£x Libris C. K. OGDEN I JOHNSTON THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ,^//)W M\. -^ /^ ASSE nOI.EYKS TBIIMPHAL ENTRY INTO LONDOX. JOHN CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. WILLIAM II O W I T T . VOL. II. FROM THE REIGN OF EDWARD IV. TO THE DEATH OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. MUtli ugto;>vi)s of (ibrcc ijuiibvcJ) (firgrafaiitgs. LONDON: W. KENT AND CO., 51 & 52, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1858. LOJiEos : rEISTED BY rKTTER AND GALPIS, I,A B5IXE SAUVAGE YAr.D, LUUGATE HILL. SRLF URL 3 V H ■.i^\ PREFACE. jj^r'N the present volume we have stepped out of feudalism into the first day-spring of modern history. We have left the race of barons, grown too powerful for both Crown and country, and a divided royal house which consumed the energies and the intellect of the ■ ,, nation in bloody conflicts for the possession of the throne. The predominating space which m'-^ the Tudor dynasty occupy in the present pages, is worthy of all attention. With Henry If'' VII. a new blood and spirit entered the palace, and stirred within the golden circle of f^^^ the Crown. The grandson of a W%lsh yeoman of the guai'd became the monarch, and a vigour which liad dwindled in the ancient race, from the days of Henry V., reappeared, but linked inseparably with an absolute self-will, which, whilst appearing to resist the onward progress of the nation, really gave to it accelerated momentum and spirit. Tlie old impediments of religion and of aristocracy were swept away to give unopposed scope to royal license ; but this only cleared the ground for popular action. The nation had so far advanced that its impulses became the unmistakable law of tendency. On the ruins of the ancient hierarcliy arose the undaunted soul of religious freedom. With religious freedom, civil freedom was a necessity ; and on the ruins of the ancient aristocracy arose a new race of landed proprietors, whose interests were more allied to the interests of the people ; and before the close of the Tudor dynasty in Elizabeth, we behold unequivocal manifestations of a new order of things, of the limitation of the power of the Crown, and the establishment of the power of Parliament. We shall find in the opening of our next volume the efforts of an unwise dynasty — that of the Stuarts — to resist this popular development, but only to its own destruction. In our tracing of these events some of our readers have animadverted strongly on the view which we have taken of the character and acts of Queen Elizabeth. Perhaps the history of no monarch ever was so enveloped by false colouring of romance as that of this queen ; regarding none of our sovei-eigns are we compelled by unquestionable state documents so completely to re-form our ideas. Elizabeth was a woman of a masculine and penetrating mind ; no ruler ever knew more ablv to select capable ministers, and surround herself with the splendour of statesmanlike talent, bravery, and genius. With a stout heart, and assisted by the counsels and the gallant deeds of those men, she carried the country through an arduous crisis proudly, and bore down and broke to atoms every foreign influence and the armada which was directed against the Protestant ascendancy of England. All honour to her and to them on that account. But when we penetrate through the splendour of such glories, and through the extravagant adulations of the Elizabethan courtiers, we come to deeds and characteristics which demand just reprehension. We must remind our readers that we are not writing romance, in which we can, at will, colour, turn, and dispose of things as we please ; but our object and bounden duty is historic truth. We are tied up to that standard inexorably by harsh and unbendable official documents, which, like our girdling rocks, nothing can shake from their places or model into anything but what they are. The modem researches in the archives of the Tower and the State Paper Office, and the publication of many of the documents there remaining, the journals of the Lords and Commons, the rolls of Parlia- 19S80S2 vi rBEFACE. mcnt, and tlie pntoiit rolls, and the mass of original letters collected by Howell, Ellis, Nicolas, kc, enable us and compel us to draw a very different picture of things from those which could be drawn in the last generation. In our portraiture of " good Queen Bess " we have used the facts left under the very hands of herself and her ministei-s, and from these there can be no appeal. Let any one imagine Queen Victoria doing the things which Queen Elizabeth undoubtedly did, and the reader will at once feel how monstrous would be the impression ; how vastly far behind us in moral truth and moral purity lies the Elizabethan age. Suppose Victoria imprisoned for life a neighbouring queen who fled to her for protection, holding her nobles and her ministers in her power by enormous bribes, seeking the life of her captive by private assassination, as Elizabeth undoubtedly did, through the indignant Sir Aniyas Paulet. Let us suppose, instead of the purity and domestic dignity of the life of our present queen, that she led the scandalous life and permitted the awfully immoral Court which Elizabeth did, on evidence which nothing can set aside, and which the female historian of our queens is compelled to admit, and a truth will dawn upon the slowest intellect which will bow to the truth of histon-, rather than to the delusions of tradition. Let those who have any doubts on these points go for themselves to the fountain-head of fact — to our original and abundant state papers. Again, some of our zealously Protestant readers have been ready to accuse us of placing the Catholics of those times in too favourable a light. We can only reply, that the same imdoubted authorities have guided our pen. We will yield to no man in our attachment to Protestant principles, nor in our estimation of their paramount truth and value. We regard the liberation of mind effected by the Reformation as the source of all our present blessings, and our national pre-eminence. We believe that our firm stand by the truths of the Bible, and the spirit of liberty and law, which is their direct result, are the reason that the Almighty has seen fit to place us at the head of nations, and to give to the language, the institutions, the dominion, and the glory of England a pre-eminence and an expanse such as no nation ever before enjoyed ; that this is the secret of our invincible arms in all quarters of the globe, of our being chosen as the founders of the new and vast people of North America, of India, South Africa, and Australia, who fomi the links of a chain of British life, enlightenment, manliness, and religious reverence which encircles the globe as with an imperial zone. But as we hold and must hold the right of every man to maintain the independence of his creed and conscience, we are bound as citizens and subjects to deal out justice and impartiality to Catholics as to Protestants ; and were we to sketch and colour the Catholics of the periods over which we have passed in this volume, not by the undoubted documents which those times furnish, but by the colours in which their enemies of the Marian reign, in their most natural alarm at the most distant hazard of a return to its horrors, arrayed them to themselves, we should commit a gross and unpardonable violation of the truth of history, and be unworthy to hold the high and responsible position of the narrators of the veritable past in its many-sided completeness. In our ne.xt volume we shall be called on to detail the progress of still greater events and changes; the conflict of the monarchical and the national will, the overthrow of thrones and of intolerance, and to hail the rising of the British Constitution out of the waters of this agitated sea of antagonistic principles as it now exists. London, Decembe}- 5lh, 1857. ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE SECOND VOLUME. Frontispiece— Anne Boleyn's Triumphal Entry into London Louis XI. and the Herald 1 Edward Prince of Wales, son of Henry VI., and Edward IV 6 Queen Elizabeth Wydvilie, with her children, takinff Sanctuary at Westminster ... 7 Kdward V 13 Tlie Death of Clarence 15 I'artinff of Queen Elizabeth Wydvllle and Jier son, the Duke of York 18 The Penance of Jane Shore 19 Great Seal of Edward V 22 liichardill 25 BmirL'ss of Beaucliamp Chapel ... .... 57 ^trtlICase at Cnarlton House, Kent 58 I'KCphice at Chatlton House, Kent 68 Iny Window at Speke Hall 68 S:iiitholP8 Hull, Lancashire 59 Mi.ircasc leading to the Chapel, Smithell's iiall 59 Awiusemcnts of People of Rank, 15th Ctiitury, Harl. MS., 4,425 61 Organ of the 14th Century, MS. 175, Imp. Lib. of Paris 61 C im.n of tlie lOth Century, M:«. Reg., 14 "■" i*' 61 IU.jd-Gun,'.reign of Edward IV., MS. Reg. 15 E. Iv. 62 Cimnnn, end of 15th Century. From an I ngraving by J. Van Mechlin 62 Soldier in a Floating Battery, with Hand- 'iun fitted on Stock. Printed at Verona in 1472 g2 Sl.ip ot War and Galley of the 15th Century, Harl. MS. 4,374, 9 63 Gtoat of Richard III. 64 Pmny of Kicliard III 64 llalf-groat of Henry V. 65 i^ngel of Edwatd IV 65 P.A,OB HaU-groat of Edward IV ti5 Bed-tead of the 15tli Century. From a MS. romance of the Comte d'Artois 6fi Bedroom Furniture, time of Henry VI. Harl. MS. 2,273 66 Kitchen of the 15th Century. Harl. MS. 4,375 60 The Knichfs Return from the War. MS. In the British Museum 67 Costume of the Middle Classes la the 15th Century. Cotton MSS., Nero. D. 7 ... GS Costume of Gentlemen, a.d. 14G0. From a MS. History of Thebes C8 Male Costume of Henry IV's. reign. Harl. MS. 2,332 68 Ladles' Head-dresses 69 Costume of the Reign of Henry V. Royal MSS., 15 D. 3 69 Lady Margaret Pennebrygg 69 Robert Skerne and Joan hii wife. From a Brass 69 Caul of the Lady's Head-dress, Brooch con- fining her Mantle, Girdle of the Gen- tleman 69 Female Costume. Royal MS. IG, G. 5 ... 69 Male Costume. From various MSS. ... 70 Reign of Edward IV. ... 70 Ladies' Head-dresses, H;irl. MS. 2,278 ... 70 t rom a MS. of Frois- Sdri's Chronicles 70 Female Costume. From a MS. History of Thebes 70 Hata and Caps, Harl. MSS. 4,379-80 ... 71 Couvrechef or Kerclilef 71 Seals, Kings, and portions of Chains ... 71 From a Brass of Sir John Drayton, died A.D. 1411 71 Kni£(ht in complete Armour, a.d. 14G1-80... 72 Etflgy of Richard BfaucliADip, Earl of Warwick, a.d. 1442.G5 72 Mace, Hand-cannon, Hand-gun, and Battle-axe 72 The Standards taken at Bosworih laid on the Altar of St. Paul's Cathedral 73 Henry VII 78 The pretended Earl of Warwick employed in the kitchen of Henry VII 79 Elizabeth, Queen of Heniy VII 85 Remains of Bermondsey Abbey, in which Queen Elizabeth Wydville was confined,.. 91 Ati old English Merrymaking, I5tli Century 91 London in tlie 15tU Century. From Ruyiil MS. IG, F. 2 97 Knight iu complete Armour. Harl. MSS. 4,379-80 98 Bowmen of the 14th and 15th Century ... 100 Beaulieu Abbey, where Per kin Warbeck took Sanctuaiy 102 Henry VII. at the Despatch of Business... 103 Thtmas Stanley, first Earl of Derby (died 1504) 109 The Port ot Weymouth Ii4 Interior of Henry the VII. 's Chajiel In Westminster Abbey 115 Curious Antique Clodv, belonging tu Henry VIII 120 Great Seal of Henry VIII 120 Henry VIH I2t Deatli of Gaslon de Fol.t, at Ravenna ... 126 The Battle of Spuis 127 Costume of an Enylish Gentleman in the time of Htnry Vin 130 ■ Lady in the time of Henry VIII 130 Great Ship of King Henry VIII 132 The Shrine of Piincu Artliur, brotlicr of Henry VIII.. in Worcester Cathedral ... 133 The Lord Cardinal Thomas Wui.>,ey ... 138 The Scottish Peers demanding the custoly of the Cliildrcn of tiueca Margaret ... 139 Henry VIII., Catherine of Arragon, Thomas Woitcy 141 King Henry VIII. roliring from Council... 145 Meeting of Henry VIII. and Francis I. on the Field of the Cloth of Gold 160 Palace. Anne Kent : The Field of the Cloth of Gold. From a Bas relief on theHutel du Bourtheroulde, at Rouen Execution of the Duke of Buckingham ... The City of Bruges— Palace of the Fiaoks Queen Catherine of Arragon Hampton Court Palace, the Residence of Cardinal Wolsey Erasmus and Sir Thomas More Windsor Castle King Henry VIIL and his Council. From Hall's Chronicle Old Greenwich Palace, as It appeared in the Reign of Henry VIII Francis I., King of France, taken Prisoner at the Battle of Pavia Anno Boleyn Bird s-eye View of Rhodes in the Sixteenth Century. From an ancient Manuscript Byudoir of Anne Boleyn, In the Gateway of Hever Cdstle Hever Castle, Kent. Residence of Anne Boleyn Wolsey's College, Ipswich Queen Anne Boleyn Grand Bali at old Greenwich Henry VIH. dancing witU Boleyn Ante-chamber iu llever Castle, Residence of Anne Boleyn Trial of Queen Catherine The Dismisial of Cardmal Wolsey Wolsey received by the Jlonka of Leicester Abbey Ruins of Leicester Abbey, the Scene of the Death ot Cardinal Wolsey Thomas Cranmer Private Marriage of Anne Boleyn to Henry VIH Chrdiiial Pule Place of Execution within the Tower ot London Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex Margaret Roper taking leave of her Fatlier, Sir Thomas More, on the Tower Wharf... Tomb of Catherine of Arragon, in Peter- borough Cathedral Arrest of Anne Boleyn Chapel on the Tower Green, where Anne Boleyn was buried Henry VIII. at the Royal Hunt in Eppliig Forest, on the morning of the Execution of Anne Boleyn Jiine Seymour The PilgriniHge ot Grace • Miles Coverdale. Henry \IH. and h'n Council ordaining the Translation of the Bible Into English ... AnneofCleves ... Henry VIII. granting the Charter to the Worshipful Compiny of Barber-Surgeons Cily Watehmen of the time of Henry VIH. Tlie Block, and A:;e in the Tower of London ... Old Richmond Palace Queen Catherine Howard King Henry and his Parliament. From an Engraving of the Period Hcniy VIH. delivering the Translated Bible to the Lords Chained Bibles set up in the Churches, by the order of Henry \'IH Instruments of Torture used in the reign of Henry VIH., and still preserved iu the Tower of London Domestic Architecture In the reign of Henry VIH. Old Houses at Shrewsbury Catherine Parr Engagement between the Kngtish and Scotch Forces View of Portsmouth Harbour, as It appears at the present timo The Palace of Nonsucli, on London Bridge, erected in the lleign of Henry VHI. ... Dcatti of Cardinal Bi;aton ... „, „< 151 154 16G 157 15D 162 163 168 1C9 174 180 181 18G 192 19S 193 202 204 205 210 211 216 229 234 235 2ill 241 24G 247 252 2>2 253 253 259 2C2 265 270 271 277 283 283 ILLUSTUATIOXS TO THE SECOND VOLUJIE. Conduit In London Streets, with Stocks, Pillory, and Whipping Tost Henry Vlll. and Catherine Parr Kdward VI Kdw&rd VI. entering London Great Seal of Edward VI Rearing tlie Fire Cross for the Assembly of tlic lligliland Clan:j. before the battle of Pinkie The Duke of Somerset The Herald deliveriue a Challenge to single combat from Lord Uuntly to the Dnke of Somerset Latimer preaching bi:lorc Edward VI. ... Traitor!)' heads over the Gateway of Loudon Bridge ruiory at the Gateway of oM London Bridge Old Somerset House, the Residence of tho Protector during the reign of Edward VI. Ket the Tanuer, haranguing his Followers nudcr the Oak of Itcformation St. James's Palace. Westminster Abbey, and ancient Conduit, In the iciga of Edward VI Edward VI. presenting the Warrant for tlie Execution of Joan Bocher to Archbishop Cranmor Dudley. Dnke of Xorthumherland Edward VI. granting the Charier to Bridewell Lady Jane Gray King Edwards last Physician Edward VI. in Coimcil. From an old Engraving Queen Mary I The Crown of England offered to Lady Jane Gray Lady Jane Gray and Roger Ascham Execution of the Dnke of Korthnmberland on Tower mil Philip of Spain AtUngton Castle, the Residence of Sir Thomas Wyatt. Forfeited to the Crown, 1554 Great Seal of Queen Mary Queen Mary in her Private Cralory Wyatt On his way to Execution, solemnly exonerating the Princess Elizabeth from piTticipaiion in his Rebellion Lady Jane Gray Carving ascribed to John Dudley, in the Beauchamp Tower ... Inscription cot by the husband of Lady Jane Gray on the Wails of his Prison ... Tlie Princess Elizabeth at Traitor's Gate ... Reception of the first Rus^ian Embassy in England Room in which Lord Guilford Dudley was imprisoned in the Beauchamp Tower ... Burning of i^rchbishop Cranmer Recantation of Archbishop Cranmer, in St. Mary's Church, Oxford Place of Execution. Smithfield Martyr's Stone at Hadkigli Siege of Calais. Departure of the Citizens... Queen Elizabeth Queen Elizabeth acknowledged by the lti.e,We3twood House. Tudor period Entrance from the Courtyard of Burghley House Couch used by Mary Queen of Scots dur- ing her Imprisonment .\rras in Knowle House Fire Dogs Nuriery Chair of James VI. of Scotland ... Armour of the Reign of Henry VII., from the Effigy of Sir Thomas Pai ton Armour of the Reign of Henry VIII., from the Efflgy of Richard Gy 11 Foot Soldier of the Reign o( Henry VIII... Helmets and Headpieces Guards of the Reign of Henry \ ill Group of Weipons, &c., prcseived in the Tower Artillery of the Tudor period Group of Arms of tlio Tudor pericd Dandies of the time of Henry VI I Drees of the Commonalty in tl:e time of Edward VI A Gentleman of Fashion of the time of Henry VUI Lady and Countrywoman of the doys of Elizabeth A Beggar of the time of Heiry VIM. Ladies' Head. dress of the time of Hcnrr VII Ladies' Head-dress of the time of Henry VIII Ordinary Costume of the Days of Queen Mjry Beards of the Ifith Century : I. The Spade. 2. The Stiletto. 3. Donblo Stiletto. 1. Round Beard Beards of the 16th Century Head-dresses of the 16th Century Female Costiune, 1600 Ltdies' Head-dresses, 16th Century 1)1 ess of a Lady. U8j Ordinirj- Costume, time of Henrj VIII. ... A Courtier of Queen Bess's time Gentlemen of the Queen's Chapel, in the time of Queen Elizabeth Coins: — Henry VII. ._ Henry VIII Edward VI Mary EUzabeth The Ships of Columbus A Ship of tho IGth Century Sir Thomas Gresham, Founder of the Royal Excliange Slate Coach of Queen Elizabeth Side Saddle of Queen Elizabeth Cliaring Cross and the Strand in the days of Edward VI. Pack Horses of the Tudor period A :^tatute Fair in the days of Henry VIII. Sections showing the Increase of London since the latter part of the Reign of Henry VIII Outline Plan showing the extent of London in the Reigns of Henry VIII. and Queen Victoria Hunting ihe Hare in St. Giles's Fields, In the days of Queen Mary PAOB 635 688 689 691 6»6 600 601 60 i 60: 603 603 606 eo6 607 607 607 609 609 609 609 610 610 610 Oil 612 6IJ 613 613 613 613 613 613 613 615 616 616 616 616 616 618 CI9 619 621 621 621 6'.>'.' 622 6'23 G23 MSTEiTii IISTOEI Of E»iiO, YOLUME II. LOUIS XI. AND THE HERALD. ^SeC page 10.) CHAPTER I. REIGN OF EBWARD IV.— (Conlinued). lidwma returns to England— Assisted by Burgundy— Edward's Pretended Renunciation of the Crown— His Marcli to London— Again proclaims himself King— Joined by Clarence— Battle of Barnet— Margaret and the Prince of Wales land in England— Battle of Tewliesbnry-Death ot Henry VI.— Political Calm— Rivalry of Clarence and Gloucester- Edward contemplates an Invasion of France— Deserted by his Allies- Interview uith Louis of France -He and liis Courtiers become Pen- sioners of France— Discontent of his Subjects— The King's Dissipated Life-Deaths of the Dulles ot Burgundy and St. Pol— Murder of Clarence —War with Scotland— Death of Edward IV. The mock restoration of Henry VI. was not destined to bo of long continuance. The ups and downs of royalty 53 at this pariod were as rapid and strange as the shifting scones of a theatre. There is no part of our history whero we are left so much in the dark as to the real moving caiisea. It is difficult to see how Warwick, with his vast popularity, should, in the course of a single winter, become so unponit- lar as to render his fall and the success of Edward so easy. We can well conceive that Edward, cruel and licentious at home, not even respected by his own brother-in-law of Burgundy, and sincerely hated by Louis of France, whom he had so deeply insulted by the rejection of his queen's sister in marriage, should sit on an unstable throne. But how ^V^arwick, so warmly hailed in the autumn, and carried^ OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAN'D. [a.d. 1171 on the shoulders of the Lancastrian party and the people at large to the pinnacle of power, should in tlie spring be as readily abandoned, is by no means clear. Had he closed that great source of his popularity, his kitchen? Did the necessity for maintaining a great force, the demands of gifts, estates, and fav.ours by his followers in his enter- prise to put down Edward, and his repayment of the ad- vances to the king of France, compel him to contract that lavish hospitality which daily feasted thirty thousand peo- ple at his palaces and castles ? Probably some such causes were at work, for ^'arwick does not seem to have exercised any great severity in his triumph, or to have used his power haughtily. Nevertheless, with the snows and frosts of winter his popularity appeared to thaw and flow away. It must be remembered, however, that there was a terrible secret tchism in his camp and party. Clarence was only waiting to seize a good opportunity to overthrow his father- in-law, Warwick, and climb the throne himself. Though he was a very weak and by no means high-principled young man, Clarence was not so weak as to build any future hopes on Warwick's having given him the succession in c:ise of the issue of the prince of Wales failing. Warwick had married another of his daughters to the prince, and it was his strongest interest to maintain that line on the throne. There can be little doubt that these things were kept alive in Clarence's bosom by the same clever female agency which was employed at Calais. It is fully clear by the- imme- diately following conduct of the marquis of Montacute, that there was an understanding between him and Clarence. Here was another blow to the power of Warwick, while Burgundy, however little disposed to esteem Edward, naturally preferred seeing him as his brother-in-law upon the throne of England, than as an exile and a beggar, and his great rival Louis of France stgrengtbensd bj the allianoe of Warwick and Margaret. AU these causes undoubtedly co-operated to produce what soon followed. Burgundy determined to assist Edward to regain his throne, and thus destroy the ascendancy of Warwick. While, therefore, issuing a proclamation forbidding any of his subjects to follow Edward in his expedition, he privately sent to him the cross of St. Andrew ; and an aid of tifty thousand florins furnished him with four large ships, which were fitted up and stored for him at Vere, inWalcheren. Besides these, he hired for him fourteen ships from the merchants uf the Hanse Towns, to tran.sport his troops from Flushing to England. These transactions could leave no question in the minds of the subjects of Burgundy, wbiuh way ley the real feelings of their sovereign. At the same time the amount of troops embarking with Edward was not such as to give to the enterprise a Burgundian appearance. The soldiers furnished to him were only two thousanj. Edward undoubtedly relied on information sent him from England as to the forces there ready to join him. The fleet of Edward steered for the Suffolk coast. It was in the south that the Yorkists' influence lay, and Clarence was posted in that quarter at the head of a con- siderable force. But Warwick's preparations were too strong in that quarter ; an active body of troops under a brother of the earl of Oxford, deterred the invaders from any attempt at landing. They proceeded northward, finding no opportanity of successfully getting on shore till they reached the little port of Eavenspur, in Yorkshire ; sin- gularly enough, the very place where Henry IV. landed when he deposed Richard II. From this same port now issued the force which was to terminate his line. At first, however, the undert^iking wore anything but » promising aspect. The north was the very stronghold of the Lancastrian faction ; and openly was displayed the hostility of the inhabitants towards the returned Yorkist monarch. But Edward, with that ready dishonesty which is considered defensible in the strife for crowns, solemnly declared that he had abandoned for himself all claims on the throne. 'J'hat he saw and acknowledged the right of Henry VI. and his line, and for himself only desired the happy security of a private station. His real and most patriotic design he gave out was to put down the turbulent and overbearing power of AVarwick, and thus give perma- nent tranquillity to the country, which never could exist so long as Warwick lived. He exhibited a forged safe-conduet from the earl of Xorthumberhind ; he declared thdt he sought for himself nothing but the possessions of the duks of Y'ork, his father ; he mounted in his bonnet an ostrich feather, the device of the prince of Wales, and ordered his followers to shout, " Long live king Henry ' " in every place through which they passed. Tbese exhibitions of his untruth, called by politicians expedience, by inon of honour lies, were too barefaced to deceive any one. The people still stood aloof, and on reach- ing the gates of York, Edward found them closed against Itim. But by the boldest use of the s^rae lying policy, Edward managed to prevail on the mayor and aldermen to admit him. Ue swore the most solemn oath that he abjured the crown for ever, and would do all in his power to maintain Henry and his issue upon it ; not satisfied with this, tlie clergy demanded that he should repeat this oath most em- phatically before the high altar in the cathedral. Edward assented with alacrity, and would undoubtedly have sworn anything and any number of oaths to the same effect. Ue then marched in with that bold precipitance which was the seOret of his success ; which, as in the case of Napoleon in our times, in every case threw his enemies into consterna- tion and confusion. Ao Poute&aot lay the marquis of Montacute, Warwick's brother, with a loroe superior to that of Edward, and all the world looked to see him throw himself across the path of the invader, and to pitch battle against iiim. Nothing of the kind ; Montacute lay still in the fortress, and Edward raaTchiog within four miles of this commander, went on his way without any check from him. This must have convinced every one that there was more beneath the surface of affairs than met the eye. It wiis not the first time that Montacute had played this equivocal role. Edward had formerly stripped him of the earldom of Northumberland, for alleged conspiracy with Clarence, and that he was now in league with Clarence, for Edward, and against Warwick, was sufficiently clear. As Edward approached the midland counties, and especially when he had crossed the Trent, thfr scene changed rapidly in his favour. He had left the Lancastrian districts behind, and reached those where Yorkism prevailed. People now flocked to his standard. At Nottingham the lord Stanley, Sir Thomas Parr, Sir James Hanington, Sir Thomiis Montgomery, and several other gentlemen, came in with reinforcements. Edward felt himsell strong enough to throw off the mask; he assumed the title of king, and marched towards Coventry, where lay Warwick nnH Clarence TO 1483.] SDAVARD IV. •with a force sufficient to punish this odious perjury. But a fresh turn of the royal kaleidoscope was here to astonish the public. Edward cliallcnf^cd the united army of Warwick and Clarencs on the 29th of March, 1171. In the night, Eiohard the dake of Gloucester paid a visit to his brother Clarence. The two brothers flew into each other's arms with a transport which if not that of genuine affection, was at least that of successful conspiracy. The morning beheld the army of Clarence, amounting to twelve thousand men, arrayed, not on tlie part of "Warwick but of Edward, the soldiers wearing not the red but the white rose over their gorgets. Here, then, was fully disclosed the secret which had in- duced Edward to march on so confidently through hostile districts, and people standing aloof from his banners. Not Montacute only, but Clarence had been won. Clarence, whetlier in weak simplicity, or under the influence of others, sent to Warwick to apologise for his breach of his most solemn oaths, and offered to become mediator betwixt liim, his fathcr-in-Iaw, and Edward his brother. AVarwick rejected the offer with disdain, refusing all further inter- course with the perjured Clarence, but he was now too weak to engage him and Edward ; and the Yorkist king then boldly advanced towards the capital. The gates of the citv, like those of York, he found closed against him, but he possessed sufficient means to unlock the one as he bad done the other. There were upwards of two thousand poi'sons of rank and influence, including no less than four hundred knights and gentlemen, crowded into the various sanctuaries of London and Westminister, who were ready, not only to declare, but to operate, in his favour. The ladios, who were charmed with the gay and gallant dispo- tion of Edward, were all avowed his zealous friends ; and, psriiaps, still more persuasive was the fact that the jovial monarch owed large sums to the msrohants, who saw, in his return, their only chance of payment. Edward even succeeded in securing the archbishop of York, who was, in his brother Warwick's .absence, the custodian of the city and the person of king Ilcnry. All regard to oaths, and all fidelity to principle or party, seemed to have disappeared at this epoch. By permission of the archbishop, Edward was admitted on Thursday, April 2nd, by a postern into the bishop's pal.ace, where he found the poor and helpless king Hem-y, and immediately sent him to the Tower. Warwick hastened after Edward and Clarence, intending to risk an engagement rather than allow them to gain the capital. Wliat was as strange as anything which had gone before, was that Montacute was now marching in cimjunc- tlon with Warwick. Had Edward shown any distrust of the traitor, or did he mean, like Chirence, to go completely over to the Yorkists, when thoy came face to face ? Both suppositions wore entertained by different parties ; which was true never was cleared up ; but there was Montacute. So confident now was Edward of victory, that he dis- dained to shelter himself within the walls of the city, but marched out against the enemy. The hostile armies met near Barnct. Here again the weak Clarence made another offer of mediation. No doubt his wife, who was the daughter of Warwick, and her sister the wife of tlxe prince of Wales, was anxious enough to avert the danger of lier father, and if possible, unite contending relations. But Warwick was too much enraged both against Edward and Claronee to li.-ten to any proposals of reconciliation. The leaders on both sides were now too much embittered against each other, guilty of too many changes and acts of perfidy, ever again to put reliance in each other, much less to ce- ment a genuine friendship. Warwick said indignantly to Clarence's messenger, " Go and tell your master that Warwick, true to his oath, is a better man than the false and perjured Clarence." Nothing but blood could wash out the enmity of these infuriated parties. It was late on Easter-eve when the two armies met on Barnet common. Both had made long marches, Edward having left London that day. Warwick being first on the ground had chosen his position. Edward, who came later, had to make his arrangements in the dark, the consequenct of which was, that he committed a great error. His right wing, instead of confronting the left wing of Warwick, was opposed to his centre, and the left wing of Edward conse- quently had no opponents, but stretched far away to the west. Daylight must have discovered this error, and most probably fiitally for Edward, but day came accompanied by a dense fog, believed at that day to have been raised by a celebrated magician, friar Bungy. The left wing of each army adv.ancing through the obscurity of the fog, and find- ing no enemy, wheeled in the direction of the main body. By this movement the left wing of Warwick trampled down the right wing of Edward, and defeating it, pursued the flying Yorkists through Barnet on the road to London. Meantime, the left wing of the Yorkists, instead of encountering the right of the Lancastrians, came up so as to strengthen their own centre, where Edward and Warwick were contending with all their might against each other. Both chiefs were in the very front of the battle, which wa? raging with tlie utmost fury. Warwick, contrary to his custom, had been persuaded by his brother Montacute to dismount, send away his horse, and fight on foot. Was this an act of bravery on the part of Montacute, or of treason ? Such was the ambiguous conduct of this noble- man, that his cotemporaries and the historians were ag.ain divided on the point. If it were treason, and he meant to take the opportunity of Warwick's personal engngement. in the thick of the melee to draw off to the other side he paid the penality of it, for he was speedily slain. The battle commenced at four o'clock in the morning, and lasted till ten. The rage of the combatants was terrible, and the slaughter was proportionate, for Edward, exasperated at the commons, who had siiown such favour to Warwick on all occasions, had determined no longer to issue orders to spare them, as was his wont, and to kill all the leaders they could. It was terminated by a singular mistake. The device of the earl of Oxford, who was fighting for Warwick, was a star with rays, emblazoned both on thf front and back of his soldiers' coats. The device of Edward'^ own soldiers on this occasion was a sun with rays. Oxford liad beaten his opponents in the field, and was rcturninj; to assist Warwick, when Warwick's troops mistaking through the mist the stars of Oxford for the sun of Edward, fell upon O.-iford's followers, supposing them to be Yorkists, and put tliom to flight. Oxford fled with eight hundred of his soldiers, supposing himself the object of some fatal treachery, while on the other hand Warwick, weakened by the apparent defection of Oxford, and his troops thrown into confusion, rushed desperately into the thickest of the enemy, trusting thus to revive the courage of his troops, and was thus slain- fighting. CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OF ENGLA^T), [a.u. 1471 No sooner was tho body of Warwick, stripped of its armour and covered with wounds, discovered on the field, than his forces gave way, and fled amain. Thus fell the great king-maker, who so long had kept alive the spirit of contention, placing the crown first on one head and then on another. With him perished the power of hia faction, and the prosperity of his family. On the field with him lay all the great lords who fought on his side, except the carl of Oxford and the duke of Somerset, who escaped into Wales, and joined Jx^per Tudor, the carl of Pembroke, who was in arms for Henry. The duke of Exeter was taken up for dead, but being found to be alive, he was conveyed by his servants secretly to the sanctuary at Westminster ; but the holiness of the sanctuary does not seem to have proved any defence against the lawless vengeance of Edward, for some months after his dead body was found floating in the sea near Dover. On the side of Edward fell the lords Say and Cromwell, Sir John Lisle, the son of lord Berners, and m,any other squires and gentlemen. The soldiers who fell on both sides have been variously stated at from one to ten thousand ; the number more commonly credited is about fifteen hundred. The dead were buried on the field, and a chapel erected near the spot fur the repose of their souls. The spot is supposed to be at the present time actually marked by a stone column. The bodies of Warwick and Monta- cute were exposed for three days, naked, on the floor of St. Paul's church, as a striking warning against subjects inter- fering with kings and crowns. They were then conveyed to the burial place of their family in the abbey of Bilsam in Berkshire. In the fall of Warwick Edward might justly suppose that he saw the only real obstacle to the permanency of his own power — but Margaret was still alive. She was no longer, however, the elastic and indomitable Margaret who bad led her forces up to the battles of St. Alb;ins, Northamp- ton, Wakefield, Towton, and Hexham. Her astonishing exertions, her severe hardships, and awful reverses had told en her spirit and constitution. Years of reflection in the midst of obscurity and poverty had led her to per- ceive more clearly the formidable difficulties in the way to a peaceable possession of the throne : — the mental condition of her husband, the youth of her son, the power of Warwick — formerly her great enemy, and now her doubt- ful friend ; for he had secured his hold on the throne by the marriage of two of his daughters. There was the ominons clause in the treaty with her and France, that if the issue of her son failed, the throne went to Clarence, the brother of Edward. Heaven and the elements ever since this unnatural contract had appeared to oppose her. As "the stars in their courses fought against Siccra," they appeared now to fight against her. All the winter she had been struggling to cross the Channel with her son and her followers, and tempest after tempest hud driven her back. Gould she have been present with the Lancastrian armies, ■with the prince of Wales, thousands would have flocked to the Lancai'trian standard who were doubtful of the loyalty of Warwick. But the day that she landed at Weymouth, imagining that she had now nothing to do but to march in triumph to London, and resume with her husband their vacant throne, was the very day of the fatal ba'.tle of Barnet. The first news she received was of the total over- throw of her party and the death of Warwick. The life of the great king-maker might have created her future troubles; bis fall was her total ruin. Confounded by the tidings, her once lofty spirit abandoned her; she sank on the ground in a death -like swoon. On recovering her consciousness, Margaret bitterly be- wailed her fortunes. She cursed the miserable times in which she lived, and declared that she had rather die than live in so much and so perpetual trouble. She was then in the abbey of Cerne, and with hor were her son, now about eighteen years of age ; his new bride, the daughter of Warwick; Sir John Fortcscue, who Iiad adhered to her through all her exile; Sir Henry Rous, and some others. With these and the rest of her fiUowers. she fled to the famous sanctuary of Beaulieu, in the New Forest, where she registered her.«elf and all her attendants as privileged persons. Probably the presence of the countess of Warwick might make her resort to Beaulieu. The now widowed countess embarked at Harfleur at the same time with the queen, and had landed at Portsmouth, and proceeded to Southampton. Here she was met by the news of her husband's death at Barnet, and she fled instantly to Beau- lieu. The moment it was known that Margaret and the prince were at Beaulieu, the duke of Somerset, the carls of Devon- shire and Oxford, the lords Wenlock and Beaufort, with many knights and gentlemen, flocked thither, and bade her not despair, for that the earl of Pembroke was at the head of a strong force in Wales, and her followers were still of good heart. Margaret replied that, for herself she would remain and do everything possible to turn the tide of victory ; but she begged that her son might be allowed to return to France and there await the i.ssno in safety. To this the prince refused to listen, and was unanimously sup- ported in that resolution by the loaders. The forebodings of Margaret were borne down by his zealous opposition, and she said, "Weil, h'^ it so." It was the plan of her generals to hasten to Pembroke ; and, having effected a junction with him, to proceed to Cheshire, to render the army effective by a good body of archers. But Edward, always rapid in his mevemcnts; allowed them no time for so formidable a combination. lie left London on the 19th of April, and reached Tewkesbury on the 3rd of May. Margaret and her company set out from Bath, and prepared to cross the Severn at Gloucester, to join Pembroke and Jasper Tudor. But t!io people of Gloucester had fortified the bridge ; and neither threats nor bribes could induce them to let her pass. She then marched on to Tewkesbury, near which they found Edward already awaiting them. The troops being worn d.)wn by the fatigue of a long and fearful march, Jliirgaret was in the utmost anxiety to avoid an engagement, and to press on to their friends in Wales. But Somerset represented that such a thing was utterly impossible. For a night and a day the foot-soldiers had been plunging along for sis-and-thirty miles through a foul country — all lanes, and stony ways, betwixt woods ; and having had no proper refreshment. To move farther in the face of the enemy was out of the question. He must pitch his camp in tlie park, and take such fortune as God should send. The queen, as well as the most experienced ofGcers of the army, were greatly averse to this, but the duke either could njt or would not move, and EJward presented him- self in readiness for battle. Thus compelled to give up TO 1483.] EDWAED IV. the cheering hope of a junction with the Welsh ai'my, Margaret and her son did all in their power to inspire the soldiers with courage for this most eventful conflict. The nest morning, being the 4th of M;iy, the forees were drawn out in order. The duke of Somer.set took the charge of the main body. The prince of Wales commanded the second division, under direction of lord Wealock and the prior of St. John's. The earl of Devonshire brought up the rear. The Lancastrian army was entrenched in a particularly strong position on the banks of the Severn ; having, both in front and on the flanks, a country so deeply intersected with lanes, hedgi. s, and ditches, that there was scarcely any approaching it. This grand advantage, however, was completely lost by the folly and impetuosity of the duke of Somerset, who, not content to defend himself against the superior forces and heavier artillery of Edward, rushed out beyond the entrenchments, where ho was speedily taken in Cank by a body of two hundred spearsraen, and thrown into confusion. His men fled for their lives, and the duke regaining the camp, and seeing the lord Wenlock sitting quietly at the head of his division, instead of following and supporting him, as he tliought he ought to have done, he rode furiously up to him, and exclaiming, "Traitor ! " cleft his skull with his battle-axe. At the sight of this, the soldiers of Wcnlock's division fled in terror , and the banner of the duke of Gloucester, followed speedily by that of Edward himself, being seen floating inside of the entrenohmeuts, all became confusion. The queen, on seeing the breaking-up of the host, became frantic, and would have rushed iuto the midst of the mOluc, to endeavour to call back the soldiers to the conflict. But her attendants forced her away, and escaped with her to a small religious house in the neighbourhooJ, where her daughter- in-law, Ann of Warwick, the countess of Devonshire, and lady Catherine Vans, also took refuge. Tliree days later, the queen and these ladies were seized and conveyed cap- tives to the Yorkist camp. In the meantime Margaret's son, the prince of Wales, had been taken on t!ie field of battle, and being conducted into the presence of Edward by his captor. Sir Richard Crofts, the Yorkist king demanded of the princely boy, " How he dared so presumptuously to enter his realms with banners displayed against him ? " and the stripling replied, undauntei.Uy, " To recover my father's crown and mine own iuheritance." Edward, incensed at this reply, struck in a most dastardly manner the royal youth in the face, with the back of his gauntlet, and Gloucester and Clarence, or perliaps their attendants, followed up the base blow, and despatched liim with their swords. Stowe sav-s simply, "The king smote him on the face with his gauntlet, and after, his servants slew him." Other writers only assert that he was slain on the lield ; and no doubt this royal murder took place in the floid, and while the victors were in the hot blood of battle. No fate can be conceived more consummately wretciiod than that of Margaret now. Her cause utterly ruined, her only son slain, her husband and herself the captives of their haughty enemies. They who had thus barbarously shed the blood of the prince, miglit, with a little cunning, shed that of her husband and herself. No such good fortune awaited Margaret. She was doomed to hear such news of her imprisoned consort, and to be left to long years of grief over the utter wreck of crown, husband, child, and friends, a great and distinguished band. The duke of Somerset, the prior of St. John's, six knights — Sir Gervais Clifton, Sir Humphry Audely, Sir William Qainsby, Sir William Cary, Sir Henry Rose, Sir Thomas Tresham — and seven esquires had fled to a church at Tewkesbury. They always themselves respected the rights of sanctuary, and probably on that account deemed themselves safe. To this Edward was indebted for the life of his queen, his children, and of thousands of his friends and adherents. During his absence Elizabeth had fled from the Tower to the sanctuary of Westminster, with her mother, the old duchess Jacquetta, and her three daughters. There she was delivered of a son, the unfortunate Edward V., destined to peris'n in his boyhood in the gloomy fortress which his mother had just quitted. But, forgetting all this, he broke, sword in hand, into the church, and would have killed them. A priest bearing the sacra- ment, withstood him, and would not permit him to pass till he promised to pardon all who had fled thither. Edward readily promised, but two days after they were dragged thence, brought before the dukes of Gloucester and Northumberland, condemned, and beheaded. Thi.i deadly quarrel betwixt the houses of York and Lancaster had now occasioned twelve battles ; the deaths in these battles and on the block of no less than sixty princes of these two families, above half of the nobles and powerful gentlemen, and above a hundred thousand of the common people. Such were the direct consequences of the usur- pation of Henry IV. The stream of gore ceased in a great measure during the remainder of the present reign, but only to burst forth again with fresh violence under Richard of Gloucester. Edward returned to London triumphant over all his enemies, and the next morning Henry VI. was found dead in the Tower. It was given out that he died of grief and melancholy, but nobody at that day doubted that he was murdered, and it was generally attributed to Richard of Gloucester. The continuator of the chronicles of Croy- land, a most credible cotemporary, prnys that the doer of the deed, whoever he were, may have time for repentance, and declares that it was done by "an agent of the tyrant " and a subject of the murdered king. Who was this ? The chronicler in Leland points it out plainly. " That night," he says, "king Henry was put to death in the Tower, the duke of Gloucester and divers of his men being there." Pabyan, also a cotemporary, says, " Divers tales were told, but the most common fame went thnt he was sticked with a dagger by the hands of the duke Gloucester." To satisfy the people, the same means were resorted to as in the case of Richard II. The body of the unfortunate king was eonveyed ou a bier with the face exposed, from the tower through Che.apsidc to St. Paul's. Four of the principal chroniclers of the day assert, that the fresh blood from his wounds ''welled upon the pavement," giving cer- tain evidence of the manner of his death. And the same thing occurred when he was removed to Black Friars. To get rid of so unsatisfactory a proof of Henry's natural death, the body was the same d.ay put into a barge with a guard of soldiers from Calais, and thus, says the Croy'and chro- nicler, " without singing or saying, he was conveyed up the dark waters of the Thames at midnight, to his silent inter- ment at Chertsey Abbey, where it was long pretended that miracles were performed at his tomb." Henry's reputation for holiness during his life, and his CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. EDWARD IV. (JDEEN ELIZiBETH WYLVILLE, WITD UEB CUUBEKN, TiKINO SANCIUAKY AT WESTMINSTER. (SeC page 5.) 8 CASSHLLS ILLUSTKATKD HISTORY OF ENGLiVND. [a.d. 1471 tragical death, occasioned such a resort to his tomb, that Gloucester, in mounting the throne as Richard III., caused the remains of the poor kinj to bo removed, it was said to Windsor; but the cunning Richard had taken such care of them, that when Henry VII. wished to convey them to ^\'indsor, they coviM not be found. Margaret, who was conveyed to the Tower the very night on which her husband was murdered there, was at first rigorously treated. Tl-.ere had been an attempt on the part of the bastard of Falconberg, who was vice-admiral under Warwick, to liberate Henry, during the absence of Eilward and Gloucester, at the battle of Tewkesbury. He lantied at Blackrall with a body of marines, and, calling on the yjcople of Essex and Kent to aid him, made two desperate attempts to penetrate to the Tower, burning Bishopsgate, but was repulsed, and on the approach of Edward, retreated. To prevent any similar attempt in favour of Margaret, she was successively removed to Windsor, and lastly to Wallingford. She remained aprisonerfor fiv^years, when at the entreaty of her father, king Rend, she was ransomed by Louis of Prance, and retired to the castle of Reculee, near Angers. She died at t! e chateau of Damprierre, near Saumur, in 14S2, in the fifty-fiist year of her age. No time is said to have brought resignation to lier stormy and passionate nature. She continued the Txctira of griefs and regrets for her bereavements so intense, that adding their force to that of the toils, excitements, and agonies that she had passed through, she was consumed bj- a loathsome leprosy, and from one of the most beautiful women in the world, became an object of appalling terror. The Lancastrian party appeared now broken up for ever : those leaders who had not fallen, fled ; and some of them lived till times were auspicious to them. We have noticed tho death of the duke of Exeter. He Wi\s married to the sister of Edward, but tliat lady, instead of obtaining his pardon, obtained a divorce from him, and married Sir Thomas St. Leger. The next year poor Exeter's lody was found, as we have related, out at sea. Vere, earl of Oxford, made his escape into Prance. He returned with a small fleet: surprised Mount St. Michael in Cornwall, but was compelled to surrender, and was afterwards confined twelve years in the castle of Hamme, in Picardy j while his wife, the sister of the great Warwick, supported herself by her needle. Oxford survived to fight for Henry VII. The archbishop of York, the only remaining brother of Warwick iiaving very foolishly, in presence of the king's servants, disphvyed his weakh since the b.ittle of Barnet, was plundei-ed of all his plate and jewels, stripped of his bishopric, and shut up in prison, partly in England, and partly at Guisnes, till within a few years of his death. The earl of Pembroke, and his nephew, tlie earl of Richmond escaped into Britfcjiny, where Edward sent to demand their being given up to him. But tlie duke of Brittany refused, and there remained the future Henry YII., waiting for the day which came at length, when he should avenge the house uf Lancaster, and unite it and that of York for ever. Several of the other fugitive Lancastrians, amongst whom was Sir John Fortescue, who had been tutor to Edward, prince of Wales, Margaret's son, humbly sued for pardon, and received it. Thus was the long and sanguinary usurpation of the house of Lancaster apparently put down, and Edward, the representative of the house of York, sate on the throne with scarcely a visi'ole competitor. There were some nearer, however, than he suspected. His two brothers, Clarence and Gtouce.st<'r, were a couple of as unprincipled men as ever appeared on the face of history. Clarence was weak, but Gloucester was as cunning and daring as he was base. A more unloveable character no country has produced, spite of all the endeavours which have been made by Horace Walpole and other vrrifccrs, to whitewash into something amiable ihis real black-a-moor of nature. The crimes of murder which are attributed to him, both before and after his seizure of his nephew's throne, no soplustrycan rid him of ; the cdium reeking upon him in his own day still clings to him in ours. The two rapacious brothers came now, on the first return of pence, to quarrel at the very foot of the throne for the vast propertj-^ of Warwick. Edward would fain have for- gotten everything else in his pleasures. The blood upon his ONVn hands gave him no concern ; he was only anxious to ' devote his leisure hours to Jane Shore, the silversmith's ■ wife, whom he had, like rumbers of other ladie.'', seduced from her duty. But Clarence and Gloucester broke through I his gaieties with their wranglings and mutual menaces, " The world seemeth queasy, here," says Sir John Paston in his Letters ; " for the most part that be about the king have sent for their harness, and it is said for certain that ; the duke of Clarence maketh him big in that he can, shew- ; ing as he would but deal with the duke of Gloucester. But i the king intendoth, in eschewing all inconvenience, to be as big as them both, and to be a stiffler between them. And I some men think, that under this there should be some other thing intended ; and some treason conspired, so what shall Ml can I not tell." I The fact was, that Clarence having, as we have seen, I married Isabella, the eldest daughter, was determined, if I possible, to monopolise all the property of Warwick, as if i the oldest daughter were sole heiress. But Gloucester, I who was always on the look-out for his own aggrandise- ment, now cast his eyes oa Anne, the other daughter, who had been married to the prince of Wales. Clarence, aware that he should have a daring and a lawless rival in Gloucester, in regard to the property, opposed the match with all his might. On this point they rose to high words and much heat. Clarence declared at length that Richard might marry Anne if he pleased, but that he should have no share whatever in the property. But only let Richard ] got the lady, and he would soon possess himself sf the lands. The question was debated by the two brothers with such fury, before the council, that civil war was anticipated. All this time tlie property was rightfully th;it of the widow of Warwick, the mother of the two young ladies. Anne, the countess of V>'arwick, was the sole heiress of the vast estates of the Despensers and the Beaucbamps, earls of Warwick. Her husbar.J, the king-u>akcr, ha4 entered on tho estates and title by his marriage mih hor. So far, therefore, as all law and right were concerned, no person whatever but herself, during her lifetime, I'.ad any claim on those estates. But in this miserablo age laws, right, honour, or natural affection had little or no existence. The widow of Warwick, the mother of the two ladicx thus striven for, the rightful possessor of the estates hankered after, w.