The Tower of London 43
Entertaining no hopes of mercy, Jane's whole time was past in preparation for her end. Except the few hours of refreshment actually required by nature, every moment was devoted to the most intense application, or to fervent prayer. By degrees, all trace of sorrow vanished from her features, and thev assumed a spiritualized and almost angelic __EXPRESSION__. Lovely as she was before, she looked far more lovely now--or rather her beauty was of a more refined and exalted character. She was frequently visited by the queen's confessor, Feckenham, who used every effort to induce her to renounce her religion,--but in vain. When told that the sure way to her Majesty's favour would be to embrace the faith of Rome--she replied that, anxious as she was to obtain the queen's forgiveness, she could not purchase it at the price of her salvation, and that the only favour she desired was to pass the brief residue of her days unmolested. Northumberland's apostacy was a terrible shock to her. Feckenham brought the intelligence, and boasted of the convert the Catholic Church had gained.
"You may have induced the Duke to recant with his lips, sir," replied Jane ; "but of this I am assured, he died a Protestant in heart."
"It may be so," rejoined Feckenham. "He was hypocrite enough to act thus. It is enough for us that he publicly abjured his errors. And before long, others of his house will follow his example."
"What mean you, sir ?" demanded Jane, anxiously. "You do not surely allude to my husband ?"
Feckenham made no reply,but with a significant smile departed. The insinuation was not lost upon Jane. And now she more than ever lamented that she was not near her husband, to strengthen his wavering faith, and confirm his resolution. Well knowing that his character in a great measure resembled his father's, she feared that the inducement held out by his enemies might be too much for his resistance. Unable to communicate her fears to him--or to offer any of the counsel her heart suggested, she could only relieve her distresses by earnest supplications in his behalf. But even prayer did not on this occasion afford her the consolation it was wont to do. The Duke of Northumberland's recantation perpetually haunted her ; and the thought that her husband might be made a similar example filled her with inexpressible dread. .
While suffering from these agonising reflections, she received another visit from Feckenham. The __EXPRESSION__ of his countenance, which was triumphing and sinister, alarmed her, and she almost felt unwilling, though at the same time anxious, to question him.
After enjoying her suspense for a few minutes, he said, "Daughter, you blamed the Duke of Northumberland for being reconciled to our church. What, if I inform you that Lord Guilford Dudley has been likewise converted ?"
"I should indeed be grieved to hear it," replied Jane, in a tone of anguish ; "but I trust it is not so."
"It is as I have said," answered Feckenham.
"Heaven pardon him!" exclaimed Jane. "You bring me ill news, indeed. I had far rather you came to tell me the executioner was waiting for me--nay, that my husband was about to be led to the block--than this fatal intelligence. I thought our separation would be short. But now I find it will be eternal."
"You are in error, daughter," rejoined Feckenham, sternly. "You will neither be separated from your husband in this world, nor the next, if you are equally conformable."
"Am I to understand, then, that his apostacy, for I can give it no milder term, has been purchased by an offer of pardon ?" demanded Jane.
"I said not so, daughter," replied Feckenham; "but I now tell you that his hopes of grace rest with yourself."
"With me ?" cried Jane, with a look of agony.
"With you, daughter," repeated the confessor. "Much as it rejoices our pious Queen to win over one soul like that of Lord Guilford Dudley to the true faith--gladly as she will receive his recantation, she will pledge herself to mercy only on one condition."
"And that is--"
"Your conversion."
"A safe promise, for her clemency will never be exhibited,"
replied Jane. "Not even to purchase my husband's life would I consent. I would willingly die to bring him back to the paths from which he has strayed. But I will not surrender myself to Rome and her abominations."
"Your firmness, in a good cause, daughter, would elicit my approbation," replied Feckenham. "As it is, it only excites my compassion. I am deeply concerned to see one so richly gifted so miserably benighted--one so fair so foully spotted with heresy. I should esteem it a glorious victory over Satan to rescue your soul from perdition, and will spare no pains to do so."
"It is in vain, sir," replied Jane; "and if I have hitherto repressed my anger at these solicitations, it is because feeling firm in myself, I look upon them merely as an annoyance, to which it is my duty to submit with patience. But when I perceive the mischief they have done to others, I can no longer contain my indignation. Yours is a pernicious and idolatrous religion,--a religion founded on the traditions of men, not on the word of God--a religion detracting from the merits of our Saviour--substituting mummery for the simple offices of prayer,--and though I will not be uncharitable enough to assert that its sincere professors will not be saved,--yet I am satisfied, that no one to whom the true light of heaven has once been vouchsafed, can believe in it, or be saved by it."
