Lady Jane Grey and Her Times

by Ida A. Taylor

It was true that he might have hesitated to communicate the fears and misgivings by which he was beset to a guide at so great a distance, had not John ab Ulmis—who, as portrayed by these letters, was somewhat of a busybody, eager to bring all his friends into personal relations, and above all to magnify the authority and importance of his master in spiritual things—just come in and encouraged him to write, stating that it would give Bullinger great satisfaction to be informed of the condition of religion in England, and likewise—a more mundane curiosity—of that of the Suffolk household. Entering into a description of both, therefore, in a missive containing some three thousand words, Haddon fully detailed the sorrows and perplexities attending the exercise of the office of chaplain, even in the most orthodox and pious of houses.

After dealing with the first and important subject of religion at large, he proceeded to treat of the more complicated question—the condition of the ducal household, and especially the duties attaching to his own post.

Of the general regulation of the house, Ulmis, he said, was more capable than he of giving an account. It was rather to be desired that Bullinger should point out the method he would recommend. But upon one point Haddon was anxious to obtain the advice of so eminent a counsellor, and he went on to explain at length the case of conscience by which he had been troubled. This was upon the question of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of conniving, by silence, at the practice of gambling.

The situation was this. The Duke and Duchess had strictly forbidden the members of their household to play at cards or dice for money. So far they had the entire approval of their chaplain. But—and here came in Haddon’s cause of perplexity—the Duke himself and his most honourable lady, with their friends—perhaps, too, their daughter, though there is no mention of her—not only claimed a right to play in their private apartments, but also to play for money. The divergence between precept and practice—common in all ages—was grievous to the chaplain, weighted with the responsibility for the spiritual and moral welfare of the whole establishment, from his “patron” the Duke, down to the lowest of the menials. At wearisome and painstaking length he recapitulated the arguments he was wont to employ in his remonstrances against the gambling propensities he deplored, retailing, as well, the arguments with which the offenders met them. “In this manner and to this effect,” he says, “the dispute is often carried on.”

During the past months matters had reached a climax. As late as up to the previous Christmas he had confined himself to administering private rebukes; but, perceiving that his words had taken no effect, he had forewarned the culprits that a public reprimand would follow a continued disregard of his monitions. Upon this he had been relieved to perceive that there had been for a time a cessation of the reprehensible form of amusement, and had cherished a hope that all would be well. It had been a vain one. Christmas had come round—the season marked by mummeries and wickedness of every kind, when persons especially served the devil in imitation, as it seemed, of the ancient Saturnalia; and though this was happily not the case in the Suffolk family, Duke and Duchess had joined in the general backsliding to the extent of returning to their old evil habit. Such being the case, Haddon had felt that he had no choice but to carry out his threat.

In his Christmas sermon he had taken occasion to administer a reproof as to the general fashion of keeping the feast, including in his rebuke, “though in common and general terms,” those who played cards for money. No one in the household was at a loss to fix upon the offenders at whom the shaft was directed. The Duke’s servants, if they followed his example, took care never to be detected in so doing; and, accepting the reprimand as addressed to themselves, the Duke and Duchess took it in bad part, arguing that Haddon would have performed all that duty required of him by a private remonstrance. From that time, offence having been given by his plain speech, the chaplain had returned to his old custom of administering only private rebukes; thus conniving, in a measure, at the practice he condemned, lest loss of influence in matters of greater moment should follow. “I bear with it,” he sighed, “as a man who holds a wolf by the ears.” Conscience was, however, uneasy, and he begged Bullinger to advise in the matter and to determine how far such concessions might be lawfully made.

Looking impartially at the question, it says much for the Duke’s good temper and toleration that the worthy Haddon continued to fill his post, and that when, a few months later, he was promoted to be Dean of Exeter, he wrote that the affection between himself and his master was so strong that the connection would even then not be altogether severed.[132] His attitude is a curious and interesting example of the position and status of a chaplain in his day, being wholly that of a dependant, and yet carrying with it duties and rights strongly asserted on the one side and not disallowed upon the other.

The Duchess, having recovered from her illness, had taken her three daughters to visit their cousin Mary, and when the younger children were sent home Jane remained behind at St. John’s, Clerkenwell, the London dwelling of the Princess, until her father came to fetch wife and daughter away. That the whole family had been thus entertained indicates that they were at this time on a friendly footing with the Princess. But though the Duke of Suffolk was doubtless alive to the necessity of maintaining amicable relations, so far as it was possible, with his wife’s cousin and the next heir to the crown, it must have been no easy matter, at a time when party spirit ran so high, for one of the chief recognised supporters of Protestantism to continue on terms of cordiality with the head and hope of the Catholic section of the nation. Mary was not becoming more conciliatory in her bearing as time went on, and an account of a visit paid her by Ridley, now Bishop of London in place of Bonner, deprived and in prison, is illustrative of her present attitude.

From a photo by Emery Walker after a painting by Joannes Corvus in the National Portrait Gallery.