom from the passing costar'monger. 192 the costar'monger. Nevertheless he is low, decidedly ; and there is no help for it. We can but sketch him as he is. Hogarth was compelled to paint Bridewell with all its abominations : to convey a correct idea of Bride- well. Teniers, to portray his boors in their ease and indecencies : to prove them boors. We can- not cover the costar'monger with a poetic veil, and then trace his profile ; we must have him in his common garb and every- day expression. We need only add to his present appearance and accomplish- ments, that he dispenses generally with the services of the Church when he takes a wife ; their chief ceremony being, by mutual consent, a random jump over a broomstick. RING-A-TINGLE-DINGLE-INGLE-ING-IN-'N; RAP ! "BA-KER!" Having announced himself as is his wont, we proceed to sketch the baker's profile. The man stands about five feet seven (bakers have a knack of running up thereabouts). He has a pale, cadaverous face ; his hair is of no recognizable colour ; his clothes — considering he is a baker — are " none so dusty ; " his hat is felt — and so is his bondage. His character partakes of various anoma- lies. He is a marriageable meal-worm — floury is his path, and crumby are his prospects ; who forbids the banns ? He is a vampyre — the incarnation of that horrible conceit — and lives upon " dead men." He is an animated mummy, prone to nocturnal noises in his subterreanean catacombs, where he has for companions in his devilries, crickets, cock- roaches, and rats. Like his faggots, he has become 194 THE BAKER. sapless, and is always " dry" — a shocking stick for anything but an oven. To the fervid fires of love and glory he is incombustible as asbestos, the fabled salamander, or M. Chaubert. Making bread daily he is daily kneading it, and though a pale and constant watcher by the midnight lamp, his wisdom is all pro — " crusty-un." Like July, he is at the highest point of evaporation, but, unlike July, he can produce no " chink." Throughout his life he is haunted by his shadow, which fashions itself from other men's unction, for the fat he pours from u the bakings" supports the flame of his bakehouse lamp. In short he is a lifeless, soulless, marrowless man ! Were all men at the same low ebb of intelligence as the baker, mankind would soon revert to bar- barism. What is to be done for him ? There he is, bottled up in limbo for fourteen or fifteen hours out of every twenty-four. Dull and sleepy, he passes at once from his bakehouse to his bed, from his bed to his bakehouse, without pleasure, change, or acquirements ; for fresh air, daylight, and the hum and chaffering of life are things which, to him, scarcely exist. The march of intellect never found him in its way. His care-worn face was never seen at a mechanics' institute. His thumbs have left no THE BAKER. 195 stains on the leaves of a circulating library. Of the great world and its fevers he knows nothing. And among all the changes which affect the different classes of society, none ever care to know what the bakers may think ! Who, indeed, ever heard of a petition or a memorial emanating from them ? When the times are hissing and boiling like a Geyser, where are they ? " — Dropping buckets into empty wells And growing old in drawing nothing up." Our baker was fortunate enough in his boyhood to be taught the regular school-hopscotch, for, passing out of the Testament, he entered the Bible, and then went to pot. Yet, even that gives him some advan- tage over his fellows. For, daily taking out his loaded panniers to " deliver/' he is enabled to write in books and give receipts against door- jambs and area-railings, where he looks fancy bread and talks sweet biscuits to the housemaids, and stale to John the footman. Who, nevertheless, manages to pick up some tender crumbs. The mine — the sheep-cote — the barber's -block — the plough — the hackle-teeth — the forge — the osier- cellar — the cobbler's- stall, and workshops of almost every description have each given us one or more o2 196 THE BAKER. men to teach us lessons of wisdom and fortitude ; but what ever came from the bakehouse save a sod- dened man, a noisome smell, and short weight? And here, in London, there are six thousand bakers dreaming through this frightful lethargy ! Can it be reformed ? And yet, in his own way, every week the baker has a carnival. On Saturday night he puts him on a clean face, and, carefully dusting his beaver, goes forth to his " house of call" and his gin- an' -water. For that night he is liberated from his torrid den. His sacks are deserted. His trough is empty. His bread is baked. For that night he transforms himself into a roysterer ; his man gets the better of his baker ; he assumes the droll and tortures the Queen's English. Yes ; the baker very much aspires to cant phrases and current slang, or, indeed, any slang he can get hold of. If he wants a cigar he asks the waiter for "A small lettuce." If he prefers a pipe and tobacco, he demands " A truss of hay and a yard of clay." And, being a deep drinker, he soon forgets that he is a baker, and assumes the carriage of " a jovial king." Whereupon, finding, from some affinity of ideas, that the yeast of a little melody is fermenting within him, and knowing that harmony makes all THE BAKER. 