partly right in regard to me; for it was his honor that saved me, not
my own; and if I am not what you called me I have Master Brandon to
thank--not myself."
"We will thank him publicly on Tower Hill, day after to-morrow, at
noon," said the king, with his accustomed delicacy, breaking the news
of Brandon's sentence as abruptly as possible.
With a look of terror in her eyes, Mary screamed: "What! Charles
Brandon.... Tower Hill?... You are going to kill him?"
"I think we will," responded Henry; "it usually has that effect, to
separate the head from the body and quarter the remains to decorate
the four gates. We will take you up to London in a day or two and let
you see his beautiful head on the bridge."
"Behead--quarter--bridge! Lord Jesu!" She could not grasp the thought;
she tried to speak, but the words would not come. In a moment she
became more coherent, and the words rolled from her lips as a mighty
flood tide pours back through the arches of London Bridge.
"You shall not kill him; he is blameless; you do not know. Drive these
gawking fools out of the room, and I will tell you all." The king
ordered the room cleared of everybody but Wolsey, Jane and myself, who
remained at Mary's request. When all were gone, the princess
continued: "Brother, this man is in no way to blame; it is all my
fault--my fault that he loves me; my fault that he tried to run away
to New Spain with me. It may be that I have done wrong and that my
conduct has been unmaidenly, but I could not help it. From the first
time I ever saw him in the lists with you at Windsor there was a
gnawing hunger in my heart beyond my control. I supposed, of course,
that day he would contrive some way to be presented to me...."
"You did?"
"Yes, but he made no effort at all, and when we met he treated me as
if I were an ordinary girl."
"He did?"
"Yes."
"Horrible."
Mary was too intent on her story to heed the sarcasm, and continued:
"That made me all the more interested in him since it showed that he
was different from the wretches who beset you and me with their
flattery, and I soon began to seek him on every occasion. This is an
unmaidenly history I am giving, I know, but it is the truth, and must
be told. I was satisfied at first if I could only be in the same room
with him, and see his face, and hear his voice. The very air he
breathed was like an elixir for me. I made every excuse to have him
near me; I asked him to my parlor--you know about that--and--and did
all I could to be with him. At first he was gentle and kind, but soon,
I think, he saw the dawning danger in both our hearts, as I too saw
it, and he avoided me in every way he could, knowing the trouble it
held for us both. Oh! he was the wiser--and to think to what I have
brought him. Brother, let me die for him--I who alone am to blame;
take my life and spare him--spare him! He was the wiser, but I doubt
if all the wisdom in the world could have saved us. He almost insulted
me once in the park--told me to leave him--when it hurt him more than
me, I am now sure; but he did it to keep matters from growing worse
between us. I tried to remember the affront, but could not, and had he
struck me I believe I should have gone back to him sooner or later.
Oh! it was all my fault; I would not let him save himself. So strong
was my feeling that I could bear his silence no longer, and one day I
went to him in your bed-chamber ante-room and fairly thrust myself and
my love upon him. Then, after he was liberated from Newgate, I could
not induce him to come to me, so I went to him and begged for his
love. Then I coaxed him into taking me to New Spain, and would listen
to no excuse and hear no reason. Now lives there another man who would
have taken so much coaxing?"
"No! by heaven! your majesty," said Wolsey, who really had a kindly
feeling for Brandon and would gladly save his life, if, by so doing,
he would not interfere with any of his own plans and interests.
Wolsey's heart was naturally kind when it cost him nothing, and much
has been related of him, which, to say the least, tells a great deal
more than the truth. Ingratitude always recoils upon the ingrate, and
Henry's loss was greater than Wolsey's when Wolsey fell.
Henry really liked, or, rather, admired, Brandon, as had often been
shown, but his nature was incapable of real affection. The highest
point he ever reached was admiration, often quite extravagant for a
time, but usually short-lived, as naked admiration is apt to be. If he
had affection for any one it was for Mary. He could not but see the
justice of his sister's position, but he had no intention of allowing
justice, in the sense of right, to interfere with justice in the sense
of the king's will.
