sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure I find in Plato.
Alas! good folk, they never felt what true pleasure means."
Just two years after Lady Jane had watched the three boys shooting
arrows at Westminster she was married to one of them, the tall
Guildford Dudley. He was the son of the great Duke of Northumberland,
who was already planning to put his son and his son's wife on the
English throne after the death of the delicate Edward VI. The wedding
was very magnificent, and every one predicted that the little lady and
her nineteen-year old husband would be very happy.
Edward, the boy king, died barely six weeks later, when he had not
quite reached his sixteenth birthday. Then great events happened to
Lady Jane. The Duke of Northumberland and many other lords and ladies
went to the house where she was staying and told her that the King had
disinherited both his sister the Princess Mary and his sister the
Princess Elizabeth, and had ordered that Jane Grey should succeed to
the crown.
Then her own father and mother and, after them, all the lords and
ladies knelt before her and kissed her hand and called her Queen Jane.
She was too surprised at first to make any reply, but a little later
she told them all she did not wish to be Queen. They answered that it
was not a matter of her choice, but was her destiny. Reserved and
obedient as ever, the girl bent her head and allowed her parents to
proclaim her Queen.
On July 10, 1553, Lady Jane went from Richmond to the Palace of
Westminster in London, where she was dressed in the great robes of
state. Then she proceeded by barge down the river Thames to the Tower
of London, which was then both a palace and a prison. As she landed and
entered the Tower grounds the people hailed her as Queen. Her gown was
of green and gold and covered with jewels, and her young husband walked
beside her under a canopy, dazzlingly arrayed in a court suit of white
and gold.
This quiet little Princess only reigned as Queen of England for nine
days. Most of the country rose in arms on behalf of Mary Tudor, Edward
VI's oldest sister, and the Duke of Northumberland's army was soon
defeated and he was taken prisoner. Jane had no wish to be Queen; she,
like the others, thought that Mary was the one entitled to rule. When
her father came to her on July nineteenth and told her that her friends
had been beaten and that she was no longer the Queen she was really
glad. She had been sitting alone in her chair of state in the council
chamber when he came to her. He looked at her, deserted by all her
court, and his eyes filled with tears. "Come down from that, my child,"
said he. "That is no place for you." Jane rose and he took her in his
arms. As they stood there together they heard borne to them on the
summer air loud rejoicing voices crying, "Long live good Queen Mary!"
Lady Jane looked up at her father. "Can I go home?" she asked. He bent
his head, but did not answer. He did not know what was in store for
them.
In spite of its glitter and magnificence that was a cruel age in
England. The Church was split into two parts and each hated the other
and did its best to destroy it when it had the power. It was the same
with the great nobles. One followed another in ruling the state and
each had little mercy for a fallen leader. The great Duke of
Northumberland had lost, and now his enemies sent him to the scaffold
as he had earlier sent his own rivals.
The new Queen Mary, though she was later to be known as Bloody Mary,
did not wish harm to befall Jane Grey. Jane and her husband were kept
in the Tower as prisoners and in time might have been freed had not
some new rebels in the country taken arms against Queen Mary and
threatened to drive her from the throne. Then the statesmen decided
that such a rival as Jane Grey was too dangerous, and she was ordered
to be tried for treason. She was found guilty, as were her father and
her husband Guildford Dudley, and they were all ordered to be beheaded
on Tower Hill. There on February 12, 1554, when she was only seventeen,
Lady Jane was beheaded for having tried to make herself Queen. As a
matter of fact she had never wanted to be Queen, nor acted except as
her parents ordered.
Of the four children who had run out of the Westminster garden three
years before only one was still living, the merry Barnaby Fitzpatrick.
He became a great soldier, and was known as the Baron of Upper Ossory
in Ireland when the Princess Elizabeth succeeded her sister Mary and
became "Good Queen Bess." The world had not been very kind to young
Edward Tudor nor to Guildford Dudley nor to Jane Grey. It was their
misfortune to have been born so near the throne. All their lives they
were really prisoners. There are few girls in history whose fate was as
tragic as that of Jane, the little "Nine Days' Queen of England."
