above all, I am bound to show you the truth and not be let for none. I
have been in the French party, and they be more in number,--double so
many as ye be."
"Sire," answered Lord Shrewsbury, "whatever my lord of Abergavenny
sayeth, I myself have been there, and the Frenchmen be more in fear of
you and your subjects than your subjects be of them. Wherefore, if I
were worthy to give counsel, your grace should march forward."
Bluff King Harry had no thought of doing anything else. The doubt which
shook the souls of some of his followers, did not enter his.
"So we intend, my lord," he briefly answered, and rode forward.
For a moment the two kings remained face to face, gazing upon each other
in silence. Then came a burst of music, and, spurring their horses, they
galloped forward, and in an instant were hand in hand. Three times they
embraced; then, dismounting, they again embraced, and walked arm in arm
towards the pavilion. Brief was the conference within, the constables of
France and England keeping strict ward outside, with swords held at
salute. Not till the monarchs emerged was the restraint broken. Then
Henry and Francis were presented to the dignitaries of the opposite
nation, their escorts fraternized, barrels of wine were broached, and as
the wine-cups were drained the toast, "Good friends, French and
English," was cheerily repeated from both sides. The nobles were
emulated in this by their followers, and the good fellowship of the
meeting was signalized by abundant revelry, night only ending the
merrymaking.
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday passed in exchange of courtesies, and in
preparations for the tournament which was to be the great event of the
occasion. On Sunday afternoon Henry crossed the frontier to do homage to
the queen of France, and Francis offered the same tribute to the English
queen. Henry rode to Arde in a dress that was heavy with gold and
jewels, and was met by the queen and her ladies, whose beauty was
adorned with the richest gems and tissues and the rarest laces that the
wealth and taste of the time could command. The principal event of the
reception was a magnificent dinner, whose service was so rich and its
viands so rare and costly that the chronicler confesses himself unequal
to the task of describing it. Music, song, and dancing filled up the
intervals between the courses, and all went merrily until five o'clock,
when Henry took his leave, entertaining the ladies as he did so with an
exhibition of his horsemanship, he making his steed to "bound and
curvet as valiantly as man could do." On his road home he met Francis,
returning from a like reception by the queen of England. "What cheer?"
asked the two kings as they cordially embraced, with such a show of
amity that one might have supposed them brothers born.
The next day was that set for the opening of the tournament. This was to
be held in a park on the high ground between Arde and Guisnes. On each
side of the enclosed space long galleries, hung with tapestry, were
erected for the spectators, a specially-adorned box being prepared for
the two queens. Triumphal arches marked each entrance to the lists, at
which stood French and English archers on guard. At the foot of the
lists was erected the "tree of noblesse," on which were to be hung the
shields of those about to engage in combat. It bore "the noble thorn
[the sign of Henry] entwined with raspberry" [the sign of Francis];
around its trunk was wound cloth of gold and green damask; its leaves
were formed of green silk, and the fruit that hung from its limb was
made of silver and Venetian gold.
Henry and Francis, each supported by some eighteen of their noblest
subjects, designed to hold the lists against all comers, it being,
however, strictly enjoined that sharp-pointed weapons should not be
used, lest serious accidents, as in times past, might take place.
Various other rules were made, of which we shall only name that which
required the challenger who was worsted in any combat to give "a gold
token to the lady in whose cause the comer fights."
Shall we tell the tale of this show of mimic war? Splendid it was, and,
unlike the tournaments of an older date, harmless. The lists were nine
hundred feet long and three hundred and twenty broad, the galleries
bordering them being magnificent with their hosts of richly-attired
lords and ladies and the vari-colored dresses of the archers and others
of lesser blood. For two days, Monday and Thursday, Henry and Francis
held the lists. In this sport Henry displayed the skill and prowess of a
true warrior. Francis could scarcely wield the swords which his brother
king swept in circles around his head. When he spurred, with couched
lance, upon an antagonist, his ease and grace aroused the plaudits of
the spectators, which became enthusiastic as saddle after saddle was
emptied by the vigor of his thrust.