"You have been playing the devil at a great rate," he said, "You have
disobeyed your brother and your king; have disgraced yourself; have
probably made trouble between us and France, for if Louis refuses to
take you now I will cram you down his throat; and by your own story
have led a good man to the block. Quite a budget of evils for one
woman to open. But I have noticed that the trouble a woman can make is
in proportion to her beauty, and no wonder my little sister has made
so much disturbance. It is strange, though, that he should so affect
you. Master Wolsey, surely there has been witchery here. He must have
used it abundantly to cast such a spell over my sister." Then turning
to the princess: "Was it at any time possible for him to have given
you a love powder; or did he ever make any signs or passes over you?"
"Oh, no! nothing of that sort. I never ate or drank anything which he
could possibly have touched. And as to signs and passes, I know he
never made any. Sir Edwin, you were always present when I was with him
until after we left for Bristol; did you ever see anything of the
sort?"
I answered "No," and she went on. "Besides, I do not believe much in
signs and passes. No one can affect others unless he can induce them
to eat or drink something in which he has placed a love powder or
potion. Then again, Master Brandon did not want me to love him, and
surely would not have used such a method to gain what he could have
had freely without it."
I noticed that Henry's mind had wandered from what Mary was saying,
and that his eyes were fixed upon me with a thoughtful, half vicious,
inquiring stare that I did not like. I wondered what was coming next,
but my curiosity was more than satisfied when the king asked: "So
Caskoden was present at all your interviews?"
Ah! Holy Mother! I knew what was coming now, and actually began to
shrivel with fright. The king continued: "I suppose he helped you to
escape?"
I thought my day had come, but Mary's wit was equal to the occasion.
With an expression on her face of the most dove-like innocence, she
quickly said:
"Oh! no! neither he nor Jane knew anything of it. We were afraid they
might divulge it."
Shade of Sapphira!
A lie is a pretty good thing, too, now and then, and the man who says
that word of Mary's was not a blessed lie, must fight me with lance,
battle-ax, sword and dagger till one or the other of us bites the dust
in death, be he great or small.
"I am glad to learn that you knew nothing of it," said Henry,
addressing me; and I was glad, too, for him to learn it, you may be
sure.
Then spoke Wolsey: "If your majesty will permit, I would say that I
quite agree with you; there has been witchery here--witchery of the
most potent kind; the witchery of lustrous eyes, of fair skin and rosy
lips; the witchery of all that is sweet and intoxicating in womanhood,
but Master Brandon has been the victim of this potent spell, not the
user of it. One look upon your sister standing there, and I know your
majesty will agree that Brandon had no choice against her."
"Perhaps you are right," returned Henry.
Then spoke Mary, all unconscious of her girlish egotism: "Of course he
had not. Master Brandon could not help it." Which was true beyond all
doubt.
Henry laughed at her naïveté, and Wolsey's lips wore a smile, as he
plucked the king by the sleeve and took him over to the window, out of
our hearing.
Mary began to weep and show signs of increasing agitation.
After a short whispered conversation, the king and Wolsey came back
and the former said: "Sister, if I promise to give Brandon his life,
will you consent decently and like a good girl to marry Louis of
France?"
Mary almost screamed, "Yes, yes; gladly; I will do anything you ask,"
and fell at his feet hysterically embracing his knees.
As the king stooped and lifted her to her feet, he kissed her, saying:
"His life shall be spared, my sweet sister." After this, Henry felt
that he had done a wonderfully gracious act and was the
kindest-hearted prince in all Christendom.
Poor Mary! Two mighty kings and their great ministers of state had at
last conquered you, but they had to strike you through your love--the
vulnerable spot in every woman.
Jane and I led Mary away through a side door and the king called for
de Longueville to finish the interrupted game of cards.
Before the play was resumed Wolsey stepped softly around to the king
and asked: "Shall I affix your majesty's seal to Brandon's pardon?"
"Yes, but keep him in the Tower until Mary is off for France."
Wolsey had certainly been a friend to Brandon in time of need, but, as
usual, he had value received for his friendliness. He was an ardent
advocate of the French marriage, notwithstanding the fact he had told
Mary he was not; having no doubt been bribed thereto by the French
king.