VI
Mary Queen of Scots
The Girl of the French Court: 1542-1587
Henry II, King of France, was riding into his good city of Rouen. The
townspeople, eager to show their loyalty and glad of a chance holiday,
had decked both the streets and themselves in all the hues of the
rainbow. Henry the King and his company of gallant gentlemen rode into
the city by the great highway that led from Paris, and Catherine his
Queen, with her ladies, came up the winding river Seine in decorated
barges, taking their course in and out among the many emerald isles
like slow, calm-moving swans. The King stopped by the bridge that
crossed the Seine in the heart of the city, and throwing his horse's
reins to a page, descended the bank to the margin of the river, and
handed the Lady Catherine to shore. He was a brilliant king, with much
of the charm of his father Francis I, who had met England's Bluff King
Hal on the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and he bore himself towards his
Queen with a noble grace. Her hand in his he led her up from the shore
and over the crimson carpets the good people of Rouen had spread in
their streets, to a pavilion fluttering with flags, where seats had
been placed for them. Behind the King and Queen came the
ladies-in-waiting and Henry's gentlemen, and each man tried to imitate
his royal master and hand his lady up the steps of the pavilion with as
fine an air. Several people were already awaiting the royal guests in
the stand, and among them was a girl, about ten years old, who was
sitting in a big armchair, and smiling at the people in the street
below, at the flags and bunting, the music and the cheers.
As the King and Queen reached the top step of the pavilion the little
girl rose and stood with one hand resting on the arm of her chair. Her
face was pale, but her features were very lovely, so that any one would
have predicted she would some day be a great beauty. Her eyes were the
rich brown called chestnut, and her hair, which waved back from her
forehead, was the same color. She wore a white satin cap, fastened very
low on one side of her head, with a rosette of ostrich feathers, held
by a ruby brooch. Her dress was of white damask, fitting closely, with
a small ruff of scalloped point lace, below which hung a collar of
rubies. About her waist was a girdle set with the same red stones. Her
sleeves were very large and patterned with strings of pearls. She made
a lovely picture as she stood before the big crimson-lined chair.
King Henry bent, and raising the girl's small hand, touched it to his
lips. "How is our little Queen of Scots?" said he. "Our little
bride-to-be of France?"
"Well, please your Majesty," answered the little girl, quite
self-possessed, "and glad to meet your Highness here."
Then Catherine the Queen, stooping, kissed the girl on each cheek.
"Dear Lady Mary, you are a very gem, as sweet as any I have ever laid
eyes on. Come sit beside me and tell me of your mother."
So the ten-year-old girl, already Queen of Scotland, and lately brought
to France to marry the Dauphin Francis, took her seat with the royal
pair, and watched the great pageant which now wound through the Rouen
streets. It was a clear, fresh noon, with just enough breeze from the
Seine to ruffle the folds of the innumerable banners. First in the
great procession came the friars and monks in their gray and brown
robes and with their sandaled feet. Then followed the city clergy, the
gorgeous Archbishop in his robes of state, with priests bearing gold
and silver crosses in a long line after him, and white-clad boys
swinging censers to the time of a low rhythmic chant.
"Here come the different guilds," said a gentleman of the court, who
stood by the chair of small Queen Mary. "See the rich salt merchants in
their gray taffeta, with black velvet caps and long white feathers."
After the salt merchants came the drapers, in white satin doublets and
hose, with gold buckles gleaming in their high white caps, and after
them marched the fishmongers in shining red satin. Each of the trades
of Rouen went by, each arrayed in its own colors, and as the pavilion
was passed caps were doffed and cheers rose at sight of the smiling
Henry and Catherine and the demure-faced little Mary.
