It was the moment when Mary, the recipient, as she told the French ambassador, of more graces than any living Princess; the object of the love and devotion of her subjects; her long years of misfortune ended; her record unstained, should have died. But, unfortunately, five more years of life remained to her.
The presage of coming trouble was not absent in the midst of the general rejoicing, and the first notes of discord had already been struck. Emboldened by the Requiem celebrated in the Tower, a priest had taken courage, and had said Mass in the Church of St. Bartholomew in the City. It was then seen how far the people were from being unanimous in including in their devotion to the Queen toleration for her religion. “This day,” reports a news-letter of August 11, “an old priest said Mass at St. Bartholomew’s, but after that Mass was done, the people would have pulled him to pieces.”[188] “When they saw him go up to the altar,” says Griffet, “there was a great tumult, some attempting to throw themselves upon him and strike him, others trying to prevent this violence, so that there came near to being blood shed.”[189]
Scenes of this nature, with the open declarations of the Protestants that they would meet the re-establishment of the old worship with an armed resistance, and that it would be necessary to pass over the bodies of twenty thousand men before a single Mass should be quietly said in London, were warnings of rocks ahead. That Mary recognised the gravity of the situation was proved by the fact that, after an interview with the Mayor, she permitted the priest who had disregarded the law to be put into prison, although taking care that an opportunity of escape should shortly be afforded him.[190]
A proclamation made in the middle of August also testified to some desire upon the Queen’s part, at this stage, to adopt a policy of conciliation. In it she declared that it was her will “that all men should embrace that religion which all men knew she had of long time observed, and meant, God willing, to continue the same; willing all men to be quiet, and not call men the names of heretick and papist, but each man to live after the religion he thought best until further order were taken concerning the same.”[191]
Though the liberty granted was only provisional and temporary, there was nothing in the proclamation to foreshadow the fires of Smithfield, and it was calculated to allay any fears or forebodings disquieting the minds of loyal subjects.
CHAPTER XX
1553 Trial and condemnation of Northumberland—His recantation—Final scenes—Lady Jane’s fate in the balances—A conversation with her.
The great subject of interest agitating the capital, when the excitement attending the Queen’s triumphal entry had had time to subside, was the approaching trial of the Duke of Northumberland and his principal accomplices. On August 18 the great conspirator, with his son, the Earl of Warwick, and the Marquis of Northampton, were arraigned at Westminster Hall, the Duke of Norfolk, lately himself a prisoner, presiding, as High Steward of England, at the trial.
Its issue was a foregone conclusion. If ever man deserved to suffer the penalty for high treason, that man was Northumberland. His brain had devised the plot intended to keep the Queen out of the heritage hers by birth and right; his hand had done what was possible to execute it. He had commanded in person the forces arrayed against her, and had been taken, as it were, red-handed. He must have recognised the fact that any attempt at a defence would be hopeless. Two points of law, however, he raised: Could a man, acting by warrant of the great seal of England, and by the authority of the Council, be accused of high treason? And further, could he be judged by those who, implicated in the same offence, were his fellow-culprits?