The Greatest Works of Charles Carleton Coffin. Charles Carleton Coffin
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the bride of Christ, fancy for herself! O piety! O ancient faith! this is the seed the Lord hath blessed!"
The letter reaches Rome, and the Pope embraces the messenger, falls on his knees, says a Pater-noster, gives orders to ring all the bells in Rome, to fire the cannon of the Castle of St. Angelo, light bonfires, to give indulgences and pardons to all who want them.
The Pope has given his absolution, and the nation is once more back in his fold. But how about those monasteries and abbeys which Henry tore down? How about the lands and estates that were seized and divided between the crown and the great men, and given to women who made good puddings? They must be given up. The Pope demands it. The Members of Parliament have been willing to fall on their knees and receive absolution, but, having obtained it, con-I elude to hold on to their spoils. They are willing that heresy shall be rooted out, but they will not let the Pope have authority in England. The queen shall still be head of the Church. They are good Catholics, but they will not change Henry's will, and after Mary the crown shall go to Elizabeth. Philip wants to be crowned, Charles urges it, the Pope desires it; but there are some sturdy Englishmen who say, "No foreigner for us," and Philip is obliged to smother his resentment.
The Commons, the Lords, the great men have submitted to the Pope in behalf of the nation, and now the people themselves must submit.
"If any one before Easter, 1555, does not acknowledge the authority of the Pope, ho shall suffer for it," is the edict.
"Come and register your names," is the command given by the priests; and registers are provided in every parish.
There shall be no more reading the Bible, nor Prayer-books; no more liberty of conscience; no more thinking for themselves.
Stephen Gardiner opens his heresy court in St Mar's Church, Southwark. Goodwin, Bonner, Tunstal, and three other bishops are the judges. The court is the Inquisition under another name. There are several men for whose blood they are thirsting. Mr. John Rogers is one. He is a preacher — a learned man; and when Tyndal and Coverdale were over in Antwerp translating the Bible into English, he went over and aided them, and is therefore an arch-heretic. Besides, he went to Wittenberg, and studied with that monk who, when a boy, sung for his breakfast — Martin Luther. He married a German wife, and has ten children. The Pope does not allow priests to marry. He was preaching at St. Paul's when Mary came to the throne; he could have fled: but he is an Englishman, and has done nothing contrary to his conscience. He will stay, come what will. He has been a prisoner for many months in Newgate, with Mr. Hooper, of Gloucester.
The world does not often see a man like John Hooper. He was educated at Oxford, and was a Bachelor of Arts two years before that meeting on the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and became a monk; but after reading the Bible he left the monastery. When Henry was king, he had an interview with Stephen Gardiner, who was astonished at his learning. He had to flee to France, however; but when Edward came to the throne, he returned, and Edward made him Bishop of Gloucester. When everybody else was getting rich on the spoils of the monasteries. Bishop Hooper was making himself poor by feeding the hungry. He sat down with them at the table to let them know that he loved them. But he is a heretic; besides, he is married. For a long while Gardiner has had him in prison — confined in a room with robbers and murderers, with nothing but straw to lie upon, and an old counterpane for a covering. He and Mr. Rogers are brought before the court, and condemned to be burned.
"Shall I not be allowed to bid farewell to my wife and children?" Rogers asks.
"No," is the savage reply of Gardiner.
It is four o'clock in the morning, February 4th. The frost is on the window-panes. In the cold and gloomy prison Rogers is quietly sleeping. The jailer's wife taps him on the shoulder.
"Bishop Bonner is waiting for you."
He rises and goes out into the hall, where Bonner is waiting to degrade him from his office as a priest. That done, Rogers bids farewell to Hooper, and the sheriff leads him out. It is still dark; but the people have heard that he is to be burned, and a crowd has assembled to see him die.
"He will flinch," say his enemies.
His wife and children are waiting for him, and though Gardiner has said that he shall not see them, he kisses them, and goes on with a firm step to the stake. The executioner binds the chain around him and heaps the fagots. In the dim gray of the winter morning the people see him standing there, looking up into heaven, with a smile upon his face.
"You can have the queen's pardon if yon will recant," says Sir Robert Rochester, who has come to report his behavior to Gardiner. But he has nothing to recant.
The fire curls around him. He bathes his hands in the flames as if it were cold water. They who look to see him beg for mercy hear nothing but prayer and praise, while those who expected he would stand firm rend the air with their shouts of joy.
Ah, Mary! out from those applauding cries shall come liberty to the human race! Go on, Gardiner, Bonner, and Tunstal, with your court of heresy; send men and women to the stake — for the brief period of your power; but every fire which you thus kindle shall be a beacon to light the human race in its march to freedom!
"Hooper is an obstinate, false, detestable heretic; let him be buried in the city which he has infected with his pernicious doctrines," is the order for the burning of the aged bishop.
Mr. Gardiner has made a mistake If ho wants to put a stop to heresy, he had better not send Bishop Hooper to the city where everybody loves him as children love a father, where he has fed the hungry and clothed the poor. Surrounded by guards, he rides out of London on horseback. He is old, feeble, and wasted almost to a skeleton with his long imprisonment and with sleeping on his bed of straw. He eats dinner at a tavern where a woman rails at heretics; but he is so tender, so childlike and forgiving that she too becomes a child before him, and with tears begs his forgiveness, and does what she can for him. Love is more potent than fire to subdue the human heart. A great crowd awaits his coming. For a mile outside of Gloucester gates the road is filled with people. It is evening, and the sheriff will give him one more night on earth; and the people go to their homes, wondering if their good old bishop will stand firm at the final hour.
Sir Anthony Kingston, who has often heard the bishop preach, is sent by Gardiner to see him burned. In the morning Sir Anthony enters the prison.
"Do you know me?" Sir Anthony asks.
"Oh yes, Sir Anthony; and I am glad to see yon in such good health. I have come here to lay down my life for the truth."
"Would you not like to live?"
"I can live; but I never should enjoy life at the expense of my future welfare. You would not have me blaspheme my Saviour by denying him, would you? I trust that I shall bear with fortitude all the torments which my enemies may be able to inflict."
Sir Anthony is not a hard-hearted man, and the tears stream from his eyes.
"I shall be sorry to see you die."
"It is my duty to stand for the truth."
A little blind boy who has heard the bishop preach comes to bid him farewell, and he falls on his knees at the bishop's feet.
"I am blind, but you have opened the eyes of my soul. May the good Lord be with you, and bring you into heaven!"
The good old man lays his withered hand upon the head of the boy and blesses him. A bigoted man comes in to revile him.
"You are a wicked heretic."
The man who has fed the hungry and clothed the naked makes no reply. The mayor, who has sat under the bishop's preaching, comes with the sheriff to conduct him to the stake. Gladly would the mayor give