[Illustration: MARY STUART
At the Age of Nine]
After the guilds and the soldiers, some on foot and some on horse, and
all proud and dazzling as so many peacocks, came triumphal cars,
representing gods and goddesses, and foreign countries. The little
Scotch girl opened her eyes wide as she saw six huge elephants swing
along the street, the first bearing on its broad back a tray of lighted
lamps, the second a miniature church, the third a villa, the fourth a
castle, the fifth a town, and the sixth a ship. After them came a troop
of men dressed like Turks, waving scimitars. Then followed a car
bearing a grotto with Orpheus seated within on a throne, listening to
soft music played by a group of girls who sat about his feet. Finally
appeared a barge bearing an imitation of a grove of trees with a great
rock in the centre and Hercules, club in hand, standing by it. The car
was stopped directly in front of the royal pavilion. A monster, the
seven-headed hydra, crept out from behind the rock, and as soon as it
was in full view Hercules attacked it. A mimic battle followed, and at
its end Hercules had overcome the monster and cut off its seven heads,
one of which he held up to the King. Henry flung him a purse of gold
pieces, while the courtiers cheered. Catherine the Queen turned towards
Mary. "Have you ever seen such sights in Scotland, _chèrie_?"
she asked.
Mary shook her head. "My people are not so gay as your French," she
answered.
Mary had been brought up in the customs of royal courts, and although
she found this of France unusually brilliant she had felt quite at home
in it since she had first come from Scotland. Her father, James V, had
died when she was only a few days old, and she had been crowned nine
months later. Dressed in robes of state the baby, not a year old, had
been carried from her nursery to the church, and there Cardinal Beton
had placed the heavy royal crown on her head, had bent her little
fingers about the sceptre, and had girded her with the old historic
sword that had been worn by so many fighting kings of Scotland. After
that the great nobles had knelt before her and raised her tiny hand to
their lips in the kiss of allegiance, and royal princes from other
countries had kissed her on the cheek. The little Queen had cried,
seeing so many strange people about her, and her mother had hurried her
back to the nursery.
She soon grew used, however, to seeing strange people and strange
happenings. When she was five years old she was betrothed to the heir
of the French throne, the Dauphin, and a little later was sent to
France to be educated. Her mother chose four Scotch girls of noble
families to go with her, Mary Beaton, Mary Livingston, Mary Seton, and
Mary Fleming, and these four were always with little Mary Stuart. They
were called the "Queen's Maries," and as they grew up became famous for
their beauty and their wit.
The court of France under Henry II was very gay. Tournaments had been
revived, and the King and his courtiers liked to try their skill with
lances in the lists. The court moved from one château to another, and
at each there were hunting and hawking, dancing, archery contests, and
tennis matches. Wherever the King and Queen went, there Mary Stuart
went also, usually accompanied by her powerful uncles, the Duke of
Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine. In that company of beautiful and
clever women the little Scotch Queen, girl as she was, could more than
hold her own. She was already famous for the loveliness of her face and
figure, and for her learning. The court of Valois made her their pet,
and Queen Catherine used to say, "Our petite Reinette Escossaise has
but to smile to turn the heads of all Frenchmen."
At all these royal châteaux Mary met Francis the Dauphin, whom she was
to marry. He was about her age, but pale and delicate, and lacking the
gay spirits of his father. He loved to hear of brave deeds, and he had
courage, but not the strength to do the things he wanted. Like Edward
VI, the boy king who sat on the English throne at about that time,
Francis had never had a fair chance to be happy. He liked Mary Stuart
and she liked him, which was fortunate, but they would have been
married to each other whether they had cared or not.
When Mary was sixteen and Francis a year younger they were married in
the great church of Notre Dame in Paris. It was one of the most
magnificent weddings Paris had ever seen. The young Queen of Scotland
was dressed in white, with a blue mantle and a train covered with
pearls. On her head she wore a royal crown set with diamonds, rubies,
pearls, and emeralds, and at her throat hung a matchless jewel known as
"the Great Harry," which had belonged to her great-grandfather, Henry
VII of England. The church was a sea of jewels, for in those days men
wore almost as many precious stones as women, and the great stone
pillars set off a blaze of costumes that reveled in all the colors of
the rainbow. The nobles of Scotland were there as well as those of
France, and as soon as the ceremony was over Mary turned and greeted
her boy husband as Francis I, King of Scotland. Handfuls of gold coins
were scattered to the crowds in the streets as the bridal party left
the church, and heralds announced the coming of the "Queen-Dauphiness,"
and the "King-Dauphin."
That afternoon there were masquerades in the streets, and at five
o'clock a great wedding supper in the Palais de Justice. The men wore
suits of frosted cloth of gold, the women gowns that were stiff with
jewels. Each dish was presented to the diners to the sound of music.
