“Will you not take some refreshment, madam?” asked Angela.
“No,” replied Jane. “I have done with the body.”
The morning was damp and dark. A thaw came on a little before daybreak, and a drizzling shower of rain fell.
This was succeeded by a thick mist, and the whole of the fortress was for a while enveloped in vapor. It brought to Jane’s mind the day on which she was taken to trial. But a moral gloom likewise overspread the fortress. Every one within it, save her few enemies (and they were few indeed), lamented Jane’s approaching fate. Her youth, her innocence, her piety, touched the sternest breast, and moved the pity even of her persecutors. All felt that morning as if some dire calamity were at hand, and instead of looking forward to the execution as an exciting spectacle (for so such revolting exhibitions were then considered), they wished it over. Many a prayer was breathed for the speedy release of the sufferer — many a sigh heaved — many a groan uttered: and if ever soul was wafted to heaven by the fervent wishes of those on earth, Jane’s was so.
It was late before there were any signs of stir and bustle within the fortress. Even the soldiers gathered together reluctantly — and those who conversed, spoke in whispers. Dudley, who it has been stated was imprisoned in the Beauchamp Tower, had passed the greater part of the night in devotion. But towards morning he became restless and uneasy, and unable to compose himself, resorted to the customary employment of captives in such cases, and with a nail which he had found, carved his wife’s name in two places on the walls of his prison. These inscriptions still remain.
At nine o’clock the bell of the chapel began to toll, and an escort of halberdiers and arquebusiers drew up before the Beauchamp Tower, while Sir Thomas Brydges and Feckenham entered the chamber of the prisoner, who received them with an unmoved countenance.
“Before you set out upon a journey from which you will never return, my lord,” said Feckenham, “I would ask you for the last time if any change has taken place in your religious sentiments, and whether you are yet alive to the welfare of your soul?”
“Why not promise me pardon if I will recant on the scaffold, and silence me as you silenced the Duke my father, by the axe!” replied Dudley sternly. “No, sir, I will have naught to do with your false and idolatrous creed. I shall die a firm believer in the Gospel, and trust to be saved by it.”
“Then perish, body and soul,” replied Feckenham harshly. “Sir Thomas Brydges, I commit him to your hands.”
“Am I to be allowed no parting with my wife?” demanded Dudley anxiously.
“You have parted with her forever, heretic and unbeliever!” rejoined Feckenham.
“That speech will haunt your deathbed, sir,” retorted Dudley sternly. And he turned to the lieutenant, and signified that he was ready.
“The first object that met Dudley’s gaze as he issued from his prison was the scaffold on the Green. He looked at it for a moment wistfully.
“It is for Lady Jane,” observed the lieutenant.
“I know it,” replied Dudley, in a voice of intense emotion. “I thank you for letting me die first.”
“You must thank the Queen, my lord,” returned Brydges. “It was her order.”
“Shall you see my wife, sir?” demanded Dudley anxiously.
The lieutenant answered in the affirmative.
“Tell her I will be with her on the scaffold,” said Dudley.
As he was about to set forward, a young man pushed through the lines of halberdiers, and threw himself at his feet. It was Cholmondeley. Dudley instantly raised and embraced him. “At least I see one whom I love,” he cried.
“My lord, this interruption must not be,” observed the lieutenant. “If you do not retire,” he added to Cholmondeley, “I shall place you in arrest.”
“Farewell, my dear lord,” cried the weeping esquire—” farewell I”
“Farewell, forever!” returned Dudley, as Cholmondeley was forced back by the guard.
The escort then moved forward, and the lieutenant accompanied the prisoner to the gateway of the Middle Tower, where he delivered him to the sheriffs and their officers, who were waiting there for him with a Franciscan friar, and then returned to fulfil his more painful duty. A vast crowd was collected on Tower Hill, and the strongest commiseration was expressed for Dudley as he was led to the scaffold, on which Mauger had already taken his station.
On quitting the Beauchamp Tower, Feckenham proceeded to Jane’s prison. He found her on her knees, but she immediately arose.
“Is it time?” she asked.
“It is, madam, — to repent,” replied Feckenham sternly. “A few minutes are all that now remain to you of life — nay, at this moment, perhaps, your husband is called before his Eternal Judge. There is yet time. Do not perish like him in your sins.”
“Heaven have mercy upon him!” cried Jane, falling on her knees.
And notwithstanding the importunities of the confessor, she continued in fervent prayer till the appearance of Sir Thomas Brydges. She instantly understood why he came, and rising, prepared for departure. Almost blinded by tears, Angela rendered her the last services she required. This done, the lieutenant, who was likewise greatly affected, begged some slight remembrance of her.
“I have nothing to give you but this book of prayers, sir,” she answered, “but you shall have that when I have done with it, and may it profit you.”
“You will receive it only to cast it into the flames, my son,” remarked Feckenham.
“On the contrary, I shall treasure it like a priceless gem,” replied Brydges.
“You will find a prayer written in it in my own hand,” said Jane. “And again I say, may it profit you.”
