Under the kindly tuition of the noble lady Pocahontas learned
the court manner of curtsying before the King, and how to manage
the yards of train to her robe. She was never tired of fingering
its glossy folds, but the stiff stays of the bodice were almost
unbearable to the slender frame that knew no restraint but that of
nature’s making. With Indian stoicism, she set herself to endure
civilization’s instruments of torture, so great was her desire to be
in all things an English woman.
All the trepidation of a first appearance at court was felt by Lady
De La Warre alone. Pocahontas, daughter of Powhatan, felt no fear in
the presence of her equals.
On the day of presentation Pocahontas, accompanied by Lady De La
Warre and her attendants, entered a gaily decorated barge that was
to bear them to the palace of the king. From the mouth of the gilded
swan at the prow, streamers of red and blue swept upwards to the
swelling sail emblazoned with the coat-of-arms of Lord De La Warre.
Under the dipping oars of the bargemen they sailed westward to
Whitehall at Charing Cross.
Up its broad landing stairs, past the great entrance leading into the
surrounding park, they came to a halt in a lofty antechamber reserved
for the fair ladies who were to make their initial bow to royalty.
Arriving late, they found the Presence Chamber already thrown open
and filled by those whose titles allowed a near approach to the
throne. Regal duchesses, robed in velvets and satins as varied as the
tints of the rainbow, glittering in jewels and coronets of golden
strawberry leaves, together with ladies of lesser degree, ranged
themselves in order of precedence on both sides of a red velvet
pathway leading to the foot of the throne.
Mingling with them were the Knights of the Bath, arrayed in robes of
crimson taffeta lined with white sarcenet, holding in their hands
“soft white hats, whose long curling white plumes tapped against
their white boots.”
Beside the massive throne, studded with diamonds, surrounded by
sapphires, rubies and pearls, that glittered like the sun among the
stars, stood Francis Bacon, Lord Chancellor of England. Near him was
Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, clad in his episcopal robes.
A sudden hush fell over the assemblage. The King was entering.
Preceded by the attendants of his household, holding in their hands
their wands of office, came James, leaning on the arm of the Duke of
Buckingham, his latest favorite. The handsome face and magnificently
attired person of the Duke was in startling contrast to the soiled
brown velvet dress, buttoned awry, of the monarch.
What a spectre of a king! Rolling eyes, slobbering mouth, ricketty
legs upholding a body padded until it resembled a swollen frog. Not
one trace of the fascinating beauty of his mother, Mary, Queen of
Scots, had descended to him.
To his left walked grave and stately Prince Charles, clothed in white
velvet. Then followed Queen Anne in blue velvet and ermine attended
by her ladies-in-waiting.
When their majesties were seated and their attendants took up their
positions behind them, Maxwell, Lord Chamberlain, began to announce
the names of those who were to bear the gaze of royalty.
Titled beauties of England and Scotland were alternately announced
by the tactful Maxwell, ever keeping in mind the ancient jealousy
of the two nations. The King, out of the kindness of his heart, took
especial notice of each one.
“The Princess Rebecca, daughter of Powhatan, King of Virginia!” cried
Maxwell in a loud voice.
Up the velvet aisle came Pocahontas with the gliding step of her
savage ancestry. But gone was the wild careless grace of the
wilderness. Every inch a queen she moved. Words expressive of
admiration and wonder were whispered on every side.
Her bosom and arms were covered in a flowing robe of yellow satin.
Upon its brocaded surface the Fleur de Lis of France cast lights and
shadows, and its long pointed bodice was thickly sown with turquoise
and pearls. Above it rose a fluted ruff of Mechlin lace. Three
crimson plumes were fastened by a diamond brooch among the raven
locks of her hair.
She sank gracefully down at the foot of the throne.
“You are verra welcome to our court, Princess,” said James. “Mony a
tale of your kindness to our colony have we heard. We expect you at
the banquet to be given presently, where we shall have much to ask
you about your kinsman.”
The levee being over, King James and his Queen led the way to the
banqueting hall, followed by those invited to dine in the royal
presence.