After the supper came dancing, and then a masque that was the finest
the court of France had ever seen. First there came into the hall the
seven planets of the skies, Mercury in white satin, with golden girdle
and wings, carrying his wand, or caduceus, in his hand. Mars appeared
in armor, and Venus in sea-green flowing draperies as if she had just
risen from the waves. After the planets came a procession of twelve
hobby-horses, ridden by twelve boy princes, among whom were the
Dauphin's two younger brothers, later to be known as Charles IX and
Henry III. One of the toy horses was ridden by eight-year-old Henry of
Guise, whose golden hair and beautiful blue eyes won the admiration of
the great Italian poet Tasso, and who was to be the last chief of the
house of Guise and to fall, struck down by the blows of the forty-five
guardsmen, as he passed through the halls of the château of Blois to
meet King Henry III, the little boy who rode so gaily by him now. Last
of all there came into the room six ships, decked with cloth of gold
and crimson velvet, their sails of silver gauze fastened to masts of
silver. The ships were slowly steered down the hall, each gliding as
though carried over gently swelling waters, and the sails of each
filling with the breath of an artificial breeze. On each ship were two
chairs of state, in one of which sat a prince in cloth of gold, with a
mask over his eyes. As the ships sailed by the groups of ladies and
young girls each prince seized a lady and placed her on the chair by
his side. King Henry, like a skilful mariner, steered his ship close to
the marble table by which the little bride sat, and reaching down drew
her on board his vessel. The Dauphin caught Queen Catherine, and each
of the other princes chose a belle from the group of lovely ladies.
Then, as if blown by favoring gales, the ships sailed on about the
great room, and out through the archway to the dancing hall. The great
ball that followed was worthy of the day. The dazzling bride danced the
pavon, a form of minuet which was very stately and graceful. Her train
was twelve yards long and was borne after her by a gentleman, so that
she had full chance to show her skill and grace.
Mary, sixteen years old, now Queen of Scotland and Dauphiness of
France, was quite content with what was already hers, and had no wish
to conquer other crowns. But the grown-up people about her were always
scheming, and cared absolutely nothing for her wishes where matters of
state were concerned. So, when Mary the Queen of England died and the
Princess Elizabeth ascended the English throne, Henry II of France
insisted that his daughter-in-law was the rightful sovereign of the
British Isles. A great tournament was being given in honor of the
marriage of Elizabeth of France to Philip II of Spain, and the French
King had Mary borne to her place on the royal balcony in a car of
triumph with the banners of Scotland and England together flying over
her head, and heralds in front of her crying, "Hail, hail, all hail the
Queen of England!" The people took up the cry and soon all those at the
tournament had hailed Mary under this new title. Little did they think
that news of this, carried by sure couriers to Elizabeth in London,
would cause her to nurse thoughts of revenge against her cousin during
many years to come.
Hailed by this new title the innocent girl-queen Mary took her place in
the royal balcony and the tournament began. It was an afternoon in
early summer and directly before her stretched the green carpet of the
lists where the knights were to try their skill at arms. The King
himself was to set his lance in rest, and was already riding up and
down at his end of the lists on a curveting bay recently sent him by
the Duke of Savoy. Each knight wore the colors of some lady, Henry the
black and white of the Lady Diane de Poitiers, the Duke of Guise red
and white, the Duke of Ferrara yellow and red, the Duke of Nemours
yellow and black.
It was a stirring sight to see the knights, clad in full armor, the
visors of their helmets drawn, grip their long heavy lances under their
arms, and setting spurs to their great chargers, dash swiftly across
the field and meet midway in a terrific clash. Lance rang on shield or
helm or breastplate, the riders struggled to hold their seats in the
saddle, and then if neither was unhorsed they rode past each other to
turn at the farther end of the lists, and prepare for the next onset.
The little Queen, with her four Maries about her, watched the dashes
and the shivering of lances with excitement in her eyes, and clapped
her hands or sighed as a favorite knight came off victorious or was
hurled from his saddle to the ground. But that day all the knights were
powerful, and though each challenged the others in turn none could
claim to be the absolute champion.