Next to Henry in strength and prowess was Charles Brandon, Duke of
Suffolk, who vied with the king for the honors of the field. "The king
of England and Suffolk did marvels," says the chronicler. On the days
when the monarchs did not appear in the field lesser knights strove for
the honors of the joust, wrestling-matches helped to amuse the multitude
of spectators, and the antics of mummers wound up the sports of the day.
Only once did Henry and Francis come into friendly contest. This was in
a wrestling-match, from which the French king, to the surprise of the
spectators, carried off the honors. By a clever twist of the wrestler's
art, he managed to throw his burly brother king. Henry's face was red
with the hot Tudor blood when he rose, his temper had been lost in his
fall, and there was anger in the tone in which he demanded a renewal of
the contest. But Francis was too wise to fan a triumph into a quarrel,
and by mild words succeeded in smoothing the frown from Henry's brow.
For some two weeks these entertainments lasted, the genial June sun
shining auspiciously upon the lists. From the galleries shone two minor
luminaries, the queens of England and France, who were always present,
"with their ladies richly dressed in jewels, and with many chariots,
litters, and hackneys covered with cloth of gold and silver, and
emblazoned with their arms." They occupied a glazed gallery hung with
tapestry, where they were often seen in conversation, a pleasure not so
readily enjoyed by their ladies in waiting, most of whom had to do their
talking through the vexatious aid of an interpreter.
During most of the time through which the tournament extended the
distrust of treachery on one side or the other continued. Francis never
entered the English pale unless Henry was on French soil. Henry was
similarly distrustful. Or, rather, the distrust lay in the advisers of
the monarchs, and as the days went on grew somewhat offensive. Francis
was the first to break it, and to show his confidence in the good faith
of his brother monarch. One morning early he crossed the frontier and
entered the palace at Guisnes while Henry was still in bed, or, as some
say, was at breakfast. To the guards at the gate he playfully said,
"Surrender your arms, you are all my prisoners; and now conduct me to my
brother of England." He accosted Henry with the utmost cordiality,
embracing him and saying, in a merry tone,--
"Here you see I am your prisoner."
"My brother," cried Henry, with the wannest pleasure, "you have played
me the most agreeable trick in the world, and have showed me the full
confidence I may place in you. I surrender myself your prisoner from
this moment."
Costly presents passed between the two monarchs, and from that moment
all restraint was at an end. Each rode to see the other when he chose,
their attendants mingled with the same freedom and confidence, and
during the whole time not a quarrel, or even a dispute, arose between
the sons of England and France. In the lists they used spear and sword
with freedom, but out of them they were the warmest of friends.
On Sunday, June 24, the tournament closed with a solemn mass sung by
Wolsey, who was assisted by the ecclesiastics of the two lands. When the
gospels were presented to the two kings to kiss, there was a friendly
contest as to who should precede. And at the _Agnus Dei_, when the _Pax_
was presented to the two queens, a like contest arose, which ended in
their kissing each other in lieu of the sacred emblem.
At the close of the services a showy piece of fireworks attracted the
attention of the spectators. "There appeared in the air from Arde a
great artificial salamander or dragon, four fathoms long and full of
fire; many were frightened, thinking it a comet or some monster, as they
could see nothing to which it was attached; it passed right over the
chapel to Guisnes as fast as a footman can go, and as high as a bolt
from a cross-bow." A splendid banquet followed, which concluded the
festivities of the "Field of the Cloth of Gold." The two kings entered
the lists again, but now only to exchange farewells. Henry made his way
to Calais; Francis returned to Abbeyville: the great occasion was at an
end.
What was its result? Amity between the two nations; a century of peace
and friendship? Not so. In a month Henry had secretly allied himself to
Charles the Fifth against Francis of France. In five years was fought
the battle of Pavia, between France and the Emperor Charles, in which
Francis, after showing great valor on the field, was taken prisoner.
"All is lost, except honor," he wrote. Such was the sequel of the "Field
of the Cloth of Gold."
