Chapter III Two Lights Extinguished
Upwards of three years had flown since the occurrences last narrated—three terrible years, during which religious persecution never ceased. Bradford and Marsh had perished at the stake, so had Ridley and Latimer, with many others, and Cranmer had won a martyr’s crown. Gardiner had long gone to his account, being stricken with a mortal disease, while reading a letter describing the torments of Ridley and Latimer. He lingered for a month, and then dying, was buried with great pomp in Winchester Cathedral. But though Gardiner was gone, Bonner yet lived, and the barbarous proceedings against the Protestants were unrelaxed.
On Cranmer’s death, Pole was immediately created Archbishop of Canterbury, and began to put into execution the plan he had long designed for reforming the abuses of the Church. Notwithstanding the opposition of the clergy, aided as they were by Paul IV., the then ruling Pontiff, whose displeasure Pole had incurred, he succeeded in effecting many beneficial changes, and would doubtless have accomplished much more, had he been spared, but in the very midst of his exertions he was attacked by a quartan ague, engendered by the pestilent exhalations from Lambeth marshes. By its extreme violence, the fever threatened from the first a fatal termination.
Though not unconscious of his danger, and, indeed scarcely entertaining a hope of recovery, the Cardinal continued his labours during the intervals when he was free from fever. His chief cause of concern at this moment was, that the Queen also was lying upon a sick couch, from which it was scarcely probable she could rise. Foreseeing the disastrous consequences to the Church of Rome which must inevitably ensue from her death, he felt so troubled in spirit that his mental anxiety added force to the attacks of the ague.
Throughout the Cardinal’s illness, Priuli watched over him with unremitting solicitude, and such entire reliance had Pole in the judgment and devotion of his friend, that he confided everything to him. One day, when the Cardinal was free from fever, and he and Priuli were alone together in the library of Lambeth Palace, he requested his friend to unlock a small coffer which he pointed out, and at the same time gave him a key. Priuli obeyed, and on opening the coffer perceived within it a parchment, so endorsed as to leave him no doubt as to its nature.
“That is my will,” said Pole. “I desire you to read it.”
On perusing the document, Priuli found that the Cardinal had appointed him his sole heir and executor, whereupon, looking Pole earnestly in the face, he said, “I am glad you have consulted me on this matter, dear friend, and allowed me the opportunity of expressing my opinion upon it. It would have grieved me to disobey your injunctions, and yet I cannot conscientiously fulfil them. Readily will I undertake the office to which you have appointed me, and will carefully attend to your directions as to the distribution of your property, but with regard to the rich inheritance you would bestow upon me, I must peremptorily decline it. I cannot—will not accept any part of it. I thank you for the intent, but I am rich enough without this augmentation of my worldly goods.”
“Distribute my possessions among the poor, or build churches and hospitals with them,” rejoined the Cardinal. “Whatever you do, will, I am sure, be for the best. But if you decline my bequest, at least accept some slight object, be it only a jewel or ring, to be kept as a memorial of our long friendship.”
“I desire neither jewel nor ring, nor any other memorial richer than the breviary you constantly use,” replied Priuli. “Of all gifts, I should value that the most.”
“It shall be yours, dear friend,” rejoined Pole. “I shall keep it as long as my eyes are able to fix upon it—as long as my hands will hold it—then take it. May it afford you the comfort it has ever afforded me, and draw you towards Heaven, as it has never failed to draw me.”
Pole was constant in his inquiries after the Queen, and on her part Mary was equally anxious for information as to the state of his health. Messengers were continually passing between Lambeth Palace and Whitehall, but from neither place were the tidings satisfactory. On the contrary, the reports of the condition of both illustrious sufferers grew worse, and it became a question as to which of the two would be the survivor. Pole prayed that he might be the first to depart—but it was not so ordained.
The grief felt by every member of the Cardinal’s vast establishment for the deprivation which they felt they must soon undergo, was sincere and profound, but no one deplored his exalted master’s precarious condition more deeply than Rodomont Bittern. The poor who thronged the gates of the palace, and received alms and food from Priuli, put up earnest prayers for their benefactor’s recovery.
But the fever abated not, and though its attacks were somewhat mitigated in severity, still the Cardinal’s debilitated frame was less able to withstand them. He daily grew weaker and weaker.
Notwithstanding his prostration, however, he was carried twice in each day to the chapel to hear mass. One evening after vespers, the large easy-chair in which he reclined was wheeled into the library, and Priuli, who now seldom left him, took his accustomed place by his side. Four days having elapsed since the Cardinal’s last attack, it was certain that the night would not pass without a return of the fever. Notwithstanding this, Pole was conversing cheerfully with his friend, when Rodomont Bittern entered to say that Mistress Constance Tyrrell was without, and desired to see his Eminence.
“Admit her straight,” replied Pole. “She is ever welcome.”
And the next moment Constance came in. The expression of her countenance, which was as pale as death, struck Priuli, but did not appear to attract Pole’s attention. Moving noiselessly towards the Cardinal, Constance knelt before him, while he spread his thin white hands over her head, and in feeble tones gave her his benediction.
“How fares the Queen?” inquired Pole, as Constance arose. “She was somewhat easier this morning, as I understand.”
“Her Majesty is easier now,” replied Constance. “She is free from all pain.”
“Is she gone?” inquired Pole, while a premonitory shiver shook his wasted frame.
“She is gone,” rejoined Constance. “The heart that has so long suffered has ceased to beat.”
“May the angels of Heaven receive her soul and present it before the Lord!” exclaimed Pole. “And may whatever sin she has committed in life through human frailty be forgiven her! Did her spirit pass away easily?”
“Most easily,” replied Constance. “Her sole concern was for the welfare of her Church.”
