The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  Not many hours later, the Count himself, who had set out instantly from Brussels on receiving his commission, arrived. He was received on the Queen’s part by the Earl of Pembroke, the Earl of Shrewsbury, Comptroller of the Household, and the Marquis of Winchester, High Treasurer, and conducted to the state apartments within the Palace of the Tower, where the court was then staying. Mary appointed an audience with him on the following day, and in the interim, to Renard’s disappointment, remained closeted with Gardiner, and would see no one beside. The Ambassador, however, consoled himself with the certainty of success, and passed the evening in consultation with D’Egmont, to whom he detailed all that had passed since the flight of the latter.

  “The heretical faction in England,” he observed, “is entirely crushed — or will be so, when Jane and Elizabeth are executed. And if his Highness Prince Philip will follow up my measures, he may not only restore the old faith throughout the realm, but establish the Inquisition in the heart of London within six months.”

  The next day, at the appointed hour, the Count D’Egmont, attended by Renard and the whole of his suite, was conducted with much ceremony to the council-chamber in the White Tower. He found Mary surrounded by the whole of her ministers, and prostrating himself before the throne, acquainted her with his mission, and, presenting her with the letters of procuration he had received from the Prince, entreated her to ratify on her side the articles already agreed upon. To this request, for which she was already prepared by the Emperor’s despatches, Mary vouchsafed a gracious answer, saying: “I am as impatient for the completion of the contract as the Prince your master can be, and shall not hesitate a moment to comply with his wishes. But I would,” she added, smiling, “that he had come to claim its fulfillment himself.”

  “His Highness only awaits your Majesty’s summons, and an assurance that he can land upon your shores without occasioning further tumult,” rejoined D’Egmont.

  “He shall speedily receive that assurance,” returned Mary. “Heaven be praised! our troubles are ended, and the spirit of disaffection and sedition checked, if not altogether extinguished. But I pray you hold me excused for a short time,” she continued, motioning him to rise; I have some needful business to conclude before I proceed with this solemnity.”

  Waving her hand to Sir Thomas Brydges who stood among the group of nobles near the throne, he immediately quitted the presence, returning in a few moments with a guard of halberdiers, in the midst of which were Elizabeth and Courtenay. At the approach of the prisoners the assemblage divided into two lines, to allow them passage; and, preceded by the lieutenant, they advanced to within a short distance of the Queen.

  Mary, meantime, had seated herself; and her countenance, hitherto radiant with smiles, assumed a severe expression. A mournful silence pervaded the courtly throng, and all seemed as ominous and lowering as if a thundercloud had settled over them. This was not, however, the case with Renard. A sinister smile lighted up his features, and he observed in an undertone to D’Egmont, “My hour of triumph is at hand.”

  “Wait awhile,” replied the other.

  Elizabeth looked in no wise abashed or dismayed by the position in which she found herself. Throwing angry and imperious glances around, and bending her brows on those who scanned her too curiously, she turned her back upon Courtenay, and seemed utterly unconscious of his presence.

  At the Queen’s command Gardiner stepped forward, and taking a roll of paper from an attendant, proceeded to read the charges against the prisoners, together with the depositions of those who had been examined, as to their share in the insurrection. When he concluded Elizabeth observed in a haughty tone, “There is nothing in all that to touch me, my lord. Wyat has recanted his confession, and avowed he was suborned by Renard. And as to the rest of my accusers, they are unworthy of credit. The Queen’s Highness must acquit me.”

  “What say you, my lord?” demanded Gardiner of Courtenay.”

  “Nothing,” replied the Earl.

  “Do you confess yourself guilty of the high crimes and misdemeanors laid to your charge, then?” pursued the Chancellor.

  “No,” answered Courtenay firmly. “But I will not seek to defend myself further. I throw myself on the Queen’s mercy.”

  “You do wisely, my lord,” returned Gardiner; “and your Grace,” he added to Elizabeth, “would do well to abate your pride, and imitate his example.”

  “In my father’s time, my lord,” observed the Princess scornfully, “you would not, for your head, have dared to hold such language towards me.”

  “I dared to plead your mother’s cause with him,” retorted Gardiner with much asperity. “Your Majesty will now pronounce such sentence upon the accused as may seem meet to you,” he added, turning to the Queen.

  “We hold their guilt not clearly proven,” replied Mary. “Nevertheless, too many suspicious circumstances appear against them to allow us to set them at large till all chance of further trouble is ended. Not desiring to deal harshly with them, we shall not confine them longer within the Tower. Which of you, my lords, will take charge of the Princess Elizabeth? It will be no slight responsibility. You will answer for her security with your heads. Which of you will take charge of her, I say?”

  As she spoke she glanced inquiringly round the assemblage, but no answer was returned.

  “Had not your Highness better send her Grace under a sure guard to the Emperor’s court at Brussels?” observed Renard, who could scarcely conceal his mortification at the Queen’s decision.

  “I will think of it,” returned Mary.

  “Sooner than this shall be,” interposed Sir Henry Bedingfeld, “since none worthier of the office can be found, I will undertake it.”

