From my previous Blog:
Another poetry collection I bought is Poems That Make Grown Men Cry by Anthony and Ben Holden. The second one of the 100 listed was 'Elegy' by Chidiock Tichborne which was written in 1586 on the eve of the poet's execution. I was astounded. The poem is perfect, and I wondered how he could produce such a gem and be so reflective in the face of the morrow's coming brutality? More than that, it opened so many questions, but principally how a person who was surrounded by the love of his wife and his five sisters and the love for his young child could risk everything to murder another woman, his monarch? The poem also appears in the Paul Kelly poetry compilation of favourite poems Love Is Strong As Death, and in both of Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes's excellent poetry anthologies, The School Bag and The Rattle Bag.
On 20 September 1586
fourteen of the Babington Plotters were executed. They had sought to
assassinate Queen Elizabeth and replace her with the Catholic, Mary
Queen of Scots. The plan had been foiled by a double agent.
On the night prior to
his execution for his part in the plot, the 24 year old Chidiock
Tichborne composed his own perfect elegy, to be sent to Agnes his
wife together with a letter of loving farewell to her, and to his
five sisters and his child.
Thou shalt not kill,
the sixth commandment was not a consideration in the assassination
plan. It was given papal imprimatur, the affirmation to rid the
nation of the wicked heretical Queen, to damn her recusant Protestant
soul straight to hell to weep and moan and be tormented forever in
eternal fire; of this Catholics were certain. The Pope, Sextus V was
chosen by the Almighty, and those who died in attempted regicide were
assured a swift lift to those Heavenly gates.
By crikey there was
hatred and fear back then. Blood and guts literally spilled over
English Christendom and the fate of the treasonous was to be dragged
on a tray by horse to the place of execution, then hung and while
still alive, eviscerated, that is disembowelled, the bits to be
thrown on a fire. Then they were quartered, each quarter to be placed
as a warning in a strategic location. Those Tudors did execution
with a flourish. And sometimes they lopped off other bits too,
reproductive organs, that sort of thing. I wasn't going to mention it
in case anyone is squeamish, but we need to reveal the full picture.
So, to return to the
condemned Chidiock Tichborne at night in the Tower of London. He
somehow found the strength to write his own elegy knowing full well
that he would suffer the most brutal of deaths on the morrow
alongside thirteen accomplices. How did he do it? Well religion,
aside from causing his predicament could also bring solace. Maybe
that was it? When all is lost gimmie that old tyme religion. The
Bible holding Trump in front of the church knows it.
Back then in 1586 the
Christians were at each others throats as they had been since the
reign of King Henry V111 and his imposition of the Church of England. Bloody
Mary (Queen Mary 1 of England) had reclaimed Catholicism with gibbets
and the sword, then Elizabeth 1 had reinstated the Church of England and Protestantism,
and more was to come. In the name of power, wealth and the True
Faith, the heads of aristocrat and commoner fell to the axe, bones
cracked, blood flowed and live flesh fed the faggots.
It was indeed a bloody
brutal age. Religious wars in Europe, Holy Roman Empire vs the
Islamic Ottoman Empire, torture, trial and executions at various
inquisitions to unearth heresy, and then witchcraft.
Witchcraft trials alone
were 80,000. At least 35,000 were executed in Europe between 1450
and 1750, mostly women. It was a dangerous time to be out plucking a
few herbs for the pot, la la la.
I know... but sometimes
a little black humour helps with the horrific. Besides it was so long
ago, and we're different folk now. Or are we? Are we? A thin veneer
of civilisation?
You know... sometimes I
think that humans just need a banner to rally behind. Its a fault in
the design. Robert Graves' book Count Belisarius, about a sixth
century Roman general recounts how
Rome had two factions,
the Green and the Blue. Non political, non religious. They became
religious later but initially they followed charioteers and
slaughtered each other in the thousands.
My wife Denise and I
visited the Great Uncle and Great Aunt in Glasgow in the early 70s.
On the way we had to stop for the (Protestant) Orange Day parade.
Fife and drums, hard faced slit eyed skinheads, and I suddenly became
conscious of my green jumper, our green car... We departed. Later
that night the Great Uncle Hughie stopped my Aussie song, The Wild
Colonial Boy. 'You'll nae be singing that in this hoose laddie.'