“The chief pillar of the Church is broken,” cried Pole, in a voice of anguish; “and my hand, which might have helped to support the falling structure, is also powerless. Domine, salva nos, perimus! Salvator Mundi, salva Ecclesiam tuam.”
For some moments he remained in fervent prayer, after which he seemed calmer, and inquired if the Queen had said aught concerning the King her husband.
“She spoke not of him at the last,” replied Constance, “but it would seem that the loss of Calais produced a deep impression on her, for she said, ‘My physicians seek to know the cause of my malady. Let them open my breast, and they will find “Calais” graven on my heart.’”
“It was not the loss of Calais that broke her heart,” said Pole. “Heaven forgive him who has brought her prematurely to the tomb. England has lost a great sovereign, and our Church its chief defence. Elizabeth is now Queen, and with her the Protestant Church will be restored. Fortunately, I shall not live to see that day. Farewell, dear daughter. My blessing be ever upon you!”
Finding that the fever was coming on, he caused himself to be transported to his chamber, and was laid upon the couch which he was never again to leave with life.
Towards morning his condition became alarming, and he received extreme unction, the last rites being performed by the Bishop of Asaph. This done, after some words to Priuli, he clasped to his breast the crucifix, which he had ever with him, and seemed to sink into a gentle slumber. And so he breathed his last.
Crucifix and breviary were kept as sacred relics by Priuli.
In the chapel of Saint Thomas à Becket, which he himself built in Canterbury Cathedral, rests the saintly Reginald Pole. This simple inscription is placed over his tomb:—
Depositum Cardinalis Poli.
| 15.42 | welcomed her with [e]very demonstration of joy | Added. |
| 20.26 | [Y/L]et us give them reason | Replaced. |
| 27.28 | the Cross of Santiago[./,] | Replaced. |
| 38.1 | which represent the renow[n]ed Sir Bevis | Added. |
| 39.1 | Then all the wealthy merchants of South[h]ampton, | Removed. |
| 43.41 | thus ensconced themse[l]ves, | Added. |
| 53.26 | where the traitor[or]ous nobles | Removed. |
| 54.16 | white as m[u/a]rble | Replaced. |
| 57.5 | I command you to let me go[.] | Added. |
| 57.31 | and all the town flock[ /e]d to the quay | Restored. |
| 76.2 | to q[n/u]estion him further? | Inverted. |
| 100.4 | Heaven avert such a contingency[?/!] | Replaced. |
| 106.28 | I am a physici[a/o]n to those who are sick | Replaced. |
| 113.29 | during a s[ei/ie]ge. | Transposed. |
| 137.1 | found scant accom[m]odation | Added. |
| 143.1 | at whic[k/h] King Arthur | Replaced. |
| 157.25 | [“]My confessor, Father Alfonso, shall take you in hand. | Added. |
| 160.42 | upon a sta[i]rcase | Added. |
| 164.10 | there was a tolerably ex[s/t]ensive garden | Replaced. |
| 174.40 | “Again I say, forbear[?/!]” cried Osbert. | Replaced. |
| 189.17 | and on the haut[-]pas, but not beneath the canopy | Removed. |
| 199.41 | twelve gentlemen ushers[,] steward, | Added. |
| 201.11 | Further on co[u]ld be observed | Added. |
| 205.6 | Yonder comes his Em[m]inence | Removed. |
| 208.24 | Mary looked ill and la[u/n]guid | Inverted. |
| 210.5 | retorted Gard[e/i]ner Gardiner. | Replaced. |
| 240.21 | after passing th[r]ough the vestibule | Added. |
| 241.24 | but may confidently look forward to[ to] a meeting | Removed. |
| 250.41 | [i]t has not been contrary to law. | Restored. |
| 252.12 | [“]but I gave up all | Added. |
| 258.25 | I will bring back the man to him to[-]morrow. | Restored. |
| 260.8 | having been excommun[ci/ic]ated | Transposed. |
| 266.24 | and receive my blessing[,/.] | Replaced. |
| 274.40 | she was borne to the sacris[i]ty by Rodomont | Removed. |
| 276.12 | Hide yourself in this cupboa[r]d, | Added. |
| 276.28 | Are you still in the same mood as when I saw you last[./?] | Replaced. |
| 281.4 | [“]Again, I implore you to renounce your errors.” | Added. |
| 295.30 | as soon as he and Bonner were left alone.[”] | Removed. |
| 298.32 | But why should she be exposed to such treatment[./?] | Replaced. |
| 299.3 | said Mary[,/.] | Replaced. |
| 301.8 | I warn you, therefore[,] of your danger | Added. |
| 304.28 | the solicitation of Gard[e/i]ner | Replaced. |
| 313.27 | grasping the hand stretched out to him.[”] | Removed. |
| 317.18 | the alarm-bell was run[g] more violently than ever | Added. |
| 318.24 | shout[ing/ed] several voices, | Replaced. |
| 320.28 | Constance Tyrrell and Derrick Carver.[”] | Added. |
| 321.13 | and suffic[i]ent smaller craft | Added. |
| 324.2 | demanded Osbert, on seeing him.[”] | Removed. |
| 334.12 | Bonner said, in a bitter and derisive tone[,/.] | Rep |
| 336.41 | he is excommunicated[./,]and if ye give him aught | Replaced. |
| 354.11 | “That is best know[n] to themselves,” | Added. |
| 356.9 | they are rebels and traitor[s]! | Added. |
| 370.31 | had considerable pretensions to beauty[.] | Added. |
| 376.12 | to that of Queen Catherine [./?] | Replaced. |
| 378.41 | away with you,” cried Lilias[.] | Added. |
| 396.36 | “To[-]morrow they will be privately interrogated,” | Restored. |
| 403.31 | loaded with infi[r]mities | Added. |
| 415.34 | [“]Heaven forgive him | Added. |