  “You are my good genius, Bedingfeld,” replied Mary. “To you, then, I confide her, and I will associate with you in the office Sir John Williams of Thame. The place of her confinement shall be my palace at Woodstock, and she will remain there till you receive further orders. You will set out with a sufficient guard for Oxfordshire.”

  “I am ever ready to obey your Highness,” replied Bedingfeld.

  “Accursed meddler!” exclaimed Renard to D’Egmont, he has marred my project.”

  “The Earl of Devonshire will be confined in Fotheringay Castle, in Northamptonsire,” pursued Mary. “To you, Sir Thomas Tresham,” she continued, addressing one of those near her, “I commit him.”

  “I am honored in the charge,” returned Tresham, bowing.

  “Your Majesty will repent this ill-judged clemency,” cried Renard, unable to repress his choler; “and since my counsels are unheeded, I must pray your Highness to allow me to resign the post I hold near your person.”

  “Be it so,” replied Mary in a freezing tone; “we accept your resignation — and shall pray his Imperial Majesty to recall you.”

  “Is this my reward?” exclaimed Renard, as he retired, covered with shame and confusion. “Cursed is he that puts faith in princes!”

  The prisoners were then removed, and as they walked side by side, Courtenay sought to address the Princess, but she turned away her head sharply, according him neither look nor word in reply. Finding himself thus repulsed, the Earl desisted, and they proceeded in silence as long as their way lay together.

  And thus, without one farewell, they parted — to meet no more. Liberated at the instance of Philip of Spain, Courtenay journeyed to Italy, where he died two years afterwards, at Padua, obtaining, as Holinshed touchingly remarks, “that quiet which in his life he could never have.” Of the glorious destiny reserved for Elizabeth nothing need be said.

  The prisoners removed, the Queen presented her hand to the Earl of Pembroke, and repaired with her whole retinue to St. John’s Chapel.

  Arrived there, Mary stationed herself at the altar, around which were grouped Bonner, Tunstal, Feckenham, and a host of other priests and choristers, in their full robes. In a short time the nave and aisles of the sacred structure were densely crowded by the lords of the council, together wi
th other nobles and their attendants, the dames of honor, the guard, and the suite of the Count D’Egmont. Nor were the galleries above unoccupied, every available situation finding a tenant.

  D’Egmont, as the representative of Philip of Spain, took up a position on the right of the Queen, and sustained his part with great dignity. As soon as Gardiner was prepared, the ceremonial commenced. D’Egmont tendered his hand to Mary, who took it, and they both knelt down upon the cushion before the altar, while the customary oaths were administered, and a solemn benediction pronounced over them. This done, they arose, and Gardiner observed to the Queen, in a voice audible throughout the structure: “Your Majesty is now wedded to the Prince of Spain. May God preserve you both, and bless your union!”

  “God preserve Queen Mary!” cried the Earl of Pembroke, stepping forward.

  And the shout was enthusiastically echoed by all within the chapel. But not a voice was raised nor a blessing invoked for her husband.

  Te Deum was then sung by the choristers, and mass performed by Bonner and the priests.

  “His Imperial Majesty entreats your acceptance of this slight offering,” said D’Egmont, when the sacred rites were concluded, presenting the Queen with a diamond ring of inestimable value.

  “I accept the gift,” replied Mary, “and I beg you to offer my best thanks to the Emperor. For yourself, I hope you will wear this ornament in remembrance of me, and of the occasion.” And detaching a collar of gold set with precious stones from her own neck, she placed it over that of D’Egmont.

  “I now go to bring your husband, gracious madam,” said the Count.

  “Heaven grant you a safe and speedy journey!” replied Mary.

  “And to your Highness a prosperous union!” rejoined the Count; “and may your race long occupy the throne.” So saying, he bowed and departed.

  D’Egmont’s wish did not produce a cheering effect on Mary. Jane’s words rushed to her mind, and she feared that her union would not be happy — would not be blessed with offspring. And it need scarcely be added, her forebodings were realized. Coldly treated by a haughty and neglectful husband, she went childless to the tomb.

  CHAPTER XXXIX.

  OF THE WEDDING OF SIR NARCISSUS LE GRAND WITH JANE THE FOOL, AND WHAT HAPPENED AT IT; AND OF THE ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY HIM ON THE OCCASION TO HIS OLD FRIENDS AT THE STONE KITCHEN.

  SIR NARCISSUS LE GRAND made rapid strides in the royal favor, as well as in that of his mistress. He was now in constant attendance on the Queen, and his coxcombry afforded her so much amusement, that she gave him a post near her person, in order to enjoy it. Jane the Fool, too, who had a secret liking for him, though she affected displeasure at Mary’s command, became so violently enamored, and so excessively jealous, if the slightest attentions were paid him by the dames of honor, that the Queen thought it desirable to fix an early day for the wedding.

