Desiring to show that the resolution he had taken to separate from Catherine was immutable, the king had lodged Anne Boleyn in the palace at Greenwich, although the queen was still there, and had given her a reception room and a royal state. The crowd of courtiers, abandoning the setting star, turned towards that which was appearing above the horizon. Henry respected Anne’s person and was eager that all the world should know that if she was not actually queen she would be so one day. There was a want of delicacy and principle in the king’s conduct, at which the catholic party were much irritated, and not without a cause.
The monks of St. Francis who officiated in the royal chapel at Greenwich took every opportunity of asserting their attachment to Catherine and to the pope. Anne vainly tried to gain them over by her charms; if she succeeded with a few, she failed with the greater number. Their superior, Father Forest, Catherine’s confessor, warmly defended the rights of that unhappy princess. Preaching at St. Paul’s Cross, he delivered a sermon in which Henry was violently attacked, although he was not named. Those who had heard it made a great noise about it, and Forest was summoned to the court. ‘What will be done to him?’ people asked; but instead of sending him to prison, as many expected, the king received him well, spoke with him for half an hour, and ‘sent him a great piece of beef from his own table.’
On returning to his convent, Forest described with triumph this flattering reception; but the king did not attain his object. Among these monks there were men of independent, perhaps of fanatical, character, whom no favors could gain over.
One of them, by name Peto, until then unknown, but afterwards of great repute in the catholic world as cardinal legate from the pope in England,[[204]] thinking that Forest had not said enough, determined to go further. Anne Boleyn’s elevation filled him with anger: he longed to speak out, and as the king and all the court would be present in the chapel on the 1st of May, he chose for his text the words of the prophet Elijah to King Ahab: The dogs shall lick thy blood.[[205]] He drew a portrait of Ahab, described his malice and wickedness, and although he did not name Henry VIII., certain passages made the hearers feel uncomfortable. At the peroration, turning towards the king, he said: ‘Now hear, O king, what I have to say unto thee, as of old time Micaiah spoke to Ahab. This new marriage is unlawful. There are other preachers who, to become rich abbots or mighty bishops, betray thy soul, thy honor, and thy posterity. Take heed lest thou, being seduced like Ahab, find Ahab’s punishment ... who had his blood licked up by the dogs.’
The court was astounded; but the king, whose features were unmoved during this apostrophe, waited until the end of the service, left the chapel as if nothing had happened, and allowed Peto to depart for Canterbury. But Henry could not permit such invectives to pass unnoticed. A clergyman named Kirwan was commissioned to preach in the same chapel on the following Sunday. The congregation was still more numerous than before, and more curious also. Some monks of the order of Observants, friends of Peto, got into the rood-loft, determined to defend him. The doctor began his sermon. After establishing the lawfulness of Henry’s intended marriage, he came to the sermon of the preceding Sunday and the insults of the preacher. ‘I speak to thee, Peto,’ he exclaimed, ‘who makest thyself Micaiah; we look for thee, but thou art not to be found, having fled for fear and shame.’ There was a noise in the rood-loft, and one of the Observants named Elstow rose and called out: ‘You know that Father Peto is gone to Canterbury to a provincial council, but I am here to answer you. And to this combat I challenge thee, Kirwan, prophet of lies, who for thy own vainglory art betraying thy king into endless perdition.’
The chapel was instantly one scene of confusion: nothing could be heard. Then the king rose: his princely stature, his royal air, his majestic manners overawed the crowd. All were silent, and the agitated congregation left the chapel respectfully. Peto and his friend were summoned before the council. ‘You deserve to be sewn in a sack and thrown into the Thames,’ said one. ‘We fear nothing,’ answered Elstow; ‘the way to heaven is as short by water as by land.’[[206]]
Henry having thus made war on the partisans of the pope, turned to those of the Reformation. Like a child, he see-sawed to and fro, first on one side, then on the other; but his sport was a more terrible one, for every time he touched the ground the blood spurted forth.
Christian Meetings In London.
At that time there were many Christians in England to whom the Roman worship brought no edification. Having procured Tyndale’s translation of the Word of God, they felt that they possessed it not only for themselves but for others. They sought each others company, and met together to read the Bible and receive spiritual graces from God. Several Christian assemblies of this kind had been formed in London, in garrets, in warehouses, schools and shops, and one of them was held in a warehouse in Bow Lane. Among its frequenters was the son of a Gloucestershire knight, James Bainham, by name, a man well read in the classics, and a distinguished lawyer, respected by all for his piety and works of charity. To give advice freely to widows and orphans, to see justice done to the oppressed, to aid poor students, protect pious persons, and visit the prisons, were his daily occupations. ‘He was an earnest reader of Scripture, and mightily addicted to prayer.’[[207]] When he entered the meeting, every one could see that his countenance expressed a calm joy; but for a month past his Bow Lane friends noticed him to be agitated and cast down, and heard him sighing heavily. The cause was this. Sometime before (in 1531), when he was engaged about his business in the Middle Temple, this ‘model of lawyers’ had been arrested by order of More, who was still chancellor, and taken like a criminal to the house of the celebrated humanist at Chelsea. Sir Thomas, quite distressed at seeing a man so distinguished leave the Church of Rome, had employed all his eloquence to bring him back; but finding his efforts useless, he had ordered Bainham to be taken into his garden and tied to ‘the tree of truth.’ There the chancellor whipped him, or caused him to be whipped: we adopt the latter version, which is more probable.[[208]] Bainham having refused to give the names of the gentlemen of the Temple tainted with heresy, he was taken to the Tower. ‘Put him on the rack,’ cried the learned chancellor, now become a fanatical persecutor. The order was obeyed in his presence. The arms and legs of the unfortunate protestant were seized by the instrument and pulled in opposite directions; his limbs were dislocated, and he went lame out of the torture-chamber.[[209]]
Bainham Persecuted.