_THE STORY OF ARABELLA STUART._
Of royal blood was the lady here named, near to the English throne. Too
near, as it proved, for her own comfort and happiness, for her life was
distracted by the fears of those that filled it. Her story, in
consequence, became one of the romances of English history.
"The Lady Arabella," as she was called, was nearly related to Queen
Elizabeth, and became an object of jealous persecution by that royal
lady. The great Elizabeth had in her disposition something of the dog in
the manger. She would not marry herself, and thus provide for the
succession to the throne, and she was determined that the fair Arabella
should not perform this neglected duty. Hence Arabella's misery.
The first thing we hear of this unfortunate scion of royal blood
concerns a marriage. The whole story of her life, in fact, is concerned
with marriage, and its fatal ending was the result of marriage. Never
had a woman been more sought in marriage; never more hindered; her life
was a tragedy of marriage.
Her earlier story may be briefly given. James VI. of Scotland, cousin of
the Lady Arabella, chose as a husband for her another cousin, Lord Esme
Stuart, Duke of Lennox, his proposed heir. The match was a desirable
one, but Queen Elizabeth forbade the banns. She threw the lady into a
prison, and defied King James when he demanded her delivery, not
hesitating to speak with contempt of her brother monarch.
The next to choose a husband for Arabella was the pope, who would have
been delighted to provide a Catholic for the succession to the English
throne. A prince of the house of Savoy was the choice of his holiness.
The Duke of Parma was married, and his brother was a cardinal, and
therefore unmarriageable, but the pope had the power to overcome the
difficulty which this created. He secularized the churchman, and made
him an eligible aspirant for the lady's hand. But, as may well be
supposed, Elizabeth decisively vetoed this chimerical plan.
To escape from the plots of scheming politicians, the Lady Arabella now
took the task in her own hand, proposing to marry a son of the Earl of
Northumberland. Unhappily, Elizabeth would none of it. To her jealous
fancy an English earl was more dangerous than a Scotch duke. Thus went
on this extraordinary business till Elizabeth died, and King James of
Scotland, whom she had despised, became her successor on the throne, she
having paved the way to his succession by her neglect to provide an heir
for it herself, and her insensate determination to prevent Arabella
Stuart from doing so.
James was now king. He had chosen a husband for his cousin Arabella
before. It was a natural presumption that he would not object to her
marriage now. But if Elizabeth was jealous, he was suspicious. A foolish
plot was made by some unimportant individuals to get rid of the Scottish
king and place Arabella on the English throne. A letter to this effect
was sent to the lady. She laughed at it, and sent it to the king, who,
probably, did not consider it a laughing-matter.
This was in 1603. In 1604 the king of Poland is said to have asked for
the lady's hand in marriage. Count Maurice, Duke of Guildres, was also
spoken of as a suitable match. But James had grown as obdurate as
Elizabeth,--and with as little sense and reason. The lady might enjoy
life in single blessedness as she pleased, but marry she should not.
"Thus far to the Lady Arabella crowns and husbands were like a fairy
banquet seen at moonlight opening on her sight, impalpable, and
vanishing at the moment of approach."
Several years now passed, in which the lady lived as a dependant on the
king's bounty, and in which, so far as we know, no thoughts of marriage
were entertained. At least, no projects of marriage were made public,
whatever may have been the lady's secret thoughts and wishes. Then came
the romantic event of her life,--a marriage, and its striking
consequences. It is this event which has made her name remembered in the
romance of history.
Christmas of 1608 had passed, and the Lady Arabella was still unmarried;
the English crown had not tottered to its fall through the entrance of
this fair maiden into the bonds of matrimony. The year 1609 began, and
terror seized the English court; this insatiable woman was reaching out
for another husband! This time the favored swain was Mr. William
Seymour, the second son of Lord Beauchamp, and grandson of the earl of
Hertford. He was a man of admired character, a studious scholar in times
of peace, an ardent soldier in times of war. He and Arabella had known
each other from childhood.
