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I.—OF THE ARRIVAL OF QUEEN MARY IN LONDON; OF HER ENTRANCE INTO THE
TOWER; AND OF HER RECEPTION OF THE PRISONERS ON THE GREEN.
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ARY made her public entry into the city of London, on the 3d of August,
1553. The most magnificent preparations were made for her arrival,
and as the procession of the usurper—for such Jane was now universally
termed,—to the Tower, had been remarkable for its pomp and splendour,
it was determined, on the present occasion, to surpass it. The Queen’s
entrance was arranged to take place at Aldgate, and the streets along
which she was to pass were covered with fine gravel from thence to the
Tower, and railed on either side. Within the rails stood the crafts of
the city, in the dresses of their order; and at certain intervals were
stationed the officers of the guard and their attendants, arrayed in
velvet and silk, and having great staves in their hands to keep off the
crowd.
Hung with rich arras, tapestry, carpets, and, in some instances, with
cloths of tissue gold and velvet, the houses presented a gorgeous
appearance. Every window was filled with richly-attired dames, while
the roofs, walls, gables, and steeples, were crowded with curious
spectators. The tower of the old church of Saint Botolph, the ancient
walls of the city, westward as far as Bishopgate, and eastward to the
Tower postern, were thronged with beholders. Every available position
had its occupant. St. Catherine Coleman’s in Fenchurch Street—for it was
decided that the royal train was to make a slight detour—Saint Dennis
Backchurch; Saint Benedict’s; All Hallows, Lombard Street; in short,
every church, as well as every other structure, was covered.
The Queen, who had passed the previous night at Bow, set forth at noon,
and in less than an hour afterwards, loud acclamations, and still
louder discharges of ordnance, announced her approach. The day was as
magnificent as the spectacle—the sky was deep and cloudless, and the
sun shone upon countless hosts of bright and happy faces. At the bars
without Aldgate, on the Whitechapel road, Queen Mary was met by the
Princess Elizabeth, accompanied by a large cavalcade of knights and
dames. An affectionate greeting passed between the royal sisters, who
had not met since the death of Edward, and the usurpation of Jane, by
which both their claims to the throne had been set aside. But it was
noted by those who closely observed them, that Mary’s manner grew
more grave as Elizabeth rode by her side. The Queen was mounted upon
a beautiful milk-white palfrey, caparisoned in crimson velvet, fringed
with golden thread. She was habited in a robe of violet-coloured velvet,
furred with powdered ermine, and wore upon her head a caul of cloth of
tinsel set with pearls, and above this a massive circlet of gold covered
with gems of inestimable value. Though a contrary opinion is generally
entertained, Mary was not without some pretension to beauty. Her figure
was short and slight, but well proportioned; her complexion rosy and
delicate; and her eyes bright and piercing, though, perhaps, too stern
in their expression. Her mouth was small, with thin compressed lips,
which gave an austere and morose character to an otherwise-pleasing
face. If she had not the commanding port of her father, Henry the
Eighth, nor the proud beauty of her mother, Catherine of Arragon, she
inherited sufficient majesty and grace from them to well fit her for her
lofty station.
No one has suffered more from misrepresentation than this queen. Not
only have her failings been exaggerated, and ill qualities, which she
did not possess, attributed to her, but the virtues that undoubtedly
belonged to her, have been denied her. A portrait, perhaps too
flatteringly coloured, has been left of her by Michele, but still it is
nearer the truth than the darker presentations with which we are more
familiar. “As to the more important qualities of her mind, with a few
trifling exceptions, (in which, to speak the truth, she is like other
women, since besides being hasty and somewhat resentful, she is rather
more parsimonious and miserly than is fitting a munificent and liberal
sovereign,) she has in other respects no notable imperfection, and in
some things she is without equal; for not only she is endowed with a
spirit beyond other women who are naturally timid, but is so courageous
and resolute that no adversity nor danger ever caused her to betray
symptoms of pusillanimity. On the contrary, she has ever preserved a
greatness of mind and dignity that is admirable, knowing as well what is
due to the rank she holds as the wisest of her councillors, so that in
her conduct and proceedings during the whole of her life, it cannot
be denied she has always proved herself to be the offspring of a truly
royal stock. Of her humility, piety, and observance of religious duties,
it is unnecessary to speak, since they are well known, and have been
proved by sufferings little short of martyrdom; so that we may truly say
of her with the Cardinal, that amidst the darkness and obscurity which
overshadowed this kingdom, she remained like a faint flame strongly
agitated by winds which strove to extinguish it, but always kept alive
by her innocence and true faith, in order that she might one day shine
to the world, as she now does.” Other equally strong testimonies to her
piety and virtue might be adduced. By Camden she is termed a “lady never
sufficiently to be praised for her sanctity, charity, and liberality.”