\s not in the slightest degree regarded. She was retained an actual prisoner in the sanctuary of Beau • lieu, whither she fled on the death of hor husband. A TO 1483 ] EDWARD IV. party of soldiers was mamtainod by Edward, who stood sentinel-i over the sanctuary, disturbing the dorotlor.al quiet of the place, and by their insolent maraudings keeping the whole neighbourhood in terror. The unhappy mother of the t'.YO ladies who were thus to be placed, by marriage with the princes of the blood, almost on a level with the throne, in vain petitioned even for her liberty. Two years after the battle of Tewkesbury, the countess petitioned the House of Commons for her liberty. She complained in that petition that she had, within five days of her retreat into the sanctuary, commenced her earnest suit to the king for the restoration of her freedom, and Pufficient of her pro- perty to maintain her ; but her requests had been treated ■with the most utter indifference. She had then tried the sympathies of the queen, Elizabeth Wydville, but with- out any success. Elizabeth was a woman who never thou;^ht of property without w.anting to get it into her own family. She had after that tried Clarence, her son- in-law, the father of her grandchildren, and GHoucester, who w.anted to become her son-in-law. In vain. Then she applied to the king's sisters, the duchesses of Essex and Suffolk, old Jacquetta, the duchess of Bedford, the queen's mother. To all the great court party, who had once been her friends — as the world calls friendship — .and many of them her humble flatterers .ind admirers, she applied, in the most moving terms, for their kind aid in obtaining a modicum of freedom and support out of her own lands, the most wealthy in England. But it was not her that the two princes courted, it was her property, and nobody dared or cared to move a finger in favour of the once great Anne of Warwick. The daughter Anne, so far from desiring to marry Richard of Gloucester, detested him. She was said to have had a real affection for her unfortunate husband, the murdered prince of Wales, and shrvyik in horror from the idea of wedding the murderer. Co-operating, therefore, with the wishes and interests of Clarence, she, by his assistance, escaped out of the sanctuary of Beaulieu, where she had been with the countess, her mother, and disappeared. For some time no trace of her could be dijooverod ; but Gloucester had his spies and emissaries everywhere ; and, at length, the d.aughter of Warwick, and the future queen of Eiigland, was found in the guise of a cookmaid in London. Ghnicester removed her to the sanctu.iry of St. Martin's-le-Qrand. Afterwards, she was allowed to visit her uncle, the arch- bishop of York, before his disgrace, and the queen M.argarct in the Tower. All this was probably conceded by Gloucester, in order to win Anne's favour ; but Anne still repelling with disgust his addresses, he refused her these solaces, and procuring the remov.al of her mother from Beaulieu, sent her under the escort of Sir John Tyrrell into the north, where he is said to have kept her confined till his own death, even while she was his mother-in-law. Anne was at length compelled to marry the hated Gloucester — and her hatred appeared to increase from nearer acquaintance, for she was soon after praying for a divorce. The king was compelled to award to Gloucester a good large share of Warvrick's property ; and the servile parlia- ment passed an act in 1474, embodying the disgraceful commands of these most unnatural and unio-incipled princes. The two ih-iughtcrs were to succeed to the Warwick property, as though their mother, the possessor in her own right, were dead. If either of them should die before her husband, he should continue to retain her estates during hia natural life. If a divorce should take place between Richard and Anne, for which Anne was striving, Richard was still to retain her property, provided he married or did his best to marry her to some one else. Thu=, by this most iniquitous arrange- ment, while Richard kept his wife's prop-rty, they made it a motive witli her to force her into some other alliance, if not so hateful, perhaps more degrading. It is impossible to conceive the tyranny of vice and selfishness carried farther than in these odious transactions. But this was not all. There was living a son of the marquis of ilonta- cute, Warwick's brother, and to prevent .any claim from him as next lieir male, all such lands as he might become the claimant of, were tied upon Clarence and Gloucester, and their heirs, so long as there should remain any heirs male of the marquis. By these me.ans did these amiable brothers imagine that they had stepped into full and perpetual pos- session of the enormous we.ilth of the great Warwick. Edward, having rather smoothed over than appeased the jealousies and ambition of his brothers, now turned his ambition to foreign conquest. In all his contests at home, Edward had shown great military talents. He had fought ten battles, and never lost one ; for at the time of the treason of lord ilontacute in 1740, he had not fought at all, but, deserted by his army, had fled to Flanders. He had always entertained a flatter- ing idea that he could emulate the martial glory of the Edwards and of Henry V., and once more recover the lost territories of France, and the lost prestige of the British arms on the Continent. His relations with France and Burgundy were such as encouraged this roseate notion. Louis XI. had supported the claims of Henry, and accom- plishiug the alliance of Margaret and his most formidable enemy Warwick, had sent them to push him from his throne . The time appeared to be arrived for inflicting full retri- bution. Burgundy was his brother-in-law, and had aided him in recovering his crown. True, the aid of Burgundy bad not been prompted by love to him, but by enmity to War- wick and Louis ; nor had his reception of him in his day of distress been such as to merit much gratitude. But it seldom .answers to probe too deeply into the motives of princes ; the great matter was, that Burj;midy was the sworn antagonist of Louis, and their interests were, there- fore, the same. The duke of Burgundy, called Charles le Temeraire, or the E.ash, though sometimes more complimentarily tetmed the Bold, was no match for the cold and politic Louis XI. He and his ally the duke of Brittany fancied themselves inca- pable of standing their ground against Louis, and now made an offer of mutual alliance to Edward, for the purpose of enforcing their common claims in France. Kothing could accurd more with the desires of Edward than this proposi- tion. He had employed 1473 in settling his disputes with the Hanse Towns, in confirming the truce with Scotland, and renewing liis alliances with Portugal and Denmark. His parliament had granted him large supplies. Tlicy voted him a tenth of rents, or two shillings in the pound, calculated to produce at that day £31,460, equal to more than £300,000 of our present money. Tliey then added to this a whole fifteenth, and three-quarters of another. But when Edward entered into the scheme of Burgundy and Brittany for the French conquest, they granted him per- mission to raise any fui-ther monies by what were called 10 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1171 betifvoJenecs, or free gifts ; a kind of exaction perhaps more irksome tlian any other, because it was vague, arbitrary, and put the advances of tlie subjects on the basis of loyalty. Such a mode of fleecing the people had been resorted to under Henry III. and Richard II. Now there was added a clause to the act of parliament, providing that the proceeds of the fifteenth should be deposited in religious houses ; and if the French campaign should not take place, should be refunded to the people, as if any one had ever heard of taxes, once obtained, ever being refunded to the payers ! Armed with these powers, Edward soon showed what in his mind was the idea of a benevolence. He summoned before him the most wealthy citizens, and demanded their liberal contributions to his treasury for his great object, the recovery of France. No one dared to refuse a monarch who had given so many proofs of his ready punishment of those who displeased him. From the pride, the fears, or the shame of the wealthy thus called upon, he amassed, it is declared, far larger sums for the war than any of his predecessors had done. To leave no enemy in the rear, and to prevent any tampering of the subtle Louis with the Scots, the usual policy of France on such occasions. Edward appointed commissioners to award ample indemnity to the merchants and subjects of Scotland, who had received any injury from England. Whilst Scotland was in the good humour thus produced, Edward proposed and carried a contract of marriage betwixt the duke of Rothsay, the son and heir of James of Scotland, and his second daughter, Cecily. The portion of the princess was to be twenty thousand marks, but this was to be paid by instalments of two thousand marks per annum for ten years : thus, by making the Scottish king a kind of pensioner on the English crown, binding him more firmly to the alliance. All being in readiness, Edward passed over from Sand- wich to Calais, where he landed on the 22nd of June, 1475. He had with him fifteen hundred men-at-arms, and fifteen thousand archers, an army with which the former Edwards would have made Louis tremble on his throne. He despatched the Garter king-at-arms with a letter of defiance to Louis, demanding nothing less than the crown of France. The position of Louis was to all appearance most critical. If Burgundy, Brittany, and the count of St. Pol, the constable of France, who had ■entered into the league against him, had acted wisely and faithfully together, the war must have been as dreadful, and the leases of France as severe, as in the past days. But probably Louis was well satisfied of the crumbling character of the coalition. Comines, who was at the time in the service of Louis, has left us ample accounts of these transactions, and according to them, the conduct of the French king was masterly in the extreme. Instead of ■firing with resentment at the proud demands of the letter, he took tlic herald politely into his private closet, and there, in the most courteous and familiar manner, told him he was sorry for this misunderstanding with the king of England, that, for his part, he had the highest respect for Edward, and desired to be on amicable terms with him, but that he knew very well that all this was stirred up by the duke of Burgundy and the constable of St. Pol, who would be the very first to abandon Edward, if any difficulty arose, or after they had got their own turn served. lie put it to the herald how much better it would be for Eng- land and France to be on good terms, and gave the greatest weight to his arguments by smilingly placing in Garter's hand a purse of three hundred crowns, assuring him that if he used his endeavours effectually to preserve the peace between the two kingdoms, he would add to it a thousand more. The herald was so completelycaptivated by the suavlty.the sound reasons, and themoney of Louis, that he promised to do everything in his power to promote a peace, and .advised the king to open a correspondence with the lords Howard and Stanley, noblemen not only high in the favour of Edward, but secretly averse to this expedition. This being settled. Louis committed Garter king-at-arms to the care of Philiji de Comines, telling him to give the herald publicly a piece of crimson velvet, of thirty ells in length, as though it were the only present, and to get him away as soon as he could, with all courtesy, without allowing him to hold any com- munication with the courtiers. This being done, Louis summoned his great barons and the rest of the courtiers around him, and ordered the letter of defiance to be read aloud, all the time sitting with a look of the greatest tran- quillity, for he was himself much assured by what he had heard from the herald. The words of Louis came rapidly to pass, as it regarded Edward's allies. Nothing could equal the folly of Bur- gundy and the treachery of the others. Charles the Rash, instead of coming up punctually with his promised forces, had, in his usual wild way, led them to avenge some affront from the duke of Lorraine and the princes of Germany, far away from the really important scene of action. Tyhen the duke appeared in Edward's camp, with only a small retinue, instead of a large army, and there was no prospect of his rendering any effective aid that summer, Edward was highly chagrined. All his officers were eager for the cam- paign, promising themselves a renewal of the fame and booty which their fathers had won. But when Edward advanced from Peronne, where he lay, to St. Quentin, on the assur- ances of Burgundy, that St. Pol, who held it, would open its gates to him, and instead of such surrender, St. Pol fired on his troops from the wall.-", the king's %vTath knew no bounds ; he upbraided the duke with his conduct in thus deceiving and making a laughing-stock of him, and Burgundy retired in haste from the English camp. To add to Edward's disgust, Burgundy and his subjects had from the fir^t landing of the English betrayed the utmost reluctance to admit the British forces into any of their towns. Artois and Pieardy were shut against them, as if they came not as allies, but as intending conquerors. Precisely at this juncture, the herald returned with his narrative of his kind reception, and the amiable disposition of Louis. This was by no means unwelcome in the present temper of Edward. It gave him the most direct prospect of punishing his perfidious allies. On the heels of the Garter king-at-arms, arrived her.alds from Louis, confirm- ing all he had stated, and offering every means of pacifica- tion. The king called a council in the camp at Peronne, in which it was resolved to negotiate a peace with France on three grounds : the approach of winter, the absence of all supplies for the army, and the failure of assistance from the allies. For two months, while the terms of this treaty were discussing, the agents and the money of Louis were freely circulating amongst the courtiers and ministers of Edward. H83.] EDWARD IV. 11 The plenipotenfiaries found all tlieii- la'nours wonderfully Bmootlied by the desire of Louis to see the soil of France as soon as possible freed from an English army. The French king agreed to almost everything proposed, never intending to fulfil a tithe of his contracts. A truce for seven years was concluded at Amiens. The king of France agreed to pay the king of England seventy-five thousand crowns witliin the next fifteen days ; and fifty thousand cro\viis a year during their joint lives, to bo paid in London. Apparently prodigal of his money, it was at this time that Louis paid fifty thousand for the ransom of queen Mar- garet. To bind the alliance still more firmly, Edward proposed that the dauphin should marry his eldest daugh- ter, Elizabeth, which was readily assented to. To testify his great joy in the termination of this treaty, Louis sent three hundred cart-loads of the best wines of France into the English camp, and proposed, in order to increase the feeling of friendship between the two monarchs, that they should have a personal interview before Edward's departure. Perhaps there is nothing more curious in history than this royal meeting. Nothing can possibly show the consciousness in the actors in this sceneof the total dearth of all honourable principle amongst the so-called great in that age. This meeting, let it be remembered, was to promote a feeling of friendship between the two royal personages, but it was conducted with the same caution, a caution not con- cealed, but paraded, with which two notorious assassins would have approached each other. The meeting was to take place upon a bridge across the Somme at Pioquigny, near Amiens. The very circumstance of its being on a bridge was strongly reminiscent of the famous meeting of Charles VII. and the duke of Bur- gundy on the bridge of Montereau, in which Burgundy was murdered. To prevent any such catastrophe on this occasion, the two monarchs were not to meet as those persons did, between barriers, but to have a secure barrier betwixt them. This barrier consisted of lattice-work, with interstices no larger than would admit a man's arm. Through these the two monarchs were to shake hands and converse. Accordingly, on the 29th of August, the day appointed, the two royalties appeared at the opposite ends of the bridge, and advanced, attended by a few nobles. Louis arrived first at the barrier, followed by the duke of Bourbon, the cardinal Bourbon, his brother, and ten other persons of high rank. Edward of England approached, followed by his brother Clarence, the earl of Northumber- land, lord Hastings, the lord chamberlain, the lord chan- cellor, and several peers. Edward, we are told by Oomines, who was present, was a prince of a majestic presence, but inclining to corpulenc'. He was dressed in cloth of gold, and wore a rich cap of black velvet, with a large fleur-de-lis of precious stones. As the two kings came near the barrier, they bowed low to each other with doffed caps. They then shook hands through the grating, again bowed profoundly, and then professed their great pleasure in seeing each other, and especially on so happy an occasion. Comines says, Edward spoke excellent French, and after conversing pleasantly together, the two monarchs proceeded to swear to the terms of the treaty up(m a missal and a crucifix contiinlng a fragment of the true cross. After this ceremony was over, the two kings again chatted mci-rily, and Louis, to appear extremely cordial, told Edward that he should be delighted to see him in Paris ; that he would find the ladies very charming, and that the cardinal Bourbon, there present, and well known for a very gay and lon-vhant churchman should be his confessor, and would grant him easy absolution for any little peccadilloes. To Louis's consternation, Edward replied, that nothing would delight him more than to pay him such a visit. Louis, though inwardly groaning at the very idea, carried off the matter gaily ; the two kings once more shook hands, exchanged compliments, and withdrew. Such were the precautions before these two smiling and embracing monarchs could meet. And yet, after all. had either party been so disposed, there was no real security. A sudden stroke of a sword might have despatched either of them ; and Comines confesses, th.at the English king was greatly exposed, had Louis wished to take advantage of it. Edward and his party had to cross a narrow cause- way, across marshes, of two bow-shots in length, to reaoli the bridge, where a sudden sally, when the English had reached the bridge itself, would have been almost certainly fatal to the English king. " But," adds Oomines. " certainly the English do not manage those matters so cleverly as the French." As Louis rode back to Amiens he was in great inwaiu trouble about Edward's eager acceptanoe of his feigned in- vitation. He said, certainly Edw.ard was a fiie fellow, but he was so fond of the ladies that he might see some dame in Paris so much to his liking that he might be tempted to return; "and, to tell the truth," he added, " I prefer hi.s acquaintance on the other side of the channel.'' At supper, lord Howard, who was appointed to remain at the French court to see the terms of the treaty carried out, added to Louis's fright by saying, in much glee, to him, that he would certainly find means to induce Edward to come to Paris, and have a merry time with the king. To Louis this was an actual buffet, but he fell to washing his hands very earnestly, and, after a little thinking, assumed an air of great regret, and said, " It was a thousand pities — it would have been a most charming thing, but, unfortunately, he was afraid it would be long before it could take place, for he must now proceed to the frontiers to prosecute the necessary resistance to the duke of Burgundy." The treaty being signed, Gloueester and some other of the chief nobility who were averse to the peace, and, there- fore, would not attend the meeting of the kings, now rode into Amiens to pay their court to him, and Louis received them with that air of pleasure which he could so easily put on, entertained them luxuriously, and presented them with rich gifts of plate and horses. Thus was this singular treaty concluded, and eacli monarch thought most advantageously to himself. Edward had paid off the duke of Burgundy for his neglecting to fulfil his agreement as to the campaign, .and he now sent the duke word, patronisingly, that if he wished, he would get a similar truce for him ; to which Burgundy sent an indignant .answer. Edward had, moreover, got a good round sum of money to pay his arnly, and a yearly income of fifty tliou- sand crowns for life. Like Charles II. afterward.'^, ho did not trouble himself about the disgrace and di.^advantage of having made himself a pensioner on France. Besides this, he had arranged to set his eldest daughter on the French throne after Louis's decease. L®uis, on his part, was so transported with his manage- 12 CASSSLLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1171 ment of the aff.iir, tlint, spite of his habitual caution, he could not avoid laughing and chuckling over it amongst his coartiers. True, he had spent some money, and made some promises. As to the promises, their nature vras pro- verbial J and as to the money, it did not amount to a tithe of what he must have spent in the war, to say nothing of the evil chances which might follow a contention with the TlnglLsh again, and with a king always victorious. That money had cleared France of the English army, broken up the alliance wiih Burgundy and Brittany, left those princes now very much at his mercy, and, more than all, had tied the hands of the pleasure-loving king of England for Lfe. To make sure work of it, Louis had not only bribed the monarch, but all the influential courtiers round him. He had agreed to pay j-carly sixteen thousand crowns to these mean, proud nobility of England. Lord Edward Hastings, Edward's chief favourite, was to receive two thousand crowns annually ; the chancellor, two thousand, and the marquis of Dorset, the lords Howard and Cheney, Sir Thomas Montgomery, Sir Thomas St. Leger, and a few others, divided amongst them the remaining twelve thousand of this really treasonable bounty money. So well aware were they of the odious nature of the payment, that lord Hastings, though he received it as greedily as the rest, never would commit himself by signing a receipt. Well might that strange monarch, the despicable, truckling, tricky, but cunning Louis, express in private his unbounded contempt of both Edward and his courtiers. He strictly enjoined his own courtiers, however they might laugh at the English dupes in private, they must be careful never to let them perceive any signs of their mockery and derision ; and perceiving on one occasion, when his exultation had made him talk too freely, that a boastful Gascon was pre- sent, he imnicdiateiy gave him most advantageous prefer- ment, to bind him to secresy, saying, " It is but just that I should pay the penalty of my talkativeness." The people were very much of the French king's opinion that their own monarch had been sadly overreached. The army, which on its return was disbanded, promoted this feeling everywhere. The soldiers came back disappointed of the plunder of France, and accordingly vented their chagrin on the king and his courtiers, who, for their private emolument, had sold, they said, the honour of the nation. As to the general terms of the peace, the people had good cause to be satisfied. It was much better for the nation to be left at liberty to pursue its profitable-trade, than to be year after year drained of its substance to carry on a useless war. But the real cause of discontent was the annual bribe, which bound the king and his court to wink at any proceedings of France on the Continent, against our allies and commercial connections, and even to sufi"er intru- sions on our own trade and interests, rather than incur the danger of losing the pay of the French king. Edward endeavoured to silence these murmurs by severity. He sent amongst the people agents who reported any offensive language, and he punished offenders without mercy. At the same time, he extended an equally stern hand towards all disturbers of the peace ; the disbanded soldiers having collected into hordes, and spread murder and rapine through several of the counties. Seeing, however, that such was the general discontent, that should some Wat Tyler, or Jack Cade arise, the consequences might be terrible, he determined to ease the burdens of the people at the expense of the higher classes, lie, therefore, ordered a rigorous exaction of the customs ; laid frequent teaths on the clergy ; resumed many of the estates of the crown ; and compelled the holders of estates to compound by heavy fines for the omission of any of their duties as feudal tenants. He, moreover, entered boldly into trade. Instead of permitting his ships to lie rotting in port, as he had no occasion for them as transport vessels, he sent out in them wool, tin, cloth, and other merchandise, and brought back from the ports of the Levant their products. By all these means Edward became the most wealthy monarch of Europe, and while he grew very soon popular with the people, who felt the weight of taxation annually decreasing, he became equally formidable to those who had more reason to complain. But however generally prosperous was the remainder of Edward's reign, it was to himself filled with the deepest causes of grief and remorse. The part which his brother Clarence had taken, his allying himself to Warwick, with the design to depose Edward and secure the crown to him- self, could never be forgotten. He had been named the successor to the prince of Wales, the son of Henry VI., and should anything happen to Edward, might assert that claim to the prejudice of his own son. Still further, Clarence had given mortal offence to the queen. Her father and her brother had been put to death in Clarence's name. Her brother Anthony, afterwards, had narrowly escaped the same fate from the orders of Clarence. He had been for- ward in the charge of sorcery against her mother, the duchess Jacquetta. Scarcely less had he incensed his brother Richard of Gloucester, the vindictive and never- forgiving, by his opposition to his marriage with Anne of Warwick, and to sharing any of Warwick's property with him. Clarence was immensely rich, from the possession of the bulk of Warwick's vast estates, and he seems to have borne himself haughtily, as if he were another Warwick. He was at the head of a large party of malcontents, those who hated and envied the queen's family, and those who had been made to yield up their valuable grants from the crown under Henry VI. Clarence himself was one of the reluctant parties thus forced to disgorge some of his lands, under the act of resumption, on Edward's return from France. While brooding over this offence, his wife Isabella of Warwick died, on the 22nd of December, H76, just after the birth of her third child. Clarence, who was so ex- tremely attached to her that he was almost beside himself at the loss, accused, brought to trial, and procured the condemnation of Ankaret Twynhyo, one of her attendants, on the charge of having poisoned her. Directly after this, January 5th, 1177, the duke of Bur- gundy fell at the battle of Nancy, in his vain struggle against the duke of Lorraine, backed by the valiant Swiss. His splendid domains fell to his only daughter, Mary, who immediately became the object of the most eager desire to numerous princes. Louis of France disdained to sue for her hand for the dauphin, but attacked her territories, and hoped to secure both them and her by conquest. There had been some treaty for her by the duke Maximilian, of Austria, for his son, during the late duke's life ; but now Clarence suddenly aroused himself from liis grief for the loss of his wife, and made zealous court, on his own account_ to this great heiress. Her mother, Margaret, the sister of Clarence, favoured his suit warmly, but the idea of such an *.D. 1177.] EDWARD IV.- QUAEEEL WITH CLAEENOE. 13 alliance struck Edward with dismay. Olareuoe already ivas far too powerful. Should he succeed in placing him- eelf at the head of one of the most powerful states on the Iar, but now placed him in command of the artillery, and permitted him to excite the envy and indignation of the great barons by the splendour of his appointments. He paraded a body-guard of three hundred men, clad in gorgeous livery, armed with battle-axes; when in armour, his helmet of polished steel, richly inlaid with gold, was borne before him ; when in his civil costume, he wore a riding suit of black velvet, a massive gold chain round his neck, and a hnntini; horn tipped with suld, and richly studded with jewels, was slung from his shoulder. His tent blazoned through the caiup the pride of its possessor, being of rich and showy silk, .ind stretched by gilded chains te its posts. This foolish, and, aa it proved, fatal ostentation, put the climax to the wrath of the nobles. They met in the church at Lauder to consult on the best means of securing the king, and thus fulfilling their pledge to Edward and Albany. It was unanimously agreed that the upstart Cochrane must be first made away with. But who should undertake this dangerous office ? who should hang the bell round the neck of their tyrannous enemy the cat ? was asked by Lord Grey. "Leave that to me!" exclaimed Araliibald Douglas, the carl of Angus, " I will bell the AD. 1483.] EDWARD IV.— HIS DEATH. 17 cat !" a speech which gave him, ever after, the cognomen of " Archibald Bell-the-Oat." In the very midst of this discussion Cochrane hearing of this assembly, and anxious to ascertain its object, but unconscious of its terrible design against liimself, suddenly appeared before the barred door and knocked loudly. " Who is there ?" asked Douglas of Lochleven, who guarded the door. "I, the earl of Mar," replied Cochrane. " The victim has saved us all trouble," said Angus, and bade Douglas unbar the door. Cochrane stepped into their midst, clad in his usual rich attire, and with his riding-whip in his hand. Angus snatched the gold chain from Cochrane's neck, exclaiming, " It ill befits thee to wear this collar ! And that horn, too, thou hunter of mischief !" he added, plucking it fro.n his side. Cochrane, a man of great firmness and courage, was astonished at this reception, and asked, " Is it jest or earnest P" The nest moment told him what it was, for he was seized and bound, and the majority of the conspirators rushed to the royal tent, where they also secured Eogers, the musician, and several of the other favourites. These they hurried away, and hanged in a row with Cochrane, over the parapet of the bridge. Having next secured the royal person, the conspirators disbanded the army, and, leaving the country open to the advance of Albany and Gloucester, they marched back to Edinburgh, and consigned James to the safe keeping of the castle. Albany and Gloucester quickly followed the conspirators to the Scottish capital, and there appeared now every pros- pect of the crown being placed on the head of Albany ; but this was suddenly prevented by a new movement. The whole body of the Scottish nobles had joined in the destruc- tion of the favourites, but there was a strong party of them who contemplated nothing further. The loyalty of this section of the aristocracy being well known to Angus and his frienis, they had not ventured to communicate to them their design of deposing James. The moment that this became known to them, they quitted Edinburgh, collected an army, and planted themselves near Haddington, deter- mined to keep in check any proceedings against the king. At the head of this loyal party were the archbishop of St. Andrew's, the bishop of Dunkeld, the earl of Argyll, and lord Evandalc. They called on all loyal Scots to gather to their standard, and being posted betwixt Edinburgh and the English border, threw Gloucester and his adherents into considerable anxiety as to their position. Albany, Gloucester, and tlie insurgent lords were glad to come to an accommodation. It was agreed that James should retain the crown ; that Albany should receive a pardon and the r<\'-toration of his rank and estates ; tliat the money paid by Edward as part of the dowry of Cecilia, should be repaid by the citizens of Edinburgh, and that Berwick and its castle should be ceded to England. Gloucester there- upon marched homeward, and Albany laid siege to tlie castle of Edinburgh, where the earls of Atholl and Buchau still detained the king. He soon compelled theun to capitu- late, and James being now in the hand^j of Albany, the two brothers, in sign of perfect reconciliation, rode together on tho same horse to the palace of Holyrood, and slept together in the same bed. The treason of Albany, how- ever, 'only hid itself in his bosom for a season. Edward, having thus settled the Scotch difficulty, now turned his attention to Louis of Prance. Whilst the Scotch campaign had been proceeding, an occurrence had taken place which raised the wrath of Edward to its pitch. Mary of Burgundy had one day gone out hawking in the neigh- bourhood of Bruges, when her horse, in leaping a dyke, broke his girths, and threw her violently against a tree. She died in consequence, leaving thi-ee infant children, one of which, Margaret, was a little girl two years old. Mary herself was only twenty-five at the time of her death. No soi>ner did Louis hear of this, than he immediately demanded the infant Margaret for his son, the dauphin, totally regardless of the long-standing engagement with Edward for the princess Elizabeth. Maximilian of Austria, the father of Margaret, was strongly opposed to tho match, seeing too well that Louis only wanted to make himself master of the territories of the children. Louis, liowever, had intrigued with the people of Ghent, and they would insist upon the alliance. Margaret was delivered to the commissioners of Louis, who settled on her* the provinces which he had taken from ter mother. The French, who regarded this event as bringing to the kingdom some very fine territories, without the trouble and expense of a con- quest, received the infant princess with great rejoicings. The rage of Edward knew no bounds. He had been so often warned, both by his courtiers and by parliament, that the crafty Louis would play him false, that he now vowed to take the most consummate vegeanco upon him. The best means of inflicting the severest punishment on the king of France engrossed his whole soul, and occupied him day and night. This violent excitement, operating upon a constitution ruined by sensual indulgence, brought on an illness, which, not attended to at first, soon terminated his existence. He died oa the 9th of April, 1483, in the 23rd year of his reign and the forty-first of his age. Tiie approach of death awoke in him feelings of deep re- pentance. He ordered full restitution to be made to all whom he had wronged, or from whom he had extorted benevolences. But such orders were not likely to receive much attention from Gloucester, who became the person in power. Immediately after his death he was exposed on a board, naked from the waist upwards, for ten hours, so that the lords spiritual and temporal, and the lord mayor and aldermen of London, might see that he had received no violence. He was then buried in Westminster Abbey, witli great pomp and ceremony. Edward IV. was a man calculated to make a great figure in rude and martial times. He was handsome, lively of disposition, afi'able, and brave. So long as circumstances demanded daring and exertion in the field, he was triumph- ant and prosperous. Eapid in his resolves and in his movements, undaunted in his attacks, he was uniformly victorious ; but peace at once unmanned him. With the last stroke of the sword and the last sound of the trumpet, he flung down his arms, and flew to riot and debauchery. Ever the conqueror in the field, he was always defeated iu the city. He never could become conqueror over himFclf. By unrestrained indulgence he destroyed his constitution, and was certain to be short-lived. Whether in the battle- field or in the hour of peace, he was unrestrained by prin- ciple, and t;uUied his most brilliant laurels in the blood of the young, the innocent, and the victim incapable of resist- ance. He was magnificent in his costume, luxurious at table, and most licentious in his amours. As he advanced in years he grew corpulent, gross, and unliealthy. He had the faculty of never forgetting the face of any one whom 18 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1163. he had one; seen, or tlie name of any one who had done monarch. He attached no one to his fortunes ; therefore him an injury. There was no person of any prominence of ' a'.l his attempts to knit up alliances failed ; and his sons. whomhedid not know the whole history; and he had a spy in almost every officer of his government, even to the extremi- lefc young and unprotected, speedily perished. His children were, Edward, his eldest soc oad successor, Q z^- -a — ^ '^! 2 lies of his kingdom. By this means he was early informed , born in the Sanctuarv in 1170 Richard, duke of York; of the slightest hostile movement, and by a rapid dash Elizabeth, who was contracted to the dauphin, but who into the enemy's quarters he soon extinguished opposition, became the queen of Henry VII.; Cecilia, contracted to Such a man might be a brilliant, but could never be a good James, afterwards IV. of Scotland, but married to John, A.D. 1483.] EDWARD IV.— HIS CHILDREN. 19 The Penance of Jane Shore. viscount Welles ; Anne, contracted to Philip of Burgundy, but married to Thomas Howard, duke of Norfolk ; Bridget, who became a nun at Dartford ; and Catherine, contracted to the prince of Spain, but married to William Courtney, earl of Devonshire. He left two natural children, a son by Elizabeth Lucie, named Arthur, who married the heiress of lord Lisle, and succeeded to liis title ; and a daughter named Elizabeth, who married Thomas, lord Lumley. OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a d. U83. (.HAPTER II. REIGK OF EDWARD V. EJflnrJ \'. Proclaimed— tlie Two Pjuliea of tlie yuetji auJ oi Gloncostcr— Strui;el« In tht CoDndl— Gloueuier's Pliii»— tlie Earl Blrere and his Fiieada ImprUanad— Gloucester Mcures the King and conductj him to London— GloQcester made Protector — Sudden Seizure and Kxecution of Lord Hastings— Esecuticin of the Queen's Brother and Son, Earl KiTera and Lord Gr>!y. and of Sir Thomas Vauglian — the Dolte of Vork tiken from the Quacn and cotivmed to the Tower— PeoaDoe of Jane Shore— Gloucester prouuuuoes the two young Princes Illegitimate— Murder of the King and the Duke of York — Gloucester seixes the Crown. By the death of Edward IV. England was destined once more to witness all the inconveniences which attend the minority of a king. " Woe to the land whose princes are children," says the inspired historian, and no assertion is more true. Edward Y. was a boy of only thirteen. His mother and her family had made themselves many enemies and few friends, by their undisguised ambition and cupidity. The Greys and Wydvilles had been lifted above the heads of the greatest mnmbers of the aristocracy, enriched with the estates, and clothed with the honours, of ancient houses. They had been posted round the throne as if to keep aloof all other candidates for favour and promotion. Edward, given up to his pleasures, had as little added to the number of his faithful adherents. He had conceded almost every demand from his wife and her family for their aggrandise- ment, and the throne now stood almost alone, amidst injured, resentful, and envious noblesse. Worst i)f all, die man who should maintain the ascendency of the house of York, and protect the youthful king through his immature years, was a monster more terrible than all other evils and enemies put together. He was one of those characters who, having the opportunity given them, seize on any worldly advantage within their reach with no more regard to justice, honour, or conscience, than if no such things existed. Richard, duke of Gloucester, was the sole remain- ing brother of Edward IV., and on him it peculiariy fell, as the most powerful prince in the state, as well as the nearest paternal relative, to act as guardian to the young king. But Richard proved himself that perfidiuus and "cruel uncle" which the ballad of the "Babes in the Wood," writt«n iu that day, and supposed to designate him, has made familiar to all memories. At the time of the death of Edward IV.. Richard of Glouceet«r was in the North, att«ndiiig to his duties ag commander against the army in the Scottish marches. He immediately commenced his proceedings with that con- summate and hypocritical art of which he was a first-rate master. He at once put his retinue into deep mourn- ing, and marched to York attended by six hundred knights and esquires. There he ordered the obsequies of the de- parted king to be performed with all solemnity in tlie cathe- dral. He then summoned all the nobility and gentry of the country to take the oath of allegiance to his nephew, Edward V., and be led the way by first taking it himself- He wrote to the queen-mother to condole with her on her loss, and to assure her of his zealous support of the riglits of his bc'.oved nephew. He expressed his ardent desire for the close friendship of the queen, of earl Rivers, her brother, and of all her family. He announced his intention of pro- ceeding towards Loudon to attend the coronation, and if Elizabeth had not already known the man, she might have congratulated herself on the enjoyment of so affectiunatc a brother-in-law, and so brave and faithful a guardian of her son. But there is every reason to believe that the same messenger who carried these letters of condolence and professed friendship to the queen, carried others of a different tone to a hostile section of her c juncil. The lords Howard, Hastings, and Stanley, though [lorsonal friends of the late king, and Hastings the chosen confidant and associate of his pleasures, were at heart bitter enemies of the queen's family. It was only the authority of Edward which had maintained peace between them, and now they showed an undissuised hostility to them at tlie council-board. The earl Rivers, the queen's brother, and the marquis of Dorset, her son by her former marriage, occapied the chief seats at that board, and Edward was no stranger to their real sentiments. This knowledge had led him, on perceiving his health failing, to bring these rivals together, and to state to them how much it concerned his son's peace and security that they should forget all past causes of difference, and unite for that loyal purpose. This they promised, but only with the tongue. No sooner was the king dead, than all the old animosity and jealousy showed themselves in aggravated form. On the part of the queen and her relations there was a too evident desire to monopolise the whole government into their hands, as they had on all occasions monopolised all the honours, offices, and grants possible. The earl of Dorset was Keeper of the Tower ; the earl of Rivers was in posses- sion of the person of the king at Ludlow Castle, where he was superintending his education. Rivers was a nobleman of kiiightly person and great accomplishment. He was not only fond of literature, but a liberal patron of literarv men ; and had he not been unfortunately one of the greedy family of the Wydville's, might have proved an ornament and blessing to his country. It was he who first intro- duced Caxton, the first English printer, to king Edward IV. Under the care of earl Rivers and his half-brother, lord Grey, -the young king was 4)eacefully studying, as- sisted by the leariiing of Sir Thomas Vaughan, his cham- berlain, who had been used to carry him as a child in procession after the king and queen on public oeoaeions. Elizabeth now proposed that the young king should be brought up to town in order to his coronation, and that he should be attended by a strong body of soldiery for the safety of Lis person. At this, Hastings, who, in common with three-fourths of the nobility, was jealous of the design of the queen and her party to make themselves masters of the government during the king's minority, no longer oonoealed his real feelings. Edward had been kept on the borders of Wales, where the power of the Mortimers and Yorkists lay. It was believed that the object was to give a preponderance to the royal fiunily through the Welsh and the borderers ; and now to march up to London attended by a Welsli army, appeared a direct attempt to control the capital by these means. Hastings, therefore, warmly de- manded — '■ What need of an army P Who were the enemies they had to dread ? Was it the king's own uncle, Glouces- ter ? Was it lord Stanley, or himself? Was this force meant by the Wydvilles to put an end to all liberty in the council and the government, and thus to break the very union the king, on his death-bed, had pledged them to P " Hastings declared hotly, that if the king was brought to London by an army, he would quit the council and the kingdom. Deterred by this open opposition, Elizabeth yielded, and I A.D. 1483.] EDWARD v.— CONDUCT OF THE PROTECTOR. 21 reduced the proposed guard to two thousand cavalry. But she did it with deep and too well-fminded anxiety. She had had too much opportunity of studying the character of Gloucester to trust him, and the event very soon justified her ciinviction. Secret message.? had, during this interval, been passing between Gloucester and Hastings and the duke of Buckingham — a weak man, descended from Thomas of Woodstock, the youngest son of Edward III. No doubt he had instructed them to defeat any measures of the Wydville family which could leave the king in their hand.s. The moment was accurately calculated ; and, accordingly, when the lords Rivers and Grey, on their way to London with tTie young king, arrived at Stony Stratford, they found Gloucester had already reached Northampton, only ten miles from them. Gloucester had increased his forces on the way to a formidable body, and he was there joined by the duke of Buckingham, with five hundred horse. The lords Rivers and Grey, on learning the presence of Glouces- ter at Northampton, immediately rode over to him, to welcome him in the king's name, and to consult with him on the plan of their united entrance into London. Glouces- ter received them with all the marks of that friendship which he had written to avow. They were invited to dine and spend the night, the dukes of Gloucester and Bucking- ham promising to ride with them in the morning to pay their respects to the king. The evening was spent in great conviviality, and Rivers and Grey retired to their quarters in the town, highly delighted with their reception. This joy was rather damped, when they learned from their fol- lowers that all the outlets to the town were strictly guarded, on the plea that the duke of Gloucester was anxious to do his homage to the sovereign before others, who, hearing of his being so near, might hasten from the town for that purpose. Morning appeared, to dissipate their suspicions, for Gloucester and Buckingham set out with them in the best of humours. They rode in pleasant converse till, arriv- ing at the entrance of Stony Stratford, Gloucester sud- denly accused Rivers and Grey of having estranged the affections of the king from him. They denied the charge with as much vehemence as astonishment ; but they were immediately arrested, and conducted into the rear. Glou- cester and Buckingham rode on to the king, where the two dukes humbly on their knees professed their loyalty and attachment. This they proceeded to make manifest by arresting also the king's faithful servants. Sir Thomas Vaughan and Sir Richard Hawse. When the poor boy- king saw himself thus deprived of his nearest relatives and friends on the pretence of their being traitors to him, he was quite aware that he was in dangerous hands. He burst into tears, and demanded that his uncle, his brother, and his devoted tutor should be restored to him. But Gloucester assured him that those men, in whom he reposed such ill-placed affection, were the most arrant traitors ; and, falling on his knees, he implored his nephew to dismiss all fear, and to rely on his uncle, who would defend his rights to the utmost. Spite of the poor boy's entreaties, he led him away with him to Northampton, his relatives and friends, Rivers, Grey, Vaughan, and Hawse following in the rear as prisoners. These prisoners of state were sent off by Gloucester, under a strong guard, to his castle of Pon- tefraot, that blood-stained fortress, the very entrance to which, in bondage, was equivalent to a death-warrant. At midnight, following the very day of these transactions, being the l.st of May, the .appalling tidings reached the court that Gloucester, followed by a large army, had seized the king, and sent prisoners the queen's brother and son, no one knew whither. Struck with consternation, and deeply rueing her weakness in giving up her own plans of caution, the queen, hastily seizing her younger son by the hand, and followed by her daughter.^', rushed from the palace of Westminster to the Sanctuary, which had pro- tected her before, but not against a person so base and deadly in his ruthless ambition as this her bro'her-in-law of Gloucester. She knew the man, and she dreaded every- thing. Her eldest son, Dorset, who was keeper of the Tower, in his turn weakly abandoned that important strong- hold, and also fled to the Sanctuary. Rotherham. the archbishop of York and chancellor of the realm, hastening thither, found the queen seated on the rushes with which the floors at that time were strewn, an image of abandon- ment and woe. Her long hair, celebrated for its beauty, had burst those bandages which, in accordance with the strict etiquette of royal widowhood, confined it, and streamed over her person to the ground. All about her prevailed the utmost confusion, and running to and fro of servantii with packages and household stuff from the palace, neces- sary for the sojourn in the Sanctuary ; but the queen, para- lysed, as it were, by the blow, seemed dead to it all. The archbishop endeavoured to cheer her by assuring her that lord Hastings h.'td sent her a message, bidding her rely upon it that Gloucester was loyal, and was doing all for the best for the king. "Ah! woe worth him I" exclaimed the unhappy woman, " it is he who goeth about to destroy me and my blood." "Madam," said the archbishop, "be of good comfort ; I .osstrre you that if they crown any other king than your eldest son, whom they have with them, we will on the morrow crown liis brother, whom you have with you here. And here is the great seal, which in like wise, as your noble husband gave it to me, so I deliver it to you for the use of your son." He gave it to her, and so took his leave. It was now about daybreak, and, on gaining his palace, he opened his window and looked forth on the Thames, when he saw the river crowded with boats, full of Glou- cester's servants, keeping watch to prevent any one going to the queen in the Sanctuary. The archbishop, however, struck with terror at this proof that Gloucester was deter- mined to convert the queen's retreat into a real prison, and was in full possession of the government, found means of reaching Elizabeth again, and entreated her to return the seals to him. The qvieen, who seemed completely pros- trated by the appalling circumstances, passively yielded them up, and the arciibishop carried them to a meeting of the nobility and gentry. Gloucester, however, was fully informed of what had taken place on the part of Rother- ham, and never forgave him. Meantime, London was thrown into the utmost dismay and confusion. Many of the nobles and citizens flew to arms, and some flocked to the queen at Westminster, and others to lord Hastings in London. Hastings continued to assure them that there was no cause of alarm ; that Glou- cester was a true man ; and he was most likely the more ready to believe this himself from his own dislike of the queen's family. On the '1th of May, Gloucester conducted his royal captive into the capital. At Hornsey-park, the lord mayor and 22 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1J83, corporation, in scarlet, met the royal procession, followed by four hundred citizens, all in violet. The duke of Gloucester, habited, like all his followers, in mourning, rode into the city before the king, with his cap in hand, bowing low to the people, and pointing out the king to their notice, who r.'de in a ;nantlc of purple relvet. Edward V. was first couJucted to Ely-place, to the bishop's palace ; but he was soon removed to the Tower, on the motion of the duke of Buckingham, on pretence that it was the proper place in whi^h to await his coronation. That ceremony Elizabeth and her council had ordered to take place this very day, but the or.ifty Gloucester prevented that by not arriving in time. He took up his quarters in Crosby-place, Bishopsgate, where one part of the council constantly sate, while another, but lesser portion of it, assembled with lord Hastings and others in the Tower. The day of the coro- nation was then fixed for the 22nd of June, leaving a period of nearly seven weeks interposed, in order to per- fect the diabolical schemes of Gloucester. The first object council. Nc one failed to perceive the object of Gloucester, and a very stormy debate ensued between the ecclesiastic.- and lay peers : the bishops were opposed to any intrusion on the rights of sanctuary, and Gloucester's partisans con- tended that there could bo no sanctuary for children, who were incapable of committing any crime; and that there- fore the duke of Gloucester, who had been appointed pro- tector during the king's minority, could at his pleasure possess himself of his nephew. The archbishop of Canterbury, averse to the violation of the privileges of sanctuary, went to the queen, accompanied by a number of the temporal peers, and represented that the protector thought the young king much lacked the society of his brother, being melanchoty without a play- fellow. We have the scene which took place from the relation of Sir Thomas More. The queen, quite aware that so long as this boy wafi with her, the young king was safe, for it would be useless to destroy one heir to the crown wldlc another remained, replied " Troweth the pro- Great Seal of Edward V. of this man had been to impress the queen and her party with his friendly disposition, till he had secured their per- sons ; that being, in a great measure, effected, the next was to persuade the public of his loyalty to his nephew. For this purpose he conducted him with such state into the capital, and so assiduously pointed him out as their king to the people. To have openly proclaimed his designs upon the crown would have united all pai'ties against him. He averted that by his calling on all men to swear fealty to his nephew, ani by first swearing it himself. Having now procured full possession of the king's person, tlie next step was to secure that of his younger brother, without which his plans would aU be vain. To effect this object, Gloucester called a council in the Star Chamber, Westminster, close to the Panoiuary, where Elizabeth was. lie there rcpresenteil tha, it > "as neces- sary that the duke of York, who was now onl) eks 'n years of age, should be removed from the Wydvillci.', who were proved traitors to the realm, and safely kept with his royal brother in the Tower, under the protection of the tector — ah! pray God ho may prove a protector! — that the king doth lack a playfellow ? Can none be found to play with the king but only his brother, which hath no wish to play, because of sickness ? — as though peers, so young as tliey be, could not play without their peers ; or children could not play without their kindred, with whom, for the most part, they agree worse t'nan with strangers." At last, finding all resistance useless — for she well knew that if she did not yield herself, Gloucester would force the child from her — she said, " My lords, I will not be so suspicious as to mistrust your truths." So taking young Richard by the hand, she said, " Lo, here is this genth?- man, whom I doubt not would be safely kept by me, if 1 were permitted ; and well do I know there be some such deadly enemies to my blood, that if they wist where any lay in their own bodies, they would cut it out if they could. The desire of a kingdom knowcth no kindred. Brothers have been brothers' bane ; and may the nephews be sure of the uncle ? E.-xch of these children is safe while they be asunder. Notwitlistanding, I here deliver him, and his A.D. HS3.] EDWARD v.— MURDER OP HASTINGS. brother's life with liim, into your handa, and of you I shall require him before God and man. Faithful ye be I wot well, and power ye have, if ye list, to keep them safe ; but if ye think I fear too much, yet beware ye fear not too little! " Upon this she kissed and blessed the child, and turning, burst into tears, leaving the boy weeping as fast as herself. The archbishop and his eompanions conveyed the child to the Star Chamber, where the ogre of an uncle received him fondlingly, taking him in his arms and saying, " Now welcome, my lord, with all my very heart ! " He then con- veyed him to his brother in the Tower. The victims were secured ; the " cruel uncle," like the wolf in the legend of Red Ridinghood, had feigned himself a kind relation till he had got them into his prison, and he yearned to put forth his claws and devour them-. But for this it required that the public should be duly prepared. The man who had written fawningly to the queen, proffer- ing such cordial friendship to her and all her family ; who had ridden in state before his nephew, recommending him to the public favour, had now played out all that part : he had both the princes and the chief relations of the queen in his dungeons, and he must now shift the scenes, and undo the effect of what he had done for a purpose. His followers, and especially his imbecile tool, Buckingham, now busily spread through town and country reports of the most terrible plots on the part of the queen and her friends to destroy Gloucester, Buckingham, and other great lords, in order that she and her family might have the king, and through him, the whole government in their power. They exhibited quantities of arms, which they declared the queen's party had secreted in order to destroy Gloucester and the other patriotic lords, as they pleased to repreSfent them. This did not fail to produce its effect on the people without, and it was promptly followed up by a picture of treason in the very council. Lord Stanley, who was sincerely attached to Edward IV.'s family, had often expressed his suspicions of what was going on at Crosby Hall ; but Hastings had replied, that he had a trusty agent there who informed him of all that passed. But Hastings, who had been completely duped by Gloucester, had been unconsciously playing into his hands, till his own turn came. While he merely imagined that he was punishing the assumption of the queen and her relations, he was prep iring the bloody acts of one of the most daring dramas of historic crime which was ever acted before the world. Richard, no doubt, imagined Hastings ready to go the whole length with him, and at this crisis became aware that he was not so, but was an honest though misguided man, who would stand stanchly by his young sovereign, and must therefore be removed. The tyrant was now beginning to feel secure of his object, and prepared to seize it at whatever cost of crime and infamy. Accordingly, on the 13th of June, says Sir Thomas More, he came into the council about nine in the morning, "in a very merry humour. After a little talking with them, he said to the bishop of Ely, ' My lord, you have very good strawberries in your garden in Hol- born : I request you let us have a mesa of them.' ' Gladly, my lord,' quoth he ; ' would to God I had some better thing as ready to your pleasure as that ! ' and then with all haste, he sent his servant for a mess of strawberries. The protector set the lords fast in communing, and there- upon, praying them to spare him a littk- while, departed thence, and, soon after one hour, between ten and eleven, he returned into the chamber amongst them all, changed, with a wonderful sour, angry countenance, knitting his brows, frowning and fretting, gnawing on his lips, and so set him down in his place. Soon after he asked, ' What thos.^ persons deserved who had compassed and imagined his destruction ?' Lord Hastings answered, ' That they deserved death, whoever they might be ;' and then Richard affirmed that they were that sorceress, his brother's wife (meaning the queen), with others with her ; ' and,' said the protector, ' we shall see in what wise that sorceress, and that other witch of her councils. Shore's wife, with their affinity, have by their sorcery and withcraft wasted my body.' So sayin". he plucked up his doublet sleeve to his elbow upon his left arm, where the arm appeared to be withered and small, as it was never other. " The council perceiving that this was all done merely to find occasion of offence, all kept silence except Hnstings, who said, 'Certainly, my lord; if they have so heinously done, they be worthy heinous panishment.' " ' What!' quoth the protector, 'thouservest me, I ween, with ifs and ands ! I tell thee they have so done, and that I will make good on thy body, traitor I ' And there- upon, as in a great anger, he clapped his fist upon the board a great rap. At this token some one cried ■ Treason ! ' without the chamber. Thereupon a door clapped, and in there rushed men in harness, as many as the chamber might hold. " Then the protector said to the lord Hastings, ' I arrest thee, traitor!' 'What me! my lord?' quoth he. 