Brydges then passed through the door, and Jane followed him. A band of halberdiers were without. At the sight of her a deep and general sympathy was manifested; not an eye was dry, and tears trickled down cheeks unaccustomed to such moisture. The melancholy train proceeded at a slow pace. Jane fixed her eyes upon the prayer-book, which she read aloud to drown the importunities of the confessor, who walked on her right, while Angela kept near her on the other side. And so they reached the Green.
By this time the fog had cleared off, and the rain had ceased; but the atmosphere was humid, and the day lowering and gloomy. Very few spectators were assembled — for it required firm nerves to witness such a tragedy. A flock of carrion-crows and ravens, attracted by their fearful instinct, wheeled around overhead, or settled on the branches of the bare and leafless trees, and by their croaking added to the dismal character of the scene. The bell continued tolling all the time.
The sole person upon the scaffold was Wolfytt. He was occupied in scattering straw near the block. Among the bystanders was Sorrocold leaning on his staff; and as Jane for a moment raised her eyes as she passed along, she perceived Roger Ascham. Her old preceptor had obeyed her, and she repaid him with a look of gratitude.
By the lieutenant’s directions she was conducted for a short time into the Beauchamp Tower, and here Feckenham continued his persecutions, until a deep groan arose among those without, and an officer abruptly entered the room.
“Madam,” said Sir John Brydges, after the new-comer had delivered his message, “we must set forth.”
Jane made a motion of assent, and the party issued from the Beauchamp Tower, in front of which a band of halberdiers was drawn up. A wide open space was kept clear around the scaffold. Jane seemed unconscious of all that was passing. Preceded by the lieutenant, who took his way towards the north of the scaffold, and attended on either side by Feckenham and Angela as before, she kept her eyes steadily fixed on her prayer-book.
Arrived within a short distance of the fatal spot, she was startled by a scream from Angela, and looking up, beheld four soldiers carrying a litter covered with a cloth, and advancing toward her. She knew it was the body of her husband, and unprepared for so terrible an encounter, uttered a cry of horror. The bearers of the litter passed on, and entered the porch of the chapel.
While this took place, Mauger, who had limped back as fast as he could after his bloody work on Tower Hill — only tarrying a moment to exchange his axe — ascended the steps of the scaffold, and ordered Wolfytt to get down. Sir Thomas Brydges, who was greatly shocked at what had just occurred, and would have prevented it if it had been possible, returned to Jane and offered her his assistance. But she did not require it. The force of the shock had passed away, and she firmly mounted the scaffold.
When she was seen there a groan of compassion arose from the spectators, and prayers were audibly uttered. She then advanced to the rail, and in a clear distinct voice, spoke as follows: —
“I pray you all to bear me witness that I die a true Christian woman, and that I look to be saved by no other means except the mercy of God, and the merits of the blood of His only Son Jesus Christ. I confess when I knew the Word of God I neglected it, and loved myself and the world, and therefore this punishment is a just return for my sins. But I thank God of His goodness that He has given me a time and respite to repent. And now, good people, while I am alive, I pray you assist me with your prayers.”
Many fervent responses followed, and several of the bystanders imitated Jane’s example, as, on the conclusion of her speech, she fell on her knees and recited the Miserere.
At its close, Feckenham said in a loud voice, “ I ask you, madam, for the last time, will you repent?”
“I pray you, sir, to desist,” replied Jane meekly. “I am now at peace with all the world, and would die so.” She then arose, and giving the prayer-book to Angela, said, “When all is over, deliver this to the lieutenant. These,” she added, taking off her gloves and collar, “I give to you.”
“And to me,” cried Mauger, advancing and prostrating himself before her according to custom, “you give grace.”
“And also my head,” replied Jane. “I forgive thee heartily, fellow. Thou art my best friend.”
“What ails you, madam?” remarked the lieutenant, observing Jane suddenly start and tremble.
“Not much,” she replied, “but I thought I saw my husband pale and bleeding.”
“Where?” demanded the lieutenant, recalling Dudley’s speech.
“There, near the block,” replied Jane. “I see the figure still. But it must be mere fantasy.”
Whatever his thoughts were, the lieutenant made no reply; and Jane turned to Angela, who now began with trembling hands to remove her attire, and was trying to take off her velvet robe, when Mauger offered to assist her, but was instantly repulsed.
He then withdrew, and stationing himself by the block, assumed his hideous black mask, and shouldered his axe.
Partially disrobed, Jane bowed her head, while Angela tied a kerchief over her eyes, and turned her long tresses over her head to be out of the way. Unable to control herself, she then turned aside, and wept aloud. Jane moved forward in search of the block, but fearful of making a false step, felt for it with her hands, and cried, “What shall I do? — Where is it? — Where is it?”
Sir Thomas Brydges took her hand and guided her to it. At this awful moment there was a slight movement in the crowd, some of whom pressed nearer the scaffold, and amongst others, Sorrocold and Wolfytt. The latter caught hold of the boards to obtain a better view. Angela placed her hands before her eyes, and would have suspended her being if she could; and even Feckenham veiled his countenance with his robe. Sir Thomas Brydges gazed firmly on.
By this time Jane had placed her head on the block, and her last words were, “Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit!”