And by Bishop Godwin—“a woman truly pious, benign, and of most
chaste manners, and to be lauded, if you do not regard her failure in
religion.” It was this “failure in religion” which has darkened her in
the eyes of her Protestant posterity. With so many good qualities it is
to be lamented that they were overshadowed by bigotry.
If Mary did not possess the profound learning of Lady Jane Grey, she
possessed more than ordinary mental acquirements. A perfect mistress of
Latin, French, Spanish and Italian, she conversed in the latter language
with fluency. She had extraordinary powers of eloquence when roused by
any great emotion, and having a clear logical understanding, was well
fitted for argument. Her courage was undaunted; and she possessed much
of the firmness of character—obstinacy it might perhaps be termed, of
her father. In the graceful accomplishment of the dance, she excelled,
and was passionately fond of music, playing with skill on three
instruments, the virginals, the regals, and the lute. She was fond of
equestrian exercise, and would often indulge in the chace. She revived
all the old sports and games which had been banished as savouring of
mummery by the votaries of the reformed faith. One of her sins in their
eyes was a fondness for rich apparel. In the previous reign female
attire was remarkable for its simplicity. She introduced costly stuffs,
sumptuous dresses, and French fashions.
In personal attractions the Princess Elizabeth far surpassed her sister.
She was then in the bloom of youth, and though she could scarcely be
termed positively beautiful, she had a very striking appearance, being
tall, portly, with bright blue eyes, and exquisitely formed hands, which
she took great pains to display.
As soon as Elizabeth had taken her place behind the Queen, the
procession set forward. The first part of the cavalcade consisted of
gentlemen clad in doublets of blue velvet, with sleeves of orange and
red, mounted on chargers trapped with close housings of blue sarsenet
powdered with white crosses. After them rode esquires and knights,
according to their degree, two and two, well mounted, and richly
apparelled in cloth of gold, silver, or embroidered velvet, “fresh
and goodlie to behold.” Then came the trumpeters, with silken pennons
fluttering from their clarions, who did their devoir gallantly. Then a
litter covered with cloth of gold, drawn by richly-caparisoned horses,
and filled by sumptuously-apparelled dames. Then an immense retinue of
nobles, knights, and gentlemen, with their attendants, all dressed in
velvets, satins, taffeties, and damask of all colours, and of every
device and fashion—there being no lack of cloths of tissue, gold,
silver, embroidery, or goldsmith’s work. Then came forty high-born
damsels mounted on steeds, trapped with red velvet, arrayed in gowns and
kirtles of the same material. Then followed two other litters covered
with red satin. Then came the Queen’s body guard of archers, clothed in
scarlet, bound with black velvet, bearing on their doublets a rose woven
in gold, under which was an imperial crown. Then came the judges;
then the doctors; then the bishops; then the council; and, lastly, the
knights of the Bath in their robes.
Before the Queen rode six lords, bare-headed, four of whom carried
golden maces. Foremost amongst these rode the Earls of Pembroke and
Arundel, bearing the arms and crown. They were clothed in robes of
tissue, embroidered with roses of fine gold, and each was girt with a
baldrick of massive gold. Their steeds were trapped in burnt silver,
drawn over with cords of green silk and gold, the edges of their apparel
being fretted with gold and damask. The Queen’s attire has been already
described. She was attended by six lacqueys habited in vests of gold,
and by a female attendant in a grotesque attire, whom she retained as
her jester, and who was known among her household by the designation
of Jane the Fool. The Princess Elizabeth followed, after whom came a
numerous guard of archers and arquebussiers. The retinue was closed by
the train of the ambassadors, Noailles and Renard. A loud discharge of
ordnance announced the Queen’s arrival at Aldgate. This was immediately
answered by the Tower guns, and a tremendous and deafening shout rent
the air. Mary appeared greatly affected by this exhibition of joy, and
as she passed under the ancient gate which brought her into the city,
and beheld the multitudes assembled to receive her, and heard their
shouts of welcome, she was for a moment overcome by her feelings. But
she speedily recovered herself, and acknowledged the stunning cries with
a graceful inclination of her person.