'Yes, thee, traitor ! ' quoth the protector. And another let fly at the lord Stanley, which shrunk at the stroke, and fell under the table, or else his head had been cleft to the teeth, for as shortly as he shrunk, yet run the blood about his ears. Then were they quickly bestowed in divers chambers, except the lord chamberlain Hastings, whom the protector bade speed and shrive him apace, ' for, by St. Paul,' quoth he, ' I will not to dinner till I see thy head off.' " Lord Hastings was hurried out by the armed ruffians of the tyrant, and scarcely allowing him time to confess to the first priest that came to hand, they made use of a log which accidentally lay on the green at the door of the chapel, and beheaded him at once. Lord Stanley, the archbishop of York, and the bishop of Ely, were kept olose prisoners in the Tower. On the same day, while this brutal murder was perpe- trated by this ruffian in London, one equally arbitrary, illegal, and unjustifiable was transacted at that royal slaughter-house the castle of Pontefract. There Sir Richard Ratcliffe, one of the most hardened creatures of the pro- tector, brought out lord Grey, Sir Richard Vaughan, and Sir Richard Hawse, and beheaded them without any trial whatever. Ratcliffe, two days later, presented a letter from Gloucester to the mayor and citizens of York, inform- ing them that Elizabeth and the WydviUes had fortned a traitorous conspiracy to murder the protector and the duke of Buckingham, and calling on all the inhabitants of the North to put themselves under the earl of Nortliumbcrland and the lord Neville, and march to London to prevent their base designs. Eight days later the earl Rivers was also executed, the previous letter and proclamation being probably thought needful before proceeding to 2t OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1183. such a length with a man of Rivers's high character and position. Gloucester had thus destroyed tlie most powerful and devoted of the adherents of both the queen and the young king. The last crowning villany must be consummated, and the preparings for it were forthwith entered upon. The sanguinary duke had ."poken ominous words of the queen and of Jane Shore in the same council from which he sent Hastings suddenly to his death. He accused those ladies and their accomplices of having practised sorcery upon him. It was to sorcery that the enemies of the queen at- tributed her having induced the king to marry her, and now, strangely enough, these two ladies were united in the charge. Jane Shore, after being seduced by Edward IV., had, it seems, continued about the court, and probably had ceased, through her many good qualities, to be an object of aver- sion or resentment to Elizabeth. Sir Thomas More says of her : " Many the king had, but her he loved, whose favour, to say the truth (for sin it were to belie the devil), she never abused to any man's hurt, but to many a man's comfort and relief ; and now she ))cggeth of many at this day living, that at this day had begged if she had not been." What were the especial circumstances which turned the vengeance of Gloucester upon Jane Shore we do not know, but probably she had betrayed a kindly interest in the queen and children of her former royal lover. Gloucester singled her out for signal punishment as a sorceress, link- ing the charge artfully with the queen. Ho seized on the plate and jewels of dame Shore, which he appropriated to his own use, delivering over the offender herself to the dealing of the church. Arrayed only in her kirtle, and barefooted, she was compelled to walk through the streets of London, carrying a lighted taper in her hand, and pre- ceded bj' an officer bearing a cross, the whole population of the capital having, as it seemed, filled the dense thorough- fares to witness the spectacle. But this was only the prologue to the tragedy. By this act Gloucester turned the public attention upon the disso- lute life of the late king ; and that being done, the blow fell. The united troops of Gloucester and Buckingham, to the amount of twenty thousand, now held the metropolis in subjection ; the terror of the protector's deeds enchained it still more. On the following Sunday, June 22nd, the day which had been fixed for the coronation, instead of that ceremony taking place, a priest was found base enough — tyrants never fail of such tools — to ascend St. Paul's Cross, and preach from this text, from the Book of Wisdom, " Bastard slips shall not strike deep root." This despicable man was one Dr. Shaw, brother of the Lord Mayor. He drew a broad picture of the licentious life of Edward IV., and asserted that his mode of seducing such ladies as he found unwilling to incur dishonour, was to promise them marriage, and occasionally to go through a mock or real ceremony with them. He declared that Edward had tlius, in the commencement of his reign, really contracted a marriage with the lady Eleanor Butler, the widow of lord Butler, of Sudely, and daughter of the earl of Shrewsbury ; that he afterwards contracted a private and illegal marriage with Elizabeth Wydville, which, how- ever it might be real and legal in other respects, was alto- gether invalid and impossible, from the fact that Edward was .already married to lady Butler. Hence he contended that Elizabeth Wydville, though acknowledgi'd by parlia- ment, was, in reality, nothing more than a concubine ; that she and the king had been living in open and scandalous adultery; and that, of consequence, the whole of their children were illegitimate, and the sons incapable of wear- ing the crown. But the preacher went farther. Determined to destroy the claims of the young Edward V. to the cro^vn, he boldly asserted not only his illegitimacy, but that of his father, Edward IV. This could only be done at the expense of the honour of the proud Cicely, duchess of York, the mother of Gloucester, as well as of Edward. But the man who was wading his way to the throne through the blood of his own nephews, and of the best men in the country, was not likely to be stopped by the honour of his mother. The son of Clarence was living, and, in case of the deaths of Edward's sons, had a prior right to Gloucester. That right was at present in abeyance, through Clarence's attainder, but would revive on reversion of the attainder, and the possibility of this must be destroyed. The preacher, therefore, stoutly maintained that both Edward IV. and Clarence were the children of other men, not of the late duke of York ; that it was notorious, and that their striking likeness to their reputed fathers fully confirmed it. Gloucester, he contended, was alone the son of the duke of York ; and the vile prostitutor of the pulpit exclaimed, " Behold this excellent prince, the express image of his noble father — the genuine descendant of the house of I'ork ; bearing no less in the virtues of his mind than in the features of his countenance the character of the gallant Richard ! " At this moment Gloucester, by concert, was to have passed, as if accidentally, through the audience to his place, and the preacher exclaimed, " Behold the man entitled to your allegiance ! He mtist deliver you from the dominion of all intruders ! — he alone can restore the lost glory and honour of the nation ! " Here it was expected that the people would cry out, " Long live king Richard ! " but they stared at one another in amazement, and the more so that Gloucester did not appear at the right nick of time, but after the preaclier's apostrophe was concluded ; so that when Gloucester did appear, he was obliged to repeat his lesson, which threw such an air of ridicule upon the whole, that Gloucester could not conceal his chagrin ; and the preacher perceiving that the odium of the attempt, as it had failed, would fall upon him, stole away home, and, it is said, never again recovered his stand- ing. Gloucester, of course, would be the first to fling him by as a worthless tool, and he received that reward of pub- lic contempt which it would be better for the world if it always followed such vile subserviency. But Gloucester was now fully prepared to complete his necessary amount of crime for the attainment of the throne, and was not to be daunted by one failure. The preacher having broken the ice, he renewed his attempt in another quarter — the council chamber of the city. The lord m.iyor, as great a sycophant as his brother, the preacher, lent him- self, as he had probably done before, to the scheme. On the next Tuesday, the 24th of June, the duke of Buckingham ap- peared upon the hustings at Guildhall, and harangued the citi- zens. He called upon them to recollect the dissolute life of the late king ; his frequent violation of the sanctity of their homes ; the seduction of most respectable ladies ; the es- A.D. 1483.] RICHARD III. -BUCKINGHAM'S ADDRKSS TO THE PEOPLE. S5 tent of his extortions of their money under the name of benevolences. In fact, he repeated, in another form, the , whole sermon of Shaw, and went through the whole story of the marriage of lady Butler, by the king, previous to that with lady Grey, of which he assured them, Stillington, bishop ofBath, was a witness. Stillington, however, was never ■called to give such evidence. He then asked whether they would have the illegitimate progeny of such a man to rule j over them. He assured them that, for his part, he would I pliant lord mayor, and asked him what could be the cause. The mayor said, " They perhaps had not fully understood him;" on which Buckingham repeated his discourse with some variations, but concluding with the same question. Still the people were all silent. " I now see the cause," observed the lord mayor ; " the citizens are not accustomed to be hai-aagued by any one but their own recorder, and know not how to answer a person of your grace's quality." Ho then bade Fitzwilliams, the recorder, state the saane Richard III. never submit to the rule of a bastard, and that both aris- tocracy and people of the northern counties had sworn the same. But there, he observed, was the duke of Gloucester, a man calculated to rescue England from such a stigma, and from all its losses — a man valiant, wise, patriotic, and of true blood, the genuine descendant of the great Edward III. Here he paused, that the people might cry, "Long live king Richard ! " but they were all silent. Astonished at the failure of his eloquence, Buckingham turned to the 55 things, but the man, who was .'vvcrse to the dirty busincs> put upon him, took care to repeat the whole in the name of the Duke of Buckingham, and not as proceeding from Iiim- self or the corporation. Still the people were as silent aa before. " This is wonderful obstinacy I" cried the duke. "Express your meaning, my friends, one way or other. The lords and commons have resolved to have another king, but I require you here to say, in i)lain terms, whether you will have the Duke of Gloucester or not ?" 26 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1483. On this, the Bcrvants of Buckingham and Gloucester incited somo of the meanest apprentices to cry out, and there was a feeble voice raised of -God save King Richard!" That was enough. Buckinp;ham returned the people thanks for their hearty assent, and invited them to attend him the nest morninj; to tlie duke's residence of Baynard's Castle, near Bkokfriars-bridge, to tender him the crown. When the sunple lord mayor Shaw, and a number of lords and gentlemen, and the principal citizens, appeared in the court of Richard's castle in the morning with a mob at their heels, Richard professed to be alarmed at the ap- proach of such a throng, and sent out to demand the cause. Buckingham adroitly pointed out this to the people, saying, " Tlie lord protector knows nothing of the whole matter," and sent word in that the people were come to demand that Richard should be their king. On this Gloucester appeared at a window, but affecting astonishment, and even fears of his own safety. Then Buckingham read him an address, which afterwards was embodied in an act of parliament. This went over the whole ground of the sermon and the speech at Gui'dhall, setting forth the invalid marriage of Edward and Elizabeth, the sorcery on th .-part of Elizabeth and her mother Jacquetta, dame Eleanor Butler's prior and real marriage without issue, the attainder of Clarence, and consequent bar to his children, and winding up with the Bole right and title of Gloucester. Gloucester took care not to call in question any of the statements male, but excused himself as by no means am- bitious, declaring that royalty had no charms for him; that he was greatly attached to the children of his brother, and would maintain the crown on the head of his nephew at all costs. To this amiable speech Buckingliara replied that that was out of the question ; the public was resolved not to crouch to the rule of a bastard, and, therefore, if Glou- cester declined, they must look out elsewhere. This was the clencher that Gloucester was waiting for. He pretended to be struck by this. He paised, as in deep thought, for awhile, and then said, " In this case it was his duty, how- ever painful, to obey the voice of the people. Tliat since he was the true heir, and had t>een chosen l)y the three estates" (a notorious fiction, for there had been no parliamentary proceeding on the subject), " he assented to their petition, and would from that day take upon himself the royal estate, pre-eminence, and the kingdom of the two noble realms of England and France; the one from that day forward by him and his heirs to rule, the other, by God's grace and their good help, to got again and subdue." Thus ended this scene, which Hume calls a ridiculous farce, but which was in fact a most diabolical one, to be followed by as revolting a tragedy. The next day this monster in human form went to Westminster in state. There he entered the great hall, and seated himself on the marble scat, with lord Howard, afterwards duke of Norfolk, on his right hand, and the duke of Suffolk on his left. He ' stated to the persons present that he chose to commence his rei^n in that place, because the administration of justice was the first du^y of a king. Every one who heard this must have felt that if there were any justice in him, he cou'd not be there. It is clear that the spirit of the nation was with the pjor boy Edward ; but there was no man who dar.d to lift up his voice for him. The axe of Gloucester had already lopped off heads enough to render the other.^ dumb, and London was invested by his myrmi- dons. He was already a dictator, and could do for awhile what he pleased. He proclaimed an amnesty to all offenders against him up to that hour, and he then pro- ceeded to St. Paul's, to return thanks to God for violating every one of his laws. It is wonderful with what, impudence these murderous usurpers present themselves before Almighty God, reeking with their crimes, and dare his all- seeing eye like very saints. The thing now appeared irre- vocable, and Richard being received in solemn procession by the clergy, the ignorant multitude welcomed him with acclamations. On the 2Gth of June, 1483, thus sat suc- cessful villainy enthroned in the heart of London. CHAPTER III. IJEIGN OF RICU.\RD THE THIRD. Coronation of Richard— Murder of the two Princes— Richard crowned at York— Bucitiiigliaiu revolts acai:ist him— Henry of Richmond attempts to l.nnd— Failure of Buckliighim's Rising— The Insurgents dispers&l and Backingliam heheaded— Richard's Title confirmed by Parliament— Qn'tn - doumgcr and lier Daughters qnit the Sjactaary — Death of Kichdrd's Son and Heir — Proposes to marry his Niece, Eiizibeth ofYorls — IMchmond lands at Milford Haven— His Progress— The Troubles of Richard— The Battle of Bosworth— End of the Wars of the Roses. RiciiAno OF Gloucester, njw seated on the throne of his nephew, took every means which the possession of one of the most cunning intellects ever possessed by a scoundrel could eugijost, to establish himself there. No man knew better t'aan himself th;'.t he sat in the royal place not by any affec- tion for him in the people, but by force and terror alone. There have not been wanting historians who have coolly declared that Richard would have made a good monarch if the people could have thought so ; that he was a very brave and a very clever fellow, and had only committed the crimes which were necctsary to raise him to the desired throne. Those crimes were onhi murder of his nearest kindred ; betrayal of tbe most sacred trusts which can bo reposed in man — the defence of youth and innocence by the powerful hand and influence of an uncle ; the destruotioa of unhappy orphans of his own blood ; the violation of all the established ordi- nances of the realm ; the murder, moreover, of a number of the most eminent of the nobility ; perjury ; the bribery of assassins ; the assassination of his brother and late sove- reign's family ; the most outrageous slander of his brother's wife ; the dishonouring and disinheriting of his brother's children; the overawing of the city, the parliament, and the realm ; the treading down public and private rights by soldiery, and the actual extinction of the Magna Charta, and every freedom of person and speech, purchased by ages of suffering exertion ; of the nation's highest and most inestimable privileges, won by the nation's best blood. We can only say that such historians are worthy of such a monarch. The English people, even in that dark and cor- rupted time, refused to tolerate long such an incubus of iniquity ; and soon proceeded to put the eternal stamp of a nation's reprobation on the deeds of that foulest of tyrants. But the tyrant at this moment wa? cultivating the amiable. Having summoned his ruffian, Richard Ratcliffe, from Pontefract, with five thousand picked men, to London, he felt himself secure enough to proceed to his coronation. On the 6th of July, not a fortnight after his acceptance of the crown at Baynard's Castle, this great ceremony was performed ■with all splendour. The terror of the bl)od- stained despot was all-potent, and was evidenced in the A.D. 1183.] EICHAED III.— THE CORONATION. 27 fact, that few of the peers or peeresses ventured to abf ent themselves. With consummate tact, Richard, the Yorlcist usurper, appointed the heads of the Lancastrian line to bear the most prominent part in the ceremony, nest to royalty itself. Buckingham bore his train, and the countess of Richmond bore that of his queen. Both these persons were descendants of John of Gaunt, and the countess was the wife of that lord Stanley who had been wounded at the very council board by Richard's rufSan guards, at the time of the seizure of Ilastings. There can be little doubt but that it was the intention of Gloucester to have thus got rid, as by accident, of that respectable and powerful nobleman, who had great influence in the north ; but having failed in that, he now made a merit of liberating him and his fellows, the archbishop of York and the bishop of Ely, from the Tower. On Stanley he con- ferred the stewardship of the househould, and soon after made him constable of England. Probably, it not only entered the mind of Richard that it would be politic to secure the favour of a nobleman so much esteemed in Cheshire and The account of a cotemporary of the anointing at this coronation is somewhat startling. It is said — " Then the kyng and the queene put of ther robe.', and at the high altar .stode all nakyd from the medell upwards, andanone the beshope anoynted bothe the kyng and the quocne." But others assure us, that it was only their outer garments that they took oif, under which the king wore a close dress of crimson silk, in which openings had been cut for the anointing of his breast, back, shoulders, and elbows ; and that the queen being anointed only on the forehead and chest, one opening in her dress was sufficient, which was unlaced and laced again by a lady-in-waiting. Another circumstance has also created wonder. Robes being found charged in the rolls for prince Edward and his pages, it has been inferred that the young deposed sove- reign was compelled to walk in the procession. Gloucester was far too politic for that. He would never permit thi real monarch to appear in that pageant, and under such circumstances certain to excite the popular sympathy. The robes alluded to were undoubtedly those which had Great Seal of Kichard III. Lancashire, but that, by ingratiating himself with the •countess of Richmond, the wife of Stanley, and the mother of the young earl of Richmond, who, during the reign of Edward IV., had been a cause of anxiety, as a probable aspirant to the throne, he might succeed in beguiling Richmond into his hands ; and this is the more probable because he was, at the very time, negotiating some private matters with the duke of Brittany, at whose court Richmond was. Besides the promotion of Stanley, the lord Howard was made earl marshal and duke of Norfolk, his son was created earl of Surrey, lord Lovel was made a viscount, and many others of the nobility now received higher rank. The vast wealth which Edward IV. had left, he distributed lavishly amongst those who had done his work, and those whom he sought to win over. The troops who had come from the north, and were seen with wonder and ridicule by the Londoners, from their mean and dirty appearance, and called a rascal rabble, but who were ready at a word to do desperate things, he amply rewarded, and sent home again, as soon as the coronation was over. been ordered and prepared for the unfortunate boy's own coronation. This great display over, Richard called no parliament, but merely assembled the nobility before their returning to their respective counties, and enjoined them to maintain the peace there, and to assist his officers in putting down all offenders and disturbers. But he did not satisfy himself with injunctions. He set out to make a wide circuit through his kingdom, in order to awe all malcontents by his pre- sence. He proceeded by slow journies to Oxford, Wood- stock, Gloucester, and Worcester. At Warwick he was joined by the queen ; and as she was the daughter of the late earl of Warwick, she n ight be considered as presiding in her ancestral home ; and there, therefore, a consideiable court was held for the space of a week, the Spanish ambas- sadors and members of the English nobility coming there. Thence the royal pair advanced by Coventry, Leicester, Nottingham, and Pontefract to York. The inhabitants of that stronghold of Lancastrian feeling had been warned to receive the king " with every mark of joy ; " and to con- cihate the northern population, Richard sent for the royal OASSELL'S ILLTTSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1483. wardrobe from London, and once more repeated the coro- nation in York, as if to intimate that he scarcely felt him- self sovereign till he had their ganction and homage. But after all the crimes perpetrated by Richard, he haiion to Richard's crest, the boar. Richard, thus rescued, as it were, by a favouring provi- dence, marched into Devonshire, where he put to death. amongst others. Sir Thomas St. Legcr, a knight who had married the duchess of Exeter, big own sister. He then traversed the southern counties in triumph, and, arriving n London, he ventured to do what hitherto he had not dared, that is, call a pirliaraent. This assembly, prostrate at the feet of the prosperous despot, did whatever he proposed. They pronounced him "the undoubted king of England, as well byright of consanguinity and inheritance, as by lawful election, consecration, and coronation j" and they entailed the crown on his issue ; the lords, spiritual and temporal, binding themselves to uphold the succession of his son, the prince of Wales. They attainted his enemies by wholesale, and beyond all precedent. One duke, one marquis, three earls, three bishops, with a whole host of knights and gen- tlemen, were thus deprived of honour, title, and estjite ; and their lands, forfeited to the crown, were bestowed by Richard liberally on his northern adherents, who were thus planted in the south to act as spies on the soothern nobles and gentry. The countess of Richmond, though attainted, was permitted to hold her estates for life, or, rather, they were thus conceded for that term to her hiu-band, lord Stanley, to bind him to the usurper. To avenge himself on the queen-dowager for her accept- ance of the proposal to bring over Henry of Richmond and anit« him to her daughter, Richard now deprived her and her daughters of all title, property, and honour. Ho treated them, nut as the legitimate wife and children of Edward IV., but as what he had before proclaimed them. He had ordered the late murdered king to be called officially, " Edward the bastard, lately called Edward V." The ([ucen-dowag' r was styled " Elizabeth, late wife of Sir John Qr.iy," and her daughters were treated and addesscd as simple gentlewomen. But the de.-iign of placing Henry of Richmond on the throne, Richard knew well, though for the moment defnated, was not abandoned. At the last festival of Christmas, Henry bad met the English exiles, to the number of five hundred, at Rhedon, in Brituiny, and had there sworn to marry Elizabeth of York as soon as he should subdue the usurper, and thereupon the i-xiles had unanimously sworn to support him as their sovereign. Henry was, as we have observed, descended on the father's side merely from Owen Tudor, a yeoman of the royal guard, and Catherine, the widow of Henry V. On the mother's side he was descended from Edward III., through John of Gaunt, but from an illegitimate branch. The bar of illegitimacy, though legally removed, would always have operated against his claim to the crown ; but independent of this, there were still various princes and princesses of Spain and Portugal, descendants of John of Gaunt, whose titles to the English crown were much superior to his. Yet, from his very infancy, there seems to have been a singular feeling that one day he would mount the throne of this kingdom. Henry VI. is said to have laid his hand on his head as a child, and declared that one day the crown would sit there. Edward IV. had evinced a perpetual fear of him, and had not only bargained for his secure detention at the court of Brittany, but on one occ:i»ion he had bribed the duke of Brittany to give him up on pretence of his intending to marry him to his eldest daughter ; that daughter, in fact, lie was destined eventually to marry. The duke, however, ; : the Lost moment, feeling a strong nii.>;giving, had followe i Henry to St. Slalo, and there stopped him from embarking. A.D. 1484.] RICHARD III.— FLIGHT OP RICHMOND TO PRANCE. 33 Richard, on succeeding to the throne, had tried to pur- chase the surrender of Henry from the duke of Brittany, In short, Henry assured the historian, Ooinines, that from the age of five years, he had been either a captive or a fugitive. With this long traditionary presentiment attached to him, that he was to reign in England, his marriage to Elizabeth of York vrould at once obviate all scruples as to his complete title. He vrould come in on the strength of her title, as William of Orange afterwards did on that of his queen, Mary Stuart. As the prospect of this event became more imminent ; as Richard felt too deeply that the heart of the nation was not with him, but that all men were looking to this alliance as the hope of better times, he set himself to defeat it. Though he had so lately robbed, degraded, and insulted queen Elizabeth and her family ; though he had murdered her children and usurped their throne, he now suddenly turned round, and fawned on them. He began to smile most kindly on Elizabeth, and wished her to quit the sanctuary and come to court — a court dyed in the blood of her sons and brothers. He made her the most flattering promises ; and when they failed to draw her forth, he fol- lowed tliem by the most deadly threats. Elizabeth Wydville had never been found insensible to prospects of advantage for herself and family ; but to put herself into the power of so lawless a butcher, and to unite her daughter with the son of the murderer of her children, was by no means re- concilable to her feelings. She stood out stoutly ; but fear of worse consequences at length compelled her to succumb, and a private contract was concluded. Richard, in the presence of a number of the nobles and prelates, as well as of the lord mayor and aldermen, swore that the lives of Elizabeth and her daughters should be safe ; that the mother should receive an annuity of seven hundred marks for life, and each of the daughters lands to the value of two hundred marks on their marriage, which should be to none but gentlemen. To what a condition of ignominy was this once proud queen reduced, who had not only boldly allied her family with the highest in the state, but had aspired to their sharing one-half of the thrones in Europe ! Now, she was compelled to receive a mere gentlewoman's pittance from the hand of the murderer ; to humbly stipulate with him for the safety of the lives of her remaining children, and that her daughters should not be degraded by marriages with mean and revolting personages, a thing which she evidently feared. When this bitter draught was swallowed, she had to en- dure another not the less sorrowful: that was, to appear at the coui't of the usurper, and behold him sitting in the seat of her murdered son, and receiving that homage which was his right. . But this strange patron now smiled sunnily upon her. She and her daughters were received with every mark of distinction, and especially Elizabeth, the eldest, whom he was intending to pluck from tlie hopes of Richmond, by wedding her to his own son. Bat whether Providence, or the successful intervention of some secret friends of the Richmond party, effected it, these views were suddenly destroyed by the death of this Richard's only legitimate son. He died at Middlehara, where Richard was often re- siding, but was then with his queen absent at Nottingham. His death, which took place on the 9th of April, had some- thing so remarkable about it, that Rous, the family chroni- cler, calls it " an unhappy death." Both Rich.ard and his queen were so overwhelmed by this unexpected blow, that the continuator of the Oroyland chronicle says that they almost went mad. It was indeed a fatal stroke. The son on whom Richard had built the hopes of his family's succession, and for whom he killed his nephews, was now gone, and he was left without an heir, and without any prospect of one. It might be supposed that this event would raise the confidence of the Richmond party ; and Richard, appearing to entertain the same idea, conceived the design of securing Richmond, and, no doubt, dealing with him as effectually as he had done with all others who stood in his way. For this purpose he opened secret communications with Francis, duke of Brittany. That prince, who had been so long the generous protector of Richmond, was now in a feeble and failing state of health, and his minister, Peter Landois, adminis- tered his affairs pretty much at his own will. The interest of Landois was purchased by heavy sums, and he agreed to deliver Richmond into the hands of Richard. But the sagacious Morton, bishop of Ely, gave him timely warning, and Richmond fled for his life. He reached France with only five attendants, and went at once to the French court at Angers, where he was cordially received by the sister of Charles VIII., then acting as regent. He accompanied the French court to Paris, where he again repeated his oath to marry Elizabeth of York, in case of deposing the tyrant, and he was immediately hailed by the students of Paris as king of England. He was promised assistance by the princess-regent for his enterprise, and while these things were proceeding, Francis of Brittany, who had recovered his health, and was made acquainted with the villainy of Landois, sent a messenger to assure him of his disgust at the minister's conduct, and to offer him aid in his design. Thus Richard had driven his enemy into a more safe and formidable position, instead of capturing him, and he taxed his subtle genius to thwart this dangerous rival by other means. To prepare for any serious attack from France, he put an end to a miserable state of plunder and reprisal betwixt Scotland and his subjects. He concluded an armistice with James of Scotland ; and having, since his son's death, nominated John, earl of Lincoln, the son of his sister the duchess of Suffolk, heir to the crown, he now contracted the sister of the young earl, Anne de la Pole, to the eldest son of the king of Scotland. But Richard had designs more profound than this. He determined, as he could not murry Elizabeth of York to his son, he would snatch her from Richmond by wedding her himself. True, he had already a wife, but monarchs have frequently shown how soon such an obstacle to a fresh alliance can be removed. Richard now held a magnificent court at Westminster. There was a constant succession of balls, feastings, and gaieties. In the midst of these no one was so conspicuous as Elizabeth of York ; and what very soon excited the attention and the speculations of the court, she always appeared in precisely the same dress as the queen. The poor queen, Anne of Warwick, who began with liating Richard most cordially, and even disguised herself as a cookmaid to escape him, since the death of her son had never recovered from her melancholy and depression. Probably, knowing the re.al character of her ruthless Blue- heard, she foresaw what must take place, and was too weary of life to care to retain it. Though she penetrated 3t CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1485. the designs of die king, these never influenced her in her con- duct to Elizabeth, to whom she was kind, as became an ount. And now she fell ill ; and Richard is said to have assured Elizabeth that the queen would " die in February," and that she should succeed her. Most historians have been very severe upon Elizabeth and her mother for their conduct in this matter. They assert that the queen-dowager fell readily into the atrocious plan of marrying her daughter to the murderer of lier f ons, and thought only of seeing the throne again within the grasp of her family. But Miss Strickland, in her '' Lives of the Queens of England," has justly remarked that all these calumnies against Elizabeth Wydville and her daughter rest on the authority of Sir George Bucke, who was the decided apologist of Richard III. It is true that the queen-dowager wrote a letter to her son, the marquis of Dorset, and to all her partisans, desiring them to withdraw from the earl of Richmond, and this Uenry VII. never forgave; but we must recollect that both Eliza- beth Wydville and all her daughters were in the power of the tyrant, and that she had no alternative but to obey his commands or abide his unsparing vengeance. No woman had displayed a more eager desire to secure honour and rank for her family ; but it is an insult to human nature to believe her a willing instrument in so revolting a scheme. Bucke assures us that he saw a letter of Elizabeth of York in the cabinet of the earl of Arundel, in which Eliza- beth not only declares Richard "her joy and maker in this world, and that she was his in heart and thought," but adds that " the latter part of February is now past, and I think the queen will never die." Were this evidence pro- ducible, it must stamp Elizabeth as one of the most heart- less young women who ever lived, a fit consort for the bloody Richard. But such letter, Miss Strickland remarks, has never been found, and therefore, we must give Elizabeth the benefit of that fact. On the contrary, Humphrey Brere- ton, an officer of lord Stanley's, has recorded in a metrical narrative, which bears all the air of truth, that he was em- ployed by her to convey to Henry of Richmond in France, her firm assurances of attachment to him, accompanied by a betrothal ring, and that it was through her means that lord .Stanley secretly avowed himself Richmond's stanch ad- herent, as he proved himself at Bosworth. Anne of Warwick, the last queen of the Plantagenet line, did not die in February, but she did not survive through March. Yet that event did not in any degree contribute to Richard'.- marriage with Elizabeth. Whether we are to suppose with Sir Thomas More, and others, that Elizabeth herself mani- fested a steady repugnance to so abhorrent a union, or whether Richard deemed her in greater security there, be sent her under close guard to the castle of Sherifi'-Hutton, in Yorkshire, and no sooner did he permit it to be whispered abroad that such a marriage was probable, than the rumour was received with universal horror. No persons were more resolutely opposed to it than Ratcliffe and Catesby, Richard's great confidants in his crimes. They naturally dreaded the idea of Elizabeth, the sister of the murdered princes, and the representative of a family on which they heaped such injuries, becoming queen, and in a position to wreak her vengeance upon them. But they also saw, quite as clearly, the ruin which the king would cer- tainly bring down upon himself by such a measure, in which they must also be inevitably involved. The instinct of self-preservation in these men, led them to remind the king that a marriage with his own niece would be regarded as incestuous, would be reprobated by the clergy, and abhorred by the people. That there was a general persuasion abroad that he had poisoned his wife, and this union would convert that persuasion into absolute conviction. That the men of the northern counties, on whom he chiefly depended, and who adhered to him, more than for any other cause, through their attachment to the late queen, as the daughter of the great earl of Warwick, would be totally lost, and nothing but ruin could await him. This strong and undisguised feeling, displayed thus both in public and private, drove Richard from this design. Just before Easter, he called a meeting of the city autho- rities, in the great hall of St. John's, Clerkenwell, and there declared that he had no such intention as that of marrying his niece, and that the report was " false and scandalous in a high degree." He also sent a letter to the citizens of York, dated the II th of April, contradicting such slanderous tales, and commanding them to apprehend and punish all who should be found guilty of propagating them. But the time waa fast drawing near which must decide whether Richard or Henry of Richmond must wear the crown. Richard was informed by his agents on the Con- tinent, that Charles of France had permitted the earl of Richmond to raise an army in that country. They amounted to three thousand men, consisting of English refugees and Norman adventurers. Richard pretended to be delighted at the news, as confident that now he should speedily annihilate his enemy. Richard, however, was so impoverished by his lavish gifts and grants to secure the faith of his adherents, that ho was unprovided with the means of maintaining an army ; neither had he a fleet to intercept that of Henry. He dared not call a parliament to ask for supplies, for he had expended those granted by the only one he had called. In that parliament, to cast odium upon the memory of his brother Edward, he had called on his subjects to remember his tyranny in ex- torting benevolences ; yet now he resorted to the very same thing ; and the people, in ridicule of his pre- tended denunciation of benevolences, called them maU' vulences. By these arbitrary exactions he destroyed the liist trace of adhesion to his government. On all sides he felt coldness — on all sides he saw defection. The brave old earl of Oxford, John de Vere, who had been a prisoner twelve years in the prison of Ham, in Picardy, was set at liberty by Sir James Blount, the governor of the castle, and they fled together to Henry. Sir John Fortescue, the porter of Calais, followed the example, and numbers of young English gentlemen, students of the University of Paris, flocked to his standard. The same process was going on in England. Several sheriffs of counties aban- doned their charge, and hastened over to France ; and nume- rous parties put off from time to time from the coast. But no nobleman occasioned, however, so much anxiety as lord Stanley. His connection with Richmond, having married his mother, made Richard always suspicious. He had lavished favours upon him to attach him, and had made him steward of the household to retain him under his eye. Stanley had always appeared sincere in his service, but it was a sincerity that Richard could not comprehend. Thia A.D. 1485.] EIOHARD III.— LANDING OF EIOHMOND IN ENGLAND. 35 noljleman uow demanded permission to visit his estates in Cheshire and Liincashire, to raise forces for the king ; but Richard so little trusted him that he detained his son, lord Strange, as a hostage for his fidelity. J7e have already seen that Stanley had long secretly pledged himself to Elizabeth of York in her cause, and only waited the proper occasion to go over. Harassed by tlie anxieties of his approaching contest — torn by doubts of the fidelity of all about him, Richnrd is also described by Sir Thomas More as haunted by the terrors of his evil conscience. This has been represented to be probably the account of his enemies. Yet, what so natural ? His crimes had been of the blackest. They were shocking to every principle and feeling of human nature. Whoeverstood in his way, whether stranger or of his nearest kin, ho had murdered without hesitation. To suppose that he felt nothing of this in the pro.^peet of a near day when he might be sent to his account, is to imagine that God leaves such souls without a witness. We have, therefore, the fullest reliance on the words of Sir Thomas More : — " I have heard," he says, " by credible report, of such as were secret with his chamberers, that he never had quiet in his mind; never thought himself sure. When he went abroad, his eyes whirled about, his body privily fenced, his hand ever on his dagger, his countenance and manner like one always ready to strike again. He took ill rests at night, lay long waking and musing, sore wearied with care and watch ; rather slumbered than slept ; troubled with fearful dreams ; suddenly sometimes started up, leapt out of bed, and run about the chamber ; so was his restless heart con- tinually tossed and troubled witii the tedious impression and stormy remembrance of this abominable deed" — the murder of his nephews. If Ricliard's domestic peace was broken by remorse and fear, his public displays of royalty were equally embittered. He was celebrating tlie feast of Epiphany, January Gth, crowned, and in his royal robes, when he received the first assurances that Henry would descend on the English coast in spring. But on what part of the coast P That, with all his spies, he could never learn ; and as the landing might be attempted anywhere, he was obliged to be on the alert everywhere. He employed abundance of spies ; he posted men and horses on all the main roads, at the distance of twenty miles from each other, to Tiring him tlie fleetest news of any attempt on the coast, or defection in the in- terior. In this state of terrible suspense the u.surper lived till June, when there was every appearance, from the aspect of Henry's fleet lying at the mouth of the Seine, of a speedy invasion. He then put out a fierce proclamation, which, by the violence of the language, betrays the perturbation of his mind. In it lie calls Henry, " one Henry Tudor, of bastard blood, both by the father's and mother's side," en- deavours to arouse the patriotic feeling of the nation by representing that "the ancient enemy of England," France, had agreed to aid in this invasion, on condition that Eichmimd renounced al claims on that country for ever. He endeavours to alarm all the dignitaries of the churcii, and the aristocracy, by declaring that " the said Henry Tudor had given away archbishoprics, bishoprics, and other dignities spiritual, and the duchies, earldoms, baponies, and other inheritances of knights, esquires, and gentlemen ; and that he intended to subvert the laws, and do the most cruel murders, slaughters, robberies, and disherisons that were ever seen in any Christian realm." Wherefore, he called upon all and every of his good subjects to come forth and put tliemselves under the banner of him, their amiable and spotless monarch, their "diligent and courageous prince," for " the protection of themselves, their wives, children, goods, and hereditaments." Having issued this flaming tirade against his enemies, whom he again, in his copiously royal Billingsgate, styled " murderers, adulterers, and extortioners," he took the field, and stationed himself at Nottingham, as a central position, whence he could turn to whichever side the danger should come from. On the 1st of August, 1485, Henry of Richmond set sail from Harfleur, with the united fleet of France and Brittany, and an army of three thousand men, on that memorable expedition which was to terminate the fatal wars of the Roses, and introduce into England a new dynasty, and a new era of civilisation. On the seventh of that month he landed at Milford Haven. He himself and his uncle, Jaspar Tudor, earl of Pembroke, went on shore at a place called Dale, while his army was disembarking. The Welsh accosted the old earl with this significant welcome on bis setting foot on his native shore, " Welcome ! for thou hast taken good care of thy nephew ! " Having refreshed his forces, Henry marched on through Haverfordwest and Pembroke to Cardigan. Everywhere he was received with manifest delight ; but his forces did not increase till he reached Cardigan, where Ki chard Griflith and Richard Thomas, two Welsh gentlemen, joined hi.s standard with their friends. His old friend Sir Walter Herbert, who had been expressly sent by Richard into that quarter with Rice ap Thomas to raise the country in his behalf, though he did not join him, suffered him to pass unmolested. Rice ap Thomas, on receiving a promise of the government of Wales, went over at once to Henry. AVhen the army reached Newport, Sir Gilbert Talbot, with a decision of character in keeping with the account of him by Brereton, came at the head of the tenantry of his nephew, the earl of Shrewsbury, two thousand in number, and there, too, he was followed by Sir John Savage. Tlie invading force now amounted to more than six thousand men. Henry crossed the Severn at Shrewsbury. Richard now advanced to Leicester, whence he issued despatches to all his subjects to join him on the instant, accompanied by the most deadly menaces against all defaulters. The duke of Norfolk was there with the levies of the eastern coun- ties ; the earl of Northumberland with those from the nortli ; lord Lovel commanded those from London ; and Brakenbury those from Hampshire. Stanley alone held aloof, and sent word, in reply to Richard's summons, that he was ill in bed with the sweating sickness. Richard re- ceived this ominous message with the utmost rago ; and, as he had vowed that, on the first symptom of disaffection on his part, he would cut off tlie head of lord Strange, his son, Str.ange made an instant attempt at flight. Ho was brought back, and fr.ankly confessed that he and his uncle. Sir William Stanley, chamberlain of North Wales, had agreed to join the invaders ; but protested that his fatlier knew notliing of their intention, but was loyal, and his forces already on the way to the royal camp. Richard compelled him to write to his father, bidding him come up at once, or that his son was a dead man. 33 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. H85. • On the 21st of August Ricliard rode forward from Leicester, aud encamped about two miles from Bosworth, on a heath appropriately called " Redraore." Richard was mounted in the march on a magnificent white courser, and clad in the same rich suit of burnished steel which he wore at his victorious field of Tewkesbury. On his helmet blazed a regal crown, which he had displayed there since he took up his head-quarters at Nottingham. His counte- nance is represented as stern and frowning ; his manner haughty, and as if putting on an air of bravado, rather than of calm confidence ; for, though his troops amounted to thirty thousand, and his cavalry was the finest in Europe, he well knew that there was secret and wide- spread disafi'ection under all th.it martial show. Were his followers true to him, the little .army of Richmond would be shivered in the fii-st shock, and trodden under foot. But incident. As the king rode out of Leicester by the south gate, at the head of his cavalry, a blind old man, well known as a superannuated wheelwright, sat bogging at the foot of the bridge. In reply to the remarks of the soldiers as to the weather, the old man cried out just as the king was at hand — " If the moon change again to-day, which has changed once iu the course of nature, king Richard will lose life .and crown." This was supposed to allude to lord Percy, whose crest was a crescent, and of whose faith Richard was sorely in doubt. When Richard passed, his foot struck against a low post placed to defend the corner of the bridge, and the beggar said, " His head will strike there as he returns at night." The night before the battle, Henry of Richmond had a secret meeting with lord Stanley near Atherstone, who assured him of his adherence, but showed him how impos- " Jocky of Norfolk," killed at Bosworth. From an original painting on panel in the Royal Collection perhaps not a man except the duke of Norfolk was really stanch in his devotion : and that night Norfolk's followers found pinned upon his tent this ominous couplet: — Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold, For Dickon, thy master, is bouglit and sold. That night Henry, who had reached Tamworth, marched to Atherston. His army did not amount yet to half that of Richard ; all were earnest in the cause, and the number of men of rank and character in it gave it a very imposing air in the eyes of the soldiers. On the contr.ary, Richard's soldiers, if we are to believe "Twelve Stnange Prophecies," — still in the British Museum — had been discouraged, not only by the warning to John, or as he was familiarly called, Jocky of Norfolk, but by the following singular siblo it was that he could join him till Richard was engaged in arraying the battle, or his son's life would immediately be sacrificed. Stanley had five thousand men, and engaged to appear for Richard till the moment for battle, when his defection would do Henry the most signal service. On the evening of tlie 21st of August, the two armies lay encamped near Merivale Abbey, on Redmore, opposite to each other. Richard is represented by the chroniclers as passing that night in the most agonising state of restlessness and uncertainty. The deeply-rooted disaffection of his troops destroyed his confidence, though his thirty thousand troops were only visibly opposed by Richmond's sis thousand. He went through the camp examining secretly the state of his A.D. 1485.] RICHARD III.— HIS DEATH. 37 outposts, and finding at one of them a sentinel asleep, he stabbed him to the heart, saying, " I find him asleep, and I leave him so." His own slumbers are said to have been broken, and the chroniclers express his state by saying he " was most terribly pulled and haled by devils." But other agents than those thus troubling the tyrant's mind were active throughout the camp. Numbers stole away to Richmond, and probably some of these left the warning to Jooky of Norfolk. Those desertions produced dismay in Richard's ranks, and confidence in those of his rival. When morning broke, Richmond's little army was dis- covered already drawn up. The van, consisting of archers, was led by the earl of Oxford ; the right wing by Sir Gilbert Talbot, the left by Sir John Savage. In the main body Henry posted himself, accompanied by the earl of Pembroke. Richard confronted the foe with his numerous lines, taking his place also in the main body, opposite to Richmond, but giving the command of the van to the duke " Treason ! treason ! treason ! " He killed Sir 'William Brandon, Henry's standard-bearer, with his own hand; struck Sir John Cheyney from his horse; and springinf forward on Henry, aimed a desperate blow at him ; but Sir William Stanley, breaking in at that moment, sur- rounded Richard with his brave followers, who bore him to the ground by their numbers, and slew him, as he con- tinued to fight with a bravery as heroic as his political career had been, in the words of Hume, " dishonourable for his multiplied and detestable enormities." The blood of Richard tinged a small brook which ran where he folh and the people are said to this day never to drink of its water. The body of the fallen tyrant was speedily stripped of his valuable armour and ornaments, and the soldier who laid hands upon the crown hid it in a hawthorn bush. But strict quest being made after it, it was soon discovered and carried to lord Stanley, who placed it upon the head of Henry, and the victor was immediately saluted by the general acclamations of the army with " Long live kin'' House of the 15th centurj, in which Kichard is said to have slept on the night before the Battle of Boswortb. of Norfolk. Lord Stanley took his station on one wing, and Sir William on the other, so that, thus disposed, they could flank either their own side or the opposed one. The battle was begun by the archers of both armies, and soon became furious. No sooner was this the case, than the Stanleys, seizing the critical moment, wheeling round, joined the enemy, and fell on Richard's flanks. This masterly manoeuvre struck dismay through the lines of Richard ; the men who stood their ground appeared to fight without heart, and to be ready to fly. Richard, who saw this, and beheld the duke of Northumberland sitting at the head of his division, and never striking a single stroke, becametrans- ported with fury. His only hope appeared to be to make a desperate assault on Henry's van, and, if possible, to reach and kill him on the spot. With this object he made three furious charges of cavalry ; and at the third, but not before he had seen his chief champion, the duke of Norfolk, slain, he broke into the midst of Henry's main body, and catching sight of him, dashed forward, crying frantically, 66 Henry !" and they sung Tc Dcum, in grand chorus, on the bloody heath of Redmore. Prom the poetical circumstance of the hawthorn-bush, the TuJors assumed as their device a crown in a bush of fruited hawthorn. Lord Strange, the son of lord Stanley, being deserted by his guards, as soon as the defeat was known, made his way to the field, and joined his father and the king at the close of the battle. King Henry VII. advanced from the decisive field of Bosworth, at the head of his victorious troops, to Leicester, which he entered with the same royal state that Richard had quitted it. The statements of the numbers who fell on this field vary from one thousand to four, but of the leaders, the duke of Norfolk, and lord Ferrars of Chartley, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Sir Robert Percy, and Sir Robert Brakenbury, fell with the king. On the side of Henry fell- no leaders of note. Henry used his victory mildly; he shed no blood of the vanquished, except that of the notorious Catesl^y, .".nd two persons of the name of Brechcr, who were probably men 38 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOEr OF ENGLAXD. [a.d. 1399 of like chnracter and crimos. Thus, in one day, the world was relieved of the presence of Richard, and of his two base commissioners of murder, Catesby and Ratoliffc. Richard's naked body, covered with mud and gore, was, according to the local traditions of Leicester, flung care- lessly across a horse, and thus carried into that town ; his head, say these historic memories, striking against the very post which the blind beggar had said it should, and the rude populace following it with shouts of mockery. The corpse was begged by the nuns of the Grey Friars, to whom Richard had been a benefactor, and was decently interred in their church. His camp bedstead, on which he had slept the night before leaving the to\vii, and which contained his military chest, remaiacd at the Blue Boar, his lodging, and, a hundred years afterwards, being discovered to contain a considerable treasure, led to a fearful murder. This bed- stead was entirely of wood, much carved and gilded. The woman to whom it belonged, a century after the battle of Bosworth-field, one day perceived a piece of coin drop out of a chink. This led her to make a close inspection, and she discovered that the bottom of the bedstead was hollow, and contained old coins to the amount of about £300. But the discovery excited the cupidity of her servant, who murdered her mistress to obtain it, and was hanged for the deed, so that the gold of Richard seemed to carry a curse with it. The coffin of Richard was torn from its rest- ing-place in the Grey Friars church, at the Reformation, his bones were scattered, and the coffin long after served for a horse-trough. The reign of Richard III. was only two ye.irs and two mo.iths, but perhaps in no such space of time has any one man contrived to perpetrate such an amount of crime. As his reign was a most violent and startling one, the execra- tions which the writers of the succeeding age poured upon Richard have been attributed by writers of our day t» motives of party spite, and there has been a great attempt to correct the verdict of Richard's own times by the eulogia of this. But, as we have shown, they have not succeeded in clearing Richard of the awful deeds attributed to him, and if those early writers have somewhat exagge- rated the personal deformities of the man, it does not appear possible, with historic impartiality, to render his portraiture attractive. Rous, the chronicler of the Warwick family, who certainly was not likely to paint him worse than he •was, says — " He came into the world with teeth, and long hair down to his shoulders." He adds that — " Ho was short of stature, having a short face, and with his right shoulder a little higher than the left." The portrait of Richard, accompanying those of his queen and sim, sup- posed to be painted while they held their court at Warwick Castle, and now preserved in the Herald's College, certainly bears out the idea of him which has come down to us in history and tradition. Whilst the portrait of the great carl of Warwick, standing near that of Richard, and by the same hand, presents you with a noble personage, this ex- hibits Richard with higli shoulders, and scarcely any neck at all. It by no means supports the assertion of the old lady Desmond, who lived to be upwards of one hundred years of age, and who used to say that she danced with him in his youth, ffnd that he was a very handsome man, but confirms that of a MS. of the reign of Edward IV., supposed to have been written by Glover, a herald : — "The king's own brother, he, I mean, Who was d-,*formc'i bv- nature; Crook-bickeJ and i'l-condidoned, Worse-faced, au uffly creature. Yet a great peer ; for princes, peert. Are not always beauteous." But however repulsive might be Richard's person, his soul was certainly far more hideous. He was, however, full of talent, eloquent and persuasive in his language ; but these qualities were accompanied by an ambition and a murder- ous temper, which defeated his otherwise fair chance of becoming a great man, and converted him into one of the most odious characters in history. CHAPTER lY. THE PROGKESS OF THE NATION. It might be very reasonably supposed that during a century spent almost entirely in war, and during the second half of It in the most rancorous intestine wars, there could not be really much national progress. The wars of the Roses were of that incessant, bloody, and bitter character, that it is difficult to conceive how, during their progress, men could attend either to the advancement of the constitution, of art, science, literature, or the mere cultivation of the soil. There is no doubt but that the population was greatly decreased. It is calculated that at the beginning of the century the population of England and Wales amounted to about two millions seven hundred thousand. At thfr end of it, it is suppnsed that there were not two millions and' a-lialf. Indeed, during Henry YI.'s reign, the in- structions given to our ambassadors in France, were to represent to the French government " that there haan been moo men slayne in these wars for the title and claime of the crowne of France, of oon nacionand other, than ben at this daye in both landys, and so much Christian blode shed, that it is to grete a sorrow and an orrour to thinke or here it." But if the French wars were so destructive of English- men, what must the civil wars have been, where they were English on both sides ? At the time of the battle of Tewkesbury, 1471, it was declared that on the scaffold and in the field there had then fallen above sixty princes of the blood, above one hundred thousand of the common people, and above one-half of the nobles and principal gen- tlemen. In these depopulating wars, there can be no doubt that, besides the actual destruction of so many men, there must have been great sufferings inflicted, and an immense inter- ruption of all those peaceful transacticms by which nations become wealthy and powerful. Agriculture must have been grievously impeded, by army after army sweeping over the fields, and treading down the crops ; by de- terring the farmer from sowing his lands, and by drawing awav all kinds of handicrafts from their trades ; indeed, towards the end of this century, we hear that the traces of the plough had been almost obliterated ; in both Scotland and England the traveller beheld dismal scenes of ruined villages, decaying towns, and uncultivated fields ; and, from want of labourers, the proprietors of large estates enclosed them in vast pasturages, where the cattle might wander without need of much looking after. Yet, spite of all these circumstances, and of the continual drains of the people's sub>tance to maintain these great TO 14S5.] EFFECT OF THE CIVIL WARS ON TUE CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE. 39 armies, such is the indomitable energy of the British race, that, even during this most distracted age, there appears no inconsiderable progress to have been made in various ways. It is certain that the common people came out of the depressing condition of serfdom to a great extent, — a very important step or passage from the condition of slaves to that of free men. This was especially promoted by the con'^tant demands of the contending parties for soldiers. They were obliged to hurry the hind from the plough, and the artisan from his trade, to fight for one side or the other. Whoever once took up arms, never consented to return to the condition of a villein. Had their ancient lords been disposed to compel them to re- new their slavery, they were now too prodigiously deci- mated themselves to possess the power. Thousands of estates had lost their owners, many fell to the crown, and others passed over to their enemies. While one half of the aristocracy had fallen, the power of the other half over their villeins must have been destroyed. That race of arrogant and turbulent barons and princes of the blood, which for a century or two back had overshadowed the throne, had shaken it by their ambition and their jealousies, was now entirely cut down. More than sixty princes of the blood were sleeping in the dust, and the country had to look to an individual of so remote a claim as Henry VII. to occupy the throne. This, while during the succeeding dynasties of the Tudors it augmented extremely the power of the crown, also con- tributed, and that immediately, to the liberty of the people. The decrease in the numbers of the labouring classes, as a matter of course, raised their value. Accordingly we find that while the contending monarchs or princes found increasing difficulties in bringing large armies into the field — while instead of their fifty and their hundred thou- sand men, they could scarcely muster ten thousand for a field ; in the last year of Henry V., 1421, an act was passed to repeal one issued in 1340, prohibiting a sheriff or cscheator remaining more than one year in his ofiSce, and permitting them to hold office for four consecutive years, on the ground that pestilences and foreign wars had reduced the number of gentlemen in every county of England, till there were not sufficient qualified to fill those offices. Such was the diminution of the gentry, but that of the common people must have been still greater ; and this fact is revealed, by the wonderful rise of wages and the mani- festations of prosperity in the bulk of the population, spite of the repeated hurricanes of war which had swept the land. If we compare the various acts for