The good bishop had, with the help of de Longueville, secretly sent
Mary's miniature to the French court in order that it might, as if by
accident, fall into the hands of Louis, and that worthy's little, old,
shriveled heart began to flutter, just as if there could be kindled in
it a genuine flame.
Louis had sent to de Longueville, who was then in England, for
confirmation of Mary's beauty, and de Longueville grew so eloquent on
the theme that his French majesty at once authorized negotiations.
As reports came in Louis grew more and more impatient. This did not,
however, stand in the way of his driving a hard bargain in the matter
of dower, for "The Father of the People" had the characteristics of
his race, and was intensely practical as well as inflammable. They
never lose sight of the _dot_--but I do not find fault.
Louis little knew what thorns this lovely rose had underneath her
velvet leaves, and what a veritable Tartar she would be, linked to the
man she did not love; or he would have given Henry four hundred
thousand crowns to keep her at home.
_CHAPTER XIX_
_Proserpina_
So the value received for Wolsey's friendship to Brandon was Mary's
promise to marry Louis.
Mary wanted to send a message at once to Brandon, telling him his life
would be spared, and that she had made no delay this time--a fact of
which she was very proud--but the Tower gates would not open until
morning, so she had to wait. She compensated herself as well as she
could by writing a letter, which I should like to give you here, but
it is too long. She told him of his pardon, but not one word upon the
theme he so wished yet feared to hear of--her promise never to wed any
other man. Mary had not told him of her final surrender in the matter
of the French marriage, for the reason that she dreaded to pain him,
and feared he might refuse the sacrifice.
"It will almost kill him, I know," she said to Jane that night, "and I
fear it is a false kindness I do him. He would, probably, rather die
than that I should marry another; I know that I should rather die, or
have anything else terrible to happen, than for another woman to
possess him. He promised me he never would; but suppose he should fail
in his word, as I have to-day failed in mine? The thought of it
absolutely burns me." And she threw herself into Jane's arms, and that
little comforter tried to soothe her by making light of her fears.
"Oh! but suppose he should?"
"Well! there is no need to borrow trouble. You said he promised you,
and you know he is one who keeps his word."
"But I promised, too, and think of what I am about to do. Mary in
heaven, help me! But he is made of different stuff from me. I can and
do trust his word, and when I think of all my troubles, and when it
seems that I cannot bear them, the one comforting thought comes that
no other woman will ever possess him; no other woman; no other woman.
I am glad that my only comfort comes from him."
"I hoped that I might have been some comfort to you; I have tried hard
enough," said Jane, who was jealous.
"Oh! yes! my sweet Jane; you do comfort me; you are like a soothing
balm to an aching pain," and she kissed the hands that held hers. This
was all that modest little Jane required. She was content to be an
humble balm and did not aspire to the dignity of an elixir.
The girls then said their prayers in concert and Mary gently wept
herself to sleep. She lay dreaming and tossing nervously until
sunrise, when she got up and added more pages to her letter, until I
called to take it.
I was on hand soon after the Tower gates had opened and was permitted
to see Brandon at once. He read Mary's letter and acted like every
other lover, since love-letters first began. He was quick to note the
absence of the longed for, but not expected assurance, and when he did
not see it went straight to the point.
"She has promised to marry the French king to purchase my life. Is
that not true?"
"I hope not," I answered, evasively; "I have seen very little of her,
and she has said nothing about it."
"You are evading my question, I see. Do you know nothing of it?"
"Nothing," I replied, telling an unnecessary lie.
"Caskoden, you are either a liar or a blockhead."
"Make it a liar, Brandon," said I, laughingly, for I was sure of my
place in his heart and knew that he meant no offense.
I never doubt a friend; one would better be trustful of ninety-nine
friends who are false than doubtful of one who is true. Suspicion and
super-sensitiveness are at once the badge and the bane of a little
soul.
I did not leave the Tower until noon, and Brandon's pardon had been
delivered to him before I left. He was glad that the first news of it
had come from Mary.
He naturally expected his liberty at once, and when told that he was
to be honorably detained for a short time, turned to me and said: "I
suppose they are afraid to let me out until she is off for France.