Upon a stage on the left, immediately within the gate, stood a large
assemblage of children, attired like wealthy merchants, one of whom—who
represented the famous Whittington—pronounced an oration to the Queen,
to which she vouchsafed a gracious reply. Before this stage was drawn
up a little phalanx, called the “Nine children of honour.” These youths
were clothed in velvet, powdered with flowers-de-luce, and were mounted
on great coursers, each of which had embroidered on its housing a
scutcheon of the Queen’s title—as of England, France, Gascony, Guienne,
Normandy, Anjou, Cornwall, Wales and Ireland. As soon as the oration
was ended, the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Sheriffs, and their officers and
attendants, rode forth to welcome the Queen to the city. The Lord Mayor
was clothed in a gown of crimson velvet, decorated with the collar of
SS., and carried the mace. He took his place before the Earl of Arundel,
and after some little delay the cavalcade was again set in motion.
First marched the different civic crafts, with bands of minstrelsy and
banners; then the children who had descended from the stage; then
the nine youths of honour; then the city guard; and then the Queen’s
cavalcade as before described.
Mary was everywhere received with the loudest demonstrations of joy.
Prayers, wishes, welcomings, and vociferations attended her progress.
Nothing was heard but “God save your highness—God send you a long and
happy reign.” To these cries, whenever she could make herself heard, the
Queen rejoined, “God save you, all my people. I thank you with all my
heart.” Gorgeous pageants were prepared at every corner. The conduits
ran wine. The crosses and standards in the city wore newly painted and
burnished. The bells pealed, and loud-voiced cannon roared. Triumphal
arches covered with flowers, and adorned with banners, targets, and rich
stuffs, crossed the streets. Largesse was showered among the crowd with
a liberal hand, and it was evident that Mary’s advent was hailed on
all hands as the harbinger of prosperity. The train proceeded along
Fenchurch Street, where was a “marvellous cunning’ pageant, representing
the fountain of Helicon, made by the merchants of the Stillyard; the
fountain ran abundantly-racked Rhenish wine till night.” At the corner
of Gracechurch Street there was another pageant, raised to a great
height, on the summit of which were four pictures; above these stood an
angel robed in green, with a trumpet to its mouth, which was sounded
at the Queen’s approach, to the “great marvelling of many ignorant
persons.” Here she was harangued by the Recorder; after which the
Chamberlain presented her with a purse of cloth of gold, containing a
thousand marks. The purse she graciously received, but the money she
distributed among the assemblage. At the corner of Gracechurch Street
another stage was erected. It was filled with the loveliest damsels
that could be found, with their hair loosened and floating over their
shoulders, and carrying large branches of white wax. This was by far the
prettiest spectacle she had witnessed, and elicited Mary’s particular
approbation. Her attention, however, was immediately afterwards
attracted to the adjoining stage, which was filled with Romish priests
in rich copes, with crosses and censers of silver, which they waved
as the Queen approached, while an aged prelate advanced to pronounce a
solemn benediction upon her. Mary immediately dismounted, and received
it on her knees. This action was witnessed with some dislike by the
multitude, and but few shouts were raised as she again mounted her
palfrey. But it was soon forgotten, and the same cheers that had
hitherto attended her accompanied her to the Tower. Traversing
East-cheap, which presented fresh crowds, and offered fresh pageants
to her view, she entered Tower Street, where she was welcomed by larger
throngs than before, and with greater enthusiasm than ever. In this way
she reached Tower Hill, where a magnificent spectacle burst upon her.
The vast area of Tower Hill was filled with spectators. The crowds who
had witnessed her entrance into the city had now flocked thither, and
every avenue had poured in its thousands, till there was not a square
inch of ground unoccupied. Many were pushed into the moat, and it
required the utmost exertion of the guards, who were drawn out in lines
of two deep, to keep the road which had been railed and barred from the
end of Tower Street to the gates of the fortress clear for the Queen.
As Mary’s eye ranged over this sea of heads—as she listened to their
stunning vociferations, and to the loud roar of the cannon which broke
from every battlement in the Tower, her heart swelled with exultation.