regulating the wages of both labourers and citizens which were passed in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, we shall become aware of a very striking rise in the value of labour. Betwixt 1388 and 1444, the annual salary of a bailiff had risen from 13s. 4d. to 23s. 4d. ; the wages of a master hind, carter, and shepherd, from 10s. to 20s. ; of a farm servant, from 7s. to 15s. ; and of a female labourer, from Gs. to 10s. The value of labour had, in fact, doubled in half a century. The causes of this remarkable change are obvious. The number of hinds was diminished which had been acous- ttjmed to cultivate the ground. Lands had gone out of tillage, and must be re-ploughed. But meantime, the people, amid the .strife of their lords, had become free, or the majority of them, and their services must be purchased at a proportionate rate. This continued to be still more the case during the latter half of the century. The contentions of the period were not contentions affecting the constitution, or the rights of the people ; they wore merely struggles between princes for the crown. The question was whether the king should be of the family of Lancaster or of York, or whether he should be a Henry, an Edward, or a Ptichard. This mattered little to the people. Their privileges remained the same whoever lost or won ; nay, they were much more likely to be increased under the circumstances, than under the rule of a firmly-rooted dynasty. Monarchs fixed and powerful generally encroach on the popular rights ; those who with difficulty can maintain their standing, must court the people. Thus it was during the contentions of this century. Each party was continually obliged to solicit the populace to take arms in its behalf, and the self-estimation of the people rose in proportion. When there was scarcely a prince left to govern, the people, though they had decreased in numbers, had risen in position. It has been well remarked that in Wat Tyler's insurrection there was a vehement outcry against villenage ; but that seventy yearii afterwards, in the insurrection of Jack Cade, nothing was said on this subject — a certain sign that it had disappeared, or was fast disappearing, and had ceased to occupy a pro- minent place in the popular mind. But still more was the improved condition of the people indicated by the laws passed to restrain undue luxury in clothing. In 1414 the cost of the whole annual clothing of an agricultural servant was only three shillings and fourpence. But in 1463 an act was passed to check the general extrava- gance in clothing, on the ground that " the commons, as well men as women, have worn and daily do wear excessive and inordinate array and apparel, to the great displeasure of God, and impoverishing of this realm of England, and to the en- riching of other strange realms and countries, to the final de- struction of the husbandry of this said realm." In this act, the clothing of the rural labourer was permitted to be of woollen cloth, of two shillings per yard, which must have been three times the cost of the raiment allowed not twenty years before. In the statute of 1463, many of the regulations of earlier acts of the legislature were repealed regarding the clothing of all classes, for nothing was left untouched by the paternal hand of government in those good old times, any more than they are by the paternal governments of the continent at the present day. It was forbidden to all who were not of noble rank to wear woollen cloth of foreign manufacture, or the fur of sables, martens or minevers. They were to content themselves with fur of black or white lamb. They or their wives were not to wear silk of foreign fabric, or any kerchiefs of higher price than three shillings and fourpence ; nor any girdle garnished with gold and silver. Fustian of Naples, and scarlet cloth in grain, were prohibited to them. Yeomen, and all persons of less than forty pounds a-year, were to wear no bolsters or stuffings of wool or cotton, in their doublets, to pad them out, according to the fashion ; and though men of quality were permitted to wear garments of " an indecent brevity," no such indecency was allowed to men of less than forty pounds a year. In like manner the dress and its quality of every other rank were regulated. None but the royal family, nor under the rank of a duke, were to wear any cloth of gold, of tissue, or silk of purple ; none but a lord plain cloth of 40 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAXD. [a.d. 1399 gold ; none but a knight any velvet, damask, or silk in j their gowns and doublets ; none beneath an esquire or f;entleman, gowns of camlet. The dress of the citizens was regulated, by act of parliament, in the same manner. The lord mayor and his lady were permitted to wear the same degree of clothing as knights and their ladies; and the aldermen and recorder of London, and the mayors of other cities, ranked with the esquires and gentlemen. All this marks the fact that the lower classes were gain- ing in substance and importance, and were pressing on the higher in their apparel and mode of living ; and it required stringent repression on the part of the higher grades to maintain exclusive license in these respects. The same regulations extended to diet as well as clothing. It was ordered that servants and grooms, whether of lords or gentlemen, should not havo meat or fish more than once a day, but should content themselves at other meals with milk, bread, butter, cheese, &c. If we are to believe Sir John Fortescue, the great lawyer and chancellor of England, who lived so many years in France at the court of Margaret of Anjou, and who, there- fore, had ample opportunity of comparing the style of living in the two countries, the food and clothing of the ordinary class of English were much better than amongst the same class of French. " The French," he gays, " weryn no wollyn ; but if it be a pore cote, under their uttermost garment, made of grete canvas, and call it a frok. Their hosyn be of liko canvas, and passin not to their knee ; wherefor they be gartered, and their thyghs bare, their wifs and children goine bare fote. But the English wear fine wollen cloth in all their appareU. They have also abundance of bed-coverings in their houses, and of all other wollen stuffe." He says the English people " drink no vrater, except when they abstain from other drinks, by way of penance, and from a principle of devotion. They eat plentifully of all kinds, fish and flesh, with which their country abounds ; but the commons in France be so impoverished and de- stroyed, that they may unith lyve. They drynke water ; they eate apples with bread right brown, made of rye ; they eate no flesche, but if it be seldom, a litill larde, or of the intiails or heds of bests sclayne for the nobles and mer- chaunts of the land." There is much in these statements characteristic of the two nations to the present day. It is quite certain that France at that period was reduced to a dreadful condition by our repeated invasions. At home, spite of the drain for those wars, and of the succeeding wars on our own soil, there seems to have been a wonderful amount of wealth and prosperity amongst the people. Yet at the same time there was much misery, and a growing amount of mendicity. yEneas Silvius, afterwards Pope Pius II., assures us that none of the inhabitants of a populous village in Northum- berland, in which he lodged in H37, had ever seen wine or wheaten bread, and were greatly astonished when they saw them on bis table. It is from the century preceding the one now under review that the era of pauperism commences. In fact, the moment that villenage began to give way, pauperism and mendicity appeared. So long as the inhabitants of the large estates, whether of the church or the laity, were so much property, they must be maintained just as the cattle were ; but so soon as they became free men, and received not food, clothing, and lodging, but wages for their work, they became liable to the destitution which times of scarcity, sickness, or old age naturally brought. If they could make no provision against these seasons, they were necessitated to beg or to receive alms. So early, therefore, as 1349, the number of beggars, thieves, and vagabonds, had BO increased under the'plea of destitution and want of employment, that legislative enactment became necessary, and government resorted to that which continued to be attempted without effect till the reigns of Edward TI. and Elizabeth, namely, to coerce these tribes into orderly and laborious habits. But this new liberty of roaming over the country, and of abstaining from labour, was too sweet to be readily resigned, and flocks of idle fellows roved about in idleness, insolence, and robbery. In the year mentioned the statute issued stated, " That because many valiant beggars, as long as they may live of begging, do refuse to labour, giving themselves to idleness and vice, and sometimes to theft and other abominations, none, upon pain of imprisonment, shall, under the colout of pity and alms, give anything to such which may labour, or presume to favour them in their sloth, so that thereby they may be compelled to labour for their necessary living." But this was an evil only in its infancy, and destined to become one of the great difficulties of the land for a century yet. Staff-strikers, sturdy rogues, and vagabonds, became a terror and a nuisance, and act after act, ordering whip- ping, branding, imprisoning, and other punishments, were passed to put them down in vain. Besides thes?, there gradually accumulated large shoals of really infirm and destitute poor, whose employers were no longer forced to support them. These were thrown chiefly on the towns and on the church, which, with its wealthy endowments, was bound to devote one fourth to the payments of the state, one fourth to the repair and maintenance of the ecclesiastical buildings, one fourth to their own support, and the remaining fourth to the relief of the poor. Yfe shall see, that when the church became deprived of the estates of its monasteries, the poor were then thrown in such hosts on the public as to compel the introduction of the poor law. Meantime, pressed by this new social evil, the government, in the fifteenth century, actually had recourse to tickets-of-leave. These tickets were not indeed given, as by the sapient legislators of to-day, to convicted criminals, but to persons for whom there was no employ- ment in his own hundred, rape, wapentake, city, or borough. He had then a letter-patent given him, authorising him to travel in quest of it, and without such letter, or ticket-of- leave, he was liable to be seized and clapped in the stocks, and after due punishment sent away, liable to the samo treatment in every place he came to. But we shall obtain further insight into the social condition of the nation at this period, under the different sections of our review of it, and not the least under that of THE COXSTITCTIOX AXD THB LATVS. We have described in our last chapter on the Progress of the Nation, the steps by which the parliament of England finally resolved itself into the three great branches of king, lords, and commons. During this century, amid all the troubles and strifes of the nation, these powers were further defined and consolidated. The House of Commons no longer presented their requests in the form of petitions praying for 1185.] IMPROVEMENTS IN THE CONSTITUTION. 41 the removal of any grievances which affected tliem, but they draw up such laws and enactments as they desired, in the form of bills, which were presented to the king in the House of Lords, and which, after receiving the approbation of the lords and the assent of the monarch, became law. They were entered cm the statute-roll, and then transmitted to the sheriffs to be promul^^ated in their county courts. The archbishops and bishops took their places amongst the 5ords, as well as twenty-five abbots and two priors, so that the spiritual peers generally doubled the number of the temporal ones, and gave enormous power to the church, which it did not fail to exert, and which was awfully exhibited against the Lollards. The rest of the clergy were summoned regularly to meet in convocation at the same time as the lay parliament, and all matters affecting tliem, such as the levying of taxes, were sent to them to receive their sanction. In 1429 universal suffrage, which till then prevailed, was restrained, and confined to the forty-shilling freeholders in the coun^^ies, as remains to the present day. The electors were to be possessed of " free land as tenement to the value of forty shillings by the year at least, above all deductions." AVliat was the limit in cities and boroughs does not appear. In some it is supposed that the burgesses at large elected the representatives, in othors that the corporations only elected. The qualification for a county member was the possession of a freehold of £10 a year, equivalent to £100 at the pre- sent time. There were to be two forieach county. The sheriffs themselves could not bo elected. Henry IV. pro- hibited all lawyers from being elected, but this was deemed an unconstitutional exception, and was abandoned. In the last century we showed that already very corrupt .practices had crept into the elections for parlinment, and these, spite of the popular resistance, still prevailed. The sheriffs, probably bribed. or acted upon by the aristocracy, were very arl)itrary and iremiss in issuing their writs to the different boroughs. 'They appear often to have sent to just such boroughs as. they pleased, and passed over others with- out notice. The parliament of 1444 passed an act to put an end to this abuse. It states " that diverse sheriffs of the counties of the realm of England, for tieir singular avail and lucre, have not made due elections of the knights, nor in convenient time nor good men and true returned, and sometimes no leturn of the kt.ights, citizens, and bur- gesses to come to the parliament; but such knights, citizens, and burgesses have been returned as were never duly chosen, and other citizens and burgesses than those which, by the mayors and bailiffs, were to the said sheriffs re- turned. And sometimes the sheriffs have not returned the writs which they had to make of elections of knights to come to parliament, but the said writs have embisilod, and, moreover, made no precept to the mayor and bailiff, or to the bailiff or bailiffs, where no mayor is, of cities and boroughs, for the el :otion of citizens and burgesses to come to parliament." We see in this passage tlie shapes of various abuses which the nobility were already practising on the commons to serve their own purposes. To remedy some of these, the candidate, who was, to his astonishment, omitted after duo election in the sherift"s return, and found another person occupying liis place, was authorised, by an act of king Henry IV., of 1400, to sue the sheriff before the judge of assize ; and the sheriff, if convicted, was to pay a fine of £100 to the king — equal to £1,000 at this day — and the false member returned was to lose his wages. This not proving sufficient check to this abuse, the sheriff, by an act of 1429, was, besides this fine, to be imprisoned for a year. This again was made still more severe in 1444 : the sheriff, besides the regal fine and the year's imprisonment, was condemned to pay £100 to the unjust candidate, thus making his punishment equal to a year's imprisonment and £2,000 at the present period. The reason for this great severity was, that parliaments, seldom enduring more than one or two sessions, the sheriff had a great chance of escaping the due penalty before the proper member recovered his seat. Yet, notwithstanding all these penalties and precautions, there existed many strange violations of all law in parliamentary elections. In York- shire the great nobility, by the extent of their estates, set the lesser freeholders at defiance, and returned the county members, by their agents, at their pleasure, as many of them have continued to do even in our day. In 1447 this evil was wholly or partially remedied by express enact- ment. In 1460 the parliament of Coventry was summoned by Henry VI., in utter violation of the constitution. Thero was no election at all, but the members were nominated by the king, and returned by the sheriffs, who were after- wards protected by a bill of indemnity. The peers attended parliament at their own proper cost, for this was a service contingent on the holding of their baronies. But all members of the commons received regular wages. These were fixed, in the reign of Edward III., at 4s. a day for a knight of the shire, and 2s. a day for a citizen or burgess ; and this rate of payment con- tinued so long' as the payment of members continued at all. This was an admirable means for ensuring a full attend- ance during the whole session ; and as it w"'ild amount at this day,:i;t the same ^rate, to JE2 per day for the county members, and £1 per day for borough members, would probably, even now, throw in a tolling weight in the scale opposite to grouse, pheasants, and legislative indifference. The protection of the persons of the representatives was also in full existence at this time, and both their wages, their privileges, and their attendance commenced and ter- minated at the same time. They commenced as many days prior to the meeting of parliament as were requisite to travel to the place of meeting, and so for returning, and not a day longer. That the commons were already alive to the maintenance of their privileges, is demonstrated by the [ etitions to the lords or to tlie crown, which are yet extant on the rolls of parliament. These wages had no slight influence on the duration of the parliamentary sessions, for the constituents became very restive when they continued long, on account of the amount of payment to the members. In the parliament of the twenty-third of Henry VI., which lasted four sessions — a total of one hundred and seventy-eight days — the payment by each ; county for its two members amounted to £142 Ss, — equal to £1,424 of to-day. These expenses were a sharp spar to the despatch of business, and under such a system the con- stituents would never have tolerated the enormous speeches of modern members of parliament. The numbers of repre- sentatives constituting the Commons of England about this period, would seem to be about 1:01, being 160 from 90 Loroughs, and 74 knights of shires. 42 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOBT OF ENGLAND, [a.d. 1390 There were other stimulants to hasten the parliaments of those times. The country was generally so unsettled that numbers, both of the peers and commons, were natu- rally anxious not to be absent from their own neighbour- hoods and their estates longer than was absolutely needful. The peers and gentry were, moreover, still passionately attached to their field sports. Yet, notwithstanding all this, the legislators of this century made about fifty systems, or bodies, of laws, some of them containing only a few, and others as many as twenty or thirty statutes, on a great va- riety of sulijects. Amongst the most important of these statutes, were the confirmation of the great charter and the charter of the forests, by Henry IV. and Henry V, " common recovery." The better to enable the estates of the party which happened to be foiled at arms to pass under forfeiture to the crown, this legal fiction of " recovery " was adopted. The person to whom the crown granted such entailed estates by private agreement brought an action against the grantor for unjustly claiming such hereditary right, which was permitted to go by de- fault, and then the entail was declared lost. The fee simple of the property thus recurring to the possessor, the property could be divided and disposed of at option. And this practice still continues, by which the possessor and the next heir can, in conjunction, destroy entails at pleasure. Tournament. HarL MS., 4,379. The enactments of the same monarchs against the Wyc- liffites, condemning them, at the demand of the clergy, to the flames. The powers of justices of peace were aug- mented, and their qnalifications and duties better defined. The laws relating to commerce and foreign merchants were still very impolitic and harsh towards strangers who settled in England, especially to the Welsh and Irish, till the reign of Kdward IV., who himself being addicted to commerce, soon perceived the folly and injustice of many of the old regulations, and abolished them. One of the most influential legal measures during this century was that which confirmed, in the reign of Edward rV., the nractice of cutting off entails by the process of a Simultaneously came into general practice the device of uses. This legal fiction was introduced by the clergy towards the end of the reign of Edward III., to evade the operation of the statutes of mortmain. As no lands could be left to the religious houses, the donors were now in- structed to grant the property in trust for the use of the religious houses ; and this form of bequest not only became general in such cases, but during the wars of the Koses was applied to all descriptions of property. When attempts were made to confiscate the estates of diff'erent nobles and gentlemen, they were found to be held by them only for the uses of different parties, and were thus beyond the power of the crown to confiscate. By this means men TO H85.] THE ADMINISTRATION OP JUSTICE. 43 provided against the accidents of war and party, and in favour of their families in those times of perpetual change. The statutes of Richard III. were the first that were law, and the laity could with difficulty obtain any justice from their spiritual guides. Perjury was a grea- vice of the age, and the Convocation of Canterbury of 1139 Criminals conducted to Execution. Fifteenth century. Ilarl. MS. 4,374. declared that numbers of people had no other trade than that of hiring themselves as witnesses, and taking bribes? written in English, and the first which were printed — two most important improvements. The courts of law continued much the same as in the former century. Tho judges varied in number. Some- ^__,^ times there were five, and i^j^ sometimes as many as eight, in the Court of Com- mon Pleas. Tho chief- justice of the King's Bench had£lGO a year, or £1,600 of our money value ; the chief-justice of the Com- mon rieas £130, or £1,300 of present value. The other judges had £100, or £1,000 of our money. They had also their robes :vllowed them. Every judge, on entering on his office, swore " That he would not receive any fee, pension, gift, reward, or bribe, of any man having suit or plea before him, R.aving meat and drink, wliich should be of no great value." Yet the administration of justice appears to have been very corrupt. The judges complained that their salaries were too' small for their station, and when they were on juries. 77, Execution of a Criminal. as they held their appointments at the option of the crown, they were easily influenced. The clergy, by their exemptions, were almost beyond the power of the But, more than all, the violent factions of the times en- abled those who were in the ascendant to set Law totally at defiance. Tho great number of sanc- tuaries in all parts of the kingdom made it the easiest thing in the world to es- cape from creditors, as well as enemies. Tiie high constable in those times exercised a kind of arbi- trary power. He could, and frequently did, from the authority of his com- mission, put great political offenders, or those deemed such, to death without any form of law. Torture was also applied by him when he wished to have some evidence according to his own purpose. The famous rack in the Tower was in- vented by the duke of Exeter when he was high constable, and thence was called, " the duke of Exe- ter's daughter." But the " Paston Let- ters," which have let a flood of light in upon tho social condition of the fifteenth century, show us that where great men desired to have their own will, they From a MS. of Froissarta Chronicles. 15th century. 44 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1399 Btill occasionally passed entirely by all the forms and courts of law, and endeavoured to seize with the strong hand the property of their neighbours. These letters range over sixty years of the century, proceeding to its close. They reveal to us various modes by which the strong man was enabled to turn the scale against the weak one at law; but the most extraordinary relation concerning the family itself is one which occupies more than a volume, and details the actual war made upon them by the duke of Norfolk. The celebrated general Sir John Fastolf left Sir John Paston the estate of Caistor, in 1459 ; but the duke of Norfolk came forward and declared that Sir John Fastolf had given him the estate in his lifetime. Had he had a proper deed of gift no doubt he would have produced it, and soon settled thematter in a court of law ; but instead of this, he marched out and laid regular siege to the place. For ten years this contest was carried on — each brought forward his tenants, and attacked and defended the^plaoe by cannon and hand-guns, and by every art and stratagem of war. By this time the duke had exhausted all the resources of his enemy. The gunpowder and the proviaions for the garrison failed, and the place was surrendered. It was only recovered, after the death of the duke, by an appeal to the king in council. The royal prerogative, especially as it regarded the raising of money, was greatly limited in this century to what it was in the former one. AVe hear no more of arbitrary subsidies imposed by the king's council. No legitimate tai could be imposed without the consent of parliament. The king could not only impress soldiers and sailors for his service, but evsn musicians, goldsmiths, embroiderers, and artificers of all kinds, but he could not touch their money, except by legislative means. We hear, indeed, far less of the nuisance of purveyance. That had been retained solely to supply the royal household, and the officers were bound to make prompt payment for whatever was taken. Hence the kings of this period were often reduced to great straits. We shall find them, when we come to speak of the coinage, debasing that, being slow to learn that a coin of less va!ue can only pui-- chase less goods. The total revenue of Henry V. appears to have been only £55,751. After paying his civil and military expenses, his salaries to the collectors of taxes and customs, and his pensions to dukes, earls, knights, &c., the solo remainder was only £3,507. Out of this he had to defray the charges of his household, his wardrobe, his embassies, and various other matters, while his household alone required £20,000, or more than six times the amount. We cease, therefore, to wonder at the debts which he left to his son, after all his wars, which amounted to £372,000, or nearly four millions of our money. Parliament having well secured the power of granting or withholding supplies, the monarchs were compelled to resort towhat they called benevolences, or free gifts. They saw that the merchants had become very wealthy, and they took this means of easing them of a part of their substance. It argues a strange state of affairs, however, when a monarch could intimidate wealthy men into ruining themselves, for, according to the act of Richard III., for abolishing this system, this was the effect. " Many worshipful men of this realm," says the preamble to that act, " were com- pelled by occasion of that benevolence, to break up their households, and live in great penury and wretchedness, their debts unpaid, their children unpreferred, and such memorials as they had ordained to be done for the wealth of their souls, were anentized and annulled," &c. There must have been great compulsion of some kind, in extract- ing these free gifts, for men do not ruin themselves volun- tarily, and the injustfcc of it must have been crying, for Edward IV., on his death-bed, was woefully troubled by the memory of it, and wished restitution to be made. The power of the crown at this period was widely diffused by the number of valuable offices in its gift, which Sir John Fortescuc says were more than a thousand, besides those in the gift of the prince of "Wales. Yet, notwithstanding this power, and the sanguinary scenes we have had to de- scribe, compared with aU other countries at that time, the government in this appeared to be conducted on very liberal principles. Philip de Comines, the minister and historian of France, after enumerating the miseries and the exactions of the people of that country, of Italy, and Germany, says : — " In my opinion, of all the states of the world that I know, England is the country where ;ihe commonwealth is best governed, and the people laast oppressed." ^he government of Scotland received some marked im- provements during this century. When James I. returned from his long captivity in England, he found his kingdom overrun with abuses, and the common people in particular groaning under the oppressions of the nobles. He set about the work of reformation with a vigour which ended in his own death, after thirteen years of assiduous labour for the benefit of his subjects. One of the first mischiefs which he attacked was that of crowds of " thiggers and sorners," as they were called, spreading themselves over the country. These were the same class as the "sturdy rogues " of England — vagabonds who, capable of -work, preferred to beg, and, what was worse, to menace and intimidate the country people into compliance with their demands. James ordered all such fellows between the ages of fourteen and seventy, who were abroad without badges, which were granted by the sheriffs to infirm or super- annuated people, and who were called gaberlunzies, to be compelled to work, or to be branded on the cheek and driven from the country. The evil was too deeply rooted, however, to be eradicated in James's time, though he greatly diminished it. The three estates of parliament in Scotland had always met in one house. The first estate consisted of the arch- bishops, bishops, abbots, priors, and a few other dignitaries of the church ; the second of the dukes, earls, barons, and presbytery ; the third, of the commissioners of the boroughs. Of these, the borough commissioners were so few in com- parison of the others — only fourteen or fifteen — that they had a mere nominal influence. James I. endeavoured to remedy this by erecting a sepa- rate house of commons, like that with whoso working he was so familiar in England. This would have completely curbed the power of the aristocracy, but they took care to murder James before the scheme coixld be carried out. He ordered every sheriffdom, except Clackmannan and Kinross, to send " twa or maa wysc men j " the two just mentioned to send " ane of thame " each. Unfortunately, the order, through the king's death, remained a dead letter, and the Scottish parliament continued to the end one house. The powers of the Scottish parliament were, by a peculiar TO 1485.] CONTEST BETWEEN THE CHURCH AND THE PEOPLE. 45 institutlun, thrown almost wholly into the bands of the crown and aristocracy. The first thing which parliament did, on assembling, was to appoint three committees. The first was called the committee "pro articulis advisandis ; " the second " ad j'udicia;" the third, "ad causas." The business of the members of the third was to sit as judges of all civil causes brought before parliament ; of the second, of all criminal prosecutions ; and the first, far the most im- portant, as it regarded the constitution, was to sit as a parliamentary grand jury upon all petitions, proposals, and overtures, and to form such of them as they thought fit into bills to be laid before the house. It is clear that the whole legislative power of the realm was vested in this committee, for it determined entirely what should and what should not come before parliament. It is true that all the committees were composed of members of the three estates, which gave them an airof great fairness ; but this apparent equilibrium was totally destroyed by another law, which gave seat and vote in each of these committees to all the lords grants, which gave too much power to particular nobles over the subject ; but many of these after his death were revived, and the hereditary powers and jurisdictions of the barons continued for three centuries longer to be a cause of oppression to the people. STATE OF THE CmmCH AND OP RELIOION'. In our narrative of the difierent reigns of this period we have noticed the spread of Wycliffism, and the persecuting resistance of the church. Henry V., and after him every monarch of the century, supported the pretensions of the clergy, and let loose the horrors of persecution upon their subjects. Tlie civil wars for a time checked these perse- cutions, the very storm, as Fuller observed, being the shelter of the persecuted ; but they afterwards revived in all their virulence. Though the schism in the papacy Friar preaching from a Movable Pulpit. Royal MS., 14 E. 3. Isabel Hervey, Abbfss of KIsto-.r. From a Brass. of parliament who chose to claim them, by which the whole power was vested in the hands of the aristocracy. Hence the members of this particular committee became called the "Lords of the Articles." Another great foundation of James I. was the Court of Session, which has become in Scotland the great central and supreme tribunal of justice. But on its establishment the justiclar-general — an office long abolished in England, as giving too much power to any subject — was the ofiicor of the law, and dispenser of justice in Scotland, and he held courts of justice, called justice-airs, twice a year in every county in the kingdom. The chamberlain, another great officer, held also his chamberlain-airs in the royal boroughs of the kingdom, from which there lay appeal ti another court, called the Court of the Four Boroughs, these being Edinburgh, Stirling, Roxburgh, and Berwick ; and, after these fell into the hands of the English, Lanark and Lin- lithgow, which sent commissioners to this court. James I. also at this period abolished various hereditary offices and which agitated all Europe from the death of Gregory XI. in 1378 to the election of Nicholas V. in 111", and the resignation of Felix V. in 1449, had greatly undermined the foundations of the Romish church, yet, supported by the royal power, the hierarchy in England persecuted with a high hand. TVe will trace with a rapid pen the great facts of this most important contest betwixt the church, which asserted that its laws and doctrines were the truth and could not change, therefore announcing that there could be no progress, and the people, who were changing from day to day, because they were getting more light, and advancing in it. Thomas Fitzalan, or Arundel, as he was more commonly called, being the brother of the earl of Arundel, had been banished by Richard II. and came back with Henry IV., as it would seem, determined to deal sternly with all who thenceforth dared to trouble the church with fear of change. But the Lollards, as they were called, most probably after the German reformer, Walter Lolhard, who was })urnt at sc CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED "HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1399 Cologne in 1322, were now become a numerous and reso- lute body, not likely to be put down without a sturdy struggle, and as it prove!, not at all. These people had boldly announced their doctrines in their petition to the House of Commons in 1395. In that they declared that the church of Rome was not the church of Christ, and ought to be removed. Tlicy maintained that the possession of temporalities by the clergy was totally opposed to the law of Christianity ; that outward rites and ceremonies have no warrant in Scripture ; that the celibacy of the clergy was the manifest work of anti-Christ, and the root of all the immoralities of the church ; that transubstantia- tion was a gross imposition ; the blessing of bread, wine, salt, oil, &c., was not religion, but necromancy; that the clergy filling offices of state were hermaphrodites, endeavouring to serve God and mammon. They attacked in the same sweeping manner pilgrimages, auricular confession, worshipping of images, abso- lution of sins by the priests, war, and luxury, as all equally unchristian. They went, therefore, far beyond the after reformation of Henry VIII. 's time, and resembled in many of their doctrines George Fox. It was clear that either the Lollards or the church could not stand, and the tug of internecine war commenced at once. The public was, during this century, divided into three religious parties. The church, which was for standing as it was, unmoved and unmoving for ever ; the Lollards, who were for pulling it down stick and stone ; and another large section of the public, which saw the corruption of the church, and demanded its reform, but did not accord with the Lollards in the cry for its destruction. The com- mons, and especially the famous Lack-learning parliament in 1404, and the parliament of 1409, strongly recommended the king to seize the revenues of the church, as inconsistent with its spiritual office, and filling it with arrogance and sensuality, and to apply these riches to the exigencies of the state. The church, during this century, was saved from this spoliation by the contending monarchs having too much need of its support ; but that process was in operation which, by destroying the old nobility, and increasing the power of the crown, should, ere long, at the cry of a new and indigent noblesse, effect this in a more wholesale man- ner. Safe for the time, the hierarchy let loose its fury on the Lollards. In 1401 they burnt, in Smithfield, William Sawtre, the in- cumbent of St. Osith's, London, for this heresy. In 1407, William Thorpe, a clergyman celebrated for his learning and eloquence, was arraigned before Arundel and others at St. Paul's for like heresy. There Thorpe made a terrible onslaught on images and pilgrimages — the image of " Our Lady of Walsinghara " especially, which was at that time, and long after, the most famous in all England. Thither flocked princes, nobles, and people of all degrees to pay their vows and make their offerings ; and the most extra- ordinary miracles were attributed to this popular virgin. Camden says : " In the last age, whoever had not made a visit and an offering to the blessed virgin of this place, was looked upon as impious." Judges from the bench ascribed all their good fortune in the world to the good offices of Our Lady of Walsingham. Ladies of all ranks were enthu- siastic votaries of Our Lady. The whole place waa a-blazo with gold, silver, and precious stones. Henry VIII., as a boy, walked bare-footed to the shrine from Barham, and presented a necklace of great value. It seems he never forgot the riches of the place, fbr it was one of the first monasteries that he afterwards ransacked. From Thorpe's account of the pilgrimages, they appear to have been precisely what they have continued to the present day on the Continent, the licentiousness of which has compelled some of the most Catholic governments in Germany to put them down. Men and women, of all ages and ch.aracters, ■went whole weeks, and even months, journeys on these pilgrimages, camping out in woods and fields, with pipers and singing men and women, "jangling Pilgrim buying a Glass Mirror. From a MS. of Lj-dgate's Poem of " the Pilgrim." of their Canterbury bells," and troops of barking dogs, and enacting scandals which spread demoralisation like a pesti- lence. It may be imagined with what indignation so daring an attack on these things, in the height of their popularity, would be received. Thorpe, however, was not consigned to the flames, but is supposed to have lain in the archbishop's dungeon at Saltwood Castle, in Kent, till he perished, for he never was heard of again. Thomas Badby, a tailor, of Worcester, was the next victim. He was burnt in Smithfield in 1410. In 1444i Arundel died, and was succeeded by archbishop Chicheley, who was a still more relentless persecutor of the new faith. He it was who built the Lollard's tower attached to the palace at Lambeth, in which he confined his heretical prisoners, chaining them to iron rings, which are still in the walls, and upon the wainscot of which remain scratched some of their names. In 1415 John Claydon, a London furrier, and a relapsed heretic, having been con- fined two years in Conway Castle, and three years in the Fleet, was burned for having in his possession heretical books, especially one called " The Lanterne of Light." In the same year, Richard Turmin, a baker, of London, was sent to the stake. Lord Cobham, whose bold and unbending advocacy of the reformed religion we have related, as well as his escape from the clutches of Arun- del, was again captured by Chicheley, hanged and then burnt at Tyburn, December, 1418. In 1123 William Taylor, Father Abraham, of Colchester, John White, and John Wadham, priests, were burnt for the same crime of daring to think for themselves on the subject of religion. In 1413 Chicheley died, having burnt, imprisoned, and TO IJSE'.] PERSECUTION OF THE LOLLARDS. •17 persecuted many, yet being as far as ever from extinguish- ing Lollardism. In 1457, Tlioraas Bouchier being aich- bishop, Reginald Pooooke, bisliop of Chichester, was brought to trial for heresy. It is curious that Pococke differed greatly in opinion from the Lollards, but he reasoned with them instead of persecuting and burning- them ; and this was such a reproof to the perfecuting section of the clergy, that he was brought to the bar of the church. The bishop did not believe that the church was infallible, or that it was necessary even to salvation to believe in the Catholic church ; broad and unforgivable heresies ! These, however, he renounced, and yet was deprived of his bishopric, and shut up in a cell in Thorney Abbey in the Isle of Ely, without pen, ink, or paper, Imt was permitted to have a Bible, a mass-book, a psalter, and the legends of the saints. He died after a confinement of three years. Spite of the danger with which thechurch was menaced, and the growth of knowledge amongst the people, as is the case with all old and corrupt institutions, it made no efforts to reform itself, and thus to avoid its fate. On the contrary, archbishop Boachier, while putting the reformers to the most horrible of deaths, complained that members of " the clergy, both regular and secular, were ignorant and illite- rate blockheads, or rather idiots ; and that they were as profligate as they were ignorant, neglecting their cures, strolling about the country with bad women, and spending tie revenues of their benefices in feasting, drinking, and adultery." "Whilst the clergy were exhibiting this disgusting cha- racter, in the very spirit of obstinate dogmatism, all the outward rites and ceremonies of the church were more than ever insisted upon. The cup in the sacrament was taken from the laity. They were told that the wine in the cup was not the sacrament, but only given to enable them to swallow the bread more easily. The clergy were ordered to liegin in small, obscure churches, to withdraw the cup, and to tell the people to swallow the bread whole, that it might not stick in their teeth. Several new saints were intro- duced — St. Osimund and the two virgins, St. Pridiswida and St. Ethelrida. The churches were crowded with images of the virgin and other saints. The festivals of St. Qeorge, St. Edmund, and the Virgin, were made double festivals. Pilgrimages, processions, indulgences, and confessions to the priests, were more zealously enjoined than ever. Every effort was in the wrong direction, showing that the days of the Catholic church in this country were numbered as the state church. Instead of endeavouring to infuse new intellectual life, the clergy were trying to make a dead body stand erect, and- when they could not succeed, they as vainly endeavoured to prop it up -with gorgeous habiliments and empty forms. To make the matter worse, there arose a terrible dispute betwi.x.t the secular clergy and the begging friars, in which they said many plain truths of each other, which were remembered to their common detriment. The beg- ging friars claimed Christ as belonging to their class while on earth, which the seculars rejected as a horrible and blasphemous doctrine. The pope was obliged to publish a bull denouncing the doctrine of the friars. Of the amount of instruction by preaching given to the people, a convocation, held at York in 1-1G6, gives us a striking idea. By its first canon, every parish priest is commanded to preach /bur times in the year! either him- self, or by another. The convocation omitted the second commandment of the decalogue, and made the number up by dividing the tenth into two. The learning of the higher r.iristi Priest in ordinary costume, and attired for the Altar 15tli century. clergy is curiously .shown in a little bit of attempted reform of Sunday trading, which was directed against the barbers, who are said, by Archbishop Chicheley, to keep open their shops on the Lord's-day, " namely," he says, " the seventh day of the week, which the Lord blessed and made holy, and on wliich he rested after his six days' works" — a singular confirmation of the Jewish Sabbath. In a word, it would be diflioult to say whether ignorance or vice was more prevalent at this period ; it was the dark hour before the dawn. In the church of Scotland during this century, the chief events were the breaking out of the persecution against the Lollards and the erection of St. Andrew's into an arch- bishopric. John Resby, an English priest, who had fled from persecution at home, was arrested and burnt at Perth, in H08. In H33 was also burnt, at St. Andrew's, Paul Orawar, a Bohemian physician, who had been sent by the Reformers from Prague to communicate with the Wycliffites here. Pilgrimages were in high estimation in Scotland as well as in England, and Whithern, in Galloway, was a place of immense resort, to the shrine of St. Ninian. The archbishopric of St. Andrew's was erected by pope Sixtus IV., in 1471, but the act h.aving been done without consent of the crown and parliament, brought down destruction upon its first occupant, Patrick Grahame, who was deposed, and, after being confined in several successive dungeons, perished in that of the castle of Lochleven. LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. During this century, two events of the highest impor- tance to art and Learning took place — the introduction of the knowledge of Greek, and tlie invention of printing. If the knowledge of Greek had not entirely died out in western Europe, it had nearly so till this century. The crusades, leading the Christians of western Europe to the east, had opened up an acquaintance betwixt the people of the Greek empire and those of the west. Tlie destruc- tion of that empire in this century drove a number of learned men into Italy, where they taught their language and literature. Amongst these were Theodore Gaza, cardinal 46 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [.A.D. 1309 Bessarion, George of Trebizond, Demetrius Chalcondyles, John Arzyropulus, and Janus Lascaris. Before that time some knowledge of the Greek philosophy had reached u? through the Arabians, but till the fourteenth century very little of the literature of Greece was known in the western nations, not even the lUad and Odyssey of Homer. In Italy Petrarch and Boccaccio learned the language and studied the writings of Greece, and an enthusiasm for Greek literature spread over all Europe. Grocyne studied it iii Italy in 14S8, under Chalcondyles, and came and taught it in England. But there were no more munificent promoters of this" new knowledge than Pope Nicholas V. and Cosmo de' Medici. Gibbon says, " To the munificence of Nicholas, the Latin world was indebted for the versions of Xenophon, Diodorus, Polybius, Thucydides, Herodotus, and Appian, of Strabo's geography, of the Iliad, of the most valuable works of Plato and Aristotle, of Ptolemy and Theophrastus. and of the fathers of the Greek church. The example of the Roman pontiff was preceded or imitated by a Florentine merchant, who governed the republic without arms and without a title. Cosmo of Medicis was the father of a line of princes whose name and age are almost synonymous with the restoration of learning. He corresponded at once with Cairo and London, and a cargo of Indian spices and Greek books was often imported in the same vessel. He encouraged the emulation of Demetrius Chalcondyles and Angelo Politian, and his active missionary, Janus Lascaris, returned from the east with a treasure of two hundred manuscripts, fourscore of which were, as yet, unknown to the libraries of Europe." At the same moment that Greek began to be studied, Latin in Europe was in the lowest and most degraded state. Though it still continued the language of divines, lawyers, philosophers, historians, and even poets, it had lost almost every trace of its original idiom and elegance. Latin words were used, but in the English order, and where words were ■wanting, they Anglicised them. William of Worcester, gpeaking of the arrival of the duke of York from Ireland, gays — " et arrivavit apud Redbanke prope Cestriam ;" that is. And arrived at Redbanke, near Chester. But the style of most writers at this period was equally barbarous ; that of Thomas of Walsingham and a few others was better, but far from classical. So low, indeed, was Icirning and the respect for it fallen in this age of continual distractions, fighting, and revolutions, that Anthony a Wood says that there were frequent complaints from the universities of Oxford and Cambridge to parliament, that all the most valuable livings were bestowed on illiterate men, or on foreigners, by the pope. The son of a mad knight was made arch- deacon of Oxford before he was eighteen years of age ; and soon after obtained two rich rectories and twelve prebends. The chancellor of Oxford asked him one day what he thought of learning. " As for learning," eaid he, " I despise it. I have better livings than any of you great doctors, and I believe as much as any of you ! " " What do you believe P" I believe that there are three Gods in one person : I believe all that God believes ! " " The best scholars in the kingdom were," adds Wood, " often driven to the necessity of begging their bread from door to door, with recoramenddtions of the chancellor of their univer- sity to public cliftrity." He s.ay8 that " two of the«e learned mendicants came to the castle of a certain nobleman, who, understanding from their credentials that they had a taste for poetry, com- mauded his servants to take them to a well; to put one into the one bucket, and the other into the other bucket, and let them down alternately into the water, and to continue that exercise till each of them had made a couplet on his bucket. After they had endured this discipline for a con- siderable time, to the great entertainment of the baron and his company, they made their verses and obtained their liberty." If such were the rewards of learning in the fifteenth century amongst the aristocracy, and in the persons of its most distinguished professors, we may conceive what must have been the dense darkness of the illiterate mass. Till the reign of Henry IV. no villein, farmer, or manufacturer was allowed to put his children to school, nor long after- wards dared they to educate a son for the church without a license from their lord. At no period had the condition of England been more benighted. But that wonderful art which was destined to chase this darkness like a new sun, was already on its way from Germany to this country. The Chinese had printed from engraved wooden blocks for many centuries, when the same idea suggested itself to a citizen of Haerlem, named Laurent Janszoon Coster. Coster, who was keeper of the cathedral, first cut his letters in wood, then made separate wooden letters, and employed them in printing books by tying them together with strings. From wood he proceeded to cut his letters in metal, and finally to cast them in the present fashion. Coster concealed his secret with great care, and was anxious to transmit it to his children ; but in this he was disappointed, for at his death one of his assistants, John Gensfleisch, the Gutenberger, and thence afterwards called Gutenberg, Gensfleisch, or Ganseflebch, Goose-flesh — not being a particularly loveable name — went off to Mayence, carrying with him moveable types of Coster's casting. That is the Dutch story, but the Germans insist on Guten- berg being the originator of printing. They contend that Coster's were only the wooden blocks which had long been in use for the printing of playing-cards, and manuals of devotion. They even insinuate that all that the Dutch claim, had probably been brought from China by Marco Polo in the thirteenth century, who had seen the paper- money thus printed there in letters of vermilion, and that Holland had no share in the invention at all. But we know that the Germans have a vast capacity for claiming ; they are on the point of claiming Shakespeare, and they claim England as really German, calling it Die Deutsche Insel. It is notorious that all the earliest block-printing, the Bibliae Pauperum, the Bibles of the Poor, the Speculum Humanae Salvationis with its fifty pictures, and other block-works, were all done in the Low Countries in the century we are reviewing. Enough, then, for the Germans, that Gutenberg, Fust, and Schoeffer, were the men, let them come at their types as they might, who first printed any known works in movable types, and, from Mayence, in 1445, diffused very- soon the knowledge of the present art of printing over the whole world. The first work which they are supposed to h.ivc printed was the Bible, an edition of the Latin Vulgate, known by the name of tlic Mazarin Bible, of which various copies remain, though without date or printer's name. TO US5.] INTBODUOTIOX OF PRINTING TO ENGLAND. 49 Printing was introduced into England ia 1472, according to all the chief authorities of or near that time, by William Caxton, though there have not been wanting attempts since to attribute this to one Corsellis. The story of Corsellis, however, is by no means well authenti- cated: it wants both proof and probability. Caxton was a native of the weald of Kent. He served his apprenticeship to a mercer of London became a member of the Mercers' Company, and was so much esteemed for his business talents, that in 1464 he was sent with others by Ed- ward IV. into the Low Countries, to nego- tiate a commercial treaty with the duke of Burgundy. There he was greatly re- garded by Margaret, the duchess of Bur- gundy, Edward IV. 's sister, who retained him aa long as she could at her court. Caxton was now upwards of fifty years of age, but his in- quisitive and active temperament led him to learn, amongst other things, the whole art of printing. He saw its immense importance, and he translated Raoulle Feure's "Reeueil des Histoires de Troyes," and printed it in folio. This great work he says himself that he began in Bruges, and finished in Cologne in 1471. The first work which he printed in € mt Fac-simile of the Bible printed at Mayence ia 1450, by Gutenberg, of the 19th Chapter of the first Book of Samuel. earl Rivers, brother to the queen of Edward IV., was another of his friends and patrons, translating the "Diets and Sayings of the Philosophers " for his nephew, the prince of Wales, and introducing Caxton, when it was printed, to present it to the king and royal family. We should, however, afi'ord no idea of the amount of service rendered by Caxton in his own lifetime if we did not give a catalogue of the works he printed. They are : — The Recule of the Histo- ries of Troye; the Game of Chess ; the Pilgrimage of the Soul ; Liber Fcsti- valis, or Directions for keeping Feasts all the Year ; Quatuor Sermones, or Four Sermons, in English; the Golden Legend, three editions ; the Art and Craft to know well to Die, from the French ; Infantia Salvatoris, the childhood of our Saviour ; the Life of St. Catherine of Siena ; Speculum Vitje Christi, or Mirror of the Blessed Life of Jesus Christ ; Directorium Sacerdotum, a Directory of Church Services ; a Book of Divers Ghostly Matters ; the Life of St. Winifred ; the Provincial Constitutions of Bishop Lyndwood of St. Asaph, in Latin ; the Profitable Book of Man's Love, called the Chastening of God's Children ; the Book of the Life of Commencement Earl Rivers presenting William Caxton to Edward IV. From a JIS. in the Library of Lambeth Palace England was " The Game and Playe of the Chesse," which was published in 1474. From this time till 1190, or till nearly the date of his death in 1491 or 1492, a period of sixteen years, the list of the works which Caxton passed through his press is quite wonderful. Thomas Milling, the abbot of Westminster, was his most zealous patron ; and at West- minster, in the Almonry, he commenced his business. The 57 Jason ; Godfrey of Eulogn ; the Knight of the Tower, fn^m the French ; the Book of the Order of Chivvalry or Kni;;ht- hood, from the French ; the Book Koyal, or the Book for a King ; a Book of the Noble Histories of King Arthur, and certain of his Knights ; the History of the Noble, Right Valiant, and Right Worthy Kiiiglit, Paris, and of the fair Viennc ; the Book of Feats of Arms and of Chivalry, 5§ CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLA-ND. [a.d. 1399 from the French of ChristJDO of Pisa; the History of King Blanchardinc. and Qaeen Eghintine, his Wife ; Re- nard, the Fox, from the German — translated also by Caxton ; the Subile Histories and Fables of ^3op ; the works of Chaucer, Qower, and Lydgate, &c. That is a noble monument of labour in the Tory outset of printing in this country, and at the latter end only of a busy life. But while Oaxton was thus busy he saw others around hira also as hard at work with their presses : Theodor Rood, John Lettow, William Machelina, and Wynkyn de Worde, foreigners, and Thomas Hunt, an said to have written himself on iistroaomy, a scheme of astroDomical calculations under his name still remaining in the library of Gresham College. The great duke of Bedford, likewise, when master of Paris, purchased and sent to this country the royal library, containing eight hundred and fifty-three volumes, valued at two thousand two hundred and twenty-three livres. The schools and colleges founded during this century were the following : — Lincoln College, Oxford ; founded in 1430, by Richard Fleming, bbhop of Lincoln, and com- pleted by Thomas Scott, of Rotherham, bishop of Lin- i«ilK^"r^ontiStt feum noftt O' I— t — f f^eiiite eeul cKi^!0uiamtr Fragment Fac-simile of the 98th page of the Psalter printed at Mayence in 1457, by Fust and Schoeffer. Englishman. A schoolmaster of St. Albans set up a press there, and several books were printed at Oxford in 1478, and to the end of the century. There is no direct evidence of any work being printed in Scotland during this century, though such may have been the case, and all traces of the fact obliterated in the almost universal destruction of the cathedral and conventual libraries at the Reformation. James III. was known to collect the most superb specimens of typography, and Dr. Henry mentions seeing a magnifi- cent edition of " Sj eeulum iloralitatis " which had been in that king's po?FPssion and contained his autograph. Not less meritorious benefactors of their country, next to coin, in 1475. All Souls' College, Oxford j founded by Chicheley, the archbishop of Canterbury, in 1437. He expended upon its erection £4,545, and procured con- siderable revenues for it out of the lands of the alien priories, dissolved just before that time. Magdalene Colleje, Oxford ; founded by William Patten, bishop of Winchester, in 145S, which soon became one of the richest colleges in Europe. King's College, Cambridge ; founded by Henry. VI., in 1443. Queen's College, Cambridge; founded by Margaret of Anjou, in 1448 ; and Katharine Hall, Cam- bridge ; founded by Robert Woodlark, third provost of King's College, in 1475. Fae-^imile of Caxton's Printing in the " Dictei «nd Sayinge of Philosophers," printed in 1477 the writers and printers of books, are those who collected them into libraries, and the most munificent patron and encourager of learning in this manner was the unfortunate duke Humphrey of Gloucester. He gJive to the University of Oxford a library of six hundred volumes in 1440, valued at one thousand pounds. Some of these very volumes yet remain in different collections. Duke Humphrey not only bought book.s, but he employed men of science and learn- ing to translate and transcribe. He kept celebrated writers from France and Italy, as well as Englishmen, to translate from the Greek and other languages ; and is Besides these, Henry VT. founded Eton College, and Thomas Hokenorton, abbotof Osney, founded in Oxford, ia 1439, the public schools, called the Xew Schools. Before that time the professors of several sciences in both univer- sities read their lectures in private houses, at very incon- venient distances from each other. To remedy this incon- venience, public schools were erected in both universities at this period. IJokenorton's schools comprehended the teaching of divinity, metaphysics, natural and mora' philosophy, astronomy, geometry, arithmetic, music, logic, rhetoric, and grammar. They required liberal aid from other TO H85J PROGRESS OF SCIENCE. !;i benefactors, and they found these in the noble Humphrey of Gloucester, and the two brothers Kemp, the one arch- bishop of York, and the other bishop of London. They were completed in 1480, including duke IIumplirey"s noble library. The quadrangle, containing the public schools of Cambridge, was completed in 1475. 