He was tall, imposing with a sharp fine nose, bristling eyebrows and
flashing eyes. You wouldn't cross him. I didn't. The Great Aunt
explained in the morning that it is regarded as a 'Party' song ie.
Catholic, and there had been a recent stabbing close by of someone
singing a similar 'Party' song. The Irish 'Troubles' which killed
3600 fortunately did not spread to Scotland, apart from minor
outbreaks, but the sectarian divide was strong, you were either green
or orange.
My Dad told me that his
three uncles, Hughie, Harry and Tiny, all well over six foot, would
go down to the fine Proddie house on the corner each Orange Day while
the Orangeman was out marching, and snip the heads off his roses.
Aye, they were tall and feisty with a brutal sense of humour.
Back to Chidiock
Tichborne, our condemned poet. Sir Thomas More, the great Catholic
humanist (and Protestant persecutor?), now saint and martyr was
beheaded for treason 51 years prior, in 1535. He refused to recognise
the supremacy of Henry V111 over the Pope. He comforted his
executioner with the words 'You will give me this day a greater
benefit than ever any mortal man can give me. Pluck up thy spirits
man. And be not afraid to do thine office.'
And Chidiock Tichborne,
he too had that faith, that he would soon be with God, his purpose in
life completed. The True Faith. At the least, he believed so. And
we can only hope that it served him well at the end.
The Babington plotters
were executed in two groups. Chidiock was in the first group. The
Queen, Elizabeth 1 was informed that the public were starting to
sympathise with the plotters, due to the barbarity of the execution
stages. Her Majesty then pronounced that the second group should be
hung until they were 'quite dead' (prior to evisceration and
quartering...).
Tychbornes
Elegie, written with his owne hand in the Tower
before
his execution
My
prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a
dish of paine,
My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,
[weeds]
And al my good is but vaine hope of gaine.
The day is
past, and yet I saw no sunne,
And now I live, and now my life is
done.
My
tale was heard, and yet it was not told,
My fruite is falne, &
yet my leaves are greene:
My youth is spent, and yet I am not
old,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seene.
My thred is cut,
and yet it is not spunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I
sought my death, and found it in my wombe,
I lookt for life, and
saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my
Tombe,
And now I die, and now I was but made.
My glasse is
full, and now my glasse is runne,
And now I live, and now my life
is done.
To
the most loving wife alive, I commend me unto her, and desire God to
bless her with all happiness, pray for her dead husband, and be of
good comfort, for I hope in Jesus Christ this morning to see the face
of my Maker and Redeemer in the most joyful throne of His glorious
kingdom. Commend me to all my friends, and desire them to pray for
me, and in all charity to pardon me, if I have offended them. Commend
me to my six sisters, poor desolate souls, advise them to serve God,
for without Him no goodness is to be expected. Were it possible, my
little sister Bab, the darling of my race, might be bred by her, God
would reward her; but I do her wrong I confess, that hath by my
desolate negligence too little for herself, to add a further charge
unto her. Dear wife forgive me, that have by these means so much
impoverished her fortunes; patience and pardon, good wife I
crave—make of these our necessities a virtue, and lay no further
burthen on my neck than hath already been. There be certain debts
that I owe, and because I know not the order of the law, piteous it
hath taken from me all, forfeited by my course of offence to Her
Majesty, I cannot advise thee to benefit me herein, but if there fall
out wherewithal, let them be discharged for God's sake. I will not
that you trouble yourself with the performance of these matters, my
own heart, but make it known to my uncles, and desire them, for the
honour of God and ease of their soul, to take care of them as they
may, and especially care of my sisters' bringing up the burthen is
now laid on them. Now, Sweet-cheek, what is left to bestow on thee? A
small jointure, a small recompense for thy deserving, these legacies
following to be thine own. God of His infinite goodness give thee
grace always to remain His true and faithful servant, that through
the merits of His bitter and blessed passion thou mayst become in
good time of His kingdom with the blessed women in heaven. May the
Holy Ghost comfort thee with all necessaries for the wealth of thy
soul in the world to come, where until it shall please Almighty God I
meet thee, farewell loving wife, farewell the dearest to me on all
the earth, farewell!
By the hand from the heart of thy most
faithful loving husband.