In February the daring rebellion of the Lady Arabella became known, and
sent its shaft of terror to the heart of King James. The woman was at it
again, wanting to marry; she must be dealt with. She and Seymour were
summoned before the privy council and sharply questioned. Seymour was
harshly censured. How dared he presume to seek an alliance with one of
royal blood, he was asked, in blind disregard of the fact that royal
blood ran in his own veins.
He showed fitting humility before the council, pleading that he meant no
offence. Thus he told the dignified councillors the story of his
wooing,--
"I boldly intruded myself into her ladyship's chamber in this court on
Candlemas-day last, at which time I imparted my desire unto her, which
was entertained, but with this caution on either part, that both of us
resolved not to proceed to any final conclusion without his Majesty's
most gracious favor first obtained. And this was our first meeting.
After this we had a second meeting at Brigg's house in Fleet Street, and
then a third at Mr. Baynton's; at both of which we had the like
conference and resolution as before."
Neither of them would think of marrying without "his Majesty's most
gracious favor," they declared. This favor could not be granted. The
safety of the English crown had to be considered. The lovers were
admonished by the privy council and dismissed.
But love laughs at privy councils, as well as at locksmiths. This time
the Lady Arabella was not to be hindered. She and Seymour were secretly
married, without regard to "his Majesty's most gracious favor," and
enjoyed a short period of connubial bliss in defiance of king and
council.
Their offence was not discovered till July of the following year. It
roused a small convulsion in court circles. The king had been defied.
The culprits must be punished. The lovers--for they were still
lovers--were separated, Seymour being sent to the Tower, for "his
contempt in marrying a lady of the royal family without the king's
leave;" the lady being confined at the house of Sir Thomas Parry, at
Lambeth.
Their confinement was not rigorous. The lady was allowed to walk in the
garden. The gentleman was given the freedom of the Tower. Letters seem
to have passed between them. From one of these ancient love-letters we
may quote the affectionate conclusion. Seymour had taken cold. Arabella
writes:
"I do assure you that nothing the State can do with me can trouble me so
much as this news of your being ill doth; and, you see, when I am
troubled I trouble you with too tedious kindness, for so I think you
will account so long a letter, yourself not having written to me this
good while so much as how you do. But, sweet sir, I speak not of this to
trouble you with writing but when you please. Be well, and I shall
account myself happy in being
"Your faithful, loving wife.
ARB. S."
They wrote too much, it seems. Their correspondence was discovered.
Trouble ensued. The king determined to place the lady in closer
confinement under the bishop of Durham.
Arabella was in despair when this news was brought her. She grew so ill
from her depression of spirits that she could only travel to her new
place of detention in a litter and under the care of a physician. On
reaching Highgate she had become unfit to proceed, her pulse weak, her
countenance pale and wan. The doctor left her there and returned to
town, where he reported to the king that the lady was too sick to
travel.
"She shall proceed to Durham if I am king," answered James, with his
usual weak-headed obstinacy.
"I make no doubt of her obedience," answered the doctor.
"Obedience is what I require," replied the king. "That given, I will do
more for her than she expects."
He consented, in the end, that she should remain a month at Highgate,
under confinement, at the end of which time she should proceed to
Durham. The month passed. She wrote a letter to the king which procured
her a second month's respite. But that time, too, passed on, and the day
fixed for her further journey approached.
The lady now showed none of the wild grief which she had at first
displayed. She was resigned to her fate, she said, and manifested a
tender sorrow which won the hearts of her keepers, who could not but
sympathize with a high-born lady thus persecuted for what was assuredly
no crime, if even a fault.
At heart, however, she was by no means so tranquil as she seemed. Her
communications with Seymour had secretly continued, and the two had
planned a wildly-romantic project of escape, of which this seeming
resignation was but part. The day preceding that fixed for her departure
arrived. The lady had persuaded an attendant to aid her in paying a last
visit to her husband, whom she declared she must see before going to her
distant prison. She would return at a fixed hour. The attendant could
wait for her at an appointed place.
This credulous servant, led astray, doubtless, by sympathy with the
loving couple, not only consented to the request, but assisted the lady
in assuming an elaborate disguise.