King Henry flatters me."
I looked out of the window up Tower street and said nothing.
When I left I took a letter to Mary, which plainly told her he had
divined it all, and she wrote a tear-stained answer, begging him to
forgive her for having saved his life at a cost greater than her own.
For several days I was kept busy carrying letters from Greenwich to
the Tower and back again, but soon letters ceased to satisfy Mary, and
she made up her mind that she must see him. Nothing else would do. She
must not, could not, and, in short, would not go another day without
seeing him; no, not another hour. Jane and I opposed her all we could,
but the best we could accomplish was to induce her for Brandon's
sake--for she was beginning to see that he was the one who had to
suffer for her indiscretions--to ask Henry's permission, and if he
refused, then try some other way. To determine was to act with Mary,
so off she went without delay to hunt the king, taking Jane and me
along as escort. How full we were of important business, as we
scurried along the corridors, one on each side of Mary, all talking
excitedly at once. When anything was to be done, it always required
three of us to do it.
We found the king, and without any prelude, Mary proffered her
request. Of course it was refused. Mary pouted, and was getting ready
for an outburst, when Wolsey spoke up: "With your majesty's gracious
permission, I would subscribe to the petition of the princess. She has
been good enough to give her promise in the matter of so much
importance to us, and in so small a thing as this I hope you may see
your way clear toward favoring her. The interview will be the last and
may help to make her duty easier." Mary gave the cardinal a fleeting
glance from her lustrous eyes full of surprise and gratitude, and as
speaking as a book.
Henry looked from one to the other of us for a moment, and broke into
a boisterous laugh.
"Oh, I don't care, so that you keep it a secret. The old king will
never know. We can hurry up the marriage. He is getting too much
already; four hundred thousand crowns and a girl like you; he cannot
complain if he have an heir. It would be a good joke on the miserly
old dotard, but better on '_Ce Gros Garçon_.'"
Mary sprang from her chair with a cry of rage. "You brute! Do you
think I am as vile as you because I have the misfortune to be your
sister, or that Charles Brandon is like you simply because he is a
man?" Henry laughed, his health at that time being too good for him to
be ill-natured. He had all he wanted out of his sister, so her
outbursts amused him.
Mary hurriedly left the king and walked back to her room, filled with
shame and rage; feelings actively stimulated by Jane, who was equally
indignant.
Henry had noticed Jane's frown, but had laughed at her, and had tried
to catch and kiss her as she left; but she struggled away from him and
fled with a speed worthy of the cause.
This insulting suggestion put a stop to Mary's visit to the Tower more
effectually than any refusal could have done, and she sat down to pour
forth her soul's indignation in a letter.
She remained at home then, but saw Brandon later, and to good purpose,
as I believe, although I am not sure about it, even to this day.
I took this letter to Brandon, along with Mary's miniature--the one
that had been painted for Charles of Germany, but had never been
given--and a curl of her hair, and it looked as if this was all he
would ever possess of her.
De Longueville heard of Henry's brutal consent that Mary might see
Brandon, and, with a Frenchman's belief in woman's depravity, was
exceedingly anxious to keep them apart. To this end he requested that
a member of his own retinue be placed near Brandon. To this Henry
readily consented, and there was an end to even the letter-writing.
Opportunities increase in value doubly fast as they drift behind us,
and now that the princess could not see Brandon, or even write to him,
she regretted with her whole soul that she had not gone to the Tower
when she had permission, regardless of what any one would say or
think.
Mary was imperious and impatient, by nature, but upon rare and urgent
occasions could employ the very smoothest sort of finesse.
Her promise to marry Louis of France had been given under the stress
of a frantic fear for Brandon, and without the slightest mental
reservation, for it was given to save his life, as she would have
given her hands or her eyes, her life or her very soul itself; but now
that the imminent danger was passed she began to revolve schemes to
evade her promise and save Brandon notwithstanding. She knew that
under the present arrangement his life depended upon her marriage, but
she had never lost faith in her ability to handle the king if she had
but a little time in which to operate, and had secretly regretted that
she had not, in place of flight, opened up her campaign along the line
of feminine diplomacy at the very beginning.
