bishop bonner.
shortly afterwards, the bishop of london was announced by the usher. a brief preliminary description of this remarkable prelate may be necessary.
edmond bonner, bishop of london, whose severity towards the protestants has caused his memory to be justly detested, was by no means the savage-looking or repulsive personage generally supposed. of middle height, stout, and of fresh complexion, he had rather a jovial countenance, being fond of good cheer, and his features, except when inflamed by passion, as they not unfrequently were, had a pleasant expression. but he was exceedingly hot-tempered, and when excited, lost all control of himself, and became perfectly furious. neither did his anger, though easily roused, quickly subside. in some respects he resembled his royal master, henry viii. his disposition was cruel and vindictive, and he never forgot or forgave an injury. to the reformers, whom he bitterly hated, he proved, as is well known, a terrible scourge.
born towards the close of the 15th century, bonner was now near upon sixty, but though he had undergone many hardships, and had endured more than four years’ imprisonment in the marshalsea, his spirit was unbroken, and his health unimpaired. during his long captivity he had been supported by the conviction that the ancient worship would be restored, and his enemies be delivered into his hands. 213what he had hoped for, and prayed for, having come to pass, he promised himself ample compensation for the afflictions he had endured. learned and acute, bonner had early attracted the attention of wolsey, by whom he was much employed; and being subsequently appointed chaplain to henry viii., he rose rapidly in favour, as he accommodated himself without scruple to the king’s caprices. instrumental in furthering the divorce with katherine of aragon, bonner co-operated in the religious changes accomplished by his royal master, and was also entrusted by him with several missions of great delicacy, which he fulfilled very satisfactorily, rendering himself altogether so useful, and continuing so subservient, that, though often rebuffed by the monarch—as who was not?—he never entirely lost his good graces.
but when edward vi. mounted the throne, all was changed. opposed to the reformation, though he did not dare openly to manifest his hostility to it, bonner was regarded with suspicion and dislike by the chiefs of the protestant party, who determined upon his overthrow. cited before an ecclesiastical commission, of which cranmer was the head, notwithstanding an energetic defence, appeals to the king against the illegality of the tribunal, and the injustice of his sentence, bonner, at that time bishop of london, was deprived of his see and benefices, and imprisoned in the marshalsea, whence he was only liberated on mary’s accession. restored to his diocese, and reinstated in power, he burned to avenge himself on his enemies, chief amongst whom he reckoned cranmer, ridley, and latimer. but now that they were safe in prison, he was content to wait. the cup of vengeance was too sweet to be hastily drained.
bonner’s appearance at this juncture was hailed with satisfaction by gardiner, who could count upon his support against pole, and he therefore remarked, after the bishop had made his obeisance to their majesties, “my associate in the ecclesiastical commission concurs with me that no mercy whatever should be shown to heretics.”
“mercy to heretics!” exclaimed bonner, surprised. “it were mistaken clemency to spare such dangerous offenders. rigorous measures will alone check the spread of the pestilence 214by which your kingdom is unhappily affected, gracious madam,” he added to the queen. “now is the time to strike terror into the hearts of these false brethren—to exterminate them by fire and sword.”
“the lord cardinal does not think so,” rejoined mary. “he is of opinion that those convicted of heretical pravity should be leniently dealt with.”
“you amaze me, madam,” cried bonner.
“the object your majesty has in view,” said pole, “being to bring back those who have strayed from the paths of truth, and not to drive them yet further off, gentleness, and not force, should be employed. by severity you will increase the evil instead of curing it. fear will make hypocrites, not converts.”
“no matter,” cried bonner. “let the sacramentarians conform outwardly. we care not to search their hearts. enough for us if they profess themselves catholics.”
“i grieve to hear you say so, my lord,” rejoined the cardinal. “it is better to have an open enemy than a false friend. our church does not desire to encourage dissimulation, put to eradicate error and schism. i beseech your majesty to pause before you proceed further in a course which i foresee is fraught with danger. hitherto, all has gone well. your enemies are confounded. your people are loving and loyal, willing to make any sacrifices for you, save those of conscience. the faith of your forefathers is restored in its integrity. your kingdom is reconciled to the holy see. is this an opportune moment for persecution? would you sully the snowy banner of the church with blood? would you destroy a tithe of your subjects by fire and sword—by burning and massacre? yet this must be done if persecution once commences. such means of conversion are as unwarrantable as impolitic—contrary to the will of heaven, and likely to provoke its wrath. i defy the advocates of severity towards heretics to produce a single passage from the gospel that would authorise christians to burn their fellow-men for questions purely of conscience. as, therefore, such rigour cannot be sustained by appeal to holy writ, neither can it be upheld by any other consideration. it will increase the evil complained of, rather than mitigate it.”