1 Mi,. J "!"' 1 i.^tf :..i 1 A^ ■ 1 ; ^H ■fl^LM Copyist at work. Up to this period Scotland had possessed no university whatever, and its youth had been obliged to travel to foreign universities for their education. But now the university of St. Andrew's was founded in 1410, and obtained a charter in 1411 from archbishop Wardlaw, which was confirmed by the pope in 1412, and by James I. in 1431. The great need of such an institution was soon evidenced by the imiversity becoming famous. In 1444 Kennedy, the suc- cessor of Wardlaw, founded the college of St. Salvator in that city; and in 1451 James II., at the instance of William Turnbull, the bishop of Glasgow, founded the uni- versity of that city ; and in the same year was founded the college or faculty of arts ia Glasgow, the king taking both college and university under his especial patronage and protection. This college received a handsome endowment from James, lord Ilamilton, andbis l.ady Euphemia, countess of Douglas in 1459. These were great measures in a very dark age, preparing light for those which came after. Of the sciences taught in these institutions little can be said. There were few masters of such eminence in them as to give a high tone to them. Medicine, which was now taught in them all, had rather fallen off than ad- vanced. Dr. Friend, in his History of Physic, could find not one physician of those times whose works deserve mention. Yet Dr. Gilbert Kymer, duke Humphrey's physician, wrote a Dietary for the Preservation of Health — Dictarium de Sanitafis Custodia; and Dr. Fauceby, physician to Henry VI., was commissioned by Henry to discover the long sought-for Elixir of Life, and the Philosopher's Stone. But the sweating sickness, one of the most terrible distempers which ever visited this kingdom, and which raged from 1485 to 1551. completely set at dcfinnce all the medical science of the times. It carried off its victims in seven or eight hours, and amongst them two lord mayors, five aldermen, and a prodigious number of people of all ranks. What is most extraordinary is, that it is asserted to have attacked Englishmen residing in foreign countries at the same time, though foreigners living in England escaped. Most amazing, however, are the facts regaiding sui-gery at that perisd. At a time when foi-eign or domestic war was raging through nearly the whole country, anatomy, so far from being studied, was abominated as a barbarou- violation of the remains of tlie dead. Henry Y. when in- vading France took only one surgeon with him ! This surgeon, Thomas Morstede, however, engaged to bring fifteen assistants, twelve students of surgery, and three archers. Morstede was to have the pay of a man-at-arms, and his assistants that of common archers. AVhat an idea does this give us of the agonies suffered, and of the wholesale waste of human life in those wars ! Henry himself seem-: to have been impressed with this fact, for in his second expedition he was anxious to procure a competent supply of surgeons, but not being able, he granted to Morstede a warrant empowering him to press the requisite number, or what Morstede thouglit a requisite number, of surgeons for the army. There is little doubt that Henry himself fell a victim, in his prime, to the medical ignorance of the ago, for his complaint was a fistula, which none of his profes- sional attendants knew how to cure. Y'et the surgeons of Paris, at this time, 1474, achieved a, chef d'oeuvre in their art, performing successfully on an archer, under sentence of death, an operation for the stone. Physician Bleeding a Patient Harl. MS., 4,425. Mathematics were in this age confounded with astrology; the mathematician and astrologer were synonymous terms. A book by Arnold de Marests, .an astronomer in France, was declared by the university of Paris to " contain many superstitions, many conjurations, many manifest and horrible invocations of the devil, with several latent heresies 52 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1399 and idolatries." Li England thero was a board of com- missioners for discovering and apprehending magicians, enchanters, and sorcerers — and by it Thomas Northfield, professor of divinity and sorcerer, was apprehended at Worcester, in 1432, with all his books and instruments. Alehymy, as we have shown, was not only in high vogue, but especially patronised by Henry VI. HISTORY A»D HIST0BIAX3 WITH MES OF LEARNING AND TASTE. The scale of literary merit in this century, as may be inferred from what has gone before, is, for the most part, extremely low. You look in vain for one divine, physician, or philosopher, who cast a glory on the age. The names of the chroniclers are little more distinguished; their lan- guage is anything but elegant or classical, and the facts they record alone give them value. We have awarded Caxton his fame as a printer ; as an author, and the conti- nuator of Higdon's Polycronicon, he is less estimable. Next to him comes Thomas Walsingham, a monk of St. Albans, and unquestionably the best historian of the period. He wrote two works : a history of England from the fifty- seventh year of Henry III. to the death of Henry V., and a history of Normandy from the beginning of the tenth century to 1418, under the absurd title of Ypodigma Neustrise — Neustria being the ancient name of Normandy. Thomas Otterbourne, a Franciscan friar, compiled a history of England from the chroniclers of an earlier period down to 1420. John WTiethamstede, abbot of St. Albans, i inflated style. The history of Henry V. was also written by an Italian who called himself Titus Livius, probably imagining himself on a par with the Roman historian in literary genius. He was a prot< ^ ld, silk, cotton, oil, black pepper, rock-alum, and wood. Venice, Florence, and other Italian states, all kinds of spices and grocery wares, sweet wines, sugar, dates, with what the author considered great trumpery : Apes and Japes, and mannosets tayled, And niflis anil triflia that little bare arayled. ToWMds the end of the century, 1483, we have an act passed, at the instigation of the manufacturers of London snd other towns, to prohibit the following long list of articles— a proof that they were busy making all these things for . themselves : — Girdles, harness wrought for girdles, points, leather-laces, purses, pouches, pins, gloves, knives, hangers, tailors' shears, scissors, and irons, cup- boards, tongs, fire-forks, gridirons, stock-locks, keys, hinges, garnets, spurs, painted glasses, painted papers, painted forcers, painted images, painted cloths, beaten gnll and beaten silver wrought in papers for painters, saddles, saddle-trees, horse-harness, boots, bits, stirrups, buckler- chains, latten-nails with iron shanks, turners, hanging candlf-sticks, holy water stops (stoops), chafing-dishes, hanging leavers, curtain-rings, wool-cards, roan-cards, buckles for shoes, shears, broaches for spits, bells, hawk'.*- bells, tin and leaden spoons, wire of latten and iron, iron candlesticks, grates, and horns for lanthorns, with other things made by the petitioners, prohibited on pain of for- feiture. This list is, at it were, evidence of the numerous civilised requirements of the age, and of the rapid growth of our manufactures. The age abounded with great merchants. The Medioi of Florence ; Jacques Ic Coeur, the greatest merchant that France ever produced, who had more wealth and trade than all the other merchants of that country together, and who supplied Charles VII. with the money by which he recovered his country from the English. In our own country John Xorbury, John Hende, and Richard Whittington, were the leading merchants of London, the last of whom was so far from a poor boy making his fortune by a cat that he was the son of Sir William Whittington, knight. In Bristol also flourished at this time William Cannynge, who was five times mayor of that city, who had, for some cause not explained, two thousand, four hundred, and seventy tons of shipping taken from him at once by Edward IV., including one ship of four hundre 1 tons, one of five hundred, and one of nine hu id.ed. Cannynge, in the last generation, was immort ilised by Chattertjn in his wonderful poems of Rowley. Of the ships and shipping f the ago we need not say more tlian that, with all t e characteristics of the past age there was an attempt to build larger vessels in rivalry of the Genoese. John Taverner, of Hull, had a royal licence ! granted him, in 1449, conferring on him great privileges and exemptions as a merchant, for building one as large as a Venetian carrack, one of their first-class ships, or even larger. And bishop Kennedy, of St. Andrew's, was as much celebrated for building a ship of unusual size, called the Bishop's Berge, as for building and endowing a college. Tq Scotland the state of the shipping interest was much the same as in England. James I. displayed the same enlightened views of trade as of government in general. He made various laws to ascertain the rate of duty on all exports and imports, to secure the effects of any traders dying abroad, and permitted his subjects to trade in foreigw bottoms when they had no vessels of their own. In both countries great care was taken to protect and promote their fisheries. COINS AND COIS'AGE. The coin of these times in England was chiefly of gold and silver. The gold coin consisted of nobles, half-nobles, and quarter-nobles, originally equivalent to guineas (the exact value of a noble in Henry IV.'s reign was 21s. 1 Jd). half-guineas, and quarter-guineas, or dollars of 5s. 3d. The silver coins were gro.its, half-groats, and pennies. But it must be remembered that all these coins were of t«n times the intrinsic value of onr present money ; so that the labourer who in the fifteenth century received 1 Jd. per day, received as much as fifteen pence of present money. But the great historical fact regarding the money of this age was it* continual adulteration, and consequent depre- ciation. Our monarchs, involved in great w.ars. while their crown lands h,ad melted away into the hand- of their barons, and these barons had ceased to yield their proper feudal services, were reduced to the greatest extremities for money, and fell, one after ancithcr, into the hopeless practice of endeavouring to make more money out of the little they had. They vainly expected that if the name and dimen- sions of a coin remained the same, the public would permit it to be treated as of the same value. But they soon found that if a gold coin was so alloyed that it only contained ten sliillings' worth of real gold in it instead of twenty, it would only fetch ten shillings' worth of goods ; in other words, all articles to be purchased rose to double the old price. Groat of Bichard III. I'nny of Richard III. The origina' Fnglish pound contained a real Tower pound of silver, weighing five thousand four hundred grains Troy. TO 1185.] CHANGES IN MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 65 Of this pound of silver were coined two hundred and forty pennies, then the largest coins in use. That was the money of Eno'land from the Conquest to Edward III.'s time. He coined two hundred and seventy pennies out of a pound, weit^hin" twenty instead of twenty-two and a half grains each ; and he coined groats weighing, instead of ninety I'rains, only seventy grains. Henry V. again reduced the Half Groat of Henry V value of the coin, and to such a degree that out of the pound, instead of 2 Is IJd. he made 30s. His money was, therefore, of one-third less value than that of Edward III., and was found to purchase one-third less commodities. Notwithstanding this, Edward IV. again reduced the value of the currency by coining 37s. GJ. out of the pound. Besides the nobles, half and quarter nobles of his prede- cessors, Edward coined au^els and half-angels, or angelets, the angel being 6s. Sd. of the silver money of that time. Aii"el of Eilward IV. llall-Groat of Edward IV. The kings of Scotland pursued the same useless course of depreciating their currency, by which, instead of benefiting themselves they extremely diminished the real revenues of the crown. Both they and the chief barons, as they were the chief promoters of the diminution of the weight and value of the coin, so they were by far the greatest sufferers by the measure. They received the same number of pounds from their subjects and vassals in all the fixed annual payments due to them, but the pounds did not contain the same quantity of silver, and would not purchase the same quantity of goods with those in the original stipulation. The king and nobility discovered their error, and time after time issued orders and acts of parliament to compel the people to estimate their spurious coins at the same value as the unadulterated ones, but in vain. Nature and the eternal proportions of things are above all kings and all human laws. James III. of Scotlan 1 coined copper money, and one of the reasons assigned in the act ordaining this coinage, is that it is " for almons' deid to le done to pure folk," that is, people thought the sraallcst coin in use was too much to give in alms, they must have something o£ less value for that purpose. He also coined a still inferior money called black money, the small tinge of silver mixed with the copper giving it that colour. The price of all articles at that time of day, and sums paid for salaries, show that everything then was far cheaper thaa at pre- sent, in proportion to the nominal value of money. A cow was 73., but ten times that value, or £3 10s. would not buy half a cow now. A goose was 3d., equal to 2s. Cd. of our money, but two and sixpence would not buy a goose noW- a-days. Neither could a clergyman and his family live very vfell on £16 a year, though £i 133. 4d. was then thought a fair income for one. A yeoman of our time would not be very jolly on £50 a-year, though Sir John Fortescue in his day said " that five pounds a year was a fair living for a yeoman." MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. An excellent historian of the last generation has said, " When a country continues to be inhabited by the same people, living under the same government, professing the same religion, and speaking the same language, as the people of Britain did at this period, the changes in their manners, customs, virtues, vices, language, dress, diet, and diversions, are slow and almost imperceptible. These changes, are, however, like the motion of the shadow oa the sun dial, real, and in process of time become conspi- cuous. If the heroic Henry V. were now to rise from the dead, and appear in the streets of London, mounted on his war horse, and clothed in complete armour, what astonish- ment would he excite in the admiring multitude ! How much would he be surprised at every object around him ! If he were conducted to St. Paul's, he would neither know the church nor understand the service. In a word, lie would believe himself to be in a city and amongst a people that he had never seen." Betwixt the people of the fourteenth and fifteenth cen- tury, we should not therefore suppose there could be a very marked difference. Yet change, and the seeds of immense change, were actively atwork. Therevivalof Qreekliterature, the invention of printing, and the progress of new ideas in church government and religious doctrines, were preparing the most complete revolution of mind, of state maxims, and of manners, which the world had ever seen. The combined influence of the high-toned republican spirit of Greece, and of the cosmopolitan principles of the Gospel, the nobler tastes and more graceful imaginations infused by the Hellenic poets and philosophers, the profoundly just, generous, and popular sentiments of the Bible, were destined inevitably to produce a more enlarged and exalted standard of feeling and opinion, and to revolutionise all the ideas and practices of the country. On morals and on manners these causes were yet too recent to have produced much effect. On the contrary, the wars, the strifes, the vile passions generated in tho courts of both this country and France, and spreading with the desolating rapidity of the pl.agua, had sunk tho nation lower than ever. All principle and virtue appeared extinct. The change began in the outward husk of society. Already it was seen that the old feudal system was turn- 08 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [A.n. 1399 blirg piecemeal. The barons had broken loose from their engagements, and civil war had decimated them. Eren in the social pomp and circumstance of the system, vicissi- tude was making itself visible. Caxton cried out even more vehemently than Burke in our times : " The days of Bedstead of tin loth centun-. From .-i MS. Romance of the Ci'mte d'ArtoU. chivalry are gone." •' Oh, ye knyghtes of Englande : " he exclaimed, "where is the custome and usage of noble chyralry that was used in those d.iys ? What do ye now bat go to the baynes and play at dyse ? How many knyghtes ben thernow in England, that have thuse and thcsercise of a knyghte ? That is to wite, that he knoweth his horse and his horse him." Trystram. of Perse Forest, of Percyval, of Gawayn, and many mor : ther shall ye see manhode, curtosye, and gentylness." But though the spirit of chivalry was gone, the forms of it still lived, and tournaments were stiU celebrated when actual war did not present more serious exercise of arms. Ilenry V. of England and James I. of Scotland were re- nowned for their skill in tilting, and in all knightly arts. The great earl of Warwick was not less so. The kings still granted royal protections to foreign princes and nobles to come hither and joust with our knights. Thus, the Bastard of Burgundy came over and tilted with Anthony Wydville, earl Rivers, in Smithficld, before the court and public. Sometimes there was a general tournament, in which as many as thirty or forty knights of a side attacked each other with spears and battle-axes, and it became a real battle. »" kx^ ■ I „ I its I ' xu Bed-room Furniture, time of Henry VI. Ilarl. MS. 2,278. And honest William Caxton hoped to reinspire them with the dying fires of chivalry by reading the romances which he printed. " Leve this, leve it, and rede the noble volumes of St. Graal, of Lancelot, of Galaad, of Kitchen of the 15th centurv. Ilarl. MS. 4,375 Our great barons still kept up their huge retinues and huge houses, as we have stated. There they kept up a rude state, like kings. They had their privy counsellors, marshals, treasurers, stewards, secretaries, heralds, sene- schals ; their pursuivants, pages, guards, trumpeters ; their bands of minstrels, their jesters, buffoons, tumblers, and all sorts of ministers to their amusement. In their style of living there was a rude abundance, a prodigality far from refined. They had four meals in the day: breakfast at seven, dinner at ten, supper at four in the afternoon, and a meal called the "livery," which was taken just before going to bed. The common people were much later in their hours of eating. They breakfasted at eight, dined at twelve, and supped at six. The fashionable hours of the present day are almost precisely those of the common people then. 1485.] STYLE OP LIVIN©. 67 if we call the twelve o'clock dinner a luncheon, and the supper at six dinner. So does one age reverse the habits of another. The accounts which we have of supplies of the table of the nobility of this century as presented in the Ilousehold Book of the Percys, is something startling. The break- fast of the earl and countess of Northumberland, was " first a loaf of bread in trenchers, two manchetts, a quart of beer, a quart of wine, half a chyne of mutton, or a chyne of beef lioiled." The livery, or evening collation for the lord and lady, was equally abundant ; having dined and supped, be it remembered, "first two manchetts, a loaf of household bread, a gallon of beer, and a quart of wine," which was down to dinner at ten in the forenoon, they did not rise till one, thus spending three of the best hours of the day in gormandizing. Meantime they were entertained by the songs and harps of the minstrels, the jests of the fool, the tricks of jugglers, and the tumbling and capering of dancers. After each course came in what they called suttletics, — figures in pastry of men, women, beasts, birds, &c., set on the table to be admired, but not touched, and each had a label attached, containing some witty or wise saying ; whence their name. The monks and secular clergy are reported to have been especial lovers of the table. The monks in rich monasteries lived even more fully and richly than any order of men in the The Knigbt'a Return from the War. . , . , i'fpm the Histoire de Ptt!t Jehan tie Saintre. JIS. in the British Jluseiim.—" How Saintre on his return receives honour from the king, and brings joy to the heart of his grieving and sorrow7i^ lady" [It will be observed that the figure of the knight appears four times in this illumination ] warmed and spiced. Though we cannot suppose them to h.".ve got through half this provision, the whole account of the age shows that it was addicted to profusely good livin". The tables at dinner were loaded with huge pewter dishes filled with salted beef, mutton, and butcher's moat of all kinds I venison, poultry, sea-fowls, wild boar, wild fowls, game, fish, &c., and they were luxurious in pics and baked meats of many sorts. The side-bo.ards were plentifully furnished with ale, beer, and wines of Spain and France, which were handed to the guests as called for, in silver^ pewter, or wooden cups, by the marslials, grooms, yeomen! and waiters of the chamber, ranged in regular order. Yet amid all this state the guests used their fingers instead of forks, which were not yet invented. Though they sat kingdom. The cook was one of the brethren who was ele- vated to that office for his genius in that department, and was held in high honour. The liistorian of Croyland speaks in raptures of brotlier Lawrence Chateres, tlie cook of that monastery, who, "prompted by thelove of (Jod, and zeal for religion, had given £10 (£400 of our money) for the recreation of the convent with the milk of almonds on fish days." Almonds, milk of almonds, sugar, honey, and spices, appear to have been plentiful in these sacred styes, and those dainties were much adorned with gold-leaf, powder of gold, and brilliant pigments. The secular clerjiy celebrated in the churches five times in the year what they plainly called glutton-masses. Early in the morning the people flocked in, bringing all sorts of 6JI CASSKLL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAKD, [a.d. 1399 roast and boiled meats and substantial viands, and strong drinks ; and, as soon as the mass was ended, they all fell to in right earnest, and fini^hed the day in unbounded riot and intemperance. The clergy and people of different parishes vied in the endeavour to have the greatest g'.utton- mass, and to devour the greatest quantity of meat and drink in honour of the Holy Virgin 1 The sports and pastimes of this age were yery much the same as those of the preceding one. Besides jousts and t urnameuts, they were keen pursuers of the sports of the field. They were accustomed to sit hours, and even suc- cessive daj-s, over what appear to us very dull plays, both sacred and profane, called mysteries, moralities, and mira- cle-plays. They had also all sorts of public pageants, attended by every species of minstrels, jugglers, mummers, rope-dancers, and mountebanks. Their more simple and healthy sports were foot-ball, trap-ball, and hund-b;dl, at which the aristocracy played on horseback, as well as on foot, for large sums. They had a large kind of leather ball, probably filled with air, which they propelled some- times by bats and sometimes merely with the hand. In Scotland, when James I. was anzious to introduce archery, he forbade foot-bail, quoits, and similar popular games, as well as a game which w;vs called " cloish, kayles, half- bowl, handiu-handout, and quickcaborde." Card -playing was still checked by the high price of a pack of cards, which was 18s. Sd. at Paris, or upwards of £9 of our present money. In 1 163 the English card-makers obtained an act of parliament to exclude foreign cards. The cause of their high price lay in their richly-gilded and painted figures. costrntB. The age was extravagant in dress. The long-toed shoes gave way a g'jod deal from the reigns of Henry IV. to Henry VI. In 1463, two years after the ascension e'f Edward IV., an act was parsed, prohibiting any one making or wearing shoes or boots with pikes exceed- ing two inches. But in that reign, as if in disdain of the law, they burst forth more ridiculously than ever, and the power of the church was called in to excommunicate the wear- ers, with as little effect. Towards the end of Ed- ward IV.'s reign shoes and boots began to spread as wide as they before had been elongated, and an- other act was passed, for- bidding them being more than six inches broad at the toe. The long-toes, however, did not go quite out till the reign of Henry VII. The lower garment of gentlemen during this period was all of one piece from the foot to the waist. There were no separate stockings and pantaloons. This dress fitted as tight to their limbs as possible. Their upper garments w«re of various kinds and shapes. In Henry IV.'s rc'gn the Costume of the MidJ'c Clashes in the l&ih cenlurr. Cotton MSS., Nero, D. 7. Costume of Gentlemen, a.d. U60. From ailS. His'.orr of Thebes. caps were generally tamed up at the sides, some larger, some less, a good deal resembling turbans. The elder gentleman much affected a close-fitting gown, or coat, with skirts reaching to the fe<>t. It was buttoned down the front, and had a row of similar buttons under each sleeve from the elbow. His broad hat was turned up behind, and under it he wore a hood which clothed both head, neck, and shoulders, like a cape. The younger wore tunics, fitting the body, belted at the waist, and with skirts terminating at the knee. The sleeves were wide, but not so long as in the preceding or succeeding reign. Male Costome of Hem? IV.'s reign. Uarl. MS. 2,332. The dress of the ladies of Henry IV.'s time was remark- able for the very singular gown, open at the sides, and showing the dress beneath, called the sideless gown. This dress is conspicuous in the effigies of the countess of Arimdel, lady de Thorpe, the countess of Westmoreland, and others in Stothard's Effigies. They are striking from the width with which their hair is extended under a caul of jewelled network, over which frequently falls a veil, as if borne on a frame. Of this kind is the countess of Arundel's, in Arundel church. To such a preposterous extent was this bead-dress carried in France, that it is said — we suppose in jest — that the doors of the palace of Yincennes were obliged to be both heightened and widened to admit Isabella of Bavaria, queen of Charles XI., and the ladies of her suite. The ladies also wore exceedingly rich and beautiful girdles, which depended to a great length TO 1485.] THE COSTUME OP THE AGE. GO in front, as may be seen in all those effigies. That of lady Mch con- tiining her mantle. 3 Girdle of the gentleman Lady Jlargaret Pennebrygg. Co.slume of the Reign of Henry V. 15 D. 3. Royal MSS., In the reign of Henry V. the tunic became shorter and the sleeves immensely longer : they actually swept the ground. Occleve ridiculed these sleeves : — Now hath this land little nede of broomos, To sweep away the flith oat of the Btreete, Sin side sleeves of penniless groomes Will it oplicke, be it dry or wecte. Sometimes these sleeves were fancifully indented on the edges, or cut in the form of leaves. In all this century beards wore close shaven, except by men of mature age. The ladies of this reign continued and even exaggerated the stupendous head-dresses like that of the countess of Aruniel. They actually wore horns, on which they hung Fern lie Co3»ume. Royal MS. 16 6. 6. The reign of Henry VI. presented dresses bearing a con- siderable likeness to those gone before, but now much trimmed with fur, long tippets frequently depending from the hat to the ground. The hair cut short, the caps or hats of fantastic shapes, worn sometimes with a single feather. The long-toed shoes reappeared. State dresses were also much trimmed with fur. The ladies indulged in fanciful variations of the previous fashions. Their head-dresses had decreased in width, but had many of them risen in height. They were horned, or heart-shaped, and there were turbans of the genuine Turkish fashion. Tippets, or veils, were attached to the horned head-dresses. Their gowns had enormous trains ; waists extremely short, and 70 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND, [a.d. 1399 Male Costume. From various MSS. ciglitly girded. Their collars were often furred, and of the turn-over sort, coming to a point in front, and disclosing a vest, or stomacher, of a different colour to the robe. Women Ladies' Hcad-dressea. Harl. MS. 2,278. of the lowest estate, serving women, says one writer, put fur not only on their collars, but on the bottom of their dross, which fell about their heels, and was dragged in the mire. Female Coslumc. From a MS. History of Thebes. In Edward IV.'s reign the toes of shoes were longer than ever, and the doublets, or tunics, shorter than ever. Only lords were allowed by law to wear these " indecently short dresses ; " but the law was ignored freely, and even boys wore Bhort rich doublets of silk, velvet, or satin, and tre- mendously long toes, now called poulaincs. The caps of cloth assumed very much the shape of hats ; and the hair was not only worn long, but brought down upon the forehead, into tho eyes. All gentlemen wore chains of gold of the most sumptuous kind. Large jack or top boots began to be worn ; occasionally robes bound at the waist, and sweeping the ground, in strong contrast to the short doublets. Male Costume. Keign of Edward IV. But of all the head-dresses ever introduced in the wildest vagaries of fashion, those of the ladies of this reign were the most preposterous. The horns now rose up from the cap or bonnet, enclosing it from behind, and rearing their lofty points into the air, like those of some wild bison. These were covered with some richly-patterned silk or velvet. Others had round tower-like bonnets, with battlc- mented tops, and huge transparent shades enclosing the face, and running to a point half-a-yard before and behind them. Others had conical frames half-a-yard high set upon Ladies' Head-dresses. From a MS. of Froissort's Chronicles. their heads, covered with lace or velvet. These had fre- quently a large wing on each side, like those of butterflies ; and from the top fell a piece of fine lawn, often quite to the ground. These preposterous caps became so much the rage, that the peasant women of Normandy, especially in the Buccage, still wear them, where they tower aloft in the markets, white as snow, and with their butterfly wings generally tied over the front. "Thus," says Planoho, " the evanescent caprice of some high-born fair has given a national coatiune to the paysannes of Normandy, who hare TO USD.] THE COSTUME OF THE AGE. 71 reverently copied, for nearly four centuries, the head-dress worn by their mothers before them." Paradin says, that the ladies would probably have built their bonnets still higher, but that a famous monk, Thomas Conecte, came to Paris, and preaching in the church of St, Genevieve for nine successive days against them, produced such effect that the ladies threw off their steeple caps, and many of them not only their horns but their tails and other vanities, and made a bonfire of them. But he ad'ls, "The women that, like snails in affright, had drawn in their horns, shot them out again as soon as the danger was over." Some had this steeple frame set on the back of their heads in such a way that it is difficult to imagine how it was supported there. In the costumes of the short reign of Richard III. the gentlemen appear again in top boots, with spurs, and enormous long toes. They have the long tight hose, which are fastened to the doublet with laces or points, as they were called, and we are told that the poor boy, Edward V., when in the Tower, convinced that his uncle meant to murder him, neglected fastening his points, or otherwise attending to his dress. The doublet was open in front, showing a stomacher, and over this was worn a short loose gown, plaited before and behind, with full slashed sleeves. These gowns and doublets were of the richest and most brilliant velvets and satins. On the head was a small cap, generally round and closely fitting, with a roll of fur round it, or turned up at the side with a feather, jewelled up the stem. The hair was worn thick and bushy behind. Hats and Caps. Harl. MSS. 4,379-80. The ladies had now, in a great measure, discarded the steeple caps, au'l wore the hair thrown backward^, in a C.vul of gold, and over it a kerchief of the finest texture, Stiffened out and descending to the back. Some of these Couvrechef, or Kerchief. kerchiefs wjro very large. Their gowns were as before, with turn-overoollavsanJcuffsof furor velvet. Oustatc occasions, the hair was suffere 1 to fall in naturalriuglels, and the ermined jacket was worn with a kirtle and mantle. These dresses were vjry rich with crim'on or other bri-ht velvet, cloth of gold, chains and jewels ; the shoes being of tissue cloth of gold. They wore also a singu'ar plaited neck covering called a barbe. , 4, .5, Rings. 6, 7, Porlions of Chains. The armour through this period was of solid plate, varied in every reign by to) many small particulars to be enumerated here. In Henry IV.'s rci^n, increase of splendour in arms an 1 armour was visible. The basnet was ornamented by a rich wreath, and the jupon, or surcoat, had its border cut into rich foliage, spite of the prohibition. In Henry V.'s reign was introduced the panache, or crest of feathers, stuck into a small pipe on the top of the basnet. The petticoat or apron of chain was replaced by horizontal plates of steel, called tashes or From the Brass of Sir John Dravti n. DieJ .».r>. 14 1. tassets, forming a sort of skirt, and extending from the wai.st to abuut the middle of the thigh. In this rti^n the two-handed wavjug or fl.imiug sword was 72 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. [i.u. U85 Euight in complete Armour, a.d. ll(jl— SO. introduced. In Henry VI. 's reign the sallet or German steel cap superseded the basnet. In Edward IV. 's the armour was distinguished by its yery globular breastplates, and immense elbow and knee plates. Every joint was ^ . ESSgj- of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwii.k. a.d. 1442— Cj. double covered, and in Richard's reign, the pauldrons, or shoulder plates, and the kneo and elbow plates, generally large, fan shaped, and of most elaborate workmanship, ■were still more striking. Such it is seen in the effigy of Sir Thomas Peyton, in Isleham Church, Cambridgeshire. Over this armour was worn, not the jupon, but a tabard of arms, loose like a herald's, as in Edward I^^'s reign. OOXDITIOM OF THE PEOl'LIi. We have thus endeavoured to present the reader with as complete a view as possible of the state and appearance of our ancestors of the fifteenth century, — a century which 1, Mace, time of Henry V. 2, Hand-Cannon. S, II.'ind-Gun and Battle-Axe. 4, Guisarroe. 5, Bill, time of Henry VI. 6, ditto time of Edward IV. 7, ditto, liichard III. seems to close the more strictly feudal ages, which printing, literature, reform of religion, and the discovery of a new world were h.istenlng to terminate, and to inaugurate a wholly new period, and new state of society. This century was by no means favourable to the intellectual or moral advance of the peof le. It was spent in fighting and in perpetual revolution, alarm, and violence, and the national character sufiercd no little in consequence. The destruc- tion of high principle and kindly affection amongst the higher classes spread to the lower. We have seen that voluptuousness, epicurism, and perjury were every-day sins. The people were super^titious ; running after pilgrimages, saints, fastings, and llagellations ; whilst they had so abandoned the very heart of Christianity, — love of God and love of neighbour, that tlicy began to burn God's children and their own brothers for opinion. Swearing was become so English a characteristic that Englishmen had already acquired the epithet of "God- dammees;" and Joan of Arc told the earls of Warwick and Stafford that they would never conquer France, though they had a hundred thousand more God-daniraees with them. The e was a spirit of ferocity awoke in the people by their long familiarity with blood and violence which even infected the women, who, many of them, took up arms, and were as fierce as the men. The women of M'ales acquired an infamous celebrity for their horrid mutilations of the soldiers of lord Mortimer ; and Eymer says that, at the siege of Sens, there were many gentle- women, both French and English, who had long fought in the field, but now also lying in arms at >ieges. Sir John Fortescue, chief justice of the King's Bench, writes that tlierc were more men hanged for robbery in England in - one year than in Franco or Scotland in seven ; and the i Ignorance and luxurious eflfeminacy of the clergy deprived the people of much chance of improvement from that quarter. Perhaps no period of our history, with much military fame and general vigour of character, presents us 'f with so little that is elevated in moral character, or attrac- tive in its social features. A-D. 118j.] REIGX OF HEXRY VII. 73 THK fTANDARBS TAKEN AT EOSWORTII LAID ON THE AI.TAK OF ST. PACl's CATHKDRAl. {Ser pagt 1(> .) 69 74 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 14S5. CHAPTER rV. REIGN OF HENRY VH. Defects of Henry VII.'s Title -Proceeds to Lotidon, and shuts np the Earl of Warwick in the Tuwer— Pr.iinlaes to marry Elizabeth of York, but delays- Crown settlei on hira »nd his Heirs by Parliament— His Mar- riage— Insurrection In Yorkshire — Birth of Prince Arthur — Lambert Simnel clnims the Cro«-n as the Earl of Warwick— Pioclaltned King in Ircland-Hen-y confines the Queen Dowager, and exhibits the real Earl of Wanvkk In London— The Battle of Stoke— The Queen crown> d — fredi Insurr-ction in the North, and the Karl of Northumberland killed by the Populace -Henry's Inirralitudo to the Duke of Brittany— Baltic of St. Aubin— Peace b twixt France aid Brittany— Marriage of the Duchess of Brittany and Maximiiian of Germany— Appeals to Henry "' 92 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d.1492- expenses, and 125,000 crowns in gold as arrears of the pension paid to Edward IV. by Louis XL He was also to continue this pension of 25.000 crowns to Henry and his heirs. The whole amount which Henry sacked was 745,000 crowns, equal to £400.000 of our present money. The members of his council, who openly acted the part of petitioners of this peace, are said not only to have been instructed by Henry to perform tliis obnoxious duty, buc to have been gained by the bribes of the French king, who was anxious to make short work of it, that he might proceed on an expedition which he had set his mind upon against Naples. They went about declaring that it was the most glorious peace that any king of England ever made with France, and that if Henry's subjects presumed to censure it, they were ready to take all the blame upon themselves. Having used all these precautions to ward off the reproaches of his subjects, Henry ratified the peace on the 6th of November, and led back his army to England. There, though he had the money safely in his chests, the disappointment and indignation of the people were extreme, and tended to diminish his sordid satisfaction. The people protested that he had been trading on the honour of the nation, and had sold its interests and reputation for his own vile gain. He had promised to make the war maintain itself, and he had done so as it regarded himself, and more, it had been a most lucrative speculation, but to the country at large nothing could be more ruinous and disgraceful. The barons and great chieftains who had petitioned for peace, had, it was supposed, been refunded the expenses they had incurred for the war, but this only aggravatedthe murmurs of the majority of the knights and gentlemen who had ruined themselves to equip themselves and followers. Never had there been higher hopes excited of riches and honours to be acquired ; never was there such a disappointment ! Hall, speaking of the mor- tified warriors, says , — " They were in fumes, angry and evil content, railing and murmuring amongst themselves, that the occasion of so glorious a victory, to them mani- festly offered, was by certain conditions, honourable to no man, nor yet so to the king, put by and shamefully slacked." Henry was exceedingly unpopular in consequence of his proceedings in this pretended war, and his enemies did not neglect to avail themselves of that circumstance. During the past year, and before proceeding to France, a young man had hmded in Cork, of a singularly fascinating exterior and in.sinuaiini address. He represented himself to be no other than the duke of York, the younger of the two princes who were supposed to have been murdered in the Tower. He was a fine young man, apparently exactly of the age of the duke of York, and bearing a strikmg like- ness to Edward IV. " Such a mercurial," says Bacon, " as the like hath seldom been known ; and he had such a crafty and bewitching fashion, both to move pity and iuduce belief, as was like a kind of fascination or enchant- ment." If he were an impostor, he was so admirably fiualified to act his part that he might seem created for the purpose ; and so well did he act it, that it remains a moot point to the present day whether he were the true prince or not. For our own part, we can have little doubt as to the matter. It was the age of impostors. Lambert Sim- nel bad been only recently played off, and that but clumsily. He had been originally designed to support this character ; but had, for reasons best known to the cunspirators, been made to assume that of the earl of Warwick. As we have surmised, probably as the queen-dowager was concerned in it, that plot had not meant to do more than alarm Henry, and induce him to act more favourably towards the queen and the party of York. Transparent as was the delusion, it had actually shaken Henry on his throne, and led to a sanguinary conflict. This plot, more adapted to the increased resentment of the Y''orkist5, appeared to have a deeper and deadlier aim. The queen-dowaaer did not appear in it ; and it therefore struck more ruthlessly at the very existence of the king and his whole line. It was in the highest degree artful in its construction, and widely supported by high and influential men. It had in it all the marks of proceeding from that manufactory of treason against Henry — the court of the duchess-dowager of Bur- gundy. This princess, the sister of Edward IV., with all her virtues, was a deadly enemy of Heory Tudor. She hated him as the overturner of her own family ; she hated him still more intensely for his insult to her house in his treatment of the queen and her mother, and his settled repugnance to the whole party of York. There can be little doubt, therefore, that this scheme, as well as that of Simnel, was concocted at her court. That the present pretender could not possibly be the real duke of York is sufficiently clear to our minds for these two reasons : — when Richard III. determined to murder the two princes, it was to exterminate the male offspring of Edward IV., and it is not likely that he would have suffered one of the two to escaped Had he done so, he had better have done nothing ; for to stain bis hands in the blood of the elder would have been utterly useless while the younger re- mained. If the duke of York, therefore, had really escaped, we do not believe that he would have murdered the prince of Wales. So long as the duke of York was with his mother in the sanctuary, she, and every one, felt that the prince of Wales was safe, even in the Tower. But once in the Tower together, their doom was sealed. The only possibility of escape must have been in the fact of the hired assassins turning tender, like the robbers with the babes in the wood, and allowing the intended victims to escape. But would they murder one and save the other ? Such a thing is contrary to nature. If they resolved to spare one they would spare both. But the discovery of the bones of the two boys long afterwards, buried precisely where it might be expected that they lay, in one coffin or chest, and tallying in every circumstance of age and relative size, sufficiently proves that they spared neither. Henry himself, as we shall see, was anxious to discover these remains, as a positive evidence of the actual death c>f both the buys, but could not. Tnat discovery was reserved to a much later period, and was the result of accident, rendering the result the more oonclasive, as there could tlien bo no suspicion even that Henry had these skeletons first buried and then found. The whole of the evidence compels us to regard the present pretended duke of York as thoroughly an impostor as Simnel himself. What would appear to have been the real story of this remarkable pretender, so far as we can gather from the records of the time, is this : — Margaret, the dnchess-dowager of Burgundy, having played off Lambert Simnel, devised this scheme, or was sup- A.D. 1492.] THE PERKIN WAEBECK CONSPIRACY. 93 plied with it by the Yorkist refugees at her court, who had immediate and constant communion with the heads of the Yorli faction in England. A young man was industriously sought after who should well represent the duke of York, though she knew him to be dead. Such a youth was found in the son, or reputed son, of one John Osbeck, or Warbeok, a renegade Jew of Tournaye. This Warbeck had lived and carried on business in London in Edward IV. 's time, and had dealings with the king, who was so free with him that the Jew prevailed on him to become godfather to his child, who was called Peter, and whose name became converted into the diminutive of Peterkin or Perkin. Others assert that Warbeck's wife had been amongst the numerous favourites of Edward, and that this Perkin was really his son — whence the striking resemblance, the cleverness and liveliness of his character. Warbeok had returned to Fianders, and there, in course of time, his son had attracted the attention of the Yorkist conspirators as the very youth, in all respects, for their purpose. He was intro- duced to the duchess, who found him already familiar with the whole story of Edward's court from the past affairs and position there of his parents. The duchess was enraptured with the discovery. She formed the most sanguine expectations of success, from the beauty of the youth, the gracefulness and comeliness of his address, the quickness of his intellect, and the gentle suavity of his manners. She taught him to personate the duke of York, and it is probable he assumed the character with the more facility from a belief that he was indeed a son of king Edward, and, therefore, the legitimate heir being removed, in some sense a fair claimant of the crown. So soon as he appeared duly indoctrinated and accomplished for his part, to prevent any premature discovery, he was sent to Portu- gal, in the suite of lady Brompton, the wife of one of the exiles. Whilst he was concealed there, the indefatigable duchess gave it out that the duke of York was alive, and would not fall in due time to appear and assert his right. The scheme being now matured and the chief actor ready, they only waited for the true moment for his appearance. That came in the prospect of Henry being involved in war with Prance. As soon as this seemed inevitable, the pre- tended duke of York landed in Ireland. The York faction was still strong in that country, and spite of the failure of the former pretender, Simnel, the Iri.'ih were ready, to a certain extent, to embrace another claimant of Henry's crown. He landed at Cork, where the mayor and others of that city received him as the true Richard Plantagenet, as, no doubt, they had previously agreed to do. Many of the credulous people flocked after him, but the more prudent stood aloof. He wrote to the earls of Desmond and Kildare, inviting them to join his standard, but those powerful noblemen kept a cautious distance. Kililare had been dis- gr.aced by Henry for his reception of Simnel, and dreaded his more deadly vengeance in case of a second failure. But Warbeck, undismayed, spread everywhere the exciting story of his escape from the cruelty of his uncle Rich.ird, and was gradually making an impression on the imaginative mind of Ireland, when a summons came to a new scene. Charles VIII. of France was now menaced by Henry with invasion. He knew the man too well to doubt the real object of his menace, and the power of money to avert it, but it was of consequence to reduce the bribe as much as possible ; and every instrument which promised to assist in effecting that was most valuable. Such an instrument was this soi-disant duke of York, who had suddenly appeared in Ireland. The watchful duchess of Burgundy is said to h.ave adroitly turned Charles's attention to this mvsterious individual through the agency of one Prion, a man who had been a secretary of Henry, but who had been won over by his enemies. Charles caught at the idea,— an invitation was instantly despatched to Perkin Warbeck to hasten to the French court, where he was " to hear of something to his advantage," and he was received by the king as the undoubted duke of York and true monarch of England. Perkin's person, talents, and address, being worthy of a real prince, won him the admiration of all who approached him ; and not only the court and capital, but the whole of France soon rang with praise of the accomplishments, the adventures, and the unmerited misfortunes of this last of the Plantagenets. The king settled upon him a princely income ; a magnificent abode was assigned him, and a body-guard befitting a royal personage was conferred upon him, of which the lord of Concressault was made captain. The news of this cordial reception of the reputed duke of York by the French court iJew to England, and Sir George Neville, Sir John Taylor, and above a hundred gentlemen hastened to Paris, and offered to him their devoted services. This decided and rapidly growin" demonstration had the effect which Charles contemplated. Henry was greatly alarmed, and hastened to closa the negotiations for peace. These once signed, the puppet had done its work in France. Henry made earnest demands to have Warbeck handed over to him, but Charles, who, no doubt, was bound by agreement with the duchess of Burgundy to refuse any such surrender, declared that to do so would be contrary to his honour; but he gave the pretender a hint to quit the kingdom, and he retired to the court of Burgundy. There all was conducted with consummate art. Warbeck was made to throw himself upon the protection of the duchess as though he were an entire stranger to her person and court. He declared himself to be her nephew, the unfortunate duke of York, whose life had been sought I>y Richard III., and whose throne was usurped by Henry Tudor. He craved her assistance as the most kind and powerful asserter of the claims of his house, and offered to lay before her the most convincing proofs of his birth and history. The duchess acted her part with the utmost ability. She repelled him roughly as an impostor. She said she had been already imposed npon by one impostor, and that was enough : she would not become the dupe of another. The youth affected to be greatly grieved by this reception from so near and influential a relative, and the duchess bade him lay before her his pretences, and she engaged to prove him an impostor before all the world. When he had made his statements she questioned and scrutinised them with the utmost minuteness and severity. She put a variety of questions to him regarding her brother, king Edward, his queen, and family, and appeared gradually giving way to a-stonishment at his answers. At length, after a long and searching scrutiny, she appeared over- whelmed by amazement, burst into tears, and embracing the young man with a transport of emotion, exclaimed, " I have found my long-lost nephew : he is, indeed, the duke of York!" The duchess now heaped on Perkin all the marks of 91 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. H91. nffection and the honours which she would have deemed due to her own nephew. She ordered every one to give him the homage belonging to a real king: she appointed him :i guard of thirty halberdiers, and styled him the " White llose of England." On all occasions her conduct towards liim was that of an affectionate aunt, who regarded him as the head of her family, and the heir of the brightest crown in Europe. This full acknowledgment by the duchess of the claims of the pretended prince produced the most wonderful effect on the English in Flanders, and excited a correspondent sensation in England. Not merely the common people, but men of the highest rank, who hated Henry, showed a powerful inclin.ition to favour the pretensions of Warbeck. Lord Fitzwatcr, Sir Simon Montfort, and Sir Thomas Thwaites were avowed partisans. Sir Robert Clifford and William Barley hastened over to Brussels to satisfy them- selves of the real merits of the cise. They were admitted by the duchess to converse with Perkin at their utmost liberty ; and the result was that Sir Robert wrote to Eng- land that, as his friends tliere knew, he was well acquainted with the person of tlie duke of York, and, after full and satisfactory examination, he was perfectly certain that this was the very prince, and that there could not be a doubt upim the subject. Information of so positive a character, from a man of so distinguished a position and reputation, pro- duced the profoundest effect in England. The conspiracy grew amain, and an active correspondence was kept up betwixt the malcontents in Flanders and at home, for the dethronement of Henry and the restoration of the house of York. It is not to be supposed that the tempest which was gathering around Henry had escaped his attention. On the contrary, he was aware of all that was passing, and with the caution and concealment of his character, he was •at work to couuteract the operations of his enemies. The lirst object with him was to convince the public that the real duke of York had perished at the same time as his brother, Edward V. Nothing, he concluded, would be so effectual for this purpose as the evidence of those who had always been held to be concerned in the death of the young princes. Of five implicated, according to universal belief, two only now survived, namely. Sir James Tyrrel, who had taken the place of Sir Robert Brackeubury, lieutenant of t!ie Tower, during the night of the murder, and John l>ighton, one of the actual assassins. These two were secured and interrogated, and their evidence was precisely that whicli we have stated when relating the murder of the princes. The bodies, therefore, wore sought for, but as the chaplain was dead who was supposed to have witnessed their removal, according to the order of Richard III., they could not then be found and produced. The testimony of Tyrrel and Dighton, however, was published and circulated as widely as possible, and these two miscreants, after their full and frank avowal of the perpetration of this diabolical murder, were, to the disgrace of the king and of public justice, again allowed to go free. Every one, however, must perceive at once how important it was to Henry that the real witnesses of that murder should exist, and be forthuoming to confound any one pretendii-.g to be cither of these princes. Henry next applied to the archduke Philip, the son of Maximilian and Mary of Burgundy, and now sovereign of the Netherlands in his own right, to deliver up to him the impostor, Warbeck, who, he contended, was entertained in his dominions contrary to the existing treaties, and the amity betwixt the two sovereigns. But Margaret had the inlluence to render his application abortive. Philip pro- fessed to have every desire to oblige his great ally, Henry of England, but he pleaded that Margaret was sole ruler in her own states, and, though he might advise her in this matter, he could not control her. Henry resented the polite evasion by stopping all commercial intercourse be- tween England and the Low Countries, by banishing all Flemings from his dominions, and recalling his own sub- jects from Flanders ; and Philip retaliated by issuing similar edicts. Henry, resolved to undermine and explode the whole conspiracy, despatched his spies in all directions among the Yorkists. He sent over gentlemen of rank and position to Brussels, where Margaret held her court, to pretend adhesion to Perkin Warbeck, and thus to insinuate them- selves into the confidence of the leaders of the party. These gentlemen Henry pretended to regard as the most vile traitors ; he denounced them as outlaws, and had them publicly excommunicated with every sigr, of resentment and show of contumely. Regarded, therefore, as martyrs to the cause of Warbeck, they were all the more patronised by that adventurer and Margaret, and soon made them- selves masters of the whole of their plot, and the list of their accomplices in England. They succeeded in bringing over Sir Robert Clifford and his associate William Barley, if, indeed, Clifford had not been in Henry's pay from the first, for he was a Lancastrian, and a son of that Clifford who so ruthlessly slew the young earl of Rutland at Wake- field. Clifford, who stood high in the favour of Margaret and Warbeck, was consequently a most dangerous enemy. Prepared with a catalogue of all the secret supporters of the plot in England, Henry suddenly arrested, on a charge of high treason, the lord Fitzwater, Sir Simon Montford, Sir Thomas Thwaites, Robert Ratclifte, William Daubeueyi Tliomas Cressemer, and Thomas Astwood. Besides these, various clergymen were also seized ; amongst them. Sir William Kicheford, doctor of divinity, and Sir Thomas Poynes, both of them friars of St. Doaiiuick's order. Dr. William Sutton, Sir William Worseley, dean of St. Paul's, Sir Richard Bfessey, and Robert Layborne. All these were arraigned, convicted, and condemned for high treason, as aiders and encouragers of Perkin Warbeck. Fitzwatcr, Ratclifte, Montford, and Daubeney were executed. Fitz- watcr not in the first instance, but, having been consigned to prison in Calais, he was soon convicted of endeavouring to bribe his keeper in order to his escape, and was then put to death. Those of the clerical order were reprimanded, and set at liberty ; but, says the clironicler, few of them lived long after. This seizure of so many who were engaged in this con- spiracy, struck terror through all who were guilty. They saw that they were betrayed ; they could not tell who wero the traitors, and numbci's of them fied instantly into the nearest sanctuaries. But there remained a conspirator far higher than any who had yet been unveiled, a conspirator where it was least expected, in the immediate vicinity of the throne, and in the person who more than all others, perhaps, had con- tributed to place Henry upon it. His name stood in the 1195. J EXECUTION OP SIR WILLIAM STANLEY. 