So Bame testified that the man was a stranger, and had undoubtedly met his death in the flames. It was a vile falsehood that he had harmed this man, as Pence had sworn. No one had seen such a person coming from the church. In all other particulars Bame held to the truth. The jury believed him, but the judge did not. Five brethren from the Lime House swore to his good character. Then Mr. Attorney General and Mr. Barrister Eliot thundered for one short hour at the jury, and during their arguments the audience and the jurors wept and applauded in turns; but the judge held scales that were moved no more on the side of justice than his own heart, or his own face.
In those good old days, it was seldom that an accused person, placed on trial at the bar of the Old Bailey, escaped conviction. Even though the jury might fail to discover his guilt, they were such puppets in the hands of the judge that his will was their will; and as he charged both as to the facts and the law they found as he instructed. There had been cases where they had returned verdicts of acquittal, but in many of these they had been ordered to retire and again deliberate. Such deliberation always brought about the desired change. As Bame’s trial drew to a close, the prisoner had reason to tremble, for contumely had been heaped upon him at every point by the judge, whose hatred of dissenters was well known. Here it had been so violently expressed that two of the jurymen, who were Presbyterians, felt as though on trial for their own lives. It was upon these two men that Bame placed his faint hope of an acquittal. But they were the last men to run counter to the wishes of the court. They feared that all his wrath would be directed against them, and a confiscation of their estates might follow [[note 40]].
The judge charged in the same spirit in which he had ruled during the taking of testimony. Bame had showed himself a liar; he was given to ruining innocent men with false charges; he had entered the church without permission and probably with force; he had drawn a weapon in the church; it was possible that he had killed a man there, and then joined the lawless crew of thieves. The jury must not be influenced because he was a devout Brownist. That sect was to be despised. It was already growing too strong in the community, and the members merited a rebuke. He would have instructed the jury to bring in a verdict of guilty, but he saw that it was unnecessary. He proved himself a shining example for the later Jeffreys, and raised a precedent for the latter to follow in the bloody assizes. The jury were faithful to his charge, not their own, and returned a verdict of guilty.
THE MASTER HAND IS HERE.
O what a world of profit and delight,
Of power, of honor, of omnipotence
Is promised to the studious artisan.
—Faustus, i.
Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me,
From my own library, with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
—Tempest, i, 2.
The secret oratory of the king held no shadows within its square walls on a most memorable night several months after the trial of Bame. The lamp near the iron-latticed window was burning, and a fire blazed in the chimney-basket. Besides the light, other late additions to the room, contributed to dispel its inborn air of austereness. One of the tapestries from the main chamber had been removed from its hangings, and lay here upon the floor, a violent appropriation to rude uses of a trapping of royalty. Two of the easiest chairs, which had added to the luxuriousness of the same chamber, had also been brought in. But the articles which rendered most assistance in changing the room from a cell to a study, were the books shelved below the square window. These had been contributed, one at a time, by Tamworth and Peele, until a goodly library of Greek and Latin, English, French and Italian books stood against the wall.
For more than a year, in voluntary exclusion from the world, Marlowe had pursued the occupation which he had years since adopted, but in which fate now compelled him to render exclusive and unwavering service. Although he was drinking from the inexhaustible wells of inspired masters in all the provinces of thought, it was the jealous muse of dramatic poetry that alone sat beside him and commanded his powers. The alternating spaces of light and darkness in the flight of time had cut no figure in his moods for work and rest; and thus while the night had fallen upon a day of unflagging industry, he still continued working at his table. While thus engaged, a narrow space of the wall opposite the exedra swung inward, and a familiar face showed itself in the dark opening. It was that of Peele, the dramatist, and with a hearty salutation he entered, closely followed by Shakespere.
“Thou art doubly welcome,” said Marlowe, rising and grasping the outstretched hands of his unexpected visitors.