CHAPTER XXVI

Lady Jane's Execution

The fatal day of the execution dawned at last, and I would that I could draw a veil over its direful happenings. But my lady's charge is upon me to tell everything exactly as I saw it occur, and so I cannot pick and choose.

It was February 12, a dull, cold morning, and within the Tower people went about with dismal faces, as well they might, for most were sorry for my poor young mistress.

She had passed a great part of the night--her last night--in prayer, and it was only at my earnest entreaty that she at length lay down for an hour or two before morning broke. Then she slept as sweetly as a little child, and Mistress Ellen and I stole on tiptoe to the bedside to look at her, as those look who will not see the loved face any more.

I could fancy once that her lips moved in her sleep, pronouncing the name of Dudley, and doubtless even her sleeping thoughts were with her young husband, who was also that day to suffer the same extreme penalty of the law, but not at the same place. He was to die upon Tower Hill, where the authorities dared not execute his poor young wife, lest the sight should appeal to the hearts of the people, causing them to rise in a mass to prevent the double execution. She therefore was to die upon the scaffold erected before St. Peter's Chapel on the Green, within the Tower.

When the time came for her to rise we shrank from awaking her to such a fate, but at length were obliged to do so; and though for a moment a look of terror crossed her face, it quickly changed to one of the sweetest resignation. She thanked us gently for not allowing her to sleep too long, and, except that she was pale, her manner appeared to be much as usual.

At her request we dressed her in black velvet, with a drooping collar of white lace falling low from her slender neck.

'There is not much of it to sever,' she said pathetically, encircling it for a moment with her right hand, but desisting and throwing her arms round me as she saw my look. 'It will be over so soon,' she said. 'One moment, and then the gates of heaven will open wide, and for my Saviour's sake I, sinful I, washed in His blood, clothed in His righteousness, will be permitted to enter in.'

That was her belief. And the comfort and the glory of it spread a veil over and shed a halo round all that was coarse and revolting in the manner of her death.

It had been arranged that Sir Thomas Brydges, the lieutenant of the Tower, in whose house we were, was to escort her to the scaffold, but first he had the melancholy task of conducting her husband, Lord Guildford Dudley, out of the Tower to the more public scaffold on Tower Hill, where a vast concourse of people were assembled.

Early in the morning the queen had sent Lady Jane permission to have an interview with her husband, but she, thinking that this would be too trying for them both, declined the favour, saying she would meet him within a few hours in heaven.

As she stood at a window looking out, however, she saw Lord Guildford Dudley going to execution, and an hour afterwards beheld men bearing his corpse back to its last resting-place in St. Peter's Chapel.

Immediately after that terrible sight she wrote down in a book three short sentences in Greek, Latin and English.

The first, roughly translated, was--

'If his slain body shall give testimony against me, his blessed soul shall render an eternal proof of my innocence in the presence of God.'

The second said--

'The justice of men took away his body, but the Divine mercy has preserved his soul.'

The English sentence ran as follows--

'If my fault deserved punishment, my youth, at least, and my imprudence were worthy of excuse. God and posterity will show me favour.'

Dr. Feckenham came from the queen to attend her to the scaffold, and I was afraid that he would trouble her; but I noticed as I followed them, with Mistress Ellen, that my lady was not attending to his words, but kept her eyes fixed upon a book of prayers in her hand.

The passing bell began to toll slowly and solemnly. It was almost more than I could bear, and the sound of it seemed to startle Lady Jane, for she looked up; and then, appearing for the first time to perceive the faces around her, she bowed and spoke to them, saying to Dr. Feckenham--

'God will abundantly requite you, good sir, for your humanity to me, though your discourses give me more uneasiness than all the terrors of my approaching death.'

'Look!' whispered Mistress Ellen at that moment. 'Look at those awful birds!'

There were indeed a couple of ravens hovering about in the air, as if waiting for the death that was so soon to take place.

I did not scream, but felt as if my heart would burst, and the physical pain almost overpowered the mental.

Thus we walked across the Green to the scaffold, where there were not so many people assembled, some dreading much to see so sad a sight as the execution of my dear lady.

She was not shedding a tear all the time, but bearing herself with meek and gentle dignity, and Mistress Ellen and I were weeping bitterly behind her.