215“your eminence forgets how much we have suffered from the reformers,” remarked bonner.
“if they have done ill, ought we to imitate them in ill-doing?” rejoined pole. “let us prove to them that we are better christians than they are. your majesty may trust me, that the true way to convert the protestants is to reform our own clergy, whose ill-regulated conduct has led to heresy and backsliding. better this remedy than the stake.”
“all this shall to the pope,” observed gardiner, in a low tone, to bonner. “his eminence will be speedily recalled.”
“it is high time he should be recalled, if he entertains these opinions,” rejoined the other, in the same tone.
“nothing that has been urged will shake my purpose,” said mary. “i will free my kingdom from the curse that has so long afflicted it, even though i inundate the land with blood. but i agree with your eminence that much reform is needful in our own clergy, whose manners provoke scandal, and encourage infidelity. i will address myself to the task. to you, my lord chancellor, and to you, my lord bishop,” she added to gardiner and bonner, “i commit the extirpation of heresy. relax not in your efforts.”
“rest assured we will not, gracious madam,” replied gardiner.
“your eminence seems to think,” observed bonner to the cardinal, “that the lord chancellor and myself have not used proper means of weaning back these misguided men from their errors. as there are two prisoners confined within the lollards’ tower for religious offences, may i venture to inquire whether you have succeeded in accomplishing their conversion?”
“not as yet,” replied pole; “but i do not despair of ultimate success.”
“what prisoners do you refer to?” demanded mary. “i have not heard of them.”
the cardinal was about to reply, when a look from the king stopped him.
“who are they, i repeat?” cried mary, somewhat sharply, surprised at pole’s disinclination to answer.
“one of them is the unhappy constance tyrrell, and the 216other the half-crazed fanatic, derrick carver,” replied the cardinal.
“indeed!” exclaimed mary. “was your majesty aware that these persons are confined here?” she added to the king.
“they were sent hither by my orders,” rejoined philip, coldly.
“and why was i not informed of the matter?” asked mary.
“because i did not deem it needful,” replied the king.
“not needful!” exclaimed mary. “by my soul, but it was needful! ’twas a strange step to take without my knowledge or privity.”
“you heat yourself unnecessarily, madam,” interrupted philip. “’twas to spare you annoyance that i kept the matter secret from you.”
“how so?” demanded mary. “the unaccountable disappearance of this girl troubled me, as you know, and carver’s supposed escape was equally displeasing to me.”
“you would have been informed of all in good time,” said philip. “how i discovered their hiding-place, and why i sent them hither, shall be explained anon.”
“i trust the explanation will prove satisfactory,” replied mary. “meantime, i will see the prisoners myself, and interrogate them.”
“shall they be brought before you?” inquired pole.
“no,” returned the queen; “i will proceed to the lollards’ tower. your eminence will attend me thither.”
“’twere better not, madam,” said philip. “be ruled by me, and let alone this visit.”
“you have some motive,” rejoined mary, in a low tone—“some powerful motive for wishing me not to see constance tyrrell. i will see her. i will question her. i will learn the truth.”
“well, then, learn the truth, madam,” said philip. “if you are pained by it, it is not my fault.”
“you have deceived me,” continued mary—“shamefully deceived me. of that i am convinced.”
“reserve these remarks for a more fitting opportunity, madam,” said the king. “since you are bent upon going to the lollards’ tower, i will not interfere to prevent you. 217but at least put some guard upon yourself, and breed not scandal by your causeless suspicions.”
without making any reply, mary arose. the king offered his arm, but she rejected it, saying she needed not support. philip, however, was determined to accompany her, and they went forth together, attended by the cardinal. no one else ventured to follow them, and gardiner and bonner, fearing the king might be offended with them, thought it best to retreat, and hastily quitted the palace.