95 secret list of traitors furnished by Clifford, but he had been left for a morfi striking and dramatic discovery, for a denouement calculated to produce the most startlisg and profound impression. After the festivities of Christmaa the king took up his residence in the Tovrer. For, when erents lie feared, or planned, ilreiv niRti, Still in tiiese walls that rannarch loved to lie; Tliese, safe for hira, barred utliera from support; 1 These held in gacre his nobles, called to court; These scref ned from 8i[;ht. and yet secured arrests; Here eueats were captives, captives seemed but gneata ; And barona, wont tlie distant law to modi, Here learned obeisance to its bench and block. Such entered now. but none betrayed misdoubt, Whicli some might inly feel, of issuing out. For, through the arch as passed the rearward cuard, The double Rates were shouldered to and b irred. The sunset's cannon thundered in the breeze, The warders shouted — "Pass king Henry's keys." MoitE's State Trials. Henry, seated in this awful den of royalty, this palace- prison of fearful memories, was holding his council on the 7tb of January, 1495. If there were one man more distin- guished than another by the royal favour in that august circle, wo may say, in the language of the great lawyer already quoted under his nom de plume of Nicholas Thirning Moile : — ".Seel •Tis Stanley, lord great chamberlain— 'tis he Whose ton.iue the senate, sword the battle sways, Unmatched in botii, since CliiTord both betrays^ Hailed as St. Michael— militant and mild I llow graced, how gemmed, oh fortune's favourite child ! Gray autumn's frost thy temple vainly tries, The blaze of summer's noon illumes fliine eyes, Yet sorrow shades that look, or cares disturb." Sir William Stanley had burst upon Richard III. at Bosworth Field, at the critical moment, slain his standard- bearer, and, by his followers, killed the tyrant. Hia brother, lord Stanley, b.ad put the crown of the fallen monarch on Henry's head. For this he had been created earl of Derby, and had been allowed to ally himself to the throne by the marriage of Henry's mother, the countess of Richmond. Sir William had been made lord chamberlain, and both brothers htid been glutted, as it were, witli the wealth and estates of proscribed families. There were no men — not even Fox and Morton — who were supposed to stand so high, not merely in the favour but in the friend- ship of Henry. In the midst of the council the outl.awed traitor Clifford, who was supposed at this moment to be at the court of Margaret of Burgundy, was announced, to the terror and astonishment of the lords of the council, for he was known now, or violently suspected to be at the bottom of all the late arrests. He prayed admission on the plea that he not only craved the king's pardon for past offences, but bore information essential to the king's safety. He was ad- mitted, and falling on his knees he made the humblest confession of his treasons against the king, and implored the royal clemency. All this was undoubtedly preconcerted by Henry, and for this reason he had taken up his quarters in the Tower ; yet he affected to be .is much astonished at the apparition of Clifford as anybody, and told the traitor that the only means by which ho could hope for pardon was by revealing the very bottom of the Warbeck conspi- racy. Thereupon Clifford named Sir William t^tanley as the very soul of the treason, and the main bcpe of the traitors. The king, starting in well assumed horror, declared the thing impossible. But this was only to render necessary a full revelation of all the charges against Sir William, and the proofs of them. Clifford declared himself ready to produce the gr.ivest charges, the strongest proofs, and the king bade Sir William keep his private room in the .square tower, and that the whole case should be heard in the morning. Accordingly, Clifford, appearing before the council the nest day, charged Sir William Stanley with being the chief instigator and abettor of himself .and others. He was declared to be in secret correspondence -with Warbeck and Margaret of Burgundy, and to have supplied money for the carrying out of the rebtllion. Clifford stated that he had entertained himself, though a proclaimed traitor and outlaw, at his castle of Holt in Wales, last year at Easter, and had then declared that " if lie were sure that that young man, meaning Warbeck. were king Edward's son, he would never bear arms against him." Clifford reminded the king that Sir William, through the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., and Richard III., had shifted with the times, and always contrived to take the side of the new claimant. He reminded Henry how at Bosworth to the very last moment, he, and his brother Derby, had waited to see which side was likely to win, and then rushing on, had borne away the credit of the victory. In reply, Stanley seems to have been so satisfied that Henry had planned his downfall, that he adtditted a certain degree of complicity, and threw himself on the mercy of the king. Probably, neither ho nor any of the council expected that Henry would proceed to extremities with so distinguished a favourite, especially considering the near relation of his brother to the royal house. But, if so, they were mistaken. The cold and crafty Henry h;id resolved to make an example which should strike terror through the hearts of all the disaffected, and convince them that no secrecy would screen from discovery, and no circum- stances save them from his vengeance. But there was one thing which, more than all others, was believed to steel Henry against all temptation to pardon Stanley, and that was his vast wealth. Sir William was regarded as the richest subject of the time. By his attainder, money and plate to the amount of forty thousand marks, besides jewels and other property of great value, would all go into the king's coffers, and an estate of £3.000 per annum, old rent, would fall to the crown. The writers of the time seem to regard the possession of such tempting affluence as the fatal item against him in Henry's eyes, and, accordingly, he was condemned and executed on Tower-hill, on the lath of February, 1498. The traitor Clifford received a reward of £000 for his base services, but Henry never again trusted biiu, and he slunk .away into ignominious obscurity. The fall of Stanley was a paralysing blow to the parti- sans of Warbeck. They saw that even that great noble- man, while apparently living in the very centre and blaze of royal favour, had been surrounded by spies who watched all his actions, heard his most secret communications, and carried them all to the king. No man who was in any degree implicated felt himself safe. Henry's cautious and severe temper, while it made him hated, made him propor- tionately feared, .\ssurcd by the success which iiad attended all his measures, Henry every day displayed more and more the grasping avarice of his disposition, and accusa- 00 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOSY OP ENGLAND. tions and heavy fines foil thickly around. He fined SirWilliam Capcl, alderman of London, for some offence, £2,743 ; and, though he failed to secure the whole, he obtained £I,G15. Encouraged by this, he repeated the like attempts ; and, while he depressed the nobility, he especially countenanced unprincipled lawyer?, as the ready tools of his rapacity. Whilst this conduct, however, kept alive the rancour of many influential people, it rendered the common people passive ; for they escaped the oppressions of many petty tyrants, who were kept in check by the one great one. AN'arbeck's party, therefore, was greatly disabled. It was now three years since he made his appearance, but, with the exception of his brief visit to Ireland, he had attempted nothing in Henry's dominions. But the Flemings, who were smarting under the restrictions put upon their trade with England, began to murmur loudly, and the archduke Cliarles to remonstrate warmly with Margaret on account of the countenance given to the English insurgents. Under these circumstances it was necessary for Warbeck and his adherents to make an effort of some kind. Taking advantage, therefore, of the absence of Uenry on a visit to bis mother at Latham House, in Lancashire, Warbeck and a few hundred followers made a descent in July on the coast of Kent, near Deal. It was hoped that Henry's severity would have made numbers ready to join them. The people, indeed, assembled under the guidance of some gentlemen of property, and, professing to favour Warbeck, invited him to come on shore. But he, or those about him, observing that the forces collected had nothing of that tumultuous impetuosity about them which usually charac- terises insurgents in earnest, kept aloof, and the men of Kent perceiving that they could not draw Warbeck into the snare, fell on his followers already on land, and, besides killing many of them, took one hundred and sixty-nine prisoners. The rest managed to get on board again, and Warbeck, seeing what sort of a reception England gave him, sailed back with all speed to Flanders. The prisoners were tied together like teams of cattle, and driven to Lon- don, where they were all condemned and executed to a man, in various places, some at London and Wapping, some on the coasts of Kent, Sussex, Essex, and Norfolk, where they were gibbeted, as a warning to any fresh adven- turers who might appear on those shores. Flanders was now become no durable place of sojourn for Perkin and his party. The Flemings would no longer submit to the interruption of their trade ; and the archduke entered into a treaty with Henry, which contained a stipu- lation that Philip should restrain the duchess Margaret from harbouring any of the king's enemies, and that the two princes should expel from their territories all the enemies of each other. This treaty was ratified on the 24th of February, 1490, and thereupon Warbeck betook himself to Ireland. But there he found a sensible change had taken place since his former visit. The king had sent over Sir Edward Poj'nings as lord-deputy, who had taken such measures that the people were much satisfied. The earls of Desmond and Kildare had been pardoned, and the same grace had been accorded to all the other malcontents, except lord Barry and O'Water. On landing at Cork, therefore, the Irish refused to recognise their late idol, and from Cork he sailed away to Scotland. There a new and surprising turn of fortune awaited him. For a long time hi8 interest bad been on the decline. In Flanders the [a.d. 1490. public had grown weary of him ; in England they had en- deavoured to entrap him ; from Ireland they had repulsed him. At Cork his fortunes appeared at the lowest ebb ; in Edinburgh they rose at once into a new and astonishing bloom. He is said to have presented letters of recom- mendation from Charles VIII. of France and from his great patroness the duchess-dowager of Burgundy; and James IV. of Scotland received him with open arms. To understand this enthusiastic reception in Scotland we must take a short review of events there. We have already seen the position in which James HI. and his nobility stood to each other. The attachment of James to men of letters and of artistic t.aste, and his undisguised contempt of the rude and ignoriint nobles of his time, had led to revolt, and to the hanging of Cochrane and his other ministers over the bridge of Lauder in 14S2. Since that time James, taught wisdom by these events, had roused himself to more exertion in the affairs of his kingdom. He had attached to his interests some of the wisest of the dignified clergy, and won over some of the most powerful of his nobles. He had put down the faction of Albany and Douglas, and knit up a strong bond of union with France, Flanders, and the northern courts of Europe. He was seeking to unite himself closely with Henry of England by marrying the queen-dowager, and securing for two of his sons two of her daughters. But this very wisdom and sound policy as they were rapidly augmenting his power, alarmed those who had formerly risen against him ; and to prevent falling into his hands, they exerted themselves, as had fre- quently been the case in Scotland before, to secure the interest of the heir-apparent, and turn him as their instru- ment against his father. James, his eldest son, the duke of Eothsay, was a youth of only fifteen at the time, and they succeeded in in- flaming his mind against his father, and flattering him by the hope of placing him immediately on the seat of supreme power. The marriage of the king with the English princess had been delayed by his refusing to comply with Henry's demand that the surrender of Berwick should make an item of the contract ; and it is supposed that the dis- affected barons had found in Henry a willing listener to their views. In 1487 the barons, with prince James at their head, took arms against their king, and Henry of England, vexed at the resistance of James III. to the surrender of Berwick, did not hesitate to treat with them, and with the revolted son as king of Scots, and to give passports to their ambas- sadors to liis court. James took the field against the rebels with an army of thirty thousand men ; and had he pro- ceeded with the firmness of an indignant monarch rather than the tenderness of a father, he would speedily have dispersed and destroyed his enemies. But, like another David with another Absalom, he was more anxious to treat and to forgive than to fight and subdue. Having succeeded, as he supposed, in coming to terms with the rebellious son and subjects, the unwary king disbanded his army and returned to Edinburgh. But the ungrateful insurgents kept their forces together, and the abused king found himself obliged again to draw out against them near Sterling, one mile only from the celebrated field of Bannockburn, at a place called Little Canglar. The king was mounted on a large gray charger vriiich bad been presented to him by lord Lindsay of the Byres, A.i'. 1496.] EEIGN OP HENBY VII. 97 'pSt^Ji^ MiM ,.-r^-, ; id' IP- LONDON IN IHE FIFTEENTa CENTCUT. LFrom an Illumination in Eoyal MS. IC F. 2, representing the Captivity of the Duke of Orleans.] 61 98 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1406 with these ominous words, " If your grace will only sit well, his speed will outdo all I have over seen, either to Aee or follow." The battle was fiercely contested, the unnatural son was posted at the head of the insurgent host, opposite to the too kind father. The lords surrounding the king, fearing danger to the royal persun, most fatally advised him to withdraw from the conflict, and let them fight it out. The king rode off towards Bannockburn, — thus, in the most effectual manner, disheartening his troops, who were soon after put to the rout. But before this took place the unfortunate king, while crossing the Bannock, at the hamlet of Mill- toun, came suddenly upon a woman filling a pitcher of water. The woman, seeing an armed horseman jnst upon her, let drop the pitcher on the stones in affright j the king's horse, startled at the noise, and probably at the woman's gestures of alarm, shyed, and threw the monarch, who, fall- ing in his beary armour, was stunned and fainted. He Knight in complete Armour. 15th century. Harl. IfSS. 4,379-80. was soon carried into the cottage by the inliabitants, and such stimulants as they had, probably whisky, were applied to recall his consciousness. On learning who the sufferer was the woman ran out calling for assistance for the king, and e.ipociiilly for a priest. A soldier from the prince's army, catching at the word " king," declared that he was a priest, and oiitiring, pretended to stoop over him to administer ghostly consolation, Imt instead of that stabbed him to the heart. Some hiKtorians assert this to have been a priest of the rebel army, of the name of Borth- wiok — but though James IV. afterwards offered a largo reward for the discovery of the villain, no one was ever brought to justice. By Buoh means did James IV. succeed to the throne of Scotland in 1488. lie is said to have issued a proclama- tion just before the battle forbidding any one, under the severest penalties, laying hands on the king. He was a youth of an ardent and impetuous temperament, and, no doubt, had been induced to believe, by the refractory barons, that it was necessary for the good of the country to oppose and control the king, who, they represented most falsely, was rrady to surrender the independence of the realm to the king of England. But no pleas can excuse his conduct, which was unnatural and ungrateful, nor could his own conscience afterwards justify him. James IV. of Scotland, though, to his perpetual regret, his ascent of the throne had been thus culpable, was a brave, generous, and patriotic monarch. As he came to reflect seriously on the part he had taken against the king his father, he was not slow to perceive that he had been made the instrument of the factious nobles, and that Henry Vll. of England had not neglected to secretly foment the Scottish troubles. When Henry afterwards offered him his daughter Margaret, he, therefore, unceremoniously rejected the offer. The disposition which Henry was said to have shown to encourage his subjects, during the truce, to molest the Scottish merchantmen at the very mouth of the Forth, was highly resented by James, who supported bis admiral, Wood, of Largo, in severely chastising the pirates, and did not fail to warn Henry that such practices must not be repeated. The dislike which James entertained for the insidious character of Henry, who began that system of bribing the notiles around the throne of Scotland, which was never discontinued so long as a Tudor reigned, and which ended in the destruction of Mary, queen of Scots, was violently aggravated by a base attempt of Henry in 1490. This was no other than a scheme to seize and carry off James to England. Ramsay, lord Bothwell, the favourite of the late king, who had fled to England, the carl of Buchan, recently pardoned, and Sir Thomas Tod, a Scottish gentleman, entered into agreement with Henry VII. to seize the king of Scotland and his brother the duke of Ross, and deliver them into the hands of the English monarch. Henry advanced them the sum of £2UU to enable them to carry out this base enterprise ; but with his unconquerable regard for his moivy, binding them to repay it by a certain day, in case of failure. To insure this, Tod delivered his sun as a hostage. The original contract, drawn up at Oreenwich, for this diabolical deed, still exists, and intimates that various other persons besides Bothwell, Buchan, and Tod were concerned in the affair. So uncon- scious was James of this treason meditated against his person, that at the very moment he was sending the arch- bishop of St. Andrew's to meet the commissioners of Henry, for the adjustment of all border differences, and for the promotion of the general peace of the two kingdoms. Though this plot failed, another was soon after concocted by Henry with the malcontent earl of Angus, of wliich James received due notice, and on the return of Angus ordered him into restraint in his castle of Tantallan, and deprived him of his lands and lordships of Liddisdale, nod the strong fortress of Hermitage. These treacherous pro- ceedings of king Henry sank deep into the mind of Jame^, and he was anxious to break with England and carry some retributive trouble into Henry's own kingdom. In this temper of the Scottish king nothing could oome more opportunely than such a person as Perkin Warheok. James bad, from the Hist moment of mounting hia throne, been careful to strengihi-n his alliances with the whole European continent. With France, Spain, Portugal, Den- mark, and Flanders, his intercourse, both official and meroantile, was active and constant. Of course, James 1496.] WAEBBCK INVADES ENGLAND. 99 was kept in full information of all that was agitating as it regarded England. With the duchess of Burgundy, the inveterate enemy of Henry, it is clearly provable tiiat James was in secret correspondence only five months after his accession. In 1488 even there were busy mes- sengers and heralds passing to and fro betwixt Flanders, Ireland, and Scotland. In that year Margaret of Burgundy sent Sir Richard Hardelman and Richard LuJelay to Dublin, and thence to Edinburgh on a secret mission. This intercourse continued and grew in activity. James sent his newly-created earl of Bothwell to the court of France while Warbeck was there. Monipenny, the Sieur de Conoressault, a Scotchman by descent, was at that time captain of the guard of Warbeck, and soon after w.as sent as ambassador to James's court. In 1491, when Warbeck was in Ireland, this intercourse was more open. Warbeck, after being received by Desmond and Kildare, sent Edward Orciond as his envoy to the Scottish court, where he was cordially received by James ; and in 1494 the duchess of Burgundy announced to James that the prince of England was about to visit Scotland, and James made preparations for his reception in Stirling. From all these circumstances, which are attested by the ■" Treasurer's Accounts," and other records of Scotland, it is manifest that James was intimately informed of every- thing which could be known about Warbeck. There could t)e no mistake made by James in his reception of that per- sonage, when, in November, 1495, he presented himself at the palace of Stirling. Whatever James did he did with his eyes wide open and his mind fully made up. Yet from the very first he received him apparently with the most undoubting faith as to his being the true Plantagenet. Events indeed had recently occurred which might have cooled a less sincere or less incensed man than James- Henry VII. had undoubtedly been kept well informed by his emissaries of what was passing both at the Scottish and Burgundian courts. InScotland,Henry had nobles in pay ; in Brussels, besides others, the banished lord Ramsay of Both- well, was his fee'd agent, and Clifford had proceeded to England and revealed the whole plot. It was probably the project of the Yorkists to astonish and overwhelm Henry by a simultaneous rising in England, Scotland, and Ireland. For this purpose, in 1494, O'Donnel, prince of Tyrconnel, one of the most powerful chiefs of Ireland, had gone over to the Scottish court. But Clifford's treason disconcerted the whole scheme, and instead of James marching down upon England in the north while Warbeck invaded it in the south, and Ireland was ready to succour either force, the adventurer was repulsed both from England and Ireland, and came rather like a hopeless fugitive than a rising prince to Scotland. Yet not the less did James welcome him with all the honours of royalty, or the warmth of a zealous partisan. Warbeck was welcomed into Scotland with much state and rejoicing as tlie veritable duke of York. James ad- dressed him as "cousin," and celebrated tournaments and other courtly gaieties in his honour. The reputed prince, by his noble appearance, the simple dignity of his manners, and tlie romance of his story and supposed misfortunes, everywhere excited the Iiighest admiration. James made a grand progress with him through his dominions, and beheld him wherever he appeared produce the most favour- able impression. If James did not himself really believe Warbeck to be the duke of York before he came to Scot- land, his conduct during his abode there seems to have convinced him of it. At no time was he known to express a doubt of it, and on all oeoasions he spoke and acted as if morally certain of it. Nothing could be more convincing than his giving him to wife one of the most beautiful and high-born women of Scotland, the lady Catherine Gordon, daughter of the earl of Huntly, and granddaughter of James I. James now mustered his forces for the grand expedition which he hoped would drive Henry from the throne of England, and establish there the son of Edward IV., in the person of Warbeck. He was accompanied by this extraor- dinary pretender, who seemed to have united in him all the graces and accomplishments of a true prince. As the army was about to march there arrived a supply of arms, har- ness, crossbows, and military stores from the duchess of Burgundy, and from Charles of France came the count do Conoressault, an old and intimate friend of Warbeck's, as ambassador. Publicly, Conoressault professed to exert him- self by command of his master to promote peace betwixt James and Henry, privately he urged zealously the invasion of England, to counteract the subtle proceedings of Henry, who had knit up a confederacy betwixt Spain, Flanders, and some of the Italian states, to hold in check the French designs beyond the Alps. These apparently auspicious ciroumatances were rendered more flattering by the arrival at the Scottish camp, as adhe- rents of the reputed duke of York, of numbers of the chiefs from the English side of the borders; Nevilles, Dacros, Skcltons, Levels, Herons, &c. The appearance of these barons inspired the most exhilarating persuasion that War- beck had only to show himself in England to be universally supported. Meantime Henry VII. was diligently at work at his favou.-ite plans of bribing and undermining. He had an active agent in Ramsay lord Bothwell, whom James bad weakly permitted to return to Scotland. By his means Henry had won over the king's brothers, the duke of Ross, the earl of Buchan, and the bishop of Moray. Tliesc traitors engaged to do everything in their power to defeat the expe- dition. The duke of Ro?s promised to put himself under the protection of the king of England the moment his brother crossed the borders. Nor did the plot stop there. Again there was a scheme to seize James at night in his tent, suggested by Henry and entered into by Bothwell, Buchan, and Wyat, an English emissary. This disgraceful plot was defeated by the vigilance of the royal guard, but not the less actively did the paid spies of Henry Tudor, including some of the most powerful barons in Si;otland, labour to defeat the success of the enterprise. They accom- panied the army only with the hope of betraying it, while their efforts were essentially aided by the remonstrances of more honest counsellers, who doubted the wisdom of the expedition and did all they could to dissuade James from it. But James, burning with resentment at the base and insidious attempts of Henry to disturb the security of liis government, and to seize upon his person, and coveting the glory of restoring the last noble scion of a great race to the throne of his ancestors, was deaf alike to warnings of secret treason or more public danger. He made his last muster of his forces at EUam Kirk, near the English border, and proclaiming war on Henry, marched forward. 100 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.u. 1497. Warbeck, as Rich&nl dnke of Tork, at the same time issued a proclamacioa calling upon all true Engii^limen to assemble beneath the banner of the true inheritor of the orown. lie denounced Henry Tudor as a usurper, and tlie murderer of Sir William Stanley, Sir Simon Montfort, and othiTS of the ancient nobility ; of having invaded the liberties and tU'j franchises of both church and people; and of baring plundered the subjects by heavy and illegal imposi- tions. Uc pledged himself to remedy all these abuses; to restore and defend the rights and privileges of the church, the nobles, the corporations, and the commerce and manufac- tures of the country. He related the dangers through which he had passed since his escape from the Tower to tills moment, and he set a price of a th lusand pounds in money, and land to the value uf a hundred marks per aimum, on the capture or destruction of Henry Tudor. But however judiciously the proclamation was drawn up, James was confounded as he advanced to see that it pro- duced not the slightest efifect. In vain had it Lccn protested in the proclamation that James came only as the friend of the rightful king of England ; that he sought no advantage to himself — though he had really bargained for the restora- tion of Berwick, and was to be paid a thousand marks for the exp nses of the war, — and that he would retire the moment a sufficient English force appeared in the field. No such force was likely to present itself. If Warbeck had met with no success when supported by Englishmen, it was not to be expected when followed by an array of the hereditary foes of the kingdom — Scots and French, backed by Germans, Flemings, and other foreigners. When James saw that, instead of being welcomed as deliverers, they were avoided, and that the expedition was altogether hopeless, he gave way to his wrath, and began to plunder the country, or to permit his troops to de it. Warbeck remonstrated against the devastations com- mitted on the English with all the ardour of a true prince, declaring that he would rather lose the throne than gain it by the sufferings of his people. But James replied that his cousin of York was too considerate of the welfare of a nation that hesitated to acknowledge him either as king or subject. All this time the diligent Bothwell was duly informing Henry of the state of the Scottish camp, and of everything said and done in it. He now assured him that the Scottish army would soon beat a retreat, for that the ' inhabitants, in expectation of the visit, had driven off all their cattle, and removed their stores ; so that the army was on the point of starvation. This was soon veri6ed. The Scots, finding no supporters, about the end of the year retreated into their own country. The invasion from Scotland afforded Henry another pretext for raising more money. He summoned a parlia- ment in the February of 1497, to which he uttered bitter complaints of the inroad and devastations of the Scots ; of the troubles created by the impostor, and the manifold insults to the crown and nation. All this was now appa- rently blown over ; but parliament gratified the king by voting a hundred and twenty thousand pounds, together with two fifteenths. Happy in the prospect of such supplies, Henry recked little of Warbeck er the Scots ; but the tax roused the especial ^vrath of the Oornish people, who, knowing that the king only wanted to add their money to his already immense and useless hoards, wanted to know what they had to do with inroads of the Scots, who were never likely to come near them, and who bad retired of themselves, without so much as waiting f^r the sight of au army. This excitement of the brave and industrious, but hard-living Ooruish men was fanned into a flame by Michael Joseph, a farrier of Bodmin, and one Thomas Flammock, an attorney, who assured the people that the tax was totally illegal, though voted by parliament ; for that the northern counties were bound by the tenures of their estates to defend that frontier; and that if they sub- mitted to the avarice of Henry and his ministers there would be no end to it. Flammock told them that they most deliver the king a petition, seconded by such numbers as to give it authority ; but at the same time he assured them that to procure the concurrence of the rest of the kingdom they must conduct themselves with all order, and refrain from committing any injuries to person or property, demonstrating that they had only the public good in view. Armed with bills, bows. ^to-jJLit Bowmen of the 14th and 15th centurias. I axes, and other eountry weapons that they could command, they marched into Devonshire sixteen thousand strong, and called on the people to accompany them, and demand the heads of archbishop Morton and Sir Reginald Bray, who were declared to be the advisers of the obnoxious impost. At Taunton they made an example of an insolent and over- ; bearing commissioner of the tax of the name of Perin. At Wells they were joined by Thomas Touchet, lord Audley, a man of an ancient family, but said to be of a vain and ambitious character. Proud of having a nobleman at their head, they marched through Salisbury and Winchester into Surrey, and thenoe to Kent, the people of which, Flammock told them, had in all ages been noted for their independence and patriotism, and were sure to join them. They pitched their camp on Blackheath, near Elthara, but not a man joined them. The people of Kent had their causes of complaint; but they had lately shown what was their spirit, by repelling Perkin Warbeck, and they were too enlightened to join in any such ill-advised expedition. Henry had now received the new levies raised to oppose any further motion of the Scots, and he sent them forward to attack and disperse the rebels. He always regarded Saturday as his fortunate day ; there fore, on Saturday, the 22nd of June, 1497, he fire the order for the attack. He divided his forces into tfire? divisions. The first, under lord Daubeney. pushed forward to attack the insurgents in front ; the second, under the earl of Oxford, was to take a A.D. H07.] INSURRECTION IN CORNWALL. 101 compass, anJ assail them in the rear; and the king himself took post with the tliird division in St. George's Fields, to secure thii city. To throw the insurfjenta off their guard, he had given out that he should not take the 6eld for some days; and to give probability to this notion, he did not send out his advanced forces till the latter part of the day. Lord Daubeney beat an advanced gu.ird of the rebels from Deptford Bridge, and before the main body was prepared to receive him, he charged them with fury. Though they were brave men, and sixteen thousand strong, thus taken at advantage, and naturally ill-disciplined, ill-armed, and destitute of cavalry and artillery, they were soon broken and compelled to fly. Two thousand of them were slain, and lifteen hundred made prisoners. The prisoners Henry gave up to the captors, who allowed them to ransom themselves for a few shillings each. Lord Audlcy, Flammock, and Joseph only were executed. The peer was beheaded, the commoners were hanged ; and Joseph seemed to glory in the distinction, saying he should figure in history. Henry on this occasion displayed great clemency, which some have ascribed to his desire to make a good impression on the Cornish people ; others for joy that lord Daubeney had escaped, for at one time he was surrounded by the enemy, but was soon rescued. But the most probable reason was that assigned by lord Bacon : " That the harmless behaviour of this people that came from the west of England to the east, without mischief ^most, or spoil of the country, did somewhat mollify him, and move him to compassion ; or, lastly, that he made a great difference between people that did rebel upon wanton- ness, and them that did rebel upon want." James of Scotland seized on the opportunity created by the Cornish insurrection to make a fresh inroad into Eng- land. He laid siege to the castle of Norham, and plundered the country round. Henry despatched the earl of Surrey, with an array of twenty thousand men, to drive back the Scots, and punish them by carrying the war of devastation into their country. As Surrey advanced, James retired, and Surrey, following him across the Tweed, took and demolished the little castle of Ayton, ravaged the borders, and returned to Berwick. These useless and worse than useless raids, with no hope of permanent advantage on either side, but only of mischief to the unoffending inhabitants on both, were worthy only of the most savage and unen- lightened times. The spies of Henry, however, soon informed him that James was really sick of the war, and he repeated the offer made before of the hand of his daughter Margaret. This he made through the Spanish ambassador, Don Pedro d'Ayala, who came forward as a friendly mediator, thus sparing both kings the humiliation of making the first move. D'Ayala found James quite disposed for peaijo, but in a somewhat cavalier Iiumour as to the terms. Henry demanded first of all that Perkin Warbeok should be given up to him, but this James resented as an attack upon his honour, and refused. He had even melted down hi-i plate and sold the gold chain from his neck to assist Perkin, and he now spurned the idea of betraying him ; but there is little doubt that he signified his assent to his departure from Scotland. Henry then called for compensation for the raviigos committed in the late inroads ; but the Scotch commissioners replied that Henry had already taken his revenge. Again, Henry proposed that the two monarchs should meet at Newcastle, and settle all matters between them ; but as Newcastle w.as Id England, James proudly replied that though he was ready to treat for peace, he was not going a-begging for it. By the advice of d'Ayala, Henry conceded these points, and commissioners were ap- pointed to meet at Ayton, where, under the management of Fox, bishop of Durham, on the part of England, a truce was agreed upon to last for the lives of the two kings, and a year after the death of the longer liver. Though agreed upon, this important truce was not ratified for some years afterwards. Meantime, James privately admonished Warbeck to quit the kingdom, as he could no longer assist him, and his presence would only tend to endanger the truce. Warbeok is said to have received this intimation with much true dignity and good feeling. He thanked the king for the great effort he had made on his account, for all the honours and favours that he had conferred upon him, and for which he declared he should ever remain deeply grateful. A vessel was prepared for his departure at Ayr, and every comfort was provided for his accommodation which James could have offered to the true prince. His beautiful and accomplished wife would not be left behind — a proof that she was really attached to him, whatever she might think of his pretensions. She quitted rank, fortune, a high position in the Scottish court, to embrace with him a homeless life and a dark prospect. Flanders was closed to Perkin by the fresh league betwixt that country and England. Ireland was a mon than dubious resort, yet thither he turned his prow, and landed at Cork on the 30th of July, 1497, with about a hundred followers. The attempt to rouse again the enthusiasm of Ireland was vain ; but at this juncture the last gleam of Warbeck's waning fortune seemed to fall upon him. The Cornish rebels, let off so easily by Henry, had returned to their own county, proclaiming by the way that the king had not dared to put them to death becau.se the whole of his subjects were in the same state of discontent. The people of Cornwall and Devon, reassured by this, again took up arms against the commissioners, who were still collecting the tax with great severity, and, it is said, despatched a message to Warbeck to come over and head them. On the 7th of September, 1498, he accordingly landed at Whitsand Bay, with four or five small barks, and his hundred fighting men. Beingjoined by three thousand of the insurgents at Bodmin, he issued a proclamation similar to his former one. Bodmin was the native place of Michael Joseph, their great orator and leader, and the people there were burning to revenge his death. Warbeck set out on his march towards Devonshire, and thousands of those who had lost friends and relations in the bloody battle of Blackheath. joined him on the way. He sent his wife to Mount St. Michael for security, and directing his course towards Exeter, he invested that city on the 17th of September with a rude, wild force of about ten thousand men. He announced himself as Richard IV. of England, and called on the inhabitants to surrender ; but, having sent notification of his approach to king Henry, they deter- mined to defend themselves, if needful, till succour arrived. Warbeck had no artillery or engines of any kind to carry on a siege, he therefore attempted to break down the gates. At the one he was repulsed with considerable loss, the other he managed to burn down, but the citizens availed them- selves of the fire, feeding it as it failed, till they had dug a lOS OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. H97. deep trench behind the flames. When the nest morning AVnrbcck returned to force a pas-^age by that gate, the citizen? received him with such spirit that they slew two hundred of his men, and daunted the rest. Assistance was now also flowing in from the country to the city, and War- bcek was in danger of being attacked both in front and rear. Seeing this he demanded a suspension of hostilities, and depressed by this failure, his Devonshire followers began rapidly to fall away, and steal home as quickly as they could. His Cornish adherents, however, more intrepid. Encouraged him to persevere, and vowed that they would perish in his cause. In this state of desperation the pre- tender marched on towards Taunton, where he arrived on the 20th of September. The country people on their way, smarting under the infliction of the hated tax, wished them success, but did not attempt to help them. At Taunton, instead of any encouragement, they met the vanguard of the royal army, under the command of lord prevent, if possible, his entrance into sanctuary; but the fugitive succeeded in reaching the monastery of Beaulieu, in the New Forest. Henry sent a number of horsemen, in all haste, to St. Michael's Mount, in Cornwall, to obtain possession of the lady Catherine Gordon, the wife of W'arbcck. This they easily accomplished, and brought her to the king, on enter- ing whose presence she blushed and burst into tears. Henr" received her kindly — touched, for once in his life, with ten- derness, by beauty in distress ; or, probably, bearing in mind that the lady was the near kinswoman of the king of Scot<, with whom he was desirous to stand well. He sent her to the queen, by whom she was most cordially received, and in whose court she remained att;\ohed to her service. She was still called the White Rose of Scotland, on account of her beauty. LaJy Gordon was afterwards, it appears, three times married, but lies buried by the side of her second husband, Sir Matthew Cradock, in Swansea church. B«anlieu Abbey, where Pcrkin Warbcck took Sancluary. Dautcney, the lord chamberlain, and lord Broke, the steward of the household. The duke of Buckingham was just behind with a second division, and Henry was declared to be following with a still larger force. The brave Cornish men, scarcely clothed, and still worse armed, shrunk not for a moment from the hopeless combat. They vowed to perish to a man in behalf of their newly-adopted king, and Warbeck, with an air as if he would leal them into battle in the morning, rode along their lines encouraging them, and made all ready for the attack. But Warbeck, who had never shown any want of courage, perceived the utter madness of contending with his undisci- plined followers against such overwhelming odds, and in the night he mounted a fleet steed and rode off. In the morn- ing the Cornish men, seeing themselves without a leader, submitted to the king, and, with the exception of a few of the ringleaders, they were dismissed and returned home- wards as best they might. Meantime, lord Daubcney des- patched five hundred horsemen in pursuit of Warbeck, to Henry proceeded to Exeter, where he had the ring- leaders of the Cornish insurrection brought in procession before him, with halters round their necks. Some of them he hanged, the rest he pardoned ; but he, at the same time, appuinted commissioners to proceed into the country through which Perkin had passed, and to fine all such people of property as had furnished him with aid or refreshment. They did not confine their scrutiny to those who had assisted Perkin in his march, but extended it to all who had relieved the famishing fugitives; "so that," says Bacon, " their severity did much obscure the kings mercy in sparing of blood, with the bleeding of so much treasure." They extorted altogether £10,000. The next business was to get Warbeck out of his sanctuary and into the hands of the king. Beaulieu was surrounded by an armed force, and all attempts at escape made impossible. Some of Henry's council urged him to omit all ceremony, and take the pretender from the sanctuary by force ; but this he declined, preferring to lore H97.] WARBECK GIVES HIMSELF UP. 103 him thence by fair promises. After hesitating for some time, AVarbeck at length threw himself upon the king's mercy. Henry then sot out to London, with liis captive in his train. Warbeck rode in the king's suite through the city, along Cheapside, Cornhill, and to the Tower, and thence to Westminster. As the king had promised him his life, he kept his word. He was repeatedly examined by of Edward IV., by the handsome Jewess, Catherine de Faro, his birth being in Flanders, and agreeing exactly with the time of Edward's exile there. This might account for his admirable support of the character of a prince— for his confidence in his .assertion of it for so many years, and the power he had of winning the strong attachment of persons of the highest r.ank and educatioo. If tliis were Henry VII. at tbe Despatch of Business. the privy council, but it seems as if something had trans- [ true, he was, moreover, the queen's brother, though an illcgitim.'ito one and miglit win the interest of herself and sisters by his resemblance in person, and in spirit and ambition, to her father. But however this might be, he was too dangerous .a person to be allowed to get loose again. He lived at court under a strict surveillance, and he grew so weary of it, that he contrived to make his escape on the 8th of June, 119S. pired there which Henry deemed better concealed, for a profound silence was preserved on the subject of these disclosures. So far from even being degraded, like L.-imlicrt Simnel, to some menial occupation, Warbeck was suffered to enjoy a certain degree of liberty, and was treated as a gentleman. The frobability is, that the king satisfied himself that this mysterious personage was in reality a son 104 CASSELLS lULUSlRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1497. Tbc alarm was instantly given ; numbers of persons were out in pursuit of him ; every road by wbich he might escape to tea was Tisilantly beset, and the unhappy man. finding himself pressed on all sides, surrendered himself to the prior of Sh rec 'ivc a sufficient supply of the royal troops, they had haughtily refused ; when summoned to surrender by Henry, they as haughtily refused. Yet in eight days their courage had so thoroughly evaporated, that they capitulated, submitting to receive an English garrison, to swear fealty to the king, to pay fifty , gratified his overweening vanity by his favourite tourna- ments and revelries. Charles, the young duke of Burgundy, accompanied by his aunt Marg.iret, the duchess-dowager of Savoy, and regent of the Netherlands, hastened to pay his respects to the English monarch, who hod been so successfully fighting for his advantage. During the reign of Henry VII., Charles had been affianced to Mary, the daughter of Henry, and sister of the A.D. 1513.] BRANDON'S ELEVATION. 127 present king of England. As ho was then only four years of age, oaths had been plighted, and bonds to a heavy amount entered into by Henry and Maximilian for the pre- Eervation of the contract. The marriage was to take place on Charles reaching his fourteenth year. That time was now approaching ; and, therefore, a new treaty was now subscribed, by which Maximihan, Margaret, and Charles j leaving England, to the infant daughter and heiress of the late lord Lisle, so that he might succeed to both the honours ] and estate of that nobleman. But now he took it into his j head to marry Brandon to no other than Margaret the I dowager-duohess of Savoy. This lady was the daughter j of the emperor of Germany, the regent of the Netherlands, I the aunt of the heir to the mighty kingdoms of Austria, the The Battle of Spurs. (See page 125.) were bound to meet Henry, Catherine, and Mary in the following spring to complete this union. Henry endeavoured, moreover, to accomplish another m.atch. His prime favourite at this period was Sir Charles Brandon, the son of that Sir Robert Brand.m who had fallen by his father's side at Bosworth. As Honry could never heap too many favours on his reigning favourite, he had created Brandon viscount Lisle, and betrothed him, before Netherlands, and Spain. She had been already married to John, prince of Spain, and afterwards to Philibert, duke of Savoy. She had all the pride of her race and her position ; yet Henry saw no difficulty in asking her to become the wife of a simple Euglish knight, of an origin plebeian. JIargaret repelled the attempt with astonishment and indig- nutinn ; liut whether it were from some sudden fit of passion and ambition on the part of the favourite, or the whim of 12S OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1513. the monarch, he pressed his suit, and managod to estort from her some expression which seemed to favour his pro- posal. It is not likely that the lady would ever really have consented t-j this marriage — but we shall see that another equally estraordiuary alliance was reserved for Brandon. In affairs like these, the great hero of imaginary Cre9y8 and Azincuiirts had wasted the precious moments which mif;ht have made him master of Paris. Fur himself or his country he had done nothing ; for his ally, the calculating Maximilian, he had done much. Ileury had paid enormous sums of money, Maximilian had received a very desirable bhare of the disbursement. lie had got Terouenne destroyed, and Tournay into his hands, and was left in possession of ibe whole of the conquered district ; for in the late league lie was engaged to keep on foot an army of six thousand infantry and four thousand cavalry for the protection of the Low Countries, the security of Tournay, and the harassing l^f the French frontiers, — all purposes entirely concerninc himself and Charles his grandson ; and yet fur this Henry was to pay him two hundred thousand crowns, at the rate of thirty thousand per month, \yhen Henry returned to France in the following spring to complete the mSrriage of his sister, the princess of England, with Charles of Bur- gundy, he was to bring a fresh army, and fresh funds for the prosecution of the war with France. Such were the ideas of Henry VIII. of a great military genius, a successor of the Edwards and Henrys who had formerly astonished Prance. Meantime, the Swiss discover- ing what sort of an ally they had got, entered into a nego- tiation with Tremoille, the governor of Burgundy, who paid them handsomely in money, promised them much more, and saw them march oS again to their mountains. Be- lieved from those dangerous visitants, Louis once mure breathed freely. He concentrated his forces in the north, watched the movements of Henry VIII. with increasing satisfaction, and at length saw him em ark for England with a secret resolve to accumulate a serious amount of difficulties in the way of his return. France had escaped from one uf the most imminent perils of its history by the folly of the vain glorious English king ; this king had thrown away unexampled opportunities of the martial glory he was ambitious of, and much solid gold, yet he returned with all the assumption of a great conqueror, and utterly unconscious that be had been a laughing-stock and a dupe. On every occasion the troops had displayed their hereditary bravery, and shown that they could still maintain and even extend the national renown. They only lacked a general. Such a general had been found in another field during Henry's absence. We have seen that James IV. of Scot- land sent his declaration of war to Henry whilst he was engaged at the siege of Terouenne. We have enumerated some of the causes of complaint which James deemed be had against Henry ; amongst others, the refusal to deliver up the jewels left by Henry's father to the queen Margaret of Scotland — a truly dishonest act on the part of the English monarch, who, with all the wasteful prodigality peculiar to himself, inherited the avaricious disposition of his father. No sooner, therefore, did Henry set out for France, than James despatched a fleet with a body of three thousand men to the aid of Louis, and by his herald at Terouenne, after detailing the catalogue of his own grievances, demanded that Henry should evacuate France. This haughty message received as haughty a repiy, but James did not live to receive it. In August, whilst Henry still lay before Terouenne, on the very same day that the Scottish herald left that place with his answer, the peace betwixt England and Scotland was broken by lord Home, chamberlain to king James, who crossed the border, and made a devastating raid on the defenceless inhabitants. His band of marauders was met by Sir William Bulmer, on their return, loaded with plunder, who slew five hundred of his men upon the spot, and took four hundred of them prisoners. Called to immediate action by this disaster, James collected his host on Burrow Moor, such an army, as, say the writers of the times, never gathered round a king of Scotland. Some state it at one hundred thousand men ; the lowest calculation is eighty thousand. But if this bo true, what becomes of all the assertions that James undertook this enterprise in obstinate opposition to the entreaties, the protests, and the prognos- tics of his subjects P What becomes of all the charges of blind rashness against James, of the lamentations over the calamities with which he afflicted Scotland by madly rushing on the warfare P We are told by the chroniclers of the times that heaven, as well as earth, strove to deter him from the step, but in vain. That the queen and the wisest of the nobles strove to dissuade him by representing that he had but one child, a son of only sixteen months old, and that, should he fall, he would leave the kingdom and his family exposed to every evil. That the tears and vehement entreaties of his wife failing of effect, the patron saint of Scotland appeared to him at vespers in the church of Linlithgow, in the guise of an old man of venerable aspect, with a long beard, arrayed in a gown of azure hue, girt about the loins with a white sash, who, as he leaned on bis staff, declared that ho was sent from heaven to warn him from prosecuting the war, for it would be unfortunate ; and to beware of the fascinations of woman on the way, for they would be fatal. That James, when the vespers were concluded, called for the I incient messenger, but he could not be found, but that at the dead of the night an awful supernatural voice at the cross of Edinburgh summoned the principal lords by name, to appear before the Judge of the dead. These were pro- bably the artifices of the queen, who shudlered at this ' deadly strife betwixt her husband and her brother; but that the nation at large was eager for this demonstration against England, nothing is so convincing as tj^e numbers which hurried to James's standard. James passed the Tweed on the 22 nd of August, and on that and the following day encamped at Twisel-haugh. On the 2'tth, with the consent of his nobles, he issued a decla- ration that the heirs of all who were killed or who died in that expedition, should be exempt from all charges for wardship, relief, or marriage, without regard to their age. He then advanced up the right bank of the Tweed and attacked the border castle of Xorham. This strong fortress was expected to detain the army some time, but the gover- nor, rashly improvident of his ammunition, was compelled to surrender on the fifth day, August 29th. Wark, Etall, Heaton, and Ford castles, places of no great consequence, soon followed the example of Norham. Very different accounts are given of what took place at Ford. Some historians say, that James spared it, in eensequence of the blandishments of dame Heron, the wife of William Heron, the owner of 1513.] INVASION OP ENGLAND BY THE SCOTS. 12& the castle ; and that James, lingering there, f^cinated by her charms, both allowed his enemies time to gather strength, and occasioned numbers of his followers to desert and return home. But others, and with far more probability, assert that, on the contrary, James refused to listen to any terms from the Herons. One of the bitterest causes of his com- plaint against Henry VIII. was that John Heron, a bastard brother of this William Heron, had killed James's favourite, Sir Kobert Ker, and that having fled to England, Henry refused to surrender him. William Heron was at this moment a prisoner in Scotland, and dame Heron, in his absence, fled to Surrey and obtained from him the promise to give up two Scottish prisoners of importance, the lord Johnstone and Alexander Home, on condition that James spared the castle of Ford, and liberated William Heron, her husband. James appears to have refused, rejected the ex- change of prisoners, and rased Ford castle to the ground. That done, Jimes fixed his camp on Floddrn-hill, the east spur of the Cheviot mountains, with the deep river Till flowing at its feet to join the neighbouring Tweed. In that strong position he awaited the approach of the English army. The earl of Surrey, commissioned by Henry on his de- parture expressly to arm the northern counties and defend the frontiers from an irruption of the Scots, no sooner heard of the muster of James on Burrow Moor, than he des- patched messages to all the noblemen and gentlemen of the those counties to assemble their forces, and meet him on the 1st of September at Newcastle-on-Tyne. He marched out of York on the 27th of August, and, though the weather was very wet and stormy, and the roads consequently very bad, he marched day and night till he reached Uurh.am. There he received the news that the Scots had taken Norham, which the commander- had bragged he would hold against all comers till Henry returned from Prance. Receiving the banner of St. Cuthbert from the prior of Durham, Surrey marched to Newcastle, where a council of war was held, and the troops from all parts were appointed to assemble on the 4th of September at Bolton, in Glendale, about twenty miles from Ford, where the Scots were said to be lying. On the 4th of September, before Surrey had left Aln- wick, which he had reached the evening before, he was joined, to his great encouragement, by his gallant son, lord Thomas Howard, the admiral of England, with a choice body of five thousand men, whom Henry had despatched from Fr.moe. From Alnwick the earl sent a herald to the Scottish king to reproach him with his breach of faith to his brother, the king of England, and to offer him battle on Friday, the 9th, if he dared to wait so long for his arrival. The lord admiral also bade the herald say from him that he had come to justify the slaughter of the pirate, Andrew Barton, with which James had charged him, and that he would take no quarter and give none to any one but the king. James denied the breach of faith, charged that on Henry, assured tlie herald that he should wait for lord Surrey, and took no notice of the message of his son, the admiral. During the interval betwixt this defiance and the appearance of the English, the minds of the Scottish nobles appear to have misgiven them, and they endeavoured to persuade James that he had already done enough in taking and destroying the king of England's castles, and gathering much plunder. Lord Patrick Lindsay represented by a parable, the inequality of the stakes, the Ufa and fortunes of the kling of Scotland against those of an inferior man. James threatened, that if he lived to return, he would hang up Lindsay before his own castle. The earl of Angus, the well-known Bell -the -Cat, supported Lindsay, and repeated that the English army consisted for the most part of men of mean rank, the Scottish one of the flower of the nobility and gentlemen of the kingdom. James, irritated at this opposition, said scornfully, " Angus, if you are afraid you may be gone." At this the old earl burst into tears, and replied that his counsel being despised, and his age forbidding his services on the field, he would withdraw, but would leave his two sons with the vassals of the Douglas, and his prayer that old Angus's foreboding might prove unfounded. By this time, the 6th of September, the earl of Surrey had reached Wooller-haugh, within throe miles of the Scottish camp. Perceiving the difficulty of the ground betwixt him and them, intersected by several brooks, which united to form the river TUl, Surrey anxiously inquired for an experienced guide, and the bastard Heron, who was following the army, but in disguise, offered his services, at which Surrey was greatly rejoiced, aware that he was intimately familiar with the whole neighbourhood. When Surrey came in sight of the Scottish camp, he was greatly struck with the formidable nature of James's position, and gent a messenger to him charging him with having shifted his ground after having accepted the challenge, and called upon him to come down into the spacious plain of Millfield, where both armies could contend on more equal terms, the army of Surrey only amounting to twenty-five thousand men. James, resenting this accusation, refused to admit the herald to his presence, but sent him word that he had sought no undue advantage, should seek none, and that it did not become an earl to send such a message to a king. This endeavour to induce James by his high, and often imprudent, sense of honour, to weaken his position, not succeeding, on the 8th Surrey, at the suggestion of his son, the lord admiral, adopted a fresh stratagem. He marched northward, sweeping round the bill of Flodden, crossed the Till near Twisell castle, and thus placed the whole of his army between James and Scotland. From that point they directed their march as if intending to cross the Tweed, and enter Scotland. On the morning of Friday the 9th, leaving their night halt at Barmoor wood, they continued this course, till the Scots were greatly alarmed lest the English should plunder the fertile country of the Merse, and they implored the king to descend and fight in defence of his country. Moved by these repre- sentations, and this being the day on which Surrey had promised to fight him, he ordered his army to set fire to their tents with all the litter and refuse of the camp, so as to make a great smoke, under which they might descend, unper- ceived, on the English. But no sooner did the Engli.sh perceive this, than also availing themselves of the obscurity of the smoke, they wheeled about, and made once more for the Till. As the reek blew aside, they were observed in the very act of crossing the narrow bridge of Twisell, and Eobert Borthwick, the commander of James's artillery, fell on his knees and implored his sovereign to allow him to turn all the fire of his cannon on the bridge, which he would destroy, and prevent the passage of Surrey's host. But James, with that roniannc spirit of chivalry which 130 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. ecemfl to have possessed him to a degree of insanity, is said to have replied, " Fire one shot on the bridge, and I ' will command you to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. I ' will have all ray enemies before me, and fight them fairly." Thus the English host defiled over the bridge at leisure, and drew up in a long double line, consisting of a centre and two wings, with a strong body of cavalry, under lord Dacre, in the rear. They beheld the Soota, in like form, descending the hill in solemn silence. The two conflicting ;irmies came into action about four o'clock in the afternoon 17 the mutual discharge of their artillery. The thunder and concussion were terrific, but it was soon seen that the [a.d. 1")13. Oostume of an English Gentleman in the time of Henry A'lII. guns of the Scots being placed too high, their balls passed ■>rer the he.ids of their opponents, whilst those of the English, sweeping up the hill, did hideous execution, and made the Scots impatient to come to closer fight. The master gunner of Scotland was soon slain, his men driven from their guns, whilst the shot of the English continued to strike into the very heart of tlie battle. The left wing of the Scots, under the earl of Huntley and lord Home, came first into contact with the right wing of the English, and fighting on foot with long spears, they charged the enemy with such impetuosity, that Sir Edmund Howard, the com- mander of that wing, was borne down, hi.s l.anncr flung to the earth, and his lines broken into utter confusion. But at this critical moment Sir Edmund and his divi.