1553
After King Edward’s death--Results to Lady Jane
Grey--Northumberland’s schemes--Mary’s escape--Scene at Sion
House--Lady Jane brought to the Tower--Quarrel with her
husband--Her proclamation as Queen.
A boy was dead. A frail little life, long failing, had gone out. That
was all. Nevertheless upon it had hung the destinies of England.
Speculations and forecasts as to the consequences had Edward lived
are unprofitable. Yet one wonders what, grown to manhood, he would
have become--whether the gentle lad, pious, studious, religious, the
modern Josiah, as he was often called, would have developed, as he
grew to maturity, the dangerous characteristics of his Tudor race, the
fierceness and violence of his father, the melancholy and relentless
fanaticism of Mary, the absence of principle and sensuality of
Elizabeth. Or would he have fulfilled the many hopes which had found
their centre in him and have justified the love of his subjects, given
him upon credit?
It is impossible to say. What was certain was that his part was played
out, and that others were to take his place. Amongst these his little
cousin Jane was at once the most innocent and the most unfortunate.
Hitherto she had looked on as a spectator at life. Her skiff moored in
a creek of the great river, she had watched from a place of comparative
calm the stream as it rushed by. Here and there a wave might make
itself felt even in that quiet place; a wreck might be carried past,
or she might catch the drowning cry of a swimmer as he sank. But
to the young such things are accidents from participation in which
they tacitly consider themselves exempted, regarding them with the
fearlessness due to inexperience. Suddenly all was to be changed. Torn
from her anchorage, she was to be violently borne along by the torrent
towards the inevitable catastrophe.
As yet she was ignorant of the destiny prepared for her. Under her
father’s roof, she had pursued her customary occupations, and by some
authorities her third extant letter to Bullinger--another tribute
of admiration and flattery, and containing no allusion to current
events--is believed to belong to the interval occurring between her
marriage and the King’s death. The allusion to herself as an “untaught
virgin,” and the signature “Jane Grey,” seem to give it a date earlier
in the year. The time was fast approaching when leisure for literary
exercises of the kind would be lacking.
It would have been difficult to trace her movements precisely at
this juncture were it not that she has left a record of them in
a document--either directly addressed to Mary from her prison or
intended for her eyes--in which she demonstrated her innocence.[155]
Notwithstanding the promise made by the Duchess of Northumberland
at her marriage that she should be permitted to remain at home, she
appears to have been by this time living with her husband’s parents,
and, upon Edward’s death becoming imminent, she was informed of the
fact by her father-in-law, who forbade her to leave his house; adding
the startling announcement that, when it should please God to call the
King to His mercy, she would at once repair to the Tower, her cousin
having nominated her heir to the throne.
The news found her totally unprepared; and, shocked and partly
incredulous, she refused obedience to the Duke’s commands, continuing
to visit her mother daily, in spite of the indignation of the Duchess
of Northumberland, who “grew wroth with me and with her, saying that
she was determined to keep me in her house; that she would likewise
keep my husband there, to whom I should go later in any case, and that
she would be under small obligation to me. Therefore it did not seem
to me lawful to disobey her, and for three or four days I stayed
in her house, until I obtained permission to resort to the Duke of
Northumberland’s palace at Chelsea.” At this place--the reason of her
preference for it is not given--she continued, sick and anxious, until
a summons reached her to go to Sion House, there to receive a message
from the King. It was Lady Sydney, a married daughter of the Duke’s,
who brought the order, saying, “with more gravity than usual,” that it
was necessary that her sister-in-law should obey it; and Lady Jane did
not refuse to do so.
Sion House, where the opening scene of the drama took place, was
another of the possessions of the Duke of Somerset, passed into the
hands of his rival. A monastery, founded by Henry V. at Isleworth, it
had been seized, with other Church property, in 1539, and had served
two years later as prison to the unhappy child, Katherine Howard. The
place had been acquired by Somerset in the days of his power, when the
building of the great house, which was to replace the convent, was
begun. The gardens were enclosed by high walls, a triangular terrace in
one of their angles alone allowing the inmates to obtain a view of the
country beyond.[156] In 1552 it had, with most of the late Protector’s
goods and chattels, been confiscated, and during the following year,
the year of the King’s death, had been granted to Northumberland. It
was to this place that Lady Jane was taken to receive the message said
to be awaiting her from the King.