Henry was a dullard mentally, while Mary's mind was keen and
alert--two facts of which the girl was perfectly aware--so it was no
wonder she had such confidence in herself. When she first heard of
Brandon's sentence her fear for him was so great, and the need for
action so urgent, that she could not resort to her usual methods for
turning matters her way, but eagerly applied the first and quickest
remedy offered. Now, however, that she had a breathing spell, and time
in which to operate her more slowly moving, but, as she thought,
equally sure forces of cajolery and persuasion, she determined to
marshal the legions of her wit and carry war into the enemy's country
at once.
Henry's brutal selfishness in forcing upon her the French marriage,
together with his cruel condemnation of Brandon, and his vile
insinuations against herself, had driven nearly every spark of
affection for her brother from her heart. But she felt that she might
feign an affection she did not feel, and that what she so wanted would
be cheap at the price. Cheap? It would be cheap at the cost of her
immortal soul. Cheap? What she wanted was life's condensed sweets--the
man she loved; and what she wanted to escape was life's distilled
bitterness--marriage with a man she loathed. None but a pure woman can
know the torture of that. I saw this whole disastrous campaign from
start to finish. Mary began with a wide flank movement conducted under
masked batteries and skilfully executed. She sighed over her troubles
and cried a great deal, but told the king he had been such a dear,
kind brother to her that she would gladly do anything to please him
and advance his interests. She said it would be torture to live with
that old creature, King Louis, but she would do it willingly to help
her handsome brother, no matter how much she might suffer.
The king laughed and said: "Poor old Louis! What about him? What about
his suffering? He thinks he is making such a fine bargain, but the
Lord pity him, when he has my little sister in his side for a thorn.
He had better employ some energetic soul to prick him with needles and
bodkins, for I think there is more power for disturbance in this
little body than in any other equal amount of space in all the
universe. You will furnish him all the trouble he wants, won't you,
sister?"
"I shall try," said the princess demurely, perfectly willing to obey
in everything.
"Devil a doubt of that, and you will succeed, too, or my crown's a
stew-pan," and he laughed at the huge joke he was about to perpetrate
on his poor, old royal brother.
It would seem that the tremendous dose of flattery administered by
Mary would have been so plainly self-interested as to alarm the
dullest perception, but Henry's vanity was so dense, and his appetite
for flattery so great, that he accepted it all without suspicion, and
it made him quite affable and gracious.
Mary kept up her show of affection and docile obedience for a week or
two until she thought Henry's suspicions were allayed; and then, after
having done enough petting and fondling, as she thought, to start the
earth itself a-moving--as some men are foolish enough to say it really
does--she began the attack direct by putting her arms about the king's
neck, and piteously begging him not to sacrifice her whole life by
sending her to France.
Her pathetic, soul-charged appeal might have softened the heart of
Caligula himself; but Henry was not even cruel. He was simply an
animal so absorbed in himself that he could not feel for others.
"Oh! it is out at last," he said, with a laugh. "I thought all this
sweetness must have been for something. So the lady wants her Brandon,
and doesn't want her Louis, yet is willing to obey her dear, kind
brother? Well, we'll take her at her word and let her obey. You may as
well understand, once and for all, that you are to go to France. You
promised to go decently if I would not cut off that fellow's head, and
now I tell you that if I hear another whimper from you off it comes,
and you will go to France, too."
This brought Mary to terms quickly enough. It touched her one
vulnerable spot--her love.
"I will go; I promise it again. You shall never hear another word of
complaint from me if you give me your royal word that no harm shall
come to him--to him," and she put her hands over her face to conceal
her tears as she softly wept.
"The day you sail for France, Brandon shall go free and shall again
have his old post at court. I like the fellow as a good companion, and
really believe you are more to blame than he."
"I am all to blame, and am ready this day to pay the penalty. I am at
your disposal to go when and where you choose," answered Mary, most
pathetically.
Poor, fair Proserpina, with no kind mother Demeter to help her. The
ground will soon open, and Pluto will have his bride.