"Since you are thus obstinate, daughter," replied Feckenham, "let us dispute point by point, and dogma by dogma, of our creeds, and I think I can convince you of the error in which you rest. Do not fear wearying me. I cannot be better employed." "Pardon me, then, sir, if I reply, than I _can_ be far better employed," returned Jane ; "and, though I would not shrink from such a discussion--were it useful,--and do not fear its result, yet, as no good can arise from it, I must decline it."
"As you please, daughter," rejoined Feckenham. "But I must own that your refusal to accept my challenge seems a tacit admission of the weakness of your cause."
"Put what construction you please upon it, sir,--so you leave me in peace," replied Jane. "I will fight the good fight when called upon to do so. But I will not waste the little time that remains to me in fruitless disputation."
"Before I depart, however, daughter," rejoined Feckenham, "let me deliver your husband's message to you."
"What is it ?" inquired Jane, eagerly,--"and yet, I almost dread to ask."
"He implored you not to be his executioner," answered Feckenham.
"_His_ executioner!--my husband's executioner!--oh, no!--no! that I can never be !" cried Jane, bursting into tears.
"That you _will_ be, unless you consent," replied the priest, coldtly.
"I beseech you, sir, urge me no further," rejoined Jane.
"I would lay down my life for my husband a thousand times, but I cannot save him thus. Tell him that I will pray for him night and day,--and oh! tell him that his swerving from his faith has wounded me more severely than the axe will ever do."
"I shall tell him that I left you in the same obstinate state I found you--deaf to the voice of truth--inaccessible to natural affection, and besotted with heresy. Daughter, you love not your husband."
"Not love him !" echoed Jane, passionately. "But no,--you shall not shake my firmness. I thought to die calmly, and I looked forward to death as to a certain restoration to my husband. This hope is now at an end. It is you, sir, who are his true executioner. Not content with robbing him of his eternal happiness, you impute his destruction to me. Tell him I love him too well to grant his request--and if he loves me, and hopes to be reunited to me in the bonds of unceasing happiness, he will remain unshaken in his adherence to the Protestant faith."
"Then you absolutely refuse compliance?" demanded Fecken-ham.
"Absolutely," replied Jane.
"Your husband's blood be upon your head !" exclaimed the confessor, in a menacing voice.
And without another word, he departed.
As soon as the door of her chamber was locked, and Jane felt herself alone, she threw herself on her knees, and was about to pour out her heart in earnest supplication for her husband, but the shock had been too great for her, and she fainted. On reviving, she was scarcely able to move, and it was some time before she entirely regained her strength.
Repairing to the palace, Feckenham detailed the interview to the queen, observing in conclusion, "I still do not despair of her conversion, and shall leave no means untried to accomplish it." The next day, he again visited Jane, but with no better success. He found her in great affliction, and she earnestly implored to be allowed to see her husband, if only for a few minutes, and in the presence of witnesses. The confessor replied that in her present frame of mind her request could not be granted. But that if she showed herself conformable she should no longer be separated from him, and he would answer for their ultimate pardon. "I have already acquainted you with my determination, sir," rejoined Jane, "and you will seek in vain to move me. The rack should not shake my constancy ; neither shall the mental torture to which you subject me."
When Feckenham reported the result of his mission to Gardiner, the bishop decided upon holding a religious conference with the captive, feeling confident that notwithstanding her boasted learning and zeal, he could easily overcome her in argument. To induce her to assent to the plan, it was agreed that a meeting should be allowed between her and her husband on
the occasion. When the matter was announced to Jane, she readily expressed her acquiescence, and begged that it might not be delayed, as she had no preparation to make. "Take heed," she observed, in conclusion, "lest I win back from you the treasure you have gained."
"We shall add to it a greater treasure--yourself, madam," replied the confessor.
On the following day, she was summoned by an officer of the guard to attend the Bishop in the Beauchamp Tower. Taking up a volume of the Holy scriptures lying on a table beside her, and wrapping herself in an ermined surcoat, she arose and followed the officer--quitting her chamber for the first time for nearly two months. On issuing into the open air, the effect was almost overpowering, and she could not repress her tears.
It was a bright, sunshiny morning, and everything looked so beautiful--so happy, that the contrast with her recent sufferings was almost too much for her. Bearing up resolutely against her feelings, in order forcibly to divert her attention she fixed her eyes upon the reverend walls of the White Tower, which she was at that moment passing. Near it she perceived the three gigantic warders, all of whom doffed their caps as she approached. Og coughed loudly, as if to clear his throat ; Gog hastily brushed the moisture from his eyes with his sleeve ; while Magog, who was the most tender-hearted of the three, fairly blubbered aloud. Xit, who formed one of the group, but who was the least affected, bade her be of good cheer.
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