Her destination reached, Sion House was found empty; but it was not
long before those who were pulling the strings arrived. The message
from the King had been a fiction. Edward’s gentle spirit was at rest,
and he himself forgotten in the rush of events. There was little time
for thought of the dead. The interests of religion and of the State, as
some would call it, the ambition of unscrupulous and unprincipled men,
as it would be named by others, demanded the whole attention of the
steersmen who stood, for the moment, at the helm.
It had been decided to keep the fact of the King’s death secret until
measures should have been taken to ensure the success of the desperate
game they were playing. To secure possession of the person of his
natural successor was of the first importance; and a letter had been
despatched to Mary when her brother was manifestly at the point of
death which it was hoped would avail to bring her to London and would
enable her enemies to fulfil their purpose. Stating that the King was
very ill, she was entreated to come to him, as he earnestly desired the
comfort of her presence.
Mary must have been well aware of the risk she would run in responding
to the appeal; and it says much for her courage and her affection
that she did not hesitate to incur it. A fortunate chance, however,
frustrated the designs against her. Starting from Hunsdon, where
the tidings had found her, she had reached Hoddesden on her way to
Greenwich, when she was met by intelligence that determined her to go
no further. The King was dead; nor was it difficult to discern in the
urgent summons, sent too late to accomplish its ostensible purpose, a
transparent attempt to induce her to place herself in the power of her
enemies.
Opinions have differed as to the means by which Northumberland’s scheme
was frustrated. Some say that the news was conveyed to the Princess by
the Earl of Arundel. Sir Nicholas Throckmorton also claims credit for
the warning. According to this account of the matter, a young brother
of his, in attendance upon Northumberland, had become cognisant of the
intended treachery, and had come post-haste to report what was a-foot
at his father’s house. A few words spoken by Sir John Gates, visiting
the Duke before he had risen, were all that had reached the young man’s
ears, but those words had been of startling significance, the state of
affairs being what it was.
“What, sir,” he had heard Gates say, “will you let the Lady Mary
escape, and not secure her person?”
A consultation was hurriedly held at Throckmorton House, between the
father and his three sons. Sir Nicholas, who had been present at the
King’s death, was too well aware of the circumstances to minimise the
importance of his brother’s story, and, summoning the Princess Mary’s
goldsmith, it was decided to entrust him with the duty of conveying
a caution to his mistress, and stopping her journey. Sir Nicholas’s
metrical version of what followed may be given.[157]
Mourning, from Greenwich did I straight depart,
To London, to a house which bore our name.
My brethren guessèd by my heavie hearte,
The King was dead, and I confess’d the same:
The hushing of his death I didd unfolde,
Their meaning to proclaime Queene Jane I tolde.
* * * * *
Wherefore from four of us the newes was sent
How that her brother hee was dead and gone;
In post her goldsmith then from London went,
By whom the message was dispatcht anon.
Shee asked, “If wee knewe it certainlie?”
Who said, “Sir Nicholas knew it verilie.”
The first stroke hazarded by the conspirators had resulted in failure.
Mary, after some deliberation, turned her face northwards, and escaped
the snare laid for her by her enemies.
The next object of Northumberland and his friends was to obtain the
concurrence of the City to the substitution of his daughter-in-law
for the rightful heir. Various as were the views of the best means of
ensuring success, all the Council were agreed on one point, namely,
“that London was the hand which must reach Jane the crown.”[158] London
was to be made to do it. On July 8 the Lord Mayor, with six aldermen,
six “merchants of the staple, and as many merchant adventurers,” were
summoned to Greenwich, were there secretly informed of the King’s
death, and of his will by letters patent, “to which they were sworn and
charged to keep it secret.”