-ion were suddenly succoured by the bastard Heron, who appeared tit the he.id of a body of daring outlaw.^, like himself; this movement was supported by the advance of the second division of the English right wing, under the lord admiral, who attacked Home and Huntley, and these again were followed by the cavalry of lord Dacre's reserve. The Highlanders, under Home and Huntley, when they overthrew Sir Edmund Howard, imagined that they had won the victory, and fell eagerly to stripping and plundering the slain; but they soon found enough to do to dcfcml themselves, and the battle then raged with desperate energy. At length the Scottish left gave way, and the lord admiral and the cavalry of Dacre neit fell on the division under the earls of Crawford and Montrose, both of whom were slain. In this part of the battle, lord Home has been accused of not supporting his fellow officers as he ought to have done, but Sir Walter Scott suggests that this, from all that ap- pears, seems merely to have been invented by the Scotch to account for the defeat by some other means than the superiority of the English. On the extreme right wing of the Scottish army fought the clans of the Macleans, the Mackenzies, the Campbells, and M.icleods, under the earls of Lennox and Argyle. These encountered the stout bowmen of Lancashire and Cheshire, under Sir Edward Stanley, who galled the half-n;iked highlanders so intolerably with their arrows, that they flung down their targets, and dashed forward with claymore and axe pell-mell amongst the enemy. The French com- missioner, De la Motte, who was present, astounded at this display of wild passion and savage insubordination, assisted by other French officers, shouted, stormed, ges- ticulated, to check the disorderly rabble, and restrain them in their ranks. In vain ! The English, for a moment surprised by this sudden, furious onslaught, yet kept their ranks unbroken, and, advancing like a solid wall, flun" back their disintegrated assailants, swept them before them, and despatched them piece-meal. The earls of Argyle and Lennox perished in the midst of their unmanageable men. The two main bodies of the armies were now only left where James and Surrey were contending at the head of Costume of an English Lady in the time of Henry VIII. their troops, but with this difference, that the Scottish right and left were now unprotected, and those of James's centre wore attacked on each side by the victorious right and left winis of the English. On one side Sir Edward Stanley charged with archers and pikemen, on the other lord Howard, Sir Edmund Howard, and lord Dacre, were threatening with both horse and font. James and all his nobility about him in the m.iin body were fighting on foot, and being cl.id in splendid armour, they suffered less from the English archers, who were A.D. 1513.] THE BATTLE OF FLODDEN. 131 opposed to them in the ranks of Surrey. On James's right hand foughti his accomplished natural son, the archbishop of St. Andrew's. Soon the combatants became eni;aged hand to hand in deadly struggle with their swords, spears, piljcs, and other instruments of death. Whilst hewing and cleaving each other down in furious strife, face to face, life for life, showers of English arrows fell amid the Scottish ranks, and dealt terrible destruction to the less stoutly panoplied. When the earls of Bothwell and Huntley rushed to the support of the main body on the one side, and Stanley, the Howards, and Dacre c.ime to the aid of Surrey on the other, the strife became terrible beyond description, and the slaughter awful on every side of the environed Scots. Before the arrival of the reserves tlie Scots appeared at one time to have the best of it, and to be on the very edge of victory ; and even after that James and the gallant band around him seemed to make a stupendous effort, as if they thought their sole Iiope was to force their way to Surrey and cut him down. James is said to have reached within a spear's length of him, when, after being twice wounded with arrows, he was despatched by a bill. Still the battle raged on. In the centre it was like the the heart of a glowing furnace, all heat and deadly rage; whilst all round the extremities of the Scottish host, a bristly circle of protruded spears pushed back the murderous foes. Neither side gave quarter. Lord Howard and liis followers savagely maintained their vow ; and tlie Scots, says Haslewood, were so vengeful and cruel in their fi_:;ht- ing, that when the English had the better of them they would listen to no ransom, though the Scots often offiTcd great sums. Night, which alone could part the maddened host, at length came down upon them, and compelled them to cease their fi;;hting, though it could not induce them to quit tlie ground. Tiiey rested on their arms, but stood as if they would wait the firit dawn of light to again renew the sanguinary conflict. The Scottish and the En^jlish centres stood doggedly on their guard ; Home and Dacre witli their cavalry sternly held each other at bay. But when the morning at length dawned, it was discovered that the Scots, having had time to become aware of their immense loss, and having learnt that not only their king but almost all the nobility were slain, had silently stolen away, and had made their way across the Tweed at Cold- stream, or over the dry marshes to their own country. And what ghastly, fearful, desolating tidings did these silent fugitives bear with them over every moor and mountain, to every town and village through the length and breadth of Scotland ! When tlie battle-field came to be examined, there were found of the English few men of note fallen, but about 5,000 soldiers, chiefly of the ranks ; but of the Scots, there lay the king and his son tlie archbishop of St. Andrew's dead on the field, with two bishops, two mitred abbots, twelve enrls, thirteen lords, five oldest sons of peers, fifty kni<;lits and chiefs, and of gentlemen a number uncalculated ; there w.as scarcely a family in Scotland of any name in history which did not lose a member there. In the words of Scott — Their klnRs. their lords, their mislitlcst low, They mcUed from the fields as snow, Wlion streams are swollen and south winds blow, Dissolve.s in silent dew. Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, While miny a broken band, Disordered, tlirouRh her currents dash, To gain the Scottish land : To town and tower, lo down and dale. To tell red Flodden'a dismal tAle, And raise the nnlversal wall Tradition, legend, tune, and song. Shall many an age that wail prolong; Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stem strife and carnage drear Of Flodden'a fatal field, ■^Vhere shivered was fair Scotia's spear, And broken was her shield. The ballads and traditions »f Scotland are yet full of the lamentations and desolation long produced there by this fatal battle, where The flowers of the forest were a' wede away. "The Scots," says Sir Walter Scott, "were much dis- posed to dispute the fact that James IV. had fallen on Flodden Field. Some said he had retired from the king- dom, and made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem ; others pretended that in the twilight, when the fight was nigh ended, four tall horsemen came into the field, having each a bunch of straw on the point of their spears as a token for them to know each other by. They said these men mounted the king on a dun hackney, and that he was seen to cross the Tweed with them at night-fall. Nobody pretended to say what they did with him, but it was believed that he waf murdered in Home castle, and I recollect, about forty years since, there was a report that, in cleansing the draw-well in that ruinous fortress, the workmen found a skeleton wrapt in a bull's hide, and having a belt of iron round the waist, for which, on inquiry, I could n'ver find any better authority than the sexton of the parish having said that if the well were cleaned out, he should not be surprised at such a discovery. These are idle fables, and contrary to common sense. Home was the chamberlain of the king, and his prime favourite ; he had much to lose, in fact, did lose all, in consequence of James's death, and nothing wliatevcr to gain by that event ; but the retreat or inactivity of the left wing, which he commanded, after defeating Sir Edmund Howard, and even the circumstance of his remaining unhurt, and loaded with spoil, from so fatal a conflict, rendered the propagation of any calumny against him easy and acceptable. " It seems true that the king usually wore the belt of iron, in token of his repentance for his father's death, and the share he had in it. But it is not unlikely that he would lay aside such a cumbrous article of penance in u day of battle, or the English, when they despoiled his person, may have thi-own it aside as of no value. Ttie body, which the English affirm to have been that of James, was found on t!ie field by lord Dacre, and carried by him to Berwick, and presented to Surrey. Both of these lords knew James's person too well to be mistaken. The body was also acknowledged by his two favourite attendants. Sir William Scott and Sir John Forman, who wept at beholding it." • The fate of these relics was singular and degrading. Stowe, in his " Survey of London," gives this account from his own knowledge : " After the battle, the bodie of the same king being found, was closed in lead, and conveyed from thence to London, and to the monasterie of Sheyno, in Surrey, where it remained for a time in wliat order I am not cert;iine ; hut since the dissolution of that house, in the reygne of Edward the Sixt, Henry Grey, duke of Suffolke, being lodged and keeping house there, I have been shewed tlie same bodie so lapped in lead, close to the head and 132 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED niSTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.l>. 1513. bodie, throwne into a waste room amongst the olJ timber, lead, and other rubble, since the which time, workmen there, for their foolish plcisuro, hewed off his head, and Launcolot Young, master glazier to Queen Elizabeth, feel- ing a sweet savour to come from thence, and yet the form remaining, with the hair of the head and beard red, brought it to London, to his house in Wood Street, where, for a time, he kept it for the sweetness, but, in the end, caused the sexton of that church to, bury it amongst other bones t.iken out of their charnel." That the body which the English had thus secured and brought to London for so singular a fate, was the real body of James, was incontcstibly proved by the monarch's well- known sword and dagger found -ipon it, and turquois ring On liis way northward, Surrey had prepared posts all the way for tlie rapid conveyance of intelligence, and, by these, he anounced in brief time to queen Catherine, who was at \Voburn, the great and decisive victory. Catherine was in the same fortunate position as queen Phllippa while Edward III. was on his camp.iign in France, and though she did not hasten over herself with the news, she wrote an able letter of gratulation, in which she said he would see how she had kept her promise of protecting the kingdom in his absence, and she accompanied it by the coat of the king of Scots, that Henry might convert it into a banner, adding, that she thought of sending his body, but that English hearts would not permit it. Wliiit is more to Catherine's credit is, that she pleaded tenderly and earnestly for for- Great Ship of King Henrv VIII. From an original drawiug by Holbein. on his fiager, supposed to be the same sent to him by the queen of France. These are still preserved in the Herald's College in Ijondon. An unhewn column marks the spot where .lames fell, still called the King's stone. The guns which were captured on this occasion, are related to have been of a very superior kind, and, according to an official report, " the neatest, the soundest, the best fashioned, the sm^iUest in the touch-hole, and the moi. 1515.] REIGN OF HENRY VIII. 130 TU2 SCOTTISH PEEr.S rEMANMNO THE CCSTOET OF THE CnlLDMN OF QUEEN MARGARET. HO OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1515. deur he had aa income which was equnl to, if it did not surpass, that of the crown. Ue hai a traiu of eight huajrad persons, ciany of them knights and gentlemen, and amongst them nine or ten impoverished noblemen ; and many of the greatesl; aristocracy placed their sons in his estab- lishment as t"j« best school for acquiring a proper courtly style, or, more probably, court favour. All his domestics were richly attired, his cook wearing a jerkin of satin or velvet, with a chain of gold round his neck. \Yhenever he appeared abroad a person of distinction bore his cardinal's hat before Lim on a cushion. He selected one of the tallest and handsomest priests that he could procure to carry before him a pillar of silver surmounted by a cross, but not contented with this, which he adopted as cardinal, he had another priest, of equal stature and beauty, who carried the ponderous silver cross of York, even within the diocese of Canterbury, contrary to the established rule and agreement betwixt the prelates of those two sees. He was the first ecclesiastic in England that indulged himself in the wear of silk and gold, and these not merely on his person, but on his saddles and the caparison of his horses. His enormous retinue on all public appearances were mounted on the most splendid steeds, richly orna- mented, but he himself, in priestly .fashion, rode a mule, with saddle and saddle-cloth of crimson velvet, and with stirrups of silver gilt. Every mjrning he held a levee after mass, at whioh he appeared in his complete tirray of scarlet drapery. Whilst the great looked on all this grandeur in obsequi- ous but resentful silence, the people settled it in their own minds that the wonderful power of the priest over the fiery nature of the monarch was the effect of sorcery. But Wolsey was no mean or ordinary man. They were his talents and his consummate address which infiuenced the king, who was proui of the magnificence which was at once his creation and his representative ; and Wolsey had a' grasp, an expanse, and an elevation in his ambition, which had something sublime in them. Though he was in the receipt of enormous revenues, he had no paltry desire to hoard them. He employed them in this august sta^e and mode of living, which he regarded as reflecting honour on the monarch whose chief minister he was, aud on the church in whioh he held all but the highest rank. He devoted his funds liberally to the promoting of litorature. He sent learned men to foreign courts to copy valuable manuscripts whioh were made acoossiblo by his vast influence. He built Hampton Court Palace, a fit residence only for a monarch, and presented it as a gift such as a subject only of his magnificent stamp, could offer to a monarch. He built a college at Ipswich, his native place, and was in the course of erecting Christ Church at Oxford when his career was so abruptly closed. Besides that, he endowed seven lecture- ships in Oxford. A\'ith all his haughtiness and overgrown state, he pleased the people by his summary dealings with great offenders, especially with the detested class of public harpies of whom Dudley and Empson had been the chief. That people of small means might obtain justice, he established courts of rc-juest, and made other reforms in the administration of the laws. Oa m.iny occasions, to settle family quarrels, he would offer iiimself as arbitrator ; and in the court of chancery, though unacquainted with the quirks and subtle- ties of law, he decided on the principle of common sense, to the wonderful satisfaction of clients. So great was tha practice brought into his court, that the king, to cnabli him to get through the business, established four subordi- nate tribunals, of which that in which the Mo-ster of the Rolls still presides is one. But, on the other hand, Wolsey's towering ambitiou and self-will led him to commit equal crimes and injustice. No man, or thing, which stood in his way was safe. His domestic domination could brook no rival : the highest and the noblest perished if they offended him ; and his foreign policy was dictated entirely by his own private purposes. The primal object of his life was to achieve the pope- dom; and, as kings or courtiers favoured or opposed his wishes, they experienced his favour or resentment ; and so long as his hold on Henry lasted, his frown was war, his smile peace, wherever they fell. Such was Wolsey at this moment ; such he continued for a decade of remark- able years. His eye was constantly traversing Europe. In every court and country he had his secret, as well as big avowed, agents. The most hidden movements were quickly revealed to him, and all his machinery was instantly in motion to promote or counteract. In the pursuance of his objects he shamefully abused the confidence of his royal patron, and sacrificed the honour and the interests of the country, and of Europe, in the indulgence of his passions, and the prosecution of his private interests. His ostensi- ble object was to regulate the balance of Europe, threatened in its equilibrium by the rival houses of France and Austria ; but his real one was to raise or repress those powers with reference to his claims on the popedom. The peace which Henry had made with the young monarch of France, was not destined to be of long con- tinuance. Francis I. soon had the misfortune to offend both Henry and Wolsey, and in their separate interests. James IV. of Sootland had left by his will the regency of his kingdom to his widow. The convention of the states confirmed this arrangement, but on condition that the queen remained unmarried. James V., her son, of whom she was to retain the guardianship, wag on his father's death an in&nt of only a year and a half old. In less than seven moDtha after the death of her husband, Mirgaret was delivered of a second son, Alexander, duke of Ross ; and in less than tliree months after that, she married, in defiance of the convention of the states, Duuglas, earl of Angus, a ' young man of handsome person, but of an ambitious and headstrong character. This marriage gave great offence to a great number of the nobility, especially those who had a leaning to Franca. They asserted that Henry of England, the queen's Irother, notwithstanding that he had deprived her of her husband, and notwithstanding her difficult position at the widowed mother of an infant king, so far from supporting her, took every opportunity to attack her borders. They therefore recommended that they should recall from Franco John, duke of Albany, the son of Alexander, who had been banished by his brother James III., and place the regency in his hands. Albany, though of Scotch origin, was a Frenchman by birth, education, and taste. He had not a foot of land in Sootland, but m France he had extensive demesnes, and stood high in favour of the monarch. At the head of the party in opposition to the queen was lord Home, on whose conduct at Flodden aspersions had been cast. By him and his party it was that Albany was 1515.] FRENCH INVASIOX OF ITALY. HI invited to Scotland. Henry was greatly alarmed at this proposition, and for sometime the fear of a breach induced Francis I. to restrain Albany from accepting the offer. Tet in May, 1515, Albany made his appeariince in Scotland. He found that kingdom in a condition -which required a firm and determined hand to govern it. The nobility, always turbulent, and kept in order with difficulty by the strongest monarohs, were now divided into two factions, for and against the queen and her party. Lord Home, by whom Albany had chiefly been invited, had the ill-fortune to be represented to Albany, immediately on his arrival, as, so far from a friend, one of the most dangerous enemies of legitimate authority in the kingdom. Homo, apprised of this representation, and of its having taken fall effect on the mind of Albany, threw himi5elf into the party of the queen, and urged her to avoid the danger of allowing the young princes to fall into the hands of Albany, who was the next heir to the crown after them, and was, according to his statement, a most dangerous and ambitious man. Moved by these statements, Margaret determined to escape to England with her sons, and put them under the power- ful protection of their uncle Henry. Henry had himself made similar representations to her, for nothing would suit his views on the crown of Scotland so well as to have possession of the infant heirs. But Albany was quickly informed of the queen's intentions ; he besieged the castle of Stirling, where she resided with the infant princes, compelled her to surrender, and obtain- ing possession of the princes, placed them in the keeping of three lords appointed by parliament. Margaret herself, her husband Angus, and lord Home, succeeded in escaping to England, where she was delivered of a daughter. Henry exerted himself to baffle the schemes of Albany and the French party in Scotland ; and Home, having succeeded in obtaining permission to return to Scotland, is supposed to have prosecuted Henry's views in strengthen- ing a party against Albany. Home, however, did not escape falling under suspicion. He was seized and placed in custody under the care of his brother-in-law, the earl of Arran. But instead of Arran proving a trustworthy cus- todian of Home, that nobleman prevailed on him to unite in his views. Home was suffered to escape, but was weak enough to be beguiled, under a promise of aoommodating all matters of difference, to suffer himself, along with Arran, to fall into the hands of Albany. Both of these noblemen were seized and brought to trial, on the ground of neglect of their duty, or of treasonable conduct, at the battle of Flodden, and though the evidence was anything but con- vincing, they were condemned and executed. The part which Francis I. evidently had in permitting the passage of Albany to Scotland, and in supporting his party there, had given great offence to Henry. He sent strong remonstrances through his ambassador to Francis, complaining that Albany bad been permitted to leave France and usurp the government of Scotland, contrary to the treaty ; and that by this means the queen of Scotland, the sister of the king of England, had been driven from the regency of the kingdom, and the guardianship of her children. Francis I. endeavoured to pacify Henry by assurances that Albany's conduct had received no coun- tenance from him, but that he had stolen away at the urgent solicitation of a strong body of nobles in Scotland. Henry was not convinced, but there was nothing to be obtained by further remonstrances, for Francis was nt this moment at the head of a powerful array, while Henry, having spent his father's hoards, was not in condition for a fresh war without the sanction of fjirliamcnt. Francis was bent on prosecuting the vain scheme of the conquest of Milan, wiiich had already cost his predecessors and France so much. He had entered into alliance with Venice and Genoa, and trusted to be able easily to overcome Maximilian Sforza; the native prince Sforza, on his part, depended upon the support of the pope and the Swiss. Francis professed, in the first place, that his design was to chastise the hostile Swiss. These hardy people had fortified all those pjasses in the Alps by which thoy calculated that the French would attempt to pass towards Milan, but Francis made his way with sixty thousand tronps over the mountains in another direction, a largo part ol' his army taking the way to the left of Mount Genovre, a route never essayed by an army before. The Swiss mercenaries in the service of Sforza, thus taken by surprise, were rapidly defeated by the French, and were on the point of capitu- lation, when their countrymen, who had been watching to intercept Francis and his army, seeing that he had stolen a march upon them, descended from their mountains twenty thousand strong, and came to the relief of their countrymen under the walls of Milan. Their courage now rose to the highest pitch, and they determined to give battle to the French. The headquarters of Francis were at Marignano, ten miles from Jlilan. Re- inforcements were expected by the Milanese from the pope, but a cardinal legate who was present urged the Swiss not to wait for these, but to seize the present favourable crisis, when the troops were in the warmth of their confidence, to march against the French and give them battle. The advice was of the most injudicious kind, for the French were n;.t only greatly superior in numbers, but in their artillory, and a few days might bring essential aid to the Swiss. But the counsel was too consonant to the feelings of the Swiss army. They demanded to be led at once again.-^t the foe ; and, marching forward when the day was considerably advanced, they fell in with the French lines about two hours before sunset. They rushed upon them with such fury that they carried all before them, as though they had suffered no fatigue from their long and hasty march. They drove back whole ma?ses of the French infantry, and captured a considerable quantity of cannon- Francis, alarmed tiy this formidable impression on his foot, throw himself into the v.an at the head of his cavalry, and charged along the high raised road, on which the main body of the Swiss stood, the land right .and left being marshy, with all the weight of his horse and with his characteristic gal- lantry. But the Swiss, confident in the memory of their former victories over the French, stood firm, and the battle became desperate. The Swiss broke the lines of the French cavalry repeatedly, and made terrible havoc amongst them. Night fell, but the moon rose, and the conflict raged so long as tliere was any light. When the moiii went down, the two armies, still breathing defiance, stood to their (;round, and waited impatiently for the dawn to renew the strife. Francis had fought so long and arduously in the very meUo that, when the pause came, he dropped upon a cannon completely exhausted, and fell into a deep sleep. But, fatigued as he was, he did not rest long. The smart- ing of his wounds, for he had been pierced in various places 112 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EN^LAXD. [a.d. 1515. by the lances of the enemy, the uneasiness of his mind, and the Bongs and shouts of the Swiss, who were sitting on the ground close at hand, carolling airs of triumph, and impa- tient loi- li^ht to finish their victory, soon roused him. On examining tho state of his army, he found that an awful slaughter of his men had taken place, many of his most distinguished offcers had fallen, fifteen pieces of cannon were seized by the enemy, and the prospect for the morrow was anytliing but hopeful. To add to the disastrous is5U3 of the. day's fight, his troops were ill supplied wita refreshments, whilst wine and provisions in plenty had followed the Swiss army from Milan ; and they were fortifying themselves with good cheer for the victory. So completely were the Swiss assured of this victory, that the news of the utter defeat of the French spread from their camp, and was carried by couriers to all parts of Italy. But Francis resolved to contest the point with all his power. During the night he examined carefully his posi- tion, made such fresh arrangements as the knowledge of the ground and the events of the first day sug- gested ; encouraged his men, and sent messengers post- haste to expedite the march of reinforcements from Venice, which he knew to be on the road. With the first return of dawn the Swiss were a-foot, and renewed the battle with augmented impetuosity. Confident of victory, they fought with the persuasion that a vehement attack would be fol- lowed by a speedy fii£ht of the French. They found, how- ever, that Francis had taken advantage of the night, and so disposed his artillery, as to rake them murderously in flank as they advanced. But this only cau.-cd them to dash forward like wounded lions upon the foe, and such was the fury of their onset, that the French cavalry must have been speedily routed, when up galloped the light horse of the Venetians, led only by count Alvi.ino, and fell upon their rear. Imagining that the whole of the Venetian army was come up, the Swiss now sounded a retreat ; but this was made with such coolness and courage that they kept the order of their ranks. and part still facing the French, part the Venetians, they thus commenced their march back towards Milan. Such was the resolution with which they made this retro- jirade movement, that they would leave neither their wounded nor their artillery behind them, but carried them all ofi', and showed such a determined and self-possessed air, that the French, wearied, and having suffered great loss, made no attempt to pursue them. But the Swiss had left on the field eight thousand of their best men slain, and tlicy were in no condition to pur- Fue the contest as they had begun it. On returning to Milan they found that Sforza, for whom they had fought, had no money to pay them, and, therefore, having won great admiration by their conduct in this battle, they marched out of Milan and took their way home by Como. Francis, who had lost nearly as many troops as the Swiss, and some of his hiost valuable officers, was enabled by this means easily to make himself master of Milan. If the Swiss had acrjuired reputation by this campaign, Francis liad won still more ; for against such brave forces he had shown himself still br.aver, and remained master of Milan. The effoot of tliis brilliant success at the Knglish cnurt was to heighten extremely that discontent with Francis whicli Henry had shown at the very moment that the chivalric young French king had set out for Italy. Henry, who was ambitious of military renown, was stung to the quick by it, and his envious mood was artfully aggravated by the suggestions of Wolsey. Wolsey hated Francis because he was steadily opposed to his retention of tlie bishopric of Tournay. Wolsey had prevailed on Henry to disregard the earnest demands for the restoration of this town at the late peace, because he should in case of its surrender lose the ample revenues ; Francis, on the other hand, naturally was equally anxious to have Tournay re- stored to his natural dominion. He therefore supported the claims of the other bishop of Tournay, who, when tho town was taken by the English, had been appointed but not yet installed. Wolsey now found, through his spies, that Francis, while so near Rome, had strongly urged upon the pope tlie claims of the French bishop, and with such effect that he had obtained a bull in his favour. Enraged at this, Wolsey now fanned with all his subtle skill the .spleen of Henry's mind, and disposed him to break with Francis. But this was so serious a matter, having recently sworn to maintain peace with that country, and with the rising reputation of Francis, that Henry was prudent enough not to give way to Wolsey's persuasions without counsel with his other experienced ministers. The duke of Norfolk, the archbishop of Canterbury, and the bishop of Winchester, wei-e summoned to court, and the matter laid before them. It is quite certain that, had there been real cause for war with France these ancient counsellors of the crown, who had retired in disgust from the arrogance of Wolsey, would have argued against it ; but as they had right on their side they strongly denounced a breach of the peace with France as equally impolitic, dishonourable, and unjust. Wolsey replied in an equally high strain that Francis had shown himself a prince of an aggressive character, of an insatiable ambition, and that his successes in Italy would lead to fresh attempts; and that unless England interposed to crush his soaring spirit of conquest he would become the terror and molester of all Europe. The bishop of Durham, and the rest of the counsellors who were under the influence of Wolsey, warmly supported these views, and Henry, dis- tracted by these conflicting opinions, declared that he would adopt the suggestions of both parties : he would take measures to curb the ambition of France, but he would do it so as to avoid an open breach. His sapient plan was this. Untaught by the gross style in which he had been imposed upin by Maximilian, he resolved to employ him to put down Francis. He therefore despatched an ambassador to the emperor, who was, as he always bad been, poor and greedy of money, to engage him by a largo subsidy to march an army into Italy to join his forces to those of Francisco Sforza. the brother of Maxi- milian Sfroza, to take Milan, and place Francisco on the ducal throne. Maximilian ^forzi had resigned all his rights to Francis, and was th.erefore to be set aside. This scheme, which Henry put forth as his own, was, in • fact, but another speculation of Wolsey's. Francisco Sforza, desirous to make Milan his own. had already applied to Wolsey, and engaged, if he succeeded, to pay that corrupt and greedy minister 10,000 ducats a year, and in return Wolsey had engaged not only to procure Henry's consent, but to make him the perpetual friend and protector of Sforza. The emperor Maximilian, having got a large sum in hand, put his troops in motion for Italy, and pursued A.D. i5ie.] MAXIMILIAN PROPOSES TO ADOPT HENRY AS HIS SON. H3 the journey with the greater alacrity because he was also furnished with bills to a still greater amount on the Frisco- baldi, the great Italian bankers. Dr. Richard Pace, Henry's ambassador, hastened on before the emperor with another large Eiim of money, with which he eng.aged an army of Swiss to join Maximilian. With this augmented force, the German emperor pursued the route to Milan, where he made a feeble and spiritless attempt against it, and then coolly turned his face homewards and marched back again, saying the Friscobaldi were bankrupts, the bills were waste paper, and his engagement at an end. Henry was justly served for once more trusting to so rotten a reed. In addition to the loss of his money, he had shown Francis his teeth with- out being able to bite. On the I2th of November, 1515, parliament was sum- moned to meet. Henry had caught a very discouraging glimpse of the iron at the bottom of his father's money chests, and was, therefore, obliged to ask supplies from his subjects. His application does not appear to have been successful, and parliament was therefore dissolved on the 22nd of December, and was never called again till the 31st of July, 1523, an interval of eight years. A parliament which would not grant money was not likely to be a very favourite instrument with Henry, and this still less so, because it had involved him in a contention with the con- vocation. The convocation had dared to claim exemption for the clergy from the jurisdiction of the secular courts. The clergy in Henry's interest resisted this claim ; it was brought before parliament, and both the lords and com- mons, as well as the judges, decided .against the convoca- tion. Henry, who was at once as fond of power and as bigoted as the church, found himself in a most embarrassing dilemma, but declared that he would maintain the prero- gatives of the crown, and was glad to get rid of the dispute by the dismissal of parli ament. On the 11th of February queen Catherine gave birth to a daughter, who was named Mary, and who survived to wear the crown of England. In the same month died the queen's father, Ferdinand of Spain, one of the most con- ning, grasping, and unprincipled monarchs who ever lived, but who had by his Machiavelian schemes united Spain into one great and compact kingdom, and whose sceptre Providence had extended, by the discovery of Columbus, over new and wonderful worlds. His grandson Charles, already in possession of the territories of the house of Bur- gundy, and heir to those of Austrla.'sucoeeded him, as Charles V. Henry had just entered into a commercial treaty with Charles, as far as it regarded the Netherlands, and now perceiving the vast power and greatness which muse centre in Charles, for on the death of Maximilian, wlio was now old, he would also become emperor of Germany, ho was anxious to unite himself in close bonds of interest and in- timacy. To this end, ho gave a commission tg Wolsey, assisted by the duke of Norfolk, and the bishop of Durham, to cement and conclude what they called a holy league with the emperor Maximilian and Charles, the avowed object of which was to combine for the defence of the church, and to restrain the unbridled amliition of certain princes — mean- ing Francis. A more unholy league could not be conceived, though the pope was at the head of it, for there was not a contr.acting party to it which had not lately entered into leagues of friendship and peace with Fr.ancis, who certainly had neither before nor since done anything to injure any of them. This league, so basely misnamed, was undoubtedly promoted by Wolsey with right gonri will, for he could not forgive Francis's support of his rival bishop of Tournay. The sordid emperor Maximilian, who had so often and so successfully made his profit out of the vanity of Henry, seeing him so urgent to cultivate the favour of his grandson Charles, thought it a good opportunity to draw fresh sums from him. Maximilian was now tottering towards his grave, but he was not the less desirous to pave his way to it with gold. In a confidential conversation, therefore, with Sir Robert Wingfield, the English amb.ossador at his court, ho delicately dropped a hint that he was grown weary of the toils and cares attending the imperial office. Pursuing the theme, he pretended a great admiration for the king of England ; he declared th.at amongst all the princes of Christendom, he could see none who was so fitted to succeed him in his high office, and at the same time become the champion and protector of holy church against its enemies. He therefore proposed to adopt Henry as his son, for a proper consideration. According to his plan, Henry was to cross the channel with an army. From Tournay he was to march to Treves, where Maximilian was to meet him, and resign the empire to him, with all the necessary formalities. Then the united army of English and Germans were to invade France, and, whilst they thug sufficiently occupied the attention of Francis, Henry and Maximilian, with another division, were to march upon Italy, crossing the Alps at Coire, to take Milan, and, having secured that city, make an easy journey to Home, where Henry was to be crowned emperor by the pope. In this wild-goose scheme — which equally ignored the fact that Charles V. was the grandson of Maximilian, heir of his kingdom, and therefore neither by the natural affec- tion of the emperor, nor by the will of his subjects, likely to be set aside for a king of England ; and the difficulty — the next to an impossibility — of the accomplishment of the enterprise by two such monarchs as Maximilian and Henry — only one thing was palp.able, that Maximilian would put his hand on the stipulated sum for all these im- possible honours, and then would as quickly find a reason for aljandoning the extravagant scheme, as he had already done that of taking Milan. Yet it is certain that, for the moment, it seized on the imagination of Henry, and he despatched the earl of Worcester and Dr. Tunstall, after- wards bishop of Durham, to the imperial court, to settle the conditions of this notable scheme. Tunstall, who was not only an accnmplished scholar, but a solid and shrewd thinker, no sooner reached the court of Maximilian than he saw at a glance the hollowness of the plot and the im- perial plotter. He, as well as Dr. Richard Pace, the ambassador at Maximilian's court, quickly and honestly informed Henry that it was a mere scheme to get money. Tunstall, in one of his letters, declared the emperor's court to be a place of great dissimulation and fair words ; but where no promises were kept. With the boldness of an honest ambassador he dared to write as follows : — "Please your grace, — Your election to the empire cannot be brought about by no means, for divers considerations. First, that, like as in the election of a pope, a certain form is to be kept; which, if not observed, makctli the election to be void ; so of ancient time .and ordinance of the univer- sal church, a certain form must be observed in choosing of the emperor -, which omitted, the election is void. One of Ill CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAIID. [a.i-. 1516. the chief points in the election of the emperor is, that he which shall be elected, must be native of Germany, and subject to the empire ; whereas your grace is not, nor never since the Christian faith the kings of England were subject to the empir? ; but the crown of England is an coipiri in itself, mu.-li better than now the empire of Rome. Besides that the form of the election containeth that, first, he must bo king of the Romans, and the coronation at Rome maketh him have the name of emperor, where before ho is e.illed but king of the Romans. Over this, if the omperor which now is, remain still king of the Romans, as 1 understand ho intondeth to do. then, even if your grace were eligible, and under the empire, yet ye could not be chosen emperor, because ye were never king of the Romans. . . . For which considerations I repeat it impossible that your grace be chosen : and I am afraid lest the said offer — being so specious at the first hearing — was only made to get thereby some money of your grace." act thee influences. Franci.", whilst in Italy, had an interview with the pope at Bt>!ogna, where he so won upon his regai-u, that the pope agreed to drop all opposition to the possession of Milan by the French. Having secured himself in this quarter, Francis returned to France, and knowing well that the only way to the good gr.iccs of Henry was through the all-powerfid c.ixdinal Wolsey. he caused his ambassador in England to endeavour to win tho favour of the great minister. This was not to bo done otherwise than by substantial contributions to his avarice, and promises of service in that greatest project of Wolsey's ambition, the succession to the popedom. Wolsey was at this time in the possession of tho most extraordinary power in England. His word was law, with both king and subject. To him all men sought and bowed down,- and while he conferred favours with a reg.-il hand, he did not forget those who had offended him in the days of his littleness. At this period he flung Sir Amias Paulct into Vii. ,5^;- A. kmkMk VPi. /-J fil, .(.V^ Ilenrv VIII. C.i',In.riiic of Ar.-a_-im. Tii'i'^ia- A\'ol«ev. iiice honest and patriotic statement* perfectly unmasked the wily old Maximilian, and Henry escaped the snare. Francis I., having also now secured the duchy of Milan, set himself to conciliate two persons whose amity was necessary to his future peace and security. These were the pope and Henry of England. The balance of power on the continent, it w.is clear, would lie betwixt Francis and Charles v., the king of Spain. On the death of Maximilian, Charles would be king of Austria, and, in all probability, emperor of Germany. It would be quite enough for Francis to contend with the interests of Charles, whose dominions would then stretch from Austria, with the imperial power of Germany, through the Xethcrlands to France, and reappear on the other boundary of France, in Spain, without having that gigantic dominion backed by the co-operationof England. Francis had seen with alarm the cultivation of friendship re- cently betwixt these two formidable neighbours. To counter- prison, and kept Ji.ui ttiere for some years for having set him in the stocks when he was a wild young rural incumbent, and had raised a riot in a country fair. Not only English subjects, but foreign monarchs, sought his favour with equal anxiety. The young king of Spain, to secure him to his views, and knowing his grudge against tlic king of France, conferred on him a pension of three thousand Itvres a year, styling him, in tLe written griint, " his most dear and especial friend." Thus were the kings of Spain and France paying humble homage to this proud churchman and absolute minister of England, at the same moment. But Francis felt that he most outbid the king of Spain, and he resolved to do it. He commenced, then, by reminding him how sincerely he had rejoiced at his elevation to the cardinalatc, and how greatly ho desired the continuance and increase of their friend-^liip, and promised him whatever it was in his power A.D. I5I8.] OVERTURES FOR A PEACE BETWEEN FRANCE AND ENGLAND. 115 to do for him. These were mighty and significant words Tournay, and an alliance betwixt the two crowns. This for the man who could signally aid him in his designs on alliance was to be cemented by the affiancing of Henry's j..„ _-j ._L ij _.i.i. -11 J /E, ..,..._ ._j daughter, Mary, then about a year and a half old, to the infant dauphin of France, but recently born : The price which W'olsey was to receive for these serviees bein"- the popedom, and who could settle all difficulties and doubts about the bishopric of Tournay, hitherto such a stumbling-block betwixt them. The letters of Francis were spread with the most skilful, if not the most delicate satisfactorily settled betwixt himself and Francis, the great flatteries: he called him his lord, his father, and his I minister broke the matter to his master in 'a manner King Henry VIII. retiring from Council. guardian, told him he regarded his counsels 'as oracles; and whilst they increased the vanity of the cardinal most profusely, he accompanied his flatteries by presents of many extremely valuable and curious things. Being assured by Villeroi, his resident ambassador at London, that the cardinal lent a willing ear to all these things, Francis instructed the ambassador to enter at once into private negotiation with Wolsey for the restoration of 65 which marks the genius of the man, and his profound knowledge of Henry's character. Ho presented some of the superb articles which Francis had sent him to the king, saying, " With these things hath the king of Franco at- tempted to corrupt me. Many servants would have con- cealed this from their masters, but I am resolved to deal openly with your grace on all occasions. This attempt, however," added he, " to corrupt a servant is a oertaia 146 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1519, proof of his sincoro desire of the friendship for the master." Oh! faithful servant! Oh! open and incorruptible man! Henry's vanity was so flattered that ho took in every ■word, and looked on himself as so much the greater prmce to have a minister thus admired and courted by the most powerful monarchs. The way to negotiation was now entirely open. Francis appointed William Goudier, lord of n>nivet, admiral of Franco; Stephen Ponchicr, bishop of P.iris; Sir Francis de Rupecavarde, and Sir Nicholas de Neufvillo his pleni- potentiaries. They set out with a splendid train of the greatest lords and ladies of France, attended by a retinue of twelve hundred officers and servants. Francis knew that the way to ensure Henry's favourable attention was to compliment him by the pomp and splendour of his embassy. The French plenipotentiaries were introduced to Henry at Greenwich, on the 22nJ of September, 1518, and Wol- sey was appointed to conduct the business on the part of the king of Enj^land. When they went to business the ambassadors of Francis prepared the way for the greater matters by producing a grant, already prepared, and, therefore, clearly agreed upon beforehand, which they presented to Wolsey, securing him a pension of twelve thousand livres a year, in compensation for the cession of the bishopric of Tournay. This was a direct and palpable bribe ; but there was no troublesome and meddle- some opposition in the House of Commons in those days to demand the production of papers, and tlio impeach- ment of corrupt ministers. With guoh a beginning the terms of a treaty were soon settled. They embraced four articles: — A general contract of peace and amity betwixt the two kings and their successors, for ever, of course. A treaty of marriage betwixt the two little babies, the dauphin and Mary Tudor. The restitution of Tournay to France for six hundred thousand crowns. And, lastly, an agreement for a personal interview betwixt the two monarchs, which was to take place on neutral ground betwixt Calais and Ardres, before the last day of July, 1510. Henry, charmed with these new arrangements with France, seemed to conceive now as vehement an admira- tion of Francis, as he had before manifested a jealousy. No' doubt the tone in whicli Wolsey spoke of him was of the same kind, and the cause of it. Having excited warmth in the great favourite, that -warmth was breathed from the favourite on the master, if master Henry at this period could be called, for Wolsey was at the height of his unbounded greatness and power. Every d.iy Henry seemed only more desirous of divesting himself of his prerogatives, and piling them on the cardinal. By one warrant he authorised him to issue conges d'ilire, royal assents, restitutions of temporalities to all archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, and to all ecclesiastical benefices without so much as consulting the crown. With such power in his hands, ho was soon in possession or dis- poial of almo.^-t all the considerable benefices in England, from wliicli he derived an enormous income. The pope added to this by giving him the bishoprics of Bath and Wclli^, which had been taken from cardinal Adrian for a consplraoy against his holiness. To this spoiled child of fortune both Henry and Francis delegated all the arrangements for the proposed meeting of tlie monarchs. Francis sent him a warrant on the lOlh of January, 1519, empowering him to settle with Henry's commissioners the time, place, and all the other circum- stances of the intended interview. The publio mind in both France and En;;land was occupied by the details of this royal ceremony to the exclasion of almost every other topic, and both nations saw with wonder the vaet and expensive preparations for the pageant. The offence which this unparalleled lieight of favour enjoyed by the favourite gave to the nobility, caused much secret murmuring, and told against him fearfully when the tide at length turned. The effects of such enormous prosperity were now every day ripening and growing into a strange llagrance in the public eye. Wolsey was a despot of the most decided stamp, and Henry appeared judicially blind. Such was the pride of the cardinal that on solemn feast days he was not contented without saying mass after the manner of the pope himself. He had bishops and abbots to serve him, and had even noblemen to hand him water and the towel. It was owing to this last piece of arrogance that he is said to hove contracted that deadly enmity to the duke of Buck- ingham, which never rested till he brought that great nobleman to the block. One day the duke was holding the basin for the king to wash, when the cardinal came and unceremoniously dipped in his hand. The duke, incensed at this indignity, flushed scarlet with anger, and let the water fall into Wolsey's shoes. The cardinal, stung by this insult, said apart to Buckingham that " he would sit on his skirts " for that. Buckingham, to mark his con- tempt of Wolsey, appeared next day at court in a jerkin, and when the king demanded the reason of that bizarre costume, Buckingham replied merrily that the cardinal liad threatened to sit on his skirts, and therefore be had taken this precaution, for if he had no skirts they could not ho sat upon. It was only by such incidental means and by such spirited men as Buckingham that any complaint of my lord cardinal's doings could be brought to the king's notice. Every one was in terror of the overgrown minister. Such was his towering pride at this period that even Warham, the archbishop of Canterbury, liaving addressed him in a letter as "Your loving brother," Wolsey resented it as an' indignity, and complained of the primate's presumption in thus challenging an equality with him. On this being reported to the venerable Warham, he only calmly replied, " Don't you yet know that this man is drunk with too much prosperity P" No one, except the honest Warham, dared to carry any complaint to tlie king of his favourite's proceedings. He had set op a court of his own, which was an actual inquisi- tion, into which he compelled both laity and clergy, and in this he set himself up as the public censor of morals and opinions. Not only every man's conduct, but every man's conscience was at his mercy. He appointed as judge ia this court one John Allen, a man of scandalous life, whom he had himself, as chancellor, condemned for perjury. With such a mildewed and pliant tool as this, AVolsey drew a large income by fines upon the di.»solute conduct of both laymen, and of monks, and the clergy, who gave him ample scope for it. But though this might have passed in a man of strict life himself, the people wore especially dis- gusted to see a man who indulged himself freely, both in pomp and pleasure, so severe on the licentiousness of others. Nor did Wolsey confine himself to his own court : A.D. 1519.] CHARLES V. ELECTED EMPEROR OP GERMANY. 