197 things very pleasant, he breaks out in the dulcet manner of a steam-engine, " In my homely cottage bred," wherein he rolls and twists his fancies to a baker's pitch, and they (his companion bakers) u hammer applause like bricks." At this the singer is so elated, he laughs himself into hysterics and finally falls asleep. Early on the Sunday morning he awakes to repentance, the careful calculation of no- thing in his pockets, and the grim necessity of igni- ting faggots to prepare for the " Sunday bakings." When the baker is married, he affords in his family a complete specimen of upstairs back-room London life. In nineteen cases out of twenty his wife has been a domestic servant, surrounded by the abundance of luxury. Now, she is cooped up in a single room, full of " — Looped and window' d wretchedness." where, by contrasting her former profusion with her present penury, she " takes to fretting," gossiping, and gin. His home being thus made miserable, the baker grows morose and " glumpish," caring neither to improve it nor complain. Disregarding and dis- regarded, he proceeds to nightly gambling with his 198 THE BAKER. mate, and passes to his grave unheard of and un- missed. Undoubtedly there are many exceptions — it would be bad indeed if there were not — particularly among the Scotch and German bakers that we have ; many of these are frugal and intelligent men. Our speci- men is English : Metropolitan : Pure Unadulterated Country Bread. THE CARPENTER. " Lord Bateman he was a noble lord, A noble lord of a high degree, And he shipped himself all in a wessel, For to go to seek some foreign coun-ty-ree." That is the carpenter's ditty, who sings where he pleases and whistles when he likes. No man so jaunty as the carpenter. No washerwoman readier for a gossip. And not a Creole on the earth more capable of winding the sun down with perfect grace and effrontery. Yet he administers largely to our comforts and necessities. The baby's cot, the crutch for old age ; the throne and the gibbet ; the toilet- table and the coffin ; are all the productions of his ingenuity, and without them what were we ? While he is putting an edge on your teeth and those of his saw at the same time, linking the past to the future by the alterations he is making in your mansion, do you ever mentally inquire how fares the man himself ? Heartily glad as you will be when he quits your house, will you know one atom more about him, or enter- tain one kindlier sympathy for him, than you knew 200 THE CARPENTER. and felt when he first entered ? Heaven grant you may ! For fear you should not, we will state what we know of him. " Halloa here ! My pot's as good as any body's ; who's up agin me for a pot ? Five and four." That is the carpenter in the tap-room of " The Gate : House of Call for Carpenters." Recognized by the muzzy fraternity who lounged on and about the table, half-a-score of pewter-pots were thrust toward him at once, and the difficult inauguration of drinking from some half-dozen was accomplished amidst a confused gabble about work, in which the new-comer immediately joined. " Fve just done at Botchem Hall," quoth he, " where I had to do a job as they'd been waiting for a man nine months to do, and nobody couldn't do it. But me an' my mate done more than any other three in the buildin'. An' here. I'll bet any man a gallon o' beer as I'll lay more corner stairs ; box a set o' shutters ; frame a centre ; build a pulpit, or a bull's parlour, — to do 'em well, in less time ner any other man in the trade. Here, I'll shew yer what we done." And straightway the table was cleared in its half length of sundry pots, pipes, and slops ; which last were swobbed off by the edge of the speaker's hand to the floor. THE CARPENTER. 201 " Hark at Jemmy Bounce again," exclaimed another of the craft, " an' I'm if ever he was fit to hold a candle to any body." Playing old gooseberry with Euclid and Vitruvius, " bouncing Jemmy" was totally abstracted by his chalk. With eyes intent ; ears deaf ; and tongue thrust out and wagging as a rudder to his ideas ; totally guiltless of the giggle of his fellows ; one of them softly approached him and performed the very agreeable operation of bonneting him, with such force, that his chin came in sharp collision with the table. Now, his tongue, not being in the other's secret, had a very serious impression on it ; in which, by reason of his eyes being eclipsed beneath his hat, he could see no pleasure, though his " mates" laughed most boisterously. His w pot" had come in. Perhaps that gave a greater zest and relish to them. Having enough of such practical fun — the car- penters' highest heaven — we beat a departure, leaving them engaged with their everlasting topic — work. In truth, the carpenter is the egotist of the crafts. In the alehouse he will do more work in ten minutes than he would do at his bench in ten weeks. So, always a boaster, and often a sot — truth must be told — he is vulgar and obscene in his habits and his jokes. 202 THE CARPENTER. Yet his nature is not dead to purer pleasures. No man whistles a blither tune, or knows more snatches of old songs than he does. He has a fancy too for singing-birds — particularly larks, they are often his sole morning companions — and he decks his button- hole with a choice flower in spring and summer. He also remembers old country stories of carpenters having to repair beaureaus, and how, after much knocking and shaking, out tumbled a guinea; and how, more being sought after, several hundred were found, which the carpenter put in his pocket and didn't talk in his sleep about, like a sensible man as he was (he says). And others of a similar kind he has, how one who was believed to be an old hunks died suddenly and left his heirs to the pleasant dis- covery of — nothing but the fact. And how, when the house was repaired some years after, the master- carpenter suddenly left the job and retired to his native place, independent. And, on the credit of these traditions, hope never forsakes the carpenter — he is curious everywhere. Do not wonder at it. These are but casualties, however, and he has had palmy days. Yet they were casualties also. His harvest was during the invasion fever of the last war, when barracks and forts were to be erected every- where. The carpenter, however, may tell the story for himself ; we commend him to it. THE CARPENTER. 