And now she stood on the scaffold and spoke to the spectators, and this was what she said, as nearly as I can remember--

'My lords, and you good Christian people, which come to see me die, I am under a law, and by that law, as a never-erring judge, I am condemned to die; not for anything I have done to offend the queen's majesty, for I am guiltless--but only that I consented to the thing that I was forced into----' She went on to confess herself a sinner and deserving of death, but thanked God that He had given her time to repent of her sins and to trust herself to her Redeemer. Then she continued--'Pray with me and for me whilst I am yet alive, that God, of His infinite goodness and mercy, will forgive my sins, how numberless and grievous soever against Him; and I beseech you all to bear me witness that I here die a true Christian woman, professing and avouching from my soul that I trust to be saved by the blood, passion and merits of Jesus Christ, my Saviour only, and by no other means, casting far behind me all the works and merits of my own actions as things so far short of the true duty I owe that I quake to think how much they may stand up against me. And now I pray you all, pray for me and with me.'

The bell went on tolling, and the great dark birds hovered overhead, while the sound of sobs and bitter weeping was also to be heard.

Only Lady Jane shed no tears, as kneeling, she repeated the Psalm, _Miserere mei, Deus_--

'Have mercy upon me, O God, after Thy great goodness: according to the multitude of Thy mercies do away with mine offences.

'Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness, and cleanse me from my sin....'

And so on, the words of penitence, grief and supplication in those clear young tones rising from the slight, black-robed figure and mingling with the louder, harsher sounds of woe and death, went to our hearts and reached more surely still the heart of Him Who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities, and without Whom not even a sparrow can fall to the ground.

When she had repeated the whole Psalm, Lady Jane arose, and turning to Mistress Ellen and me, gave us her gloves and handkerchief, and Sir Thomas Brydges asking for some token, she bestowed upon him her prayer-book, having first written in it a few lines, at his request. These were, as nearly as I can remember them--for she showed them to me, thinking no doubt that they would comfort me, who could scarcely see them for my tears--

'Forasmuch as you have desired so simple a woman to write in so worthy a book, good Master Lieutenant, therefore I shall as a friend desire you, and as a Christian request you, to call upon God to incline your heart to His laws, to quicken you in His way, and not to take the Word of Truth entirely out of your mouth. Live still to die, that by death you may purchase Eternal Life. All have to die. If you were to live as long as Methuselah, yet a time would come when you had to die. As the Preacher saith, "There is a time to be born and a time to die, and the day of our death is better than the day of our birth."

'Yours, as the Lord knows, as a friend, 'JANE DUDLEY.'

And now, with hands that trembled a little, she attempted to undo the fastenings of her heavy black dress, and perceiving that she bungled over it, the executioner offered to assist her, but she turned immediately to us her gentlewomen, upon which we took off her dress, and gave her a handkerchief to bind over her eyes. She did this herself, and then the executioner, kneeling before her, asked her for pardon, which she gave him most willingly.

'I pray you dispatch me quickly,' she added.

'Yes, madam.'

'Will you take it off before I lie down?' she asked, pointing to the handkerchief.

'No, madam.'

She began to feel for the block, asking, 'Where is it?'

Some one guided her to it, and saying, 'Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit,' she laid down her head, which at one stroke was severed from her body.

* * * * *

'All is over!' I cried miserably, as I recovered from another illness, to find myself being tended by Mistress Ellen, in a poor lodging in Fleet Street. 'There is nothing left--_nothing_!'

'There is God,' said my companion.

It was the first time I had ever heard her speak of Him, or indeed of religion, for she always averred that to _do_ is better than to talk; therefore her three words now made all the more impression.

'He has taken my dear lady,' sobbed I rebelliously.

'He gave her to us in the first instance,' was the reply. 'And I know,' gently added the good woman, 'that He has taken her through a quick, though painful, door into the glory beyond. There, doubtless, her joy is so extreme as to have caused her already to forget the pain that went before, and there it behoves us to try and follow her.'

And with that Mistress Ellen ran out of the room, for she was well nigh breaking down herself, in spite of her brave words.

But I turned my face to the wall and lay weeping a long while.