The eyes of all were now directed inquiringly to the king, of whose ferocity and choler every one expected a violent outbreak.
But this time they were mistaken. The king was so well satisfied to find his consort clear of the crime laid to her charge, that he willingly forgave her for having committed a crime of less weighty character. Besides, it filled him with respect to see his consort confronting her accusers so boldly and proudly; and he felt toward them just as burning wrath and hatred as he had before harbored against the queen. He was pleased that the malignant and persistent persecutors of his fair and proud wife should now be humbled by her before the eyes of all his court.
Therefore he looked at her with an imperceptible smile, and said with deep interest: “But how could this happen, my lady? By what path did you get thither?”
“That is an inquiry which any one except the king is authorized to make. King Henry alone knows the way that I went!” said Catharine, with a slight smile.
John Heywood, who was still standing behind the king’s throne, now bent down close to Henry’s ear, and spoke with him a long time in a quick, low tone.
The king listened to him attentively; then he murmured so loud that the bystanders could very well understand him: “By God, she is a spirited and brave woman; and we should be obliged to confess that, even were she not our queen!”
“Continue, my lady!” said he then aloud, turning to the queen with a gracious look. “Relate to me, Catharine, what saw you then in the torture-chamber?”
“Oh, my king and lord, it horrifies me only to think of it,” cried she, shuddering and turning pale. “I saw a poor young woman who writhed in fearful agony, and whose staring eyes were raised in mute supplication to Heaven. She did not beg her tormentors for mercy; she wanted from them no compassion and no pity; she did not scream and whine from the pain, though her limbs cracked and her flesh snapped apart like glass; she raised her clasped hands to God, and her lips murmured low prayers, which, perhaps, made the angels of heaven weep, but were not able to touch the hearts of her tormentors. You had ordered her to be racked, if she would not retract. They did not ask her whether she would do this—they racked her. But her soul was strong and full of courage; and, under the tortures of the executioner, her lips remained mute. Let theologians say and determine whether Anne Askew’s faith was a false one; but this they will not dare deny: that in the noble enthusiasm of this faith, she was a heroine who at least did not deny her God. At length, worn out with so much useless exertion, the assistant executioners discontinued their bloody work, to rest from the tortures which they had prepared for Anne Askew. The lieutenant of the Tower declared the work of the rack ended. The highest degrees had been applied, and they had proved powerless; cruelty was obliged to acknowledge itself conquered. But the priests of the Church, with savage vehemence, demanded that she should be racked once more. Dare deny that, ye lords, whom I behold standing there opposite with faces pale as death! Yes, my king, the servants of the rack refused to obey the servants of God; for in the hearts of the hangman’s drudges there was more pity than in the hearts of the priests! And when they refused to proceed in their bloody work, and when the lieutenant of the Tower, in virtue of the existing law, declared the racking at an end, then I saw one of the first ministers of our Church throw aside his sacred garments; then the priest of God transformed himself into a hangman’s drudge, who, with bloodthirsty delight, lacerated anew the noble mangled body of the young girl, and more cruel than the attendants of the rack, unsparingly they broke and dislocated the limbs, which they had only squeezed in their screws. [Footnote: Burnet’s “History of the Reformation,” vol. i, p. 132.] Excuse me, my king, from sketching this scene of horror still further! Horrified and trembling, I fled from that frightful place, and returned to my room, shattered and sad at heart.”
Catharine ceased, exhausted, and sank back into her seat.
A breathless stillness reigned around. All faces were pale and colorless. Gardiner and Wriothesley stood with their eyes fixed, gloomy and defiant, expecting that the king’s wrath would crush and destroy them.