The Greatest Works of Charles Carleton Coffin. Charles Carleton Coffin
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are hung with crimson and scarlet. The Lord Mayor, in crimson velvet, leads the procession. After him rides the French ambassador, in a blue-velvet coat, with sleeves of blue and yellow. Then come the judges, in their gowns; then the Knights of the Bath, in velvet gowns and hoods; then the abbots, the bishops, the Archbishop of York; the ambassador from Venice; the Archbishop of Canterbury; the great men — lords, earls, dukes; the Lord High Constable, Duke of Suffolk (Charles Brandon), who married Mary after the death of Louis XII. Anne Boleyn rides in a litter borne by two horses — one before, and the other behind. The litter is covered with cloth of gold. The horses are caparisoned with white damask, and led by footmen in livery.
Anne wears a dress of silver tissue, and a mantle lined with ermine. Her hair hangs in loose tresses upon her shoulders. Upon her brow rests a coroner set with rubies. Four knights bear a canopy, to shelter her from the sun.
Two chariots filled with ladies, and fourteen ladies on horseback, with thirty waiting-maids, follow the queen, accompanied by noblemen, who act as guards. Besides these, there is a great following of merchants and of children.
Fountains of Rhine-wine are erected along the streets, and the people drink all that they wish, at the expense of the king — forgetting that, after all, they will have to foot the bill by increased taxes. School-children sing ballads; poets recite verses. A gentleman presents Anne with a purse filled with gold. there are triumphal arches, festoons, banners; the cannon thunder again, the bells clang once more, and the people shout themselves hoarse, as the procession moves from the Tower to Westminster Abbey. All the great men, all the noble ladies of England, are there. the mayor carries Anne's sceptre; the Earl of Arundel, her ivory rod; the Earl of Oxford, the crown; the Duke of Suffolk, the silver wand; Lord Howard, the marshal's staff. The Bishops of London and Winchester hold the lappets of Anne's robe; the old Duchess of Norfolk carries her train.
Anne takes a seat in a gilded chair; while the Archbishop of Canterbury reads the Collects, anoints her forehead and breast, places the crown upon her brow, and hands her the sceptre. The choir sing a Te Deum, mass is performed, and the procession returns to Westminster Hall, to the banquet.
At the dinner, the Earl of Essex is chief carver; the Earl of Arundel, chief butler; twelve noblemen act as cup-bearers; Lord Burgoyne is chief larder; Viscount Lile, chief pantler — his chief business is to look after the bread; while the Marquis of Oxford keeps the buttery bar. It is Sir Thomas Wyatt's business to pour scented water on Anne's hands. The Countess of Oxford and the Countess of Worcester stand near Anne, with a cloth in their hands, to wipe her nose, in case she needs such service. Two ladies sit at the queen's feet. When all are in their places, the Duke of Suffolk and Lord Howard ride into the hall on horseback, escorting the Knights of the Bath, who bring twenty-seven dishes for the queen. The trumpets sound, and the feasting begins. King Henry takes no part in this demonstration of his subjects, but looks on from a little closet, and enjoys the scene.
Not many weeks after the coronation, Anne gives birth to a babe — a daughter. There is great rejoicing; but there would have been greater joy if it were a son. There is still another grand pageant on the Thames when the babe is taken to Westminster, where it is christened Elizabeth.
Cardinal Wolsey is in his glory — still the most powerful man in the realm. He gives grand banquets and entertainments in the great ball of his palace. But there are often sudden changes in the prospects of great men. Henry is angry with him for his mismanagement of the divorce business. Anne has a grudge against him, for she has discovered that the cardinal did not intend that Henry should make her his wife. The nobles hate him, for he was only a butcher's boy, and not high-born. Henry discovers that he has been accumulating great wealth. He will bear with him no longer. He orders the cardinal to give up the seals of Ms office to Sir Thomas More. The Duke of Norfolk brings the message that all his property is confiscated to the king. Shakspeare pictures the scene in the hall of Wolsey's palace:
"Norfolk. So, fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. Wolsey. So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him: The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do."
The cardinal bids farewell to London, and goes up the great road leading to York — the road over which Margaret, Henry's sister, travelled when she went to Scotland. In the old manor-house, at Scrooby, he finds a home for a while. It is lonely there. His greatness has all gone by, but the good people of the little hamlet of Austerfield still do him reverence when he enters the old stone church. They see that his locks are growing white, that he has a sad face, that lie walks feebly. He gives money to the poor, and they think that, after all, he has a kind heart. From Scrooby he goes to Esher. A few months pass, and the cardinal is on his deathbed, with this lament upon his lips:
"If I had but served my God as faithfully as I have my king, he would not thus desert me in my old age."
Liberty has not yet dawned upon the people of England. To read the Bible is a great crime. Sir Thomas More is Lord Chancellor. He lives at Greenwich, and is very zealous for the faith as held by the Church. He issues a proclamation against heretics, ordering all laws against them to be put in execution. He burns all the Bibles he can lay his bauds upon. Thomas Bayfield, a monk, is discovered to have a New Testament in his possession, and is brought before Bishop Tunstal, of London. In St. Paul's, Taustal strips off his gown, and while the poor monk is kneeling at the altar the bishop strikes him a blow with his crozier, which knocks him senseless to the floor. Out in Smithfield, where the cattle-dealers market their beeves, he is chained to the stake. The wood is green, and for half an hour he roasts in the flames. The tire curls around his left arm and burns till it drops from the body. All the while the brave-hearted man is praying for Sir Thomas More and Bishop Tunstal, and all his enemies.
Another of Sir Thomas's victims is James Bainham, who is burned on the Smithfield muck-heaps.
"The Lord forgive Sir Thomas," he prays, as he stands there clothed with dames. His face is radiant. "I feel no more pain than when lying on a bed of down; the fire is as a bed of roses," he cries.
Thomas Bilney is a student at Cambridge. One day a Testament in Latin, translated by Erasmus, falls into his hands; he has seen Latin Testaments before, but none with such smooth-flowing sentences as that A verse arrests his attention.
"This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief."
If that is true, then fasting, and penance, and masses, and indulgences are of no account. He begins to preach, and brings Hugh Latimer and many others to his way of thinking. He travels through the country doing good, giving alms, sharing his humble fare with the poor, till he is imprisoned. He renounces his doctrines, and is released; but his conscience troubles him, and he begins to preach again. He is as gentle as a lamb. He has nothing to say against the Pope, or the bishops, or the Church; but he preaches the truth as he understands it, not as taught by the Pope and bishops. It is private judgment. Sir Thomas More cannot permit that, and sends an order to have him burned. It is at Norwich, just outside the city walls, that the officers chain him to the stake. He smites upon them. There is no anger in his