The Golden Grasshopper: A story of the days of Sir Thomas Gresham

by William Henry Giles Kingston

We reached Lombard Street without any adventure. Lady Anne stretched out her arms towards Aveline when she saw her, almost as if she had been her own child, and pressed her to her bosom.

“I will be a mother to you,” she said, gazing at her affectionately. Truly Lady Anne had a tender heart. In a short time the little girl recovered her spirits, though even in the midst of her play with young Richard she would sometimes stop, and the tears would come into her eyes. I knew then that she was thinking of her mother.

Richard was a delicate boy. He had gone to school at first with me, but was unable to bear the rough treatment there, and he accordingly remained at home, his mother being well competent to teach him various branches of learning, while certain masters came at times to impart other knowledge. He and Aveline soon became great friends. He watched over her as if she was his sister, and she regarded him in the light of a brother. He was never weary of playing with her, albeit she now and then gave herself not a few airs when he was inclined to humour her. Yet she was in no degree wayward, but always obedient and affectionate to the Lady Anne.

Master Gresham returned from Spain, and proceeded again in the course of a few days to Antwerp.

I may say here, that I did not note down his comings and goings. Sometimes he remained in England only four or five days, scarcely sufficient to recruit his strength, and then once more returned about the Queen’s business to Antwerp. He came over while King Philip was in England, and I heard him tell Lady Anne that he was greatly disconcerted with the course events were taking; that a war with France would neither be profitable nor honourable; but the King had set his mind on it; and the Queen, from her foolish fondness, would carry out his wishes, even though it might prove the destruction of her kingdom.

A’Dale came to me one day about this time, and told me that he was growing tired of the life of a mercer’s apprentice, and that he was minded to join the English forces who were going out to aid the Spanish army on the Flemish frontier. It was to consist of seven thousand men: four of infantry, one of cavalry, and two of pioneers. I had two strong reasons to urge against this; one was that he would be united with Romanists and supporting the cause of Rome and tyranny; and the other, that being in an honourable position which must some day become profitable to him, when he might marry and settle down as a citizen, he would be wrong to abandon it for one where he might lose his life or limbs, and, moreover, be employed in slaughtering his fellow-creatures. He laughed at what he called my new ideas. I said that I was sure they were right ideas, and that God never intended men to fight and destroy one another.

“But if our country were attacked by foes, would you not fight?” he asked.

“That is a different case,” I said. “If I found myself a soldier, a soldier I would remain, or if the country were attacked, I would become one for the sake of defending it; but you have an honourable, peaceable calling, and you propose quitting it without necessity for the sake of going and fighting on the side of a people for whom you have no love, against a nation many of whom are true Protestants and friendly disposed to England.”

He replied that he would think over what I had said; but I was afraid I had made but little impression on him.

The army set forth without him, however. Some time after this I had still greater difficulty in persuading him to remain at home, when news came of the great battle fought on the banks of the Somme, near the town of Saint Quentin. On one side were the Spanish, English, Flemish, and German host, under the Duke of Savoy. The French were under Constable Montmorency. They were beaten, with a dreadful loss. Never since the fatal day of Agincourt had the French suffered a more disastrous defeat. Six thousand were slain, and there were as many prisoners taken. The Admiral Coligny bravely defended Saint Quentin to the last, but the place was at length taken by storm, amidst horrors unspeakable.