The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [248]
The law foundered. Lawyers and priests were dying along with those they served, and there were few to administer the law or the Sacraments. Whenever a lone remaining priest appeared to perform a funeral, he would find many other biers falling in behind the original one, as people watched eagerly for any sign of a legitimate funeral, and attached themselves to it. So few remained to enforce civil or sacred law that no one had a mind to observe it, and so there was, in effect, almost no authority at all.
Sloth—that slouching, lurking sin that underlies so many of the others—came into its own, as people declined to tend even to that which they could, such as clearing the streets, removing piles of offal, or gathering in the harvest. They were on a grotesque holiday.
The plague was enough to make a moralist out of me, if not a true Christian. For man’s true nature was so ugly, so heinous, that any system, no matter how odious, that modified its evil was to be sought and embraced.
At least until the plague abated.
HENRY VIII:
I had neglected Holbein. I had not cared for his mortal remains, and in so doing, I had behaved as barbarously as any fear-crazed apprentice. The plague had made a heathen of me—I, the Supreme Head of the Church in England. I prayed as I passed the corpse-pile, Grant them eternal peace.
Then, God forgive me for my failings, my lacks, my blindness.
The more I knew, the more I understood, so it seemed, but thereby my sins multiplied.
Once outside the city walls, the dwellings grew farther apart. But if I thought that the plague was incapable of leaping separated households, I was wrong. Workers had died right in the fields, and their families in their farm-steads had succumbed at the same time. Livestock of all sorts—cows, pigs, sheep, goats—wandered the roads, starving and dazed. Dogs ran loose, reverting to beasts of prey, crouching and growling as we passed. Everywhere the fields were untended, the crops growing as best they could, but with no one to gather them in. Country gluttony manifested itself in people snat beasts16;these hands are destined for orbs and sceptres, not distaffs and spindles.’ ”
Perhaps what starts out as a retort, a dream, turns into a drive, takes on a reality of its own. Is that not another cousin to destiny?
“Everyone dreams of becoming royal, even the maids and chimney-sweeps. ’Tis a common fantasy,” was my answer.
“When is it to be?” Will indeed sounded tired, whereas I was filled with energy.
“When the plague abates and we return to London,” I said. “No, I shall not find a lone country priest and go secretly to him ... although it would be romantic,” I added. A small parish church ... nuptials in the early summer morning, a walk through the fields, picking wildnowers.... “But it is important that this be no hole-and-corner affair. Gardiner or Cranmer must officiate. Pray God they are safe. I have not had word in five days from those in Suffolk. Edward Seymour and Paget, they are well in Gloucestireshire, as of two days ago.... Nay, I want them all present.”
But the cool secret chapel, the procession through the fields ... forbidden to me, no need to dwell on it.
“Well, I wish you joy,” Will said. “You have had little enough in your weddings.”
CXXI
The table was laid in the courtyard, the long wooden one about which we gathered every noon, set up under the spreading hazel tree, as there was no shade from the long wings of the house at this time of day. Jugs of wine were set out on the table, and bunches of flowers, freshly gathered by Dr. Butts, Edward, and Kate.
We all seated ourselves and waited