"She drew," we are told, "a pair of large French-fashioned hose or
trousers over her petticoats, put on a man's doublet or coat, a peruke
such as men wore, whose long locks covered her own ringlets, a black
hat, a black coat, russet boots with red tops, and a rapier by her side.
Thus accoutred, the Lady Arabella stole out with a gentleman about three
o'clock in the afternoon. She had only proceeded a mile and a half when
they stopped at a post-inn, where one of her confederates was waiting
with horses; yet she was so sick and faint that the hostler who held her
stirrup observed that the gentleman could hardly hold out to London."
But the "gentleman" grew stronger as she proceeded. The exercise of
riding gave her new spirit. Her pale face grew rosy; her strength
increased; by six o'clock she reached Blackwall, where a boat and
servants were waiting. The plot had been well devised and all the
necessary preparations made.
The boatmen were bidden to row to Woolwich. This point reached, they
were asked to proceed to Gravesend. Then they rowed on to Tilbury. By
this time they were fatigued, and landed for rest and refreshment. But
the desired goal had not yet been reached, and an offer of higher pay
induced them to push on to Lee.
Here the fugitive lady rested till daybreak. The light of morn
discovered a French vessel at anchor off the harbor, which was quickly
boarded. It had been provided for the escape of the lovers. But Seymour,
who had planned to escape from the Tower and meet her here, had not
arrived. Arabella was desirous that the vessel should continue at anchor
until he appeared. If he should fail to come she did not care to
proceed. The land that held her lord was the land in which she wished to
dwell, even if they should be parted by fate and forced to live asunder.
This view did not please those who were aiding her escape. They would be
pursued, and might be overtaken. Delay was dangerous. In disregard of
her wishes, they ordered the captain to put to sea. As events turned
out, their haste proved unfortunate for the fair fugitive, and the
"cause of woes unnumbered" to the loving pair.
Leaving her to her journey, we must return to the adventures of Seymour.
Prisoner at large, as he was, in the Tower, escape proved not difficult.
A cart had entered the enclosure to bring wood to his apartment. On its
departure he followed it through the gates, unobserved by the warder.
His servant was left behind, with orders to keep all visitors from the
room, on pretence that his master was laid up with a raging toothache.
Reaching the river, the escaped prisoner found a man in his confidence
in waiting with a boat. He was rowed down the stream to Lee, where he
expected to find his Arabella in waiting. She was not there, but in the
distance was a vessel which he fancied might have her on board. He
hired a fisherman to take him out. Hailing the vessel, he inquired its
name, and to his grief learned that it was not the French ship which had
been hired for the lovers' flight. Fate had separated them. Filled with
despair, he took passage on a vessel from Newcastle, whose captain was
induced, for a fair consideration, to alter his course. In due time he
landed in Flanders, free, but alone. He was never to set eyes on
Arabella Stuart again.
Meanwhile, the escape of the lady from Highgate had become known, and
had aroused almost as much alarm as if some frightful calamity had
overtaken the State. Confusion and alarm pervaded the court. The
Gunpowder Plot itself hardly shook up the gray heads of King James's
cabinet more than did the flight of this pair of parted doves. The wind
seemed to waft peril. The minutes seemed fraught with threats. Couriers
were despatched in all haste to the neighboring seaports, and hurry
everywhere prevailed.
A messenger was sent to the Tower, bidding the lieutenant to guard
Seymour with double vigilance. To the surprise of the worthy lieutenant,
he discovered that Seymour was not there to be guarded. The bird had
flown. Word of this threw King James into a ludicrous state of terror.
He wished to issue a vindictive proclamation, full of hot fulminations,
and could scarcely be persuaded by his minister to tone down his foolish
utterances. The revised edict was sent off with as much speed as if an
enemy's fleet were in the offing, the courier being urged to his utmost
despatch, the postmasters aroused to activity by the stirring
superscription, "Haste, haste, post-haste! Haste for your life, your
life!" One might have thought that a new Norman invasion was threatening
the coast, instead of a pair of new-married lovers flying to finish
their honey-moon in peace and freedom abroad.
[Illustration: ROTTEN ROW. LONDON.]