It was an animating spectacle. The day, it has been said, was bright and
beautiful. The sun poured down its rays upon the ancient fortress,
which had so lately opened its gates to an usurper, but which now like a
heartless rake had cast off one mistress to take another. The whole line
of ramparts on the west was filled with armed men. On the summit of the
White Tower floated her standard, while bombard and culverin kept up a
continual roar from every lesser tower.
After gazing for a few moments in the direction of the lofty citadel,
now enveloped in the clouds of smoke issuing from the ordnance, and,
excepting its four tall turrets and its standard, entirely hidden from
view, her eyes followed the immense cavalcade, which, like a swollen
current, was pouring its glittering tide beneath the arch of the Bulwark
Gate; and as troop after troop disappeared, and she gradually approached
the fortress, she thought she had never beheld a sight so grand and
inspiriting. Flourishes of trumpets, almost lost in the stunning
acclamations of the multitude, and the thunder of artillery, greeted
her arrival at the Tower. Her entrance was conducted with much ceremony.
Proceeding through closely-serried ranks of archers and arquebussiers,
she passed beneath the Middle Gate and across the bridge. At the By-ward
Tower she was received by Lord Clinton and a train of nobles. On either
side of the gate, stood Gog and Magog. Both giants made a profound
obesiance as she passed. A few steps further, her course was checked by.
Og and Xit. Prostrating himself before her, the elder giant assisted
his diminutive companion to clamber upon his back, and as soon as he had
gained this position, the dwarf knelt down, and offered the keys of the
fortress to the Queen. Mary was much diverted at the incident, nor was
she less surprised at the vast size of Og and his brethren—than at
the resemblance they presented to her royal father. Guessing what was
passing through her mind, and regardless of consequences as of decorum,
Xit remarked,—
“Your majesty, I perceive, is struck with the likeness of my worthy
friend Og to your late sire King Henry VIII., of high and renowned
memory. You will not, therefore, be surprised, when I inform you that he
is his—”
Before another word could be uttered, Og, who had been greatly alarmed
at the preamble, arose with such suddenness, that Xit was precipitated
to the ground.
“Pardon me, your majesty,” cried the giant, in great confusion, “it
is true what the accursed imp says. I have the honour to be indirectly
related to your highness. God’s death, sirrah, I have half a mind to set
my foot upon thee and crush thee. Thou art ever in mischief.”
The look and gesture, which accompanied this exclamation, were so
indescribably like their royal parent, that neither the Queen nor the
Princess Elizabeth could forbear laughing.
As to Xit, the occurrence gained him a new friend in the person of Jane
the Fool, who ran up as he was limping off with a crestfallen look, and
begged her majesty’s permission to take charge of him. This was granted,
and the dwarf proceeded with the royal cortege. On learning the name of
his protectress, Xit observed,—
“You are wrongfully designated, sweetheart. Jane the Queen was Jane the
Fool—you are Jane the Wise.”
While this was passing, Mary had given some instructions in an under
tone to Lord Clinton, and he immediately departed to fulfil them. The
cavalcade next passed beneath the arch of the Bloody Tower, and the
whole retinue drew up on the Green. A wide circle was formed round the
queen, amid which, at intervals, might be seen the towering figures of
the giants, and next to the elder of them, Xit, who having been obliged
to quit his new friend had returned to Og and was standing on his
tip-toes to obtain a peep at what was passing. No sooner had Mary taken
up her position, than Lord Clinton re-appeared, and brought with him
several illustrious persons who having suffered imprisonment in the
fortress, for their zeal for the religion of Rome, wore now liberated by
her command. As the first of the group, a venerable nobleman, Approached
her and bent the knee before her, Mary’s eyes filled with tears, and she
exclaimed, in a voice of much emotion,—
“Arise, my Lord Duke of Norfolk. The attainder pronounced against you in
my father’s reign is reversed. Your rank, your dignities, honours, and
estates shall be restored to you.”
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As the Duke retired, Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, advanced.
“Your Grace shall not only have your bishoprick again,” said Mary, “but
you shall have another high and important office.—I here appoint you
Lord Chancellor of the realm.”
“Your highness overwhelms me with kindness,” replied Gardiner, pressing
her hand to his lips.
“You have no more than your desert, my lord,” replied Mary. “But I pray
you stand aside a moment. There are other claimants of our attention.”
Gardiner withdrew, and another deprived bishop took his place. It was
Bonner.