Their majesties seated themselves upon chairs of state, chairs
upholstered in orange silk. From a crown above them hung a purple
canopy embroidered in roses, shamrocks, and thistles.
Pocahontas was marshaled by the Earl of Pembroke to a low stool to
the left of Queen Anne, and somewhat below the royal table raised
upon a dais.
Her uneasy eyes traveled down the long table in the middle of the
hall, in search of her husband. He caught her look and smiled
reassuringly. She breathed easily again. John was there, now she
could enjoy to the full all the magnificence surrounding her.
Behind a railing that ran around two sides of the room were a crowd
of humble citizens, come to view their sovereign as he feasted. Among
them was Adam, watching intently the honors paid to Pocahontas.
“Truly this is a queersome world. There sits a savage from the wilds
feasting with the King, and poor Adam Clotworthy, a citizen of
London, has to stand with the gaping crowd behind the railing. But
she is a jewel, God bless her. Adam has not fallen so low as to envy
her good fortune.” Something to this effect were the ruminations of
Adam as he leaned against a balustrade to enjoy the scene.
The walls of the hall were hung in tapestries of gold and purple
silk garnished with pearls and amethysts. In a gallery opposite the
chairs of state musicians were playing Christmas ditties to aid the
digestion of the courtly guests seated at the long table extending
the entire length of the hall. Movable buffets, holding gold and
silver plate, stood near the King’s dais. His table was set with
rich gold plate once the property of the House of Burgundy. Agate
cups held sparkling wine from the vineyards of Bordeaux. From the
door leading to the buttery issued the Lord Chamberlain, followed by
a host of servants bearing both delicate and substantial viands to
tickle the palates of the diners.
“My Lord of Suffolk, fill the cup given us by the Constable of
Castile and present it to the Princess Rebecca. We drink her health,”
said James.
Filling a dragon-shaped goblet of crystal and gold with sparkling
wine, the Lord of Suffolk presented it to Pocahontas, who drank in
acknowledgment of the good-natured monarch’s toast.
Leaning across his Queen, James said to Pocahontas, “Your royal
father hath used the scalping-knife somewhat freely upon our liege
subjects, we have heard.”
“Powhatan worships Okee. He bends not the knee to the Royal Christ.
When warriors offend, he kills. Therefore he is feared, not loved,”
she answered, sadly, unconscious of the irony of her reply.
“She has you there, Cousin,” laughed the jester, Archie Armstrong,
shaking his hooded head until the bells jangled. “According to our
copper-colored relative, a Christian prince should not deprive his
loving subjects of breath whereby they may abuse him. Therefore, your
reign has been a failure, as many heads on London Bridge can testify.
Shut up the Tower—banish the hangman—give yourself over to hawking,
and place the reins of government in my hands.”
“Ay, and a likely time they wad have of it, I warrant, you auld
rattlepated loon!” retorted the King.
The boar’s head has been consumed; the jeweled fan of the peacock
trails low in the dust; huge pastries washed down by the flowing
bowl; tables are cleared away, pages run hither and thither carrying
silver basins in which the guests lave their hands and dry them upon
linen towels from the looms of Belfast. The King is now ready to be
amused.
Lords and ladies take their places for the ancient sword dance, and
glide to the stirring measures of the minstrels. Back and forth tread
the gay participants in the stately dance. Now the lovely maidens
form in a flowery line and pass under the arch of clashing swords of
the cavaliers.
“By my saul, a braw sight, if ’twere not for the glittering steel,”
exclaimed James, turning away his shrinking gaze from the uplifted
swords. “Now my bonnie lads and lassies, let us to the cards. Come,
my Lord Chamberlain, and you my Lord Suffolk, your loving father will
try his luck at primero with you.”
Catching hold of a page flitting by, he said, “Go yonder to Sir
Walter Raleigh, and say that the King desires his company.” Then
turning to the two lords continued, “We will celebrate his liberation
from our not too hospitable Tower.”
Rattling dice, clinking glasses, merry music, laughter and jest
closed the memorable day of Pocahontas’s presentation at court.