  The happy event took place on Saturday, the 10th of February, at St. Peter’s Chapel on the Green, and was honored by the presence of the Queen and all her attendants. Never were merrier nuptials witnessed! And even the grave countenance of Feckenham, the officiating priest on the occasion, wore a smile, as the bridegroom, attired in his gayest habiliments, bedecked at all points with lace, tags, and fringe, curled, scented, and glistening with silver and gold, was borne into the chapel on the shoulders of Og — who had carried him from the By-ward Tower through a vast concourse of spectators — and deposited at the altar near the bride. Behind Og came his two brethren, together with Dames Placida and Potentia; while Peter Trusbut, Ribald, and Winwike brought up the rear.

  Arrived at the height of his ambition, graced with a title, favored by the Queen, and idolized by his bride, who was not altogether destitute of personal attractions, and was at least, twice his own size, the poor dwarf’s brain was almost turned, and he had some difficulty in maintaining the decorous and dignified deportment which he felt it necessary to maintain on the occasion. The ceremony was soon performed — too soon for Sir Narcissus, who would willingly have prolonged it. The royal train departed — not, however, before Mary had bestowed a well-filled purse of gold upon the bridegroom, and commanded him to bring his friends to the palace, where a supper would be provided for them. Sir Narcissus then offered his hand to his bride, and led her forth, followed by his companions.

  A vast crowd had collected before the doors of the sacred edifice. But a passage having been kept clear by a band of halberdiers for the Queen, the lines were unbroken when the wedding-party appeared. Loud acclamations welcomed Sir Narcissus, who paused for a moment beneath the porch, and taking off his well-plumed cap, bowed repeatedly to the assemblage. Reiterated shouts and plaudits succeeded, and the clamor was so great from those who could not obtain a glimpse of him, that the little knight entreated Og to take him once more upon his shoulder. The request was immediately complied with; and when he was seen in this exalted situation, a deafening shout rent the skies. The applauses, however, were shared by his consort, who placed on the shoulder of Gog, became equally conspicuous.

  In this way they were carried side by side along the Green, and Sir Narcissus was so enchanted that he desired the bearers to proceed as slowly as possible. His enthusiasm became at length so great, that when several of those around him jestingly cried, “Largesse, largesse! Sir Narcissus,” he opened the purse lately given him by the Queen, and which hung at his girdle, and threw away the broad pieces in showers. “I will win more gold,” he observed to Og, who remonstrated with him on his profusion; “but such a day as this does not occur twice in one’s life.”

  “Happiness and long life attend you and your lovely dame, Sir Narcissus!” cried a bystander.

  “There is not a knight in the Tower to be compared with you, worshipful sir!” roared another.

  “You deserve the Queen’s favor!” vociferated a third.

  “Greater dignities are in store for you!” added a fourth.

  Never was new-made and new-married knight so enchanted. Acknowledging all the compliments and fine speeches with smirks, smiles, and bows, he threw away fresh showers of gold. After making the complete circuit of the fortress, he crossed the drawbridge, and proceeded to the wharf, where he was hailed by different boats on the river; everywhere his reception was the same. On the return of the party, Hairun invited them all to the Lions’ Tower, and ushering them to the gallery, brought out several of the wild animals, and went through his performances as if the Queen herself had been present. In imitation of the sovereign, Sir Narcissus bestowed his last few coins, together with the purse containing them, upon the bearward. During the exhibition, the knight had entertained his consort with an account of his combat with old Max; and before quitting the menagerie he led her into the open space in front of the cages, that she might have a nearer view of the formidable animal.

  “It will not be necessary to read you such a lesson, sweetheart, as my friend Magog read his dame,” he observed. “But it is as well you should know I have resource in case of need.”

  “I shall not require to be brought to obedience by a bear, chuck,” returned Lady le Grand, with a languishing look. “Your slightest word is law to me!”

  “So she says now,” observed Dame Potentia who happened to overhear the remark, to Dame Placida. “But let a week pass over their heads, and she will alter her tone.”

  “Perhaps so,” sighed Placida. “But I have never had my own way since my encounter with old Max. Besides, these dwarfs are fiery fellows, and have twice the spirit of men of larger growth.”

  “There is something in that, it must be owned,” rejoined Potentia reflectively.

  Max, by Sir Narcissus’s command, was let out of his cage, and when within a few yards of them, sat on his hind-legs, and opened his enormous jaws. At this sight Lady le Grand screamed, and took refuge behind her husband, who, bidding her fear nothing, drew his sword, and put himself in a posture of defence. Suppressing a laugh, Hairun informed the knight that Max only begged for something to eat; and sundry biscu
its and apples being given him, he was driven back to his cage without any misadventure. Hairun then led the party to his lodging, where a collation was spread out for them, of which they partook. At its conclusion, Peter Trusbut observed, that if Sir Narcissus and Lady le Grand would honor him with their company at the Stone Kitchen on the following night, he would use his best endeavors to prepare a supper worthy of them.

  “It will give me infinite pleasure to sup with thee, worthy Peter,” replied the knight, with a patronizing air; “ but I must insist that the banquet be at my expense. Thou shalt cook it — I will pay for it.”

  “As you please, worshipful sir,” rejoined Trusbut. “But I can have what I please from the royal larder.”