“My lord,” said Mary, as he bowed before her, “you are restored to the
see of London, and the prelate who now so unworthily fills that high
post, Bishop Ridley, shall make room for you. My lord,” she added to
Lord Clinton, “make out a warrant, and let him be committed to the
Tower.”
“I told you how it would be,” observed Renard to Lord Pembroke.
“Ridley’s last discourse has cost him his liberty. Cranmer will speedily
follow.”
Other prisoners, amongst whom was Tunstall, Bishop of Durham, and the
Duchess of Somerset, now advanced, and were warmly welcomed by the
Queen. The last person who approached her was a remarkably handsome
young man, with fine features and a noble figure. This was Edward
Courtenay, son of the Marquess of Exeter, who was beheaded in 1538.
Since that time Courtenay had been a close prisoner in the Tower. He was
of the blood-royal, being grandson of Catherine, youngest daughter of
Edward the Fourth, and his father had been declared heir to the throne.
“You are right welcome, my cousin,” said Mary, extending her hand
graciously to him, which he pressed to his lips. “Your attainder shall
be set aside, and though we cannot restore your father to life, we can
repair the fortunes of his son, and restore him to his former honours.
Henceforth, you are Earl of Devonshire. Your patent shall be presently
made out, and such of your sire’s possessions as are in our hands
restored.”
Courtenay warmly thanked her for her bounty, and the Queen smiled upon
him in such gracious sort, that a suspicion crossed more than one bosom
that she might select him as her consort.
“Her majesty smiles upon Courtenay as if she would bestow her hand upon
him in right earnest,” observed Pembroke to Renard.
“Hum!” replied the ambassador. “This must be nipped in the bud. I have
another husband in view for her.”
“Your master, Philip of Spain, I’ll be sworn,” said Pembroke—“a suitable
match, if he were not a Catholic.”
Renard made no answer, but he smiled an affirmative.
“I am glad this scheme has reached my ears,” observed De Noailles, who
overheard the conversation—“it will not suit my master, Henry II., that
England should form an alliance with Spain. I am for Courtenay, and will
thwart Renard’s plot.”
Having received the whole of the prisoners, Mary gave orders to liberate
all those within the Tower who might be confined for their adherence to
the Catholic faith.
“My first care,” she said, “shall be to celebrate the obsequies of my
brother, Edward VI.,—whose body, while others have been struggling for
the throne, remains uninterred according to the forms of the Romish
church. The service shall take place in Westminster Abbey.”
“That may not be, your highness,” said Cranmer, who formed one of the
group. “His late majesty was a Protestant prince.”
“Beware how you oppose me, my lord,” rejoined Mary, sternly. “I have
already committed Ridley to prison, and shall not hesitate to commit
your Grace.”
“Your highness will act as it seems best to you,” rejoined Cranmer,
boldly; “but I shall fulfil my duty, even at the hazard of incurring
your displeasure. Your royal brother professed the Protestant faith,
which is, as yet,—though Heaven only knows how long it may continue
so,—the established religion of this country, and he must, therefore, be
interred according to the rites of that church. No other ceremonies, but
those of the Protestant church, shall be performed within Westminster
Abbey, as long as I maintain a shadow of power.”
“It is well,” replied Mary. “We may find means to make your Grace more
flexible. To-morrow, we shall publish a decree proclaiming our religious
opinions. And it is our sovereign pleasure, that the words ‘Papist’ and
‘Heretic’ be no longer used as terms of reproach.”
“I have lived long enough,” exclaimed the Duke of Norfolk, falling on
his knees—“in living to see the religion of my fathers restored.”
“The providence which watched over your Grace’s life, and saved you from
the block, when your fate seemed all but sealed, reserved you for this
day,” rejoined Mary.
“It reserved me to be a faithful and devoted servant of your majesty,”
replied the Duke.
“What is your highness’s pleasure touching the Duke of Northumberland,
Lord Guilford Dudley, and Lady Jane Dudley?” inquired Clinton.
“The two latter will remain closely confined till their arraignment,”
replied Mary. “Lady Jane, also, will remain a prisoner for the present.
And now, my lords, to the palace.”
With this, she turned her palfreys head, and passing under the Bloody
Tower, proceeded to the principal entrance of the ancient structure,
where she dismounted, and accompanied by a throng of nobles, dames, and
attendants, entered the apartments so lately occupied by the unfortunate
Jane.