All this had been done before Lady Jane was summoned to Sion House. It
was time for the stage Queen to make her appearance, and at Sion the
facts were made known to her.[159]
Of her reception of the great news accounts vary. A graphic picture,
painted in the first place by Heylyn, has been copied by divers other
historians. The learned John Nichols, unable to trace it in any
contemporary documents or records, has decided that it must be classed
amongst “those dramatic scenes in which historical writers formerly
considered themselves justified in indulging.”[160]
He is probably right; yet an early and generally accepted tradition
has a value of its own, and may be true to the spirit, if not to the
letter, of what actually occurred. Mary herself afterwards told the
envoy of Charles V. that she believed her cousin to have had no part in
the Duke of Northumberland’s enterprise; and, supposing her to have
been ignorant, or only dimly cognisant, of the plot, the revelation
of it may easily have occasioned her a shock. It has been constantly
asserted that, in this first interview with those who, calling
themselves her subjects, were practically the masters of her fate, she
began by declining to be a party to their scheme; and if her letter,
written at a later date, from the Tower to Mary, does not wholly
confirm the assertion, it points to an attitude of reluctant assent.
Her mother-in-law had given her hints of what was intended, but, like
the announcement made by the Duke at Durham House of her approaching
greatness, they were too incredible to be taken seriously; and the
fact that when she was joined at Sion by the Dukes of Northumberland
and Suffolk they did not at once make the matter plain, but confined
the conversation for a time to indifferent subjects, seems to indicate
a doubt upon their part of her pliability. There was, nevertheless,
a change in their demeanour and bearing giving rise in her mind to
an uneasy consciousness of a mystery she had not fathomed; whilst
Huntingdon and Pembroke, who were present, treated her with even more
incomprehensible reverence, and went so far as to bow the knee.
On the arrival of her mother, together with the Duchess of
Northumberland, the explanation of the riddle took place. The tidings
of the King’s death and of her exaltation was broken to her, together
with the reasons prompting Edward to set aside his sisters in her
favour. The nobles fell upon their knees, took her formally for their
Queen, and swore--it was shortly to be proved how little the oath was
worth--to shed their blood in defence of her rights.
“Having heard which things,” pursues Lady Jane in her apology, “with
infinite grief of spirit, I call to witness those lords who were
present that I was so stunned and stupefied that, overcome by sudden
and unexpected sorrow, they saw me fall to the ground, weeping very
bitterly. And afterwards, declaring to them my insufficiency, I
lamented much the death of so noble a prince; and at the same time
turned to God, humbly praying and beseeching Him that, if what was
given me was in truth and legitimately mine, He would grant me grace
and power to govern to His glory and service, and for the good of this
realm.”[161]
There is, as Dr. Lingard points out, nothing unnatural in this
description of what had occurred; whereas the grandiloquent language
attributed to her by some historians is most unlikely to have been
used at a moment both of grief and excitement. According to these
authorities, not only did she defend Mary’s right, and denounce
those who had conspired against it, but delivered a lengthy oration
upon the fickleness of fortune. “If she enrich any, it is but to make
them the subject of her sport; if she raise others, it is but to
pleasure herself with their ruins. What she adored yesterday, to-day
is her pastime. And if I now permit her to adorn and crown me, I must
to-morrow suffer her to crush and tear me to pieces”--proceeding to
cite Katherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn as examples of those who had,
to their own undoing, worn a crown. “If you love me sincerely and in
good earnest,” she is made to say, “you will rather wish me a secure
and quiet fortune, though mean, than an exalted condition exposed to
the wind, and followed by some dismal fall.”
Poor little plaything of the fortune she is represented as
anathematising, the designs of those who were striving to exalt her
were due to nothing less than a sincere love. Any other puppet would
have answered their purpose equally well, so that the excuse of royal
blood was in her veins. But Jane, willing or unwilling, was to be made
use of for their ends, and it was vain for her to protest.