203 The besetting evil of the carpenter lies in the un- certain tenor of his work. On this point the winter is always his inveterate enemy, — only day-light work when working at all. At all times a day's rain may deprive him of a day's wages. And his resources — what are they ? The alehouse for his present pas- time ; the pawnshop to make up his deficiency at the week's end. Thus he is always impoverished, and, being generally a Benedict, he becomes a nucleus of misery. " He had some tidy sticks once," he says, '• but his landlord distressed him, an* ever since he's bin thinkin' he'd mek some more ; an' he 'sposes he must : he dun know." And so he apologizes, and determines, and pro- crastinates, though his chairs have long been guiltless of bottoms, and are sorely afflicted with disease of the back. His table — it is a chance if he has more than one — is in the same ricketty condition, and his bedstead has fallen into a most deplorable state of atrophy: its head is beside itself; its joints dis- located ; and its intestines ruptured and decayed : the back- ground being all in the strictest keeping. Think of these things, young woman, before you marry a carpenter. Educate him, taxman, before you mulct him. And learn you, importunate creditor, when the wintry winds chill you on your well- 204 THE CARPENTER. blanketed couch, and his few worthless rags are piled on groaning shelves among thousands of other remnants of poverty, with certain cabalistic documents attached, and to be regained only by paying the usurer's fee : whether it be misfortune or misappli- cation that has caused him to neglect you. If the last, teach him better ; put your shoulder to the great wheel which will draw the next generation out of the slough. If the first, pity him. Bear in your minds, all of you, that he and his family are probably starv- ing : stay your proceedings ; withhold your rapacity ; or, by giving him prudence, forecast, and employ- ment, let him have the means to pay you, and live. If you are a professor, remember, He of Galilee was a carpenter. Depend upon it in some such way only can you eradicate his bad habits — for bad habits he cer- tainly has : a meanness which is unmanly. For certain reasons, indicated by the phrase " cupboard love," when he is in an inhabited house, he will duck to the master most obsequiously, — woo the serving women most devotedly, — swear with the men most valiantly, — eat in the larder most voraciously, — drink with any one most joyfully, — and make the job last for ever and a day. There is also a strong objection in him to pay rent, if he can possibly shuffle out of it ; and a mighty desire to quit civilized society al- THE CARPENTER. 205 together, and squat in some American forest where he may build him a log-house of his own, free from all demands. And no wonder he should do so, when we know his case. No wonder ; when he sees his wife a drudge ; his family half naked, the tallyman feasting on him, the huckster robbing him, and the pawn- broker ruining him, because evil custom and the publican have half brutalized him. Withal he is of a cheerful nature, and capable of being improved. Hope for him heartily ; and ever as you recognize his familiar figure — as strongly marked as the Medusa's head on your knocker or your Rumford — the many - crumpled hat — the flannel jacket — the flying fringed apron — and the rush basket borne over the shoulder on a strip of deal : whenever you see these, think how he may be rescued from his many disadvantages, and do your best to make him a happier man. FINIS. Printed by J. & H. Cox, Brothers, (late Cox & Sons), 74 & 75, Great Queen Street. To be completed in Twenty Monthly Parts, price Is each, WITH TWO ILLUSTRATIONS BY R. CRUIKSHANK, CHRONICLES OF THE BASTILE. PARTS ONE TO SIX NOW READY. The increasing popularity of thijgfeerial will, it is confidently hoped, fill the vacuum left by the completion of Martin Chuzzlewit. " The writer of the narrative here t^HBfcJs versed in the history of the iv ic keel old place. ' The business '^■Hw?w>ened in these numbers is suf- ficiently rapid and fierce to praariffrmr right sort of entertainment."— Examiner. ^^W" " For this work the material is aaundant, and, judging from the parts before us, the writer seems to have made himself well acquainted with his subject." — Naval and Military Gazette.: " It shadows forth the secret history of this terrible, dungeon, the grave of so many captives. It will be read with considerable interest in England." "The title comprehends the object of tr^fcptk^ which is fairly exe- cuted." — Literary Gazette. " The story is well written, and will be v4^wjiular. The illustrations are the best ever executed by R. Crui^b^un^^mOxford Herald. " Amongst the many works that of^ate yearsjjjilFv-eeorne before the pub- lic in monthly parts, this is decidedly the mosraftractive in every respect. 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