Chapter XVIII: Judgment of Nullity

T

HE real thorn in the flesh, the messenger of
Satan sent to buffet kingcraft and statesmanship,

is the instinct of justice. How unaccountably does the spirit of justice manifest itself in strange places. With what intolerable pretension does it utter truths even in the gilded corridors of palaces and in the presence of kings. George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, good honest man, whenever he sat in his closet pondering the affairs of the nullity Commission, cast himself for the part of the prophet Nathan; but at the back of his mind he was fearful if King James would accept a divine message in the spirit of humility shown by King David. Moreover, he was not clear that the parable of the ewe lamb was really in point.

When the summer term came to an end Abbot had so far salved his conscience that he had brought the Commission over which he had presided to a deadlock, the members being equally divided for and against a judgment of nullity. His Majesty was exceedingly angry at this result, and, moved by Northampton and Rochester, had added two stalwart placemen to the Commission, Thomas Bilson, Bishop of Winchester, and John Buckeridge, Bishop of Rochester. When Abbot heard this, and learned that Bilson was lodging at St. Mary Overies' house, and was duly visited there by the lady's friends, Sir Julius Cæsar and Sir Daniel Donne, he was in great perplexity.

Then on Saturday, September 18th, the day on which the new Commission was to meet, the stout Archbishop heard the news of the death of Overbury, which had already found its way to the lawyers in St. Paul's, and

so out into the City and the world beyond. His chaplain would have told him some dreadful apprehensions bruited about poor Overbury's death, but the Archbishop shuddered, and would hear naught, and motioned him to his knees, and the two knelt at the table in silent prayer for the soul that had passed away.

Early that morning John King, Bishop of London, came to Lambeth to visit the Archbishop, and the two sat in the library discussing the affairs of the Commission. King was an honest man, and had stood by Abbot up to now, and came to his leader to be assured that he would stand fast for truth and justice to the end.

"We can but deliver our reasons for the faith that is in us and hold up our hands for a righteous judgment," said the Archbishop.

"Maybe when our brothers hear the evidence and listen to your reasons they too will be convinced," said the Bishop of London.

My Lord of Canterbury was not to be flattered, and shook his head with a wan smile.

"Our brethren have not accepted their seats on the Commission to listen, but to vote.

The Bishop of London rose to go, waving his arm as if to sweep his brothers, Bilson and Buckeridge, from his thoughts.

"If I were to pronounce for the dissolution of the marriage," he said, with solemn emphasis, "I should expect the Devil would that very night fetch away my soul."

He crossed to the chair where my lord sat, and placed his hand reverently upon his shoulder.

"My lord, the eyes of the whole Church of England are upon you and all expect of you that you will show yourself a worthy man."

"With God's help I will do it."

"Amen to that, my lord."

Both these good men knew that what they were about to do was an offence to the King, and that to offend the

King was the overture to ruin. Only the greater fear of the Devil himself kept their timid feet in the straight path.

The first meeting of the Commissioners was short and formal. The new members appeared, and were formally greeted by the Archbishop. My Lord of London then moved that the evidence of the Earl of Essex should be reheard in order that my Lords of Winchester and Rochester should properly understand the cause. Julius Cæsar, on behalf of my lady, strongly dissented from this course. It was sufficient, he thought, that they should read the evidence. But no decision was arrived at, and the Court adjourned to the Monday.

Sir

Abbot rode down to his country seat at Addington, and on the Sunday spared an hour from his devotions to confer with a dear friend and settle with him certain domestic affairs in case that his honesty and the course he had determined upon should land him suddenly in the Tower.

The Earl of Northampton had instructed his niece's counsel that on no account should the Earl of Essex be recalled lest he should go back on his testimony and mar the whole business. He had counselled the King to this effect, and when the Commission met on Monday the Bishop of Lichfield brought word that His Majesty was strongly opposed to the recall of Lord Essex, and would by no means endure it, and that he desired a speedy end of the whole business.

When it appeared that the Earl of Essex was not at the moment an available witness, even Abbot began to think that it was time the Commission ended their labours and gave a judgment. For now it was known that young Henry Howard, Frances's brother, had scattered abroad vile and contemptuous words about her husband which came to his ears, and he demanded satisfaction. This the young man willingly tendered, hoping the result might bring his sister freedom.

Now to fight a duel in the precincts of the Court or

in England was nigh impossible. James, to the joy of Abbot and other men of God, had set a ban upon the barbarous practice of duelling, so great was his fear and hatred of the use of lethal weapons. The Earl, therefore, had ridden to Milford Haven with Captain Ouseley, and young Howard had sailed from Harwich with Mr. Ball and Huntingdon Colby, and now the Earl, at Calais, and Mr. Howard in Zealand, were negotiating a meeting. James, in anger and despair, had sent out young Gib of the bed-chamber to forbid the duel in the King's name. Posts were sent to the Governor of Calais to stop the affair by any means possible. Meanwhile the blame of the business was thrown on the shoulders of Abbot and those who delayed the judgment of the Commission, and Sir Thomas Lake was sent to Lambeth with the King's orders that the Court should give their judgment on Saturday at the latest.

For on the Monday His Majesty was due to ride to Windsor to see the Queen. Here again Abbot could read the King's mind. Her Majesty was, he knew, strongly opposed to this nullity business, and the royal coward, her lord and master, obviously wanted to announce to her that judgment was given, the affair was settled and done with, and there was no purpose in discussing it further.

All that week the Commissioners sat daily, the Bishop of Winchester making a brave show in interrupting Dr. Bennet, the Earl of Essex's counsel, catching at his words before they were out, and meeting his arguments with such scoffs and imperious behaviour that it was already City gossip that Bilson was in the pocket of the Howards' party and the King intended the nullity to go through.

Poor Abbot was in sore distress, and on the Friday he made up his mind to see the King, and went in his barge to Whitehall to attend the levee. For a time he stood among the crowd. Friends of Essex came to him and whispered of the foul, strange business in which he was engaged. He spoke to no man. At length the

King drew him aside. In his heart of hearts James honoured the man. They walked together to the end of the gallery and sat in the window, apart, out of hearing of the rest.

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"Now tell me, my lord," said James, not unkindly, why canna ye mak' an end of the affair?"

Abbot was ready to pour his troubles out at the feet of his royal master.

"It is nothing to me," he said, with patient scorn, 66 whether this woman remain wife to the Earl of Essex or is married to another man, but I cannot give sentence where I see no proof. I have lived fifty-one years almost, and had my conscience uncorrupted in judgment. I know not how soon I may be called before God, and I am loath against that time to give a wound to mine own soul. My grief is," and the good man's voice trembled with tears-" my grief is that your Majesty's hand is in it. I care not for other men. I choose rather to die an honest man than a wise one, and if I did this thing your Majesty could never afterward expect true service of me, for how could I be true to my master who was false to God?"

The King was silent for a time. He was touched by the man's intense honesty. But, looking up to the gallery, he saw the Lord Privy Seal, the Earl of Northampton, and the Lord Chamberlain, the Earl of Suffolk, talking to Rochester. He remembered his promises.

"You try to set yourself above the lawyers in their own mystery," he said, not unkindly.

"There is not an honest lawyer that is not on my side," replied the Archbishop, with enthusiasm.

"There is not an honest lawyer that would not be on either side for a brief and enough guineas," said the King, laughing, and then in a more serious tone he began to urge reasons and debate the matter with him.

But Abbot, obstinate as he was, had tact enough not to argue the matter further, saying: "When I come to the place of judgment I will not conceal the reasons of