The sun was sinking low, and the knights had given their lances to
their squires when King Henry rode across to the royal balcony, and
raising his visor, spoke to a man who was sitting near Mary. "Come, my
lord Count of Montgomery," said the King. "I would fain break a lance
with you. To horse, for the honor of your lady and the glory of
France!"
The Count rose from his seat. "It is an honor, sire, to meet so great a
champion in the lists, but to-day I must crave pardon. The hour is over
late for me."
"The light holds well, my lord. 'Twill see one meeting," answered
Henry. "I would have the court see how well Montgomery can hold a
lance."
"It is most gracious of you, sire. Were the time otherwise----" It was
quite evident that the Count was anxious not to meet the King.
But Henry was impatient of refusal. He interrupted, and said with a
hasty gesture, "An I must command I will. To horse, my lord, and with
what speed you may."
There was nothing for the Count to do but bow, whisper an excuse to the
lady at his side, and leaving the pavilion seek the tents. In a short
time he rode out into the field, his armor shining golden in the
sunset, his lance in his gauntleted hands, a favor of blue and orange
ribbons fluttering at the crest of his helmet. Meantime the King had
curbed his horse to a place before the balcony where the Queen sat.
Catherine leaned forward. "Have you not ridden enough to-day, sire?"
she asked. "I would beg you to stop."
"One more joust," said Henry, "and this one, madame, in honor of
yourself."
"But, sire," she persisted, "you cannot excel the deeds you have
already done to-day, and now you should join the ladies."
Henry, however, with a smile, shook his head. "This one shall end the
day," he said, and rode to his end of the course.
Mary Seton leaned forward to speak to her young mistress. "The Count of
Montgomery, being Captain of the Scottish Guard, dared not refuse, with
you here to see," she whispered. "See how he reins up his charger. He
is young, and not anxious to break his lance on the King's
coat-of-mail."
Montgomery took his place, lowered his visor, and set his lance. At the
opposite end the King did the same. Then at a signal each touched his
spurs to his horse, and rode furiously fast to the onset. There was a
crash, the shock of steel, and a cry from the audience. The Count had
driven his lance at the King's helmet, and it had broken short. The
blow sent the King reeling and he was whirled about so fast that he had
difficulty to keep his seat. The Count rode on, but the King, only too
evidently dazed, swayed in his saddle, and then fell forward on his
charger's neck. A dozen men sprang forward, and catching the King,
helped him to the ground. A glance showed what had happened.
Montgomery's lance had broken and a splinter of the steel had been
driven through an eyehole of the helmet into the King's head just over
his right eye. The men took off his armor and carried him as gently as
they could into the palace.
Thus suddenly the celebrations of the Princess Elizabeth's wedding came
to an end. The young and reluctant Count of Montgomery had given the
King his death wound, and a few days later the spirited monarch died.
The triumphal arches and banners were torn down, and the bells of Paris
tolled slowly where they had rung joyful peals so short a time before.
So the Dauphin Francis and Mary Stuart became King and Queen of France.
He was sixteen and she seventeen. They were too young to reign and
Francis was much too delicate. Moreover there were two or three
grown-up people who had no intention of letting the boy and girl have
their own way. Behind the throne stood the boy's mother, Queen
Catherine de' Medici, and the unscrupulous and ambitious uncles of the
girl, the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine. They headed the
Catholic party in the kingdom and they were pursuing the hapless
Huguenots with torch and sword. Careless of the young King's wishes
they plunged France into terrible civil wars wherein massacres were a
matter of almost daily occurrence.
Francis and Mary were crowned in the old Cathedral of Rheims, where
Joan of Arc had once seen her Dauphin crowned, and over the royal pair
hung the banners of France, Scotland, and England. Then they traveled
south to the château of Blois, and Francis amused himself with hunting
while the Queen and her four Maries either rode out after the gentlemen
to watch the sport or stayed at home to listen to the poems and songs
of troubadours or walked on the banks of the small winding river Loire.
She was more beautiful than ever, and very fond of her husband Francis,
and their little court, made up largely of boys and girls nearly their
own age, enjoyed itself thoroughly while the dark figures of Catherine
and Mary's uncles were free to plunge the kingdom into blood.