The axe then fell, and one of the fairest and wisest heads that ever sat on human shoulders fell likewise.
Thus ends the Chronicle of the Tower of London
THE END
GUY FAWKES
OR, THE GUNPOWDER TREASON. AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE
First appearing as a serial in Bentley’s Miscellany between January and November 1840, Guy Fawkes was subsequently published as a three volume novel in July 1841, with illustrations by George Cruikshank. The first of William Harrison Ainsworth’s seven “Lancashire novels”, the story is based on the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, narrating the unsuccessful attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament. Ainsworth relies heavily on historical documents describing the trial and execution of the conspirators, of whom Fawkes was one, whilst the author noticeably embellishes known facts for dramatic effect. He introduces the fictional character of Viviana Radcliffe, daughter of the prominent Radcliffe family of Ordsall Hall – who becomes Fawkes’s wife – and employs supernatural elements in the narrative, such as the ability of the alchemist, John Dee, to raise the spirits of the dead.
The novel’s themes deal with British politics and history, focusing on the events surrounding the 1605 plot to destroy Parliament. Ainsworth once again utilises gothic features to add dramatic interest to the work. The novel was popular with the reading public, though it was not universally admired by critics, with Edgar Allan Poe describing the style of writing as “turgid pretension”.
The original frontispiece by George Cruikshank
CONTENTS
PREFACE.
BOOK THE FIRST. THE PLOT.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
BOOK THE SECOND. THE DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
BOOK THE THIRD. THE CONSPIRATORS.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
TO MRS. HUGHES,
KINGSTON LISLE, BERKS.
My dear Mrs. Hughes,
You are aware that this Romance was brought to a close during my last brief visit at Kingston Lisle, when the time necessary to be devoted to it deprived me of the full enjoyment of your society, and, limiting my range — no very irksome restriction, — to your own charming garden and grounds, prevented me from accompanying you in your walks to your favourite and beautiful downs. This circumstance, which will suffice to give it some interest in your eyes by associating it with your residence, furnishes me with a plea, of which I gladly avail myself, of inscribing it with your name, and of recording, at the same time, the high sense I entertain of your goodness and worth, the value I set upon your friendship, — a friendship shared in common with some of the most illustrious writers of our time, — and the gratitude I shall never cease to feel for attentions and kindnesses, little less than maternal, which I have experienced at your hands.
In the hope that you may long continue to diffuse happiness round your own circle, and contribute to the instruction and delight of the many attached friends with whom you maintain so active and so interesting a correspondence; and that you may live to see your grandsons fulfil their present promise, and tread in the footsteps of their high-minded and
excellent-hearted father, — and of his father! I remain
Your affectionate and obliged friend,
W. Harrison Ainsworth.
Kensal Manor House, Harrow Road,
July 26, 1841.
PREFACE.
The tyrannical measures adopted against the Roman Catholics in the early part of the reign of James the First, when the severe penal enactments against recusants were revived, and with additional rigour, and which led to the remarkable conspiracy about to be related, have been so forcibly and faithfully described by Doctor Lingard, that the following extract from his history will form a fitting introduction to the present work.
“The oppressive and sanguinary code framed in the reign of Elizabeth, was re-enacted to its full extent, and even improved with additional severities. Every individual who had studied or resided, or should afterwards study or reside in any college or seminary beyond the sea, was rendered incapable of inheriting, or purchasing, or enjoying lands, annuities, chattels, debts, or sums of money, within the realm; and as missionaries sometimes eluded detection under the disguise of tutors, it was provided that no man should teach even the rudiments of grammar in public or in private, without the previous approbation of the diocesan.
“The execution of the penal laws enabled the king, by an ingenious comment, to derive considerable profit from his past forbearance. It was pretended that he had never forgiven the penalties of recusancy; he had merely forbidden them to be exacted for a time, in the hope that this indulgence would lead to conformity; but his expectations had been deceived; the obstinacy of the Catholics had grown with the lenity of the sovereign; and, as they were unworthy of further favour, they should now be left to the severity of the law. To their dismay, the legal fine of twenty pounds per lunar month was again demanded, and not only for the time to come, but for the whole period of the suspension; a demand which, by crowding thirteen payments into one, reduced many families of moderate incomes to a state of absolute beggary. Nor was this all. James was surrounded by numbers of his indigent countrymen. Their habits were expensive, their wants many, and their importunities incessant. To satisfy the more clamorous, a new expedient was devised. The king transferred to them his claims on some of the more opulent recusants, against whom they were at liberty to proceed by law, in his name, unless the sufferers should submit to compound, by the grant of an annuity for life, or the immediate payment of a considerable sum. This was at a time when the jealousies between the two nations had reached a height, of which, at the present day, we have but little conception. Had the money been carried to the royal coffers, the recusants would have had sufficient reason to complain; but that Englishmen should be placed by their king at the mercy of foreigners, that they should be stripped of their property to support the extravagance of his Scottish minions, this added indignity to injustice, exacerbated their already wounded feelings, and goaded the most moderate almost to desperation.” From this deplorable state of things, which is by no means over-coloured in the above description, sprang the Gunpowder Plot.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 173