On the following day, July 10, the Queen-designate was brought,
following the ancient custom of Kings on their accession, to the
Tower; reaching it at three o’clock, to be received at the gate by
Northumberland, and formally presented with the keys in the presence of
a great crowd who looked on at the proceedings in sinister silence and
gave no sign of rejoicing or cordiality.
Shortly after, the Marquis of Winchester, in his capacity of Treasurer,
brought the crown jewels, with the crown itself, “asking me,” wrote
Jane, “to put it on my head, to try whether it fitted me or not. Who
knows well that, with many excuses, I refused. He not the less insisted
that I should boldly take it, and that another should be made that my
husband might be crowned with me, which I certainly heard unwillingly,
and with infinite grief and displeasure.”[162]
The idea that young Guilford Dudley, with no royal blood to make his
claim colourable, was intended to share her dignity appears to have
roused his wife, somewhat strangely, to hot indignation. She at least
was a Tudor on her mother’s side; but what was Dudley, that he should
aspire so high? Had she loved her boy-husband she might have taken a
different view of his pretensions; but there is nothing to show that
she regarded him with any special affection, and she was disposed to
use her authority after a fashion neither he nor his father would
tolerate.
At first Guilford, taken by surprise, appeared inclined to yield the
point, and in a conversation between the two, when Winchester had
withdrawn, he agreed that, were he to be made King, it should be only
by Act of Parliament. Thereupon, losing no time in setting the matter
on a right footing, Jane sent for the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke,
and informed them that, if she were to be Queen, she would be willing
to make her husband Duke; “but to make him King I would not consent.”
Though Arundel and Pembroke were probably quite at one with her on
the question, that she should show signs of exercising an independent
judgment was naturally exasperating to those to whom it was due that
she was placed in her present position; and when the Duchess of
Northumberland became aware of what was going forward she not only
treated Lady Jane, according to her own account, very ill, but stirred
up Guilford to do the like; the boy, primed by his mother, declaring
that he would in no wise be Duke, but King, and, holding sulkily aloof
from his wife that night, so that she was compelled, “as a woman,
and loving my husband,” to send the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke to
bring him to her, otherwise he would have left in the morning, at his
mother’s bidding, for Sion. “Thus,” ends the poor child, “I was in
truth deceived by the Duke and Council, and badly treated by my husband
and his mother.”
The discussion was premature. Boy and girl were all too soon to learn
that it was not to be a question of crowns for either so much as of
heads to wear them. Whilst the wrangle had been carried on in the
Tower, the first step had been taken towards bringing the disputants to
the scaffold. The death of the King had been made public, together with
the provisions of his will, and Jane had been proclaimed Queen in two
or three parts of the City.
“The tenth day of the same month,” runs the entry in the _Grey Friar’s
Chronicle_, “after seven o’clock at night, was made a proclamation
in Cheap by three heralds and one trumpet ... for Jane, the Duke of
Suffolk’s daughter, to be Queen of England. But few or none said ‘God
save her.’”
There was a singular unanimity upon the subject amongst the citizens
of London. It is said that upon the faces of the heralds forced to
proclaim the new Queen their discontent was visible;[163] and a curious
French letter sent from London at the time states, after mentioning the
absence of any acclamation upon the part of the people, that a moment
afterwards they had broken out into lamentation, clamour, tears, sighs,
sadness, and desolation impossible to describe.
Thus inauspiciously was Lady Jane’s nine days’ reign inaugurated. On
a great catafalque in Westminster Abbey the dead boy-King was lying,
guarded day and night by twelve watchers until he should be given
sepulture. But there was little leisure to attend to his obsequies on
the part of the men who had made him their tool, and had staked their
lives and fortunes upon the success of their plot. For the present
all had gone according to their hopes. “Through the pious intents
of Edward, the religion of Mary, the ambition of Northumberland,
the simplicity of Suffolk, the fearfulness of the judges, and the
flattery of the courtiers”--thus Fuller sums up the causes to which the
situation was due--“matters were made as sure as man’s policy can make
that good which in itself is bad.” It was quickly to be seen to what
that security amounted.