147 by his commissions he claimed to possess jurisdiction over all the bishops' courts, especially as it regarded wills ; and his decisions on such matters were regarded as most arbi- trary and intolerabia. None but Warham dared to bring the complaints and discontents of the public on this score to the ears of Henry, who merely bade Warh.im tell Wolsey that if anything were amiss to see it amended. But at length a person of the name of Loudon ventured to prosecute Allen, Wolsey 's judge, in a court of law, and convicted him of injustice and corruption ; and the people were so delighted with this that their clamour reached the king, who was greatly incensed, and gave the cardinal a rebuke, which made him a little more cautious. At the approaching royal meeting, however, we shall see the cardinal occupying the place of sole arbiter of all proceedings : the depository, as it were, of the jurisdiction and glory of the two monarchs of England and France. But whilst Wolsey was deeply occupied in his plans and preparations for the royal meeting, an event occurred which for a time arrested the attention of all Europe. This was the death of the emperor Maximilian, and the vacancy in the imperial oflSce. Francis I. and Charles of Spain were the two candidates for its occupation, and the rivalry of these two monarchs seems to have again awakened in Henry the same wi^h, though the plain statements of Bishop Tunstall had for a time suppressed it. He despatched a man of great learning, Dr. Richard Pace, to Germany, to see whether there were in reality any chance for him. The reports of Pace soon extinguished any hope of such event, and Henry, with a mean duplicity, then sent off his " sincere longings for success " to both of the rival candidates, Francis and Charles ! Francis declared to Henry's ambassador. Sir Thomas Boleyn, that he w'ould spend three millicms of gold, but he ■would win the imperial crown ; but though the German electors were notoriously corrupt, and ready to hold out plausible pretonces to secure as much of any one's money as they could, from the first there could be no question as to who would prove the successful candidate. The first and indispensable requisite for election was, that the candidate must be a native of Germany, and subject of the empire, neither of which Francis was, and both of which Charles was. Charles was not only grandson of Maximilian, and his successor to the throne of Austria, and therefore of a German royal house, but he was sovereign of the Nether- lands, which were included in the universal German empire. Even where Francis placed his great strength — the power of bribing the corrupt German electors, the petty princes of Germany, for the people had no voice in the matter — Charles was infinitely beyond him in the power of bribery. He was now monarch of Spain, of the Nether- lands, of Naples and Sicily, of the Indies, and of the gold regions of the newly-discovered America. Nor was Francis at all a match for Charles in the other power which usually determines so much in these contests— that of intrigue. Francis was open, generous, and ardent ; Charles, cool, cautious, and, though young, surrounded by ministers educated in the school of the crafty Ferdinand and the able Ximenes to every artifice of diplomatic cunning. Still more, the vulpine Maximilian, at the very time that he was attempting to wheedle Henry of England out of his money, on pretence of securing the imperial dignity for him, had paved the way for his own grandson, by assiduous exertions and promises an^pngst the electors, promises which Charles was amply able to fulfil. Accordingly, after a lavish distribution of both French ;i:id Spanish gold amongst the elector-princes of Germany, "''■•irles was de- clared emperor on the 28th of June, 1519. Fra ■-■'". though he professed to carry off his disappointment wiiu all the gaiety of a Frenchman, was deeply and lastingly chagrined by the event ; and though he and Charles must, under any circumstances, have been rivals for the place of supremacy on the continent of Europe, there is no doubt that this circumstance struck much deeper the feeling which led to that gigantic struggle betwixt them, which, during their lives, kept Europe in a constant state of warfare and agitation. Europe at this juncture presented a pecular aspect. Three monarchs especially stood forth as the arbiters of its destinies, made strikingly prominent above all others by the strength of their dominions, the vigour of their characters, and the superiority of their talents : those of England, France, and Spain. Francis L was now the ruler of a great and united kingdom, but Charles of Spain was the master of a still more extended empire ; to Spain, Austria, and the Netherlands, being added the dominion of the Two Sicilies and the dignity of the imperial crown of Germany. Frauds was of a chivalrous, open, frank, and munificent character, Charles V. was of a more reserved, artful, and diplomatic disposition, calculated to win his way by secret negociations, and to guard against surprises in war. Francis was the more amiable man, Charles the more great and politic king. He was of a close and intriguing turn, and rarely have such qualities been sup- ported by so immense a dominion. Francis was calculated to strike by sudden and brilliant exploits, but at the same time liable to run into imprudences and incur misfortunes ; whilst the vast power and contiguous terri- tories of these monarchs were sure to bring thorn into col- lision. Henry sat upon his isolated seat with a strength and distinction never enjoyed by a British monarch before, placed, as it were, by Providence to assuage the heats, balance the interests, and curb the ambition of those two great continental kings. But far from possessing the wisdom and the impartiality requisite for such an arbitra- tion, he veas at once one of the vainest, the most gullible, and most passionate of mortals. Hence he was continually drawn this way and that by the flatteries of the interested parties, or by the ambitious arts of his great favourite. Both Charles and Francis were intensely anxious to secure, the preference of Henry, because his weight thrown into either balance must give it a dangerous preponderance. Both, therefore, paid assiduous court to him, and still more, though covertly, to his all-powerful minister Wolsey. Francis, aware of the impulsive temperament of Henry, prayed for an early fulfilment of the visit agreed upon of Henry to France. It was decided that tho interview should take place in May. The news of this immediately excited the jealousy of Charles, and his ambassadors in London expressed great dissatisfaction at tho proposal. Wolsey found he had a difficult part to play, for he had great ex- pectations from both monarchs, and he took care to make such representations to each prince in private, as to per- suade him that the real affection of Kngltmd lay towards him, the public favour shown to tho rival monarch being only a matter of political expedience. When the Spanish 148 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED IIISTOBY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1520. ■mbMBSftdors foond tbcy oould not pat off the intended interricT, they proposed a visit of their master to the king of Sngloiid previously, on his wny from Spain to Germany. This wu secretly arrane;ed with the cardinal, bat woe to be made to appear quite an unpremeditated occurrence. AcoordiD;:ly, before the Icing set out for Calais, Charles, according to the secret treaty with Wolsey. sent that miuisier a prant under his privy seal, from the revenue of the two bishoprics of Badujoz and Placentia, of Eleven thousand ducats. Henry set forward from London to Canterbury, on his way towards Dover and Calais, attended by his queen and court, with a surprising degree of splendour. Wiiilst lying there, he was surprised, as it was made to appear, by the news that the emperor had been induced by his regard for the king, to turn aside on his voyage towards his German dominions, and had anchored in the port of Hythe on the 26th of May, 1520. As soon as this news reached Henry, he despatched Wolsey to receive the emperor and conduct him to the cast'e of Dover, and Henry himself set out and rode by torchlight to Dover, where he arrived in the middle of the night. It must have been a hospitably inconvenient visit at that hour, for Charles, fatigued by his voyage, had gone to bed. and was awoke from a eound sleep by the noise and bustle of the king's arrival. He arose, however, and met Henry at the top of the stairs, where the two monarohs embraced, and Henry bade his august relative welcome. The next day, being Whitsunday, they went together to Canterbury, the king riding with the emperor on his right hand, the earl of Derby carrying before them the sword of state. Wolsey had pushed forward, and on their entering Canterbury, appeared at the head of a great procession of the clergy, and led the way to the cathedral. This cathedral, containing the shrine of Thomas h Becket, was by far the richest of any in England, for, independent of its ancient date, and many royal and noble benefactors of the last eight hundred years, the wealth which the pilgrims to a Deckel's tomb had brought to it was enormous. The venerable cathedral, and the monastery attached to it, stood in the glory of their noble architecture in a very town of ecclesiastical buildings and offices, " Every place," Erasmus says, " was enlightened with the lustre of most precious Etones, and the church throughout abounded with more than royal treasure." The tomb of h Becket itself was one blaze of wealth and splendour. It was actually embossed with jewels and gold, and the gold, it was said, was the meanest thing about it. At this magnificent shrine — so accordant with Spanish ideas of religion — the emperor and Henry paid their homage, depositing their royal gifts, and spending some time in devotion ; but it is supposed that, at the very time Henry was paying this outward worship, he was pondering on the wonderful display of wealth, which made so deep an impression on his mind, that this gorgeous shrine was one of the very first that he stripped when he began his on- slaught on the ancient church. From the cathedral the emperor was conducted by his royal host to the palace of the archbishop, where ho was for the time quartered, and there introduced to his aunt, queen Catherine, and to Mary, the duchess of Suffolk, and qucen-dowagar of France. To her Charles had originally been engaged, and when he now saw her in the blaie of her full-blown beauty, he is said to have been greatly moved, and to have bitterly deplored the politi- cal events which had broken that contract, and robbed him of 80 charming a queen. For three days the archiepiscopal palace was a scene of the gayest festivities ; nothing wai omitted by Henry to do honour to his august relative ; and nothing on the part of Charles to win upon Henry, and detach him from the interests of Franec. Xor the less assiduously did the politic emperor exert himself to secure the services of Wolsey. He saw that ambition was the great passion of the cardinal, and he adroitly infused into his mind the hope of reaching the popedom through his influ- ence and assistance. Nothing could bind Wolsey like this fascinating anticipation. Leo X. was a much younger man than Wolsey himself; but this did not seem to occur to the sanguine spirit of the cardinal, for " all men think all men mortal but themselves;" whilst to Charles the circumstance made his promise peculiarly easy, as he could scarcely expect to be called upon to fulfil it. On the fourth day Charles embarked at Sandwich for the Netherlands, less anxious regarding the approaching interview of Henry and Francis, for he had made an ardent impression on the king, and had put a strong hook into the nose of his great leviathan, — the hope of the triple crown. Simultaneously with the departure of Charles, Henry, his queen, and court, embarked at Dover for Calais ; and, on the 4th of June, Henry with his queen, the queen- dowager of France, and all his court, rode on to Guisnes, where two thousand workmen, most of them clever artificers from Holland and Flanders, had been busily engaged for several months in erecting a palace of wood for their recep- tion. Henry went, of course, in all the splendour and state that his realm could supply, and Francis and the French court came to their rendezvous in equal pomp of circumstance and luxury of apparel. In Henry's train, besides all his gu.ards and servants, rode one cardinal, one archbishop, two dukes, one marquis, eight earls, and eigh- teen lords, with all their followers, besides multitudes of knights and gentlemen. The queen, besides the ladies, officers, and servants of her household, was attended by three bishops, one earl, three lords, thirty-three knights, one duchess, seven countesses, fifteen baronesses, nineteen ladies of knights, and many gentlewomen, with all their attendants. The suit, or, as it might truly be termed, the court of the cardinal was scarcely less numerous or darzling than that of the king. Never had the court of England dis- played such magnificence, demonstrating in it the aCBaence of the country and the ostentation of the monarch. The wooden palace which had been erected near the castle of Guisnes for the English court was square, sur- rounding a court, and each side of the building was three hundred .and twenty-eight feet in length. This building was covered on the outside with sail-cloth, so painted as to resemble squared stone. The wal's and roof were adorned with a multitute of statues of warriors, each discharging some weapon as in defence. Over the gr^'ot giitewny stood the figure of a colossal savage armed with a bow and arrow, and below it this inscription: " Cut adhetreo praesi" " He to whom I adhere prevails." This motto was chosen by Henry, for Wolsey had the sole direction of all the pre- parations and the ordering of all the proceedings and pa- geants on this occasion, and the words were intended to intimate that the monarch who allied himself to Henry A.i). 1520.1 MEETIisG OF HENBY AND FRANCIS. 149 would be tlie one to gain the ascendancy in Europe: a truly acceptable assurance to Francis, could he rely upon it. The palace within was lined with richest silks and tapestry of Arras. It was divided into halls, state-rooms, a most sumptuous chapel, and rooms for the accommodation of the royal family and principal guests. The ceilings were covered with silk, or richly painted, the floors covered with Q'urkey carpets, and the whole was furni.-hed in the most regal style, and the tables were loaded with massive plate. The altar of the chapel blazed with real or imitative jewels, and its walls glowed with the most gorgeous embroidery. On each side of the gate, on one side, stood a fountain of embowered work, gilt with fine gold, from which flowed red and white wines and hippocras, on which stood a statue of Bacchus, having this inscription — " Faicte bonne chere quy voudra " — "Make merry who will." Contiguous to the palace were erected suitable lodges for all the great officers of the household, and other buildings for the ewery, pantry, cellar, buttery, spicery, larder, poultry, and pitcher-house ; and in the plain around were pitched two thousand eight hundred tents, many of them large and magnificent, covered witli cloth of gold or silk. But even yet we should form no adequate idea of the extent of the concourse of great people, or the magnificence of the spectacle, did we not take into the view the houses of the town of Guisnes decorated for the occasion, and so crowded by people of rank and fortune, that many who lived in fine castles at home were obliged to lodge in barns and sleep on straw and hay. To the people of the continent, it was a siglit not every day to be had, to behold the king and queen of England, and all its collected nobility in their highest grandeur ; and foreign princes and princesses and nobility flocked thither from all parts, as they flock now-a-days to the coronation of a Eussian emperor, and either were entertained by the proud and prodigal English king, or swelled the crush in the little town of Guisnes. " During this triumph," says Hall, " much people of Pioardy and Flanders drew to Guisnes, to see the king of England and hi.s honour, to whom victuals of the court were given in plenty, and the conduit of the gate ran wine always. There were vagabonds, ploughmen, labo'irers, wagoners, and beggars, that for drunkenness lay in routs and heaps ; so great resort thither came, that both knights and ladies, that were come to see that nobleness, were fain to lye in hay and straw, and held them thereof highly pleased." Add to this tlie throngs of richly caparisoned horses, glittering with embroidery and jewels, and the gorgeous attire of both sexes, where nothing was to be seen but silks, velvets, cloth of gold, embroidery, gold chains, and precious stones, and you may have some idea of the enormous expense incurred by Henry and his chief subjects for this grand gala. "Many of the nobles," continues Hall, who was present on the occasion, "carried their castles, woods, and farms on their backs." Francis had raised for himself an immense pavilion near the town of Ardres. This was supported by a tall mast in the centre, from which were stretched ropes, so that it presented the appearance of a gigantic dome. The outside was covered with cloth of gold, and the roof within repre- sented the vaul't of heaven, the concave being of blue velvet, and the moon and stars of radiant gold. Unfor- tunately, a ruda tempest of wind and rain assailed the proud pavilion, snapped the ropes, laid all this magnificenee in the dirt, and compelled Francis to betake him to the castle of Ardres. As soon as the monarchs were respectively in visiting order, Wolsoy set out with a pompous train to wait on the king of France, and a deputation of French nobles made a like visit to the king of England. But the great display of state and the real business were attached to the person of Wolsey. He rode as not only cardinal and legate a latere, but as Henry's plenipotentiary, at the head of such a train of nobles, knights, and prelates, and in such a blaze of splendour, as utterly astonished all the spectators. The whole of this parade was depicted by French artists in books — the " Illustrated News " of the day — to preserve the memory of it. " These," says Hall, " showed the triumphant doings of the cardinal's royaltu, as of the number of his gentlemen, knights, and lords, all in crimson velvet, with marvellous number of chains of gold ; the multitude of horses, mules, coursers, and carriages, that went before him with sumpters and coffers ; his great silver crosses and pillars, his embroidered cushions, and his host of ser\an's, as yeomen and grooms, all clad in scarlet." Francis, of course, received the great man with all honour and cordiality, and they spent two days together in arranging an additional treaty. Francis was already bound to pay a million of crowns within a certain period ; and be now contracted to pay to Henry and his heirs one hundred thousand crowns annually, in the event of the marriage of the dauphin and the princess JIary taking place, and their issue being seated on the English throne. It was, moreover, agreed that all matters in dispute regard- ing Scotland should be left to the determination of Wolsey and of Louisa, the mother of Francis. The real business thus settled, the two kings prepared to meet. Henry set out dressed in a suit of cloth of silver of damask, striped with cloth of gold ; his horse, caparisoned in a most extravagant style with embroidery, and almost weighed down with solid gold bullion, and all his nobles in a similar magnificence. They were to meet in the valley of Andern, where a tent was pitched for the purpose. But, amid all this show, there was on both sides the most extraordinary distrust, and each party was under the con- stant apprehension of being entrapped and carried off by the other : such is the friendship of kings. Every possible precaution was taken to prevent a surprise, and the way before them was diligently reconnoitred, to see that there was no lurking ambush. It was ordered that the kings should set out at the same moment, the signal being the firing of a cannon at Guisnes, and the answer of another from Ardres. The number of attendants on each king was to be precisely the same, and the road was to be guarded by the same number of troops of both nations. When the two kings had advanced a little way, each from his own place, Francis caught an alarm from some circum- stance, halted, alighted from his horse, and remained in su.-pense till M. Morrct told him there was no danger, when he remounted, and rode forward. Precisely a similar fear seized Henry, but the earl of Shrewsbury said, "Sire, I have seen the Frenchmen ; they 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." "So we intend, my lordr" said the king ; on which the officers of arms cried, " On afore ! " At length these two monarchs, so brave and imposing in outward apparel and retinues, inwardly bo dreadfully 130 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1520. afraid of each other, met, and embraced each other on , horseback, expressed their great regard for each other, I then alighted, and walked arm-in-arm into the tent to- gether, where they conversed familiarly, dined, and then separated for the time, no doubt each congratulating him- self that he was safo. Hall, who took a close view of Francis, says. " He is a goodly prince, stately oi counte- ; visits went on for some time, but all regulated exactly liy the stiff etiquette prescribed by Wolsey. The two queens, amiable and serious women, from the first showed a far greater confidence in each other, which seemed to grow into a real regard. One incident of their mutual behaviour is worth all the rest of this hollow show besides. One morning when Wobey officiated at high mass before tho Meeting of Henry VHI. and Francis I. on the Field of tft Cloth of GolJ. nance, and merry of cheer ; brown coloured great eyes ; high-nosed, big-lipped ; fair breasted and shouldered ; with small legs and long feet." After this first interview, Francis rode over to Guisnes to visit the queen Catherine, and Henry at the same time rode to Ardrcs to pay his respects to queen Claude. The monarcbs spent the day in dancing, and making themselves agreeable to the ladies of the opposite court ; and thus their assembled courts at Quisnes, Henry and Francis receivcJ the eucharist, as a pledge of the peace which all these doings wore to perpetuate, with what effect a short time demonstrated. When the cardinal entered the separate oratory where the queens Catherine and Claude were kneeling, side by side, these ladies, before they communi- cated, tenderly embraced and kissed each other, in tokea of mutual affection. 1520.] THE FIELD OP THE CLOTH OF GOLli 151 The cold formality and restraint of the affair, however, •was not long in wearing out the patience of the more frank and generous Francis. One morning early he mounted his horse and rode off towards Guisnes, attended only by two "•ontlpMion and a page. On reaching the temporary palace, a body of two hundred English soldiers, who kept guard, were no little astonished to see him. " Surrender your arms," cried Francis, " you are all my prisoners ; and now conduct me to my brother." He entered the room where Henry was fast asleep, and drawing the curtains, exclaimed, " You are my prisoner ! " Henry was for a moment con- founded with astonishment at what he saw, but the next, springing from his bed, he clasped Francis in his arms, saying, " My brother, you have played me the most agree- able trick in the world, and have showed me the full confi- dence I may place in you. I surrender mysel f your prisoner from this moment." He took up a collar of pearls, worth 15,000 angels, and putting it on Francis, insisted that of his heart, he met a party of his courtiers in high alarm ; and his faithful oflBcer, Marshal Fieurangcs, said bluntly, " Sir, I am right glad to see you back again ; but let me tell you, my master, that you were a fool to do the thing you have done ; and ill luck betide those who advised you to it." " And that was nobody," said Francis, laughing; " the thought was all my own, and could have come from no other head." Henry was not the man to be outdone in a deed like that : of all things he delighted in such sur- prises, and therefore he speedily returned the visit in the same unceremonious manner ; and the barriers of the cardinal's stately etiquette being broken down, the inter- course of the courts went on far more pleasantly. The tournaments were such as had not been witnessed since the most chivalrous ages. Both Henry and Francis were ardently attached to all martial exercises, and there- fore they liad, months before this meeting, sent heralds into all the principal cities of Europe, to proclaim, by The Field of the Cloth of Gold. From a has relief on the Hotel du Bourtheroulde, at Rou be should wear it for his sake. Francis returned the com- pliment, by fixing on Henry's wrist a bracelet, of double the value of the collar. The jocund French kino- was in the merriest humour in the world. He insisted on helpinr' Henry to dress ; ho warmed his shirt, spread out his hoso, and trussed his points for liim ; and having done this, he mounted his horse again, and rode back to Ardros. What a pity that monarchs and statesmen do not extend such moments into years I We admire the bonhommic, the confi- dence and good-heartedness of such sallies. Alas ! that they are but sallies, and not the enduring conduct of poten- tates to one another. Were such things their practice, and not their aberrations, what a different world they would make of it ! But this act of Francis, instead of being regarded by his ministers, as it seems to us, one of the most natural and sensible things on earth, was looked upon as a freak of excessive folly. Riding back towards Ardres, in the gaiety sound of trumpet, the challenge of the kings of England and France, who, as brothers in arms, with fourteen com- panions, at tilts, tournaments, and barriers, would keep the field against all comers, and invited all valorous knights and gentlemen to come and accept the challenge. In this challenge the two kings showed themselves truer knights than Henry had done to Francis in a ludicrous challenge of another kind, which was never to shave till they met ; a challenge which Francis maintained, and appeared with a bushy beard, but Henry with a smooth face, assorting that the queen could not abide a shaggy chin. These tournaments opened on the Uth of June, and terminated on the 23rd. The enclosed arena was 900 feet long, and 320 feet wide, and surrounded by scaffolding and galleries for spectators. The two queens sat as umpires, loaded with silks, cloth of gold, and jewels, the very foot- cloth of queen Catherine being covered with pearls. There were two tents near the entrance of the arena for the kings 152 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1520 to arrfty themselves in, and to rest after their contests, and ■wine flowed like water. In the centre of the field was raised a mound, on which were planted two artificial trees, the hawthorn for Enghind and the raspberry for France, with their stems and branches lovingly int«rtwined. The shield of Henry, bearing the arms of England within a garter, hung upon one tree, and that of Francis, with the arms of France within a collar of his order of St. Michael, on the other. Henry was attended by his gallant brother- in-law, Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk, the marquis of Dorset, Sir ATilliam Kingston, Sir Richard Jemingham, Sir Giles Capel, Nicholas Carew, and Anthony Neyille ; Francis, by the lords Pol. Montmorency, Biron, and other gentlemen. Numbers of the bravest knights of different countries appeared in the lists to answer the challenges ; and six days were spent in tilting with lances, two in fight- ing with broad-swords on horseback, and two on foot at the barriers. There were five battles a day ; and in all, such was the valour of the monarchs, or the skilful flattery of their opponents, they came off conquerors. After the tournaments, the English and French wrestlers appeared, and wrestled before the kings and the ladies, in which contest the English bore away the palm. Henry, excited by this scene, seized Francis by the collar, crying, "My brother, I must wrestle with you," and endeavotired to trip up his heels ; but the king of France, who was a dexterous ^vrestler, twisted him round and threw him on the ground with great violence. Henry, mortified at this defeat before the two courts and the concourse of illustrious strangers, rose warmly, and insisted on renewing the con- test, but the nobles on both sides interfered and prevented further play. The joustings were succeeded by banquets, balls, masquerades, and mummeries, in which the ladies as well as the gentlemen played their parts. Shakespeare has described these gorgeous festivities in his unequalled style : — Hen might uy, Till this time pomp was single : bat now married To one above itself. Each foUovlng day Became the next day's master, till the last Hade former wonder it's : to-day, the French, All cllnqnant, all In gold, like heathen gods. Shone down the EngUab; and to-morrow, they Made firitain, India ; ever)- man that stooJ, Shewed tike a mine. Their dwarfish pages were. As cherubims, all Kilt ; the madams, too, Kottised to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting ; now, this mask Was cried Incomparable ; and the ensuing night Made it a foot and beggar. The two kings, Eqaal in lustre, were now best, now worst. As presence did present them : him In eye. Still bim In praise ; and being present both, 'Twas said they saw but one : and no dlscemer Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns (For so theyphrasc them), by their heraldi, challengea The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compaaa : that former, fabuloiu story. Being now seen possible enough, got credit Km>) Henry Vlll., Act 1, Sctne 1. The end of all these international spectacles, of all these sports and hanquetings and social amusements, shows how little such things can do to bind together the hearts of rival people. The enormous expenditure, followed by years of difficulty, and in many cases of utter ruin, by the actors in them, should have produced seme national good. They produced none. The whole was hollow, and left no trace behind more than the glories of a Fata Morgana, which, pictured upon vapour, is blown away by the next breeze. The Field of the Cloth of Gold was immediately preceded by the emperor's visit, exciting deep jealousy in the minds of Francis and the French ; and the moment the French retired, the coqueting with the emp?ror was renewed, and he was actually brought upon the scene as if purposely to give him the closing effect. Oa the 23rd of June the tournaments closed ; on the 24th, Francis spent the day at Guisnes, with the queen and court of England, and Henry at Ardres, with the " good queen Claude " and the court of France. On their way back the two kings met, spent some time in familiar conversation, made many warm expressions of their mutual and lasting regards, embraced, and parted. On the 25th, the English court returned to Calais, half the followers of the nobles were sent home, and then active preparations wefe made for visiting the emperor at Grare- lines, and receiving a visit from him at Calais. By the 1 0th of July all was ready, and Henry set out with a splendid retinue for Gravelincs. He was met on the way, and con- ducted into the town, by Charles, with every circumstance of honour and display. Charles, whose object was avowedly to efface any impression which Francis and the French might have made on the mind of Henry at the late inter- view, had given orders to receive the English with every demonstration of friendship and hospitality, and his orders were so well executed that the English were enchanted with their visit. The next day Henry returned to Calais, accompanied by Charles, his aunt Margaret, and the im- perial court. Then, as if Henry had studied to place Charles precisely in the position which Francis had occupied in the late fete, Charles found a stupendous wooden building erected for his reception, in a circular form, and the ceiling painted to represent the concave of heaven, and the moon and stars, like that of the pavilion of Francis ; and as if nature would do her part to make the resemblance perfect, there came a tempest which damaged it so extensively, that it could not be repaired in time. Notwithstanding, three days were spent in a continual round of hanquetings, maskings, balls, and revelries. It was natural that the attention of Francis and the Frenoh nation should be fixed with a keen interest on these merry- makings with the rival monarch, directly upon the heels of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. There were, therefore, numbers of the French emissaries who made their way into the royal palace disguised as maskers, to learn what was actually going on under this surface of gaiety. La Roche, the ambassador of Francis, did not hesitate, moreover, to present himself for an audience with tlie two kings. Whatever the anxious envoys might make out, everything which passed in public was of a character to move the spleen of the French, who had just put themselves to such expense and trouble to prevent an amity in that quarter. On the fourth day Charles returned with his court to Gravelincs, mounted en a splendid horse, the gift of Henry, covered with a cluth of gold richly studded with precious stones. It was a direct triumph over bis rival Francis, and said more loudly than words — " See what has come of it all !'' But Charles did not spare to scatter abroad words of high gratalatioa too. He everywhere extolled the good fortune of hb aant Catherine, who was married to so great and magnificent a prince. In all this may be traced the hand of WoJsey, who was paying his assiduous court to Charles in pursuit of the promised papal tiara. Henry was but the puppet, whilst A.D, 1520.1 WOLSEY'S REVENGE ON BUCKINGHAM. 153 he thought himself the director of everything and the greatest man on earth. On the departure of Charles, Henry and his court eraliarkcd for Doveir, veSurning proud of his sham prowess and mocls-l:.att!es, and of all his finery, liut both himself and all 'lis r.llc/w'ers loaded with a fearful amount of debt for this uvelcfS and hypocritical display. When the nobles and gentlemen got homo and began to reflect coolly on the heavy responsibilities they had incurred for their late showy but worthless follies, they could not help grumbling amongst themselves, and evenblaming the cai'dinal, as loudly as they dared; as being at the bottom of the whole affair. One amongst them was neither nice nor cautious in his expres- sions of chagrin at the ruinous and foolish expense incurred, and denounced the proud cardinal's arabiticn as the cause of it all. Buckingham never forgot the threat of Wolsey to sit on his skirts, and Wolsey never forgave the insult of Buckingham throwing the water into his shoes, and making a jest before all the court of the cardinal's menace, by sporting a short jerkin. He was now to pay afatal penalty for his insult and his jest. Edw.ard Staiford, duke of Buckingham, was the son of that duke who, revolting from Richard HI. at the instiga- tion of Bishop Morton, was defeated and beheaded. Though the revolt of Buckingham had operated eventually in favour of Henry VII., yet the present duke, his son, had escaped the jealousy of that monarch almost by miracle, for he was one of those descendants of royalty who always kept him in alarm. He was desocnded from Thomas of AVoodstock, the youngest son of Edward III., and is said to have been not only extremely vain of his royal lineage, but to look with the eye of a true claimant on the crown. Whether this wasreally thecaae, or only the insinuation of his enemies, the effect was the same. It afforded the vindictive cardinal a convenient plea for the purposes of his ven- geance. Buckingham was one of the most wealthy peers in England, another cause of danger under a monarch like Henry VIII., and he was moreover of a bold, free, aspiring temperament : fond of the ^clat of a great position, a great house and retinue. He was liberal and even lavish in his conduct, and accustomed himself to talk freely of public affairs, not even sparing the king, especially on account of his blindness in fostering so haughty an upstart as Wolsey. Ho criticised freely the king's ministers and measures, and that was not a day when an opposition to government could exist and maintain the privilege of freedom of speech with impunity. Wolsey, having determined to destroy Buckingham, was not long in preparing his machinery. The duke was accused of having augmented extravagantly his retinue and state before going to the Field of the Cloth of Gold, though the reason for this was obvious enough, and every nobleman had done the same to make a figure on that occasion equal to his compeers. But Wolsey's nialico had whispered a traitorous idea of it into Henry's ears before setting out on that occasion, and had particularly excited his jealousy by pointing out that Sir William Bulmer h.ad quitted the king's service, and entered that of Buckingham. Henry, in his anger, had sununonod Sir William into the Star-chamber, as though such an act were one of treason, and so alarmed the knight that he foil on his knees and begged pardon : whereupon tho king pardoned him, but added these signifi- cant words :— .•■ He would have none of his servants hang on another man's sleeve ; and what might be thought of Ills departing, and what might be supposed by the duke's retaining, he could not then declare." Thus mischief was meant even before the duke went, but now his movements on his return hastened the crisis of his fate. It appears that, like many nobles and princes of those times, Buckingham had great faith in soothsaying and astrology. He had, some years before, had the misfor- tune to become acquainted with one Hopkins, the prior of ihe charter house at Henton, who professed to be able to see into futurity ; and this man, on the occasion of Henry setting out on the expedition to Terouemie, had predicted that Henry would return with fiime from France, but that James of Scotland, if he passed the borders, as he was then menacing, would never return alive to his kingdom. The exact accomplishment of both these prophecies pro- duced in Buckingham a profound conviction of Hopkins's prescience, and from that time forward, the artful prior was much about the duke. He soon perceived that Buckingham was elated with his royal descent, as a much preferable one to that of Henry, and the king, having no sons, he began to play upon his credulity, and prognosticated the highest destinies for his patron ; he insinuated, in fact, that Buck- ingham would succeed the king on the throne. All these circumstances were carefully hunted out by Wolsey through his spies, and made the most of. The plot being ripe, the witnesses against the duke wore secured from amongst his own servants. They were apprehended and committed to the Tower, where their hopes and fears could be sucoessfidly operated upon, and they could be held in reserve for the occasion. These men are said to have been put to the torture to extort the necessary confessions. They were Hopkins, the prophet, Dclacourt, Buckingham's con- fessor. Perk, his chancellor, and Charles Knevet, his steward. Whatever might be the case with the rest, the evidence of Knevet seems to have been voluntary and even oflBcious. He was a relative of the duke's, and had been his steward and confidential servant, but from some cause had been dismissed by him, and now was a ready and vindictive witness, a fit tool of the cardinal's malice. All being ready, Buckingliam, who was residing at his estate of Thornbury, in Gloucestershire, was invited to court. It is said that he obeyed the summons, unsuspicious of any evil intended him, but it is difficult to suppose this, when hia own servants had been already arrested, and thrown into the Tower. He set out, however, and was soon after startled by observing three knights of the king's body-guard riding at some distance in his rear, attended by a number of armed followers. Appearing to take no note of this, he travelled on to Windsor, and there his suspicions were greatly augmented by seeing those knights and their followers posted, as it were, on guard over liiin. He was not left long without confirmation strong that he was a doomed man, for the gentleman harbinger of the king, at Windsor, treated him with marked disrespect, and on reach- ing Westminster, he went to pay his respects to Wolsey, but was curtly told that he was indisposed. The cardinal's ser- vants had already their cue, and the coldness which they showed him gave the duke the gloomiest apprehensions. Taking bis barge to row down to Greenwich, where the court was, he was met by the barge ef Sir Henry J'arney, the cap- tain of the body-guard, with a detachment of yeomen ef the guard, who arrested him as a traitor, and conveyed him 151 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED niSTOEY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1521. [irisoner to tho Tower, to the great astoui^buieat and grief of the people, Tith whom he was highly popular. A court was t'ormcd for his trial, consisting of the duke of Norfolk, as lord high steward, and seventeen other peers. On the 13th of May, 1521, he was brought to trial, and accused of having entertained traitorous designs against the king's crown and life ; of having induced, by solicitations imagining the king's death, and that the words be had spoken were evidence of such imagining. The duke pro- ceeded, however, to examine and refute the charges, one after another, with great eloquence' and vehemence of denial, and demanded that his own servants should be called to confront him. This was done at ones. Hopkins, Delacourt, ond Perk were made to witness against liiia ; ry^hr'' ^y^^fy^-,c^ ExccuUon of tho Duke of Buckingham. .and promises, Hopkins to prophesy in his favour ; of debauching the minds of the king's yeomen of the guard, and his servants, by bribes and hopes of benefit ; of even threatening the king with death. Buckingham denied all the charges with great indignation, and declared nothing but Knevet was the most fatal of his opponents. Ho declared that, on the 1 Ith of November, at East Greenwich, he had said to him that when the king had reproved him for retaining Sir William Bulmer in his service, if he had perceived that he could be sent to the Tower, as he once whatever in the indictment amounted to an overt act, but ; suspected, he w^ouldhave requested an audience of thck ng, Fineux, the chief justice, replied that the crime consisted in and, when admitted, would have run him through the body A.D. 1521.] EXECUTION OP BUOKINGHAJU. 155 with hig dagger, as his father intended to have done to Richard III., at Salisbury, if he had come into his presence. It was added, that had he succeeded in killing the king he would have cut off the head of the cardinal, and of some others, and ihcn seized the throne. Words on such trials were useless ; the seventeen peers found him guilty of everything, as thry knew they were expected to do, and the duke of Norfolk, deeply affected, and shedding many tears, for that dirty work was wofuUy unbeBttingthe brave victor of Flodden, pronounced sentence against him. Buckingham replied in the same manly man- ner which had marked him through the whole trial : — "My lord of Norfolk, you have said to me as a traitor should be said unto ; but I was never none. Still, my lords, I nothing malign you for that you have done unto me. May the eternal God forgive you my death, as I do ! I shall never sue the king for life ; howbeit, he is a gracious prince, and more grace may come from him than I desire. I entreat you, my lords, and all my fellows, to pray for me. " The edge of the axe was then turned towards him, as was the custom towards condemned traitors, and he was conducted by Sir Thomas Lovell to his barge. Sir Thomas requested him to take his seat on the cushions and the carpet prepared for him in the boat, but he declined, saying : " When I came to Westminster I was the duke of Bucking- ham, but now lam nothing but Edward Stafford, and the poorest man alive." Persisting in his resolution not to solicit the king's mercy, for, no doubt, he was well convinced that he had an enemy who meant to have his blood , he was brought out of his dungeon to a scaffold on Tower- hill, on the 17th of May, four days after his trial, and there beheaded. His behaviour at the place of execution was of the same lofty, but more sedate character ; he died like a brave and an innocent man, and when his head fell, the people gave a groan. " God have mercy on his soul I " says the reporter of hie trial, " for he was a most wise and noble prince, and the mirror of all courtesy." The various causes of antipathy betwixt Francis T. and Charles V., which had been long fomenting, now reached that degree of activity when they must burst all restraint. War was inevitable. The first breach was made by Francis. He empowered the Marshal de Fleuranges to raise a small force, and march to the assistance of his father, the prince of Sedan, who complained of injuries from the emperor, and had sent him a defiance. By the treaty of 1518 betwixt France, England, the emperor Maximilian, and Charles, then king of Spain, it was stipulated that in case any one of the parties made war on another, the rest of the confederates should call upon him to desist, and if he re- fused, should declare hostilities against him. Charles now, therefore, appealed to Henry, who sent an ambassador to Francis to admonish him not to break the league by aiding the enemies of the emperor. Francis.who was afraid of giving cause for Henry to join the emperor, at once complied, and ordered Fleuranges to disband his army. But this con- cession did not prevent Charles from sending a powerful force to chastise the prince of Sedan, which again roused Francis to oppose this aggression; and to take more effectual means of checking Charles, he seized the opportunity of an insurrection in his Spanish territories, to unite with the ex- pelled king of Narvarre, Henry D'Albret, for the recovery of his patrimony. The French army rushed across the Pyrenees, and in fifteen days they were in possession of the whole of Navarre. The Spanish insurgents took no part in this invasion, but on the contrary, when the French, not content with the liberation of Navarre, passed the frontiers of Castile, and were approaching Logrono, Spaniards of all parties united to repel the invaders with such impetuosity, that they not only drove them back from Castile, but ex- pelled them again from Navarre in lesa time than it had taken to win it. Whilst Francis made this sudden attack in the south, he had induced De La Marque, duke of Bouillon, to revolt from Charles, and to invade the Netherlands at the head of a French army. At this crisis Charles appealed to Henry to act as mediator, according to the provisions of the treaty of 1518. Henry at once accepted the office, and entered upon it with high professions of impartiality and of his sincere desire to promote justice and amity, but really with about the same amount of sincerity as was dis- played by each of the contending parties. Francis had certainly been the aggressor, and Charles having inter- cepted some of his letters, had already convinced Henry, to whom he had shown them, that the invasion of both Spain and Flanders was planned in tlie French cabinet. Henry's mind, therefore, was already made up before he assumed the duty of deciding ; and Charles, from being aware of this, proposed his arbitration. Henry, moreover, was anxious to invade France on his own account, spite of treaties and the dallyings of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, but he had not yet the funds necessary. With these feelings and secrets in his own heart, Henry opened his proposal of arbitration to Francis, by declarations of the extraordinary affection which he had contracted for him at the late interview. There was no alternative for the French king, but to acquiesce in the proposal ; the place of negociations was appointed to be Calais, and, of course, Wolsey was named as the only man able and fitting to decide betwixt two such great monarchs, — Wolsey, who was bound hand and foot to the emperor by the hope of the popedom. It was a clear case that Francis must be victimised, or the negociation must prove abortive. Wolsey set out with the state of sometliing more than a king to decide betwixt the kings. In addition to his dignity of papal legate « latere, he re- ceived the extraordinary powers of tjreating fifty counts- palatine, fifty knights, filty chaplains, and fifty notaries ; of legitimising bastards, and conferring the degree of doctor in medicine, law, and divinity. By another bull, he was empowered to grant licenses to such as he thought proper, to read the heretical works of Martin Luther, in order that some able man, having read thom.might refute them. This was to pave the way for a royal oliampion of the Catholic church against Luther and the devil, and that such a champion was already at work we shall shortly have occasion to show. Such were the pomp and splendour of the great cardinal, that, when Wolsey oontinued his journey into the Netherlands, with his troops of gentlemen attending him, clad in scarlet coats, with borders of velvet of a full hand's breadth, and with massive gold chains ; when they saw him served on the knee by these attendants, and expending money with the most marvellous profusion, Christiern, king of Denmark, and other princes then at the court of the emperor at Bruges, were overwhelmed with astonishment, for such slavish homage was not known in .Germany. Wolsey landed at Calais on the 2nd of July, 1521, and 156 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1521. was received with great reverence. The ambassadors of | tions which such conferences assume, wheu the real points the emperor had taken care to be there first, and with [ at issue have been determined upon privately beforehand them \\ -key, secretly to settle all the points to be in- I l.y the parties who mean to carry out their own views The The City of Bruges— Palace of the Franks. eisted upon. The French embassy arrived the next day, ) French plenipotentiaries alleged that the emperor had anu the discussions were at once entered upon with all that I broken the treaty of Xoyon of 1516, by retaining possession air ot solemn impartiality and careful weighing of proposi- I of Navarre, and by neglecting to do homage for Flanders 1521 ] WOLSEY ACTS AS MEDIATOR BETWEEN FRANCIS 1. AND CHARLES V. 157 and Artois, fiefs of the French crown. On the other hand, the imperial representatives retorted the breach of the treaty of Noyon on the French, and denounced in strong terms the late invasion of Spain and the clandestine sup- port wiven to the duke of Bouillon. The cardinal laboured to bring the fiery litigants to terms, but the demands of the emperor were purposely pitched so high that it was impos- sible. The differences only became the more inflamed: and on the imperial chancellor, Gattinara, declaring that he could not concede a single demand made by his master, and that he came there to obtnin them through the aid of the king of | the English and the emperor both before and after the meeting at the Field of the Cloth of Gold ; and they opposed this proposal of Wolsey's with all their power. But their opposition was useless. There can be no doubt that the primal object of Wolsey in his embassy was to make this visit to Charles for his own purpose, and that it had been agreed upon betwixt himself and Charles before he left London. In vain the French protested that such a visit, made by the umpire in the midst of the conference, to one of the parties concerned, was contrary to all ideas of the impartiality essential to a mediator ; and they declared Queen Catherine of Arragon. From the Miuiaturo by Holbein. England, who was bound to afl'ord it by the late treaty, Wolsey said that there, of necessity, all his endeavours must end, unless the emperor could be induced to modify his expectations ; and that, as his ambassador liad no power to grant such modification, rather than all hope of accommodation should fail, he would himself take the trouble to make a journey to the imperial court, and en- deavour to procure better terms. Nothing could appe.ir more disintere.9ted on the part of the cardinal, but the French ambassadors were struck with consternation at the proposal. They were too well aware of the cardinal's lean- ing towards Charles ; they did not forget the coquetting of 66 that, if the thing was persisted in, they would break off the negotiation and retire. But Wolsey told them that, if tliey did not remain at Calais till his return, he would pronounce them in the wrong, as the real aggressors in the war, and the enemies to peace and to the king of England. There was nothing for it but to submit. The cardinal set out on his progress to Bruges on the 12th of August, attended by the imperial ambassadors and a splendid retinue of prelates, nobles, knights, and gentle- men, amounting altogether to four hundred hor.^emen. The emperor met him a mile out of Bruges, and conducted him into the city in a kind of triumph. Thirteen days, a greater 158 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED UISTOKr OF K.\GLAND. [a.d. 1522. number tlian had been occupied at Calais, were spent in the protended conferences for reducing the emperor's demands on France, but in reality in strengthening Wolsey's interest with Charles for the popedom, and in settling the actual terms of a treaty betwixt Charles, the pope, and the king of England, for a war against France. So deep was the hypocrisy of these parties, that before Wolsey had left England, so early as the 29th of July, he had received a commission from Henry granting him full authority to make a treaty of confederacy with the pope, the emperor, Uio king of France, or any other potentate, oflFensive or defensive, which the king bound himself to ratify ; the words " king of France, or other king, prince, or state," being clearly inserted to cover with an air of generality the par- ticular design. The proposed marriage betwixt the dauphin and the princess Mary was secretly determined to be sot aside, and a marriage betwixt Charles and that princess was agreed upon ; and, moreover, it was settled that Cliarles should pay another visit to England on his voyage to Spain. Writing from Bruges to Henry, Wolsey told him all this, and added that it was to be kept a profound secret till Charles came to England, so that, adds Wolsey, " con- Tenient time may be had to put yourself in good readiness for war." After all this scandalous treachery, called in state lan- guage diplomacy, Wolsey returned to Calais, and resumed the conferences, as if he were the honestest man in the world, and was serving two kings about as honest as him- Bclf. He proposed to the plenipotentiaries a plan of a pacification, the conditions of which he knew the French would never accept. All this time hostilities were going on b-^twixt Francis and the emperor. The emperor had taken Mouzon and laid siege to Mezidres, and Francis, ad- vaneiiig, raised the siege, but was checked in his further pursuit of the enemy by the count of Nassau. At this crbis Wolsey interposed, insisting that the belligerents should lay down their arms, ond abide the award of king Henry ; but this was by no means likely on the part of the French, after what had been going on at Bruges, and there- fore Wolscy pronounced Francis the ag?ro.ssor, and that Henry was bound by the treaty to aid the emperor. This was but a very thin varnish for the proceedings wliich immediately took place at Calais, and revealed the result of the interview at Bruges, in an avowed treaty betwixt the pope, the emperor, and Henry, by which they bound themselves, in order to promote an intended demon- stration against the Turks, and to restrain the ambition of Francis, that the three combined powers should, in the spring of 1523, invade France simultaneously from as many dif- ferent quarters; that, if Francis would not conclude a peace with the emperor on the arrival of Charles in Eng- land, Henry should declare war against France, and should break oflF the proposed marriage betwixt the dauphin and the princess Mary. Meantime, the united forces of the pope and Charles had prevailed in Italy, and expelled the French from Milan ; the emperor had made himself master of Tournay, for which Francis had lately paid so heavy a price, and all the advantages that the French could boast of in the campaign to balance these losses, were the copture of the little fort- rcs.-os of Hesdin and Bouchain. TVolsey landed at Dover, on the 27th ot November, after the discharge of these im- portant functions, having laid the foundation of much trouble to Europe, by destroying the balance of power betwixt France, the empire, and Spain, which it was the real interest of Henry to have maintained, and having equally inconvenienced the government at home by carrying the great seal with hira, so that those who had any business with it were obliged to go over to Calais, and there could be no nomination of sheriffs that year. But so unlimited was the power reposed in him by Henry at this period, that nothing could open the king's eye to his mischievous and inflated pride, not even placing himself wholly on a par with him in the treaty just signed, when he made himself a joint-guarantee, as if he had been a crowned head. Wolsey had laboured assiduously and unscrupulously for Charles V. in furtherance of his own ambitious views. What convulsions disorganised Europe, what nations suffered or triumphed, troubled him not, so long as he could pave the way to the papal chair. The time which was to test the gratitude of Charles came much sooner than any one had anticipated. Leo X , who was in the prime of life, elated with the expulsion of the French from Italy, was occupied in celebrating the triumph with every kind of public re- joicing. The moment he heard of the fall of Milan he ordered a Te Devm, and set off from his villa of Magliana to Rome, which he entered in triumph ; but that very night he was seized with a sudden illness, and on the 1st of December, but a few days afterwards, it was announced that he was dead, at the age of only forty-six. Strong suspicions of poison were entertained, and it was believed that it had been administered by his favourite valet, Bernabo Malaspina, who was supposed to have been bribed to it by the French party. The news of Leo's death travelled with all speed to Eng- land, and Wolsey, who amid all his secret exertions to attain the papal tiara had dcclarT5d with mock humility that he was too unworthy for so great and sacred a station, now threw off his garb of indifforence, and despatched Dr. Pace to R Mno, with the utmost celerity, to promote his election ; and he sent to put the emperor in mind of his promises. On the 27th of December the conclave commenced its sittings. Another of the Medici family, cardinal Giulio, appeared to have the majority of votes, but for twenty-three davs the election remained undecidod. The French cardinals opposed Giulio with all the persevering virulence of enemies smarting under national defeat. Numbers of others were opposed to electing a second member of the same family, and Giulio, growing impatient of the stormy and intermin- able debates which kept him from attending to pressing affairs out of doors, suddenly nominated cardinal Adrian, a Belgian. This extraordinary stroke was supposed to be intended merely to prolong the time, till Giulio could throw more force into his own party, but cardinal Cajeton, a man of groat art and eloquence, who knew and admired the writings of Adrian, and had probably suggested his name to Giulio, advocated his election with such persuasive power, that Adrian, though a foreigner, and personally unknown, was carried almost by acclamation. And thus, as Dr. Lingard observes, within nine years from the time when Julius drove the barbarians out of Italy, a barbarian was seated as his successor on the papal throne. The cardinals had no sooner elected the new pope than they appeared to wake from a dream, and wondered at their own work. The act appeared to be one of those sudden impulses which seize bodies of people in a condition of great A.D. 1522.] VISIT OF CHARLES V. TO ENGLAND. 159 and prolonged excitement, and they declared that it must have been the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. A.s for Wolsey, it docs not appear that his sincere friend the emperor, who had protested that lie would have him elected if it were at the head of his army, moved a finger in his behalf. The proud cardinal, however, was obliged to swallow his chagrin, and wait for the next change, Adrian being already nn old man ; and Dr. Pace remained at Rome to congratu- late the new pontiff on his arrival, and solicit a renewal of his legative authority. Francis at this crisis made strenuous efforts to regain the friendship of Henry. Probably he might think that the disappointment of Wolsey might cool his friendship for the emperor, or, which was the same thing, diminish his confi- dence in his promises ; whilst Charles was very well aware that Wolscy was much more serviceable to him as minister of England than he could be or would be as pope. Francis bassador to be confined to his house, all Frenchmen in London to be arrested, and dospatched Clarenceux king-at- arms to Paris with a mortal defiance. What particularlv exasperated Henry was the news that a whole fleet, loaded with wine, had been seized at Bordeaux, and the merchants and seamen thrown into prison. The English were ordered to make reprisals, and this was the actual state of things when .Sir Thomas Cheney, his ambassador, announced by despatch tiiat Clarenceux king-at-arms had declared war on the 2 1st of May at Lyons; to which the king had replied, " I looked for this a great while ago; for since the cardinal was at Druges, I looked for nothing else." The wily manoeuvres of Wolsey had deceived nobody. On the 26th of May, only five days after the declaration of war with France, the emperor Charles V. landed at Dover. The passion of Henry had precipitated the out- break of hostilities, for it was not intended that war should Hampton Court Palace, the Residence of Cardinal AVolsey. attacked Henry on his weakest side, his vanity. He heaped compliments upon him, and entreated that if he could not be his fast and avowed friend, ho would, at least, abstain from being his enemy. To give force to his flatteries, he held out hopes of increasing his annual payments to England, and when that did not produce the due effect, he stopped the disbursements of that which he had been wont to remit. Finding that even this did not influence Henry, who was kept steady by "Wolsey, he laid an embargo on the English .shipping in his ports, and seized the property of the English merchants. At this act of decided hostility, Henry was transported with one of those rages which became habitual in after years. As if he had not long been plotting against Francis, and preparing to make war upon him, — as if he had not coolly and even insolently repulsed all his advances and offers of advantage and alliance, — he regarded Francis as an aggressor without any cause, ordered the French am- be declared till Charles was on the eve of departure from England, so that he might continue his voyage in safety to Spain. The king, however, received his illustrious guest with as much gaiety and splendour as if nothing but peace were in prospect. Wolsey waited on Charles at the landing- place, and, after embracing him, led him liy the arm, as though he were the peer of the greatest kings, to the castle, where Henry soon welcomed him with great cordialitv. Charles calculated much, in the approaching war, on the fleet of Henry, and, to show him its extent and equipment, Henry conducted him to the Downs, and led him over all his ships, especially his great ship, " Henri, Grace a Dieu," which was considered one of the wonders of the world. He then conducted his imperial guest by easy journeys to Greenwich ^ where the court was then residing, and introduced him to his aunt, the queen, and her infant daughter, whom it was arranged that he should marry. At this period the court of Henry w.as a scene of great IGO CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [A.n. 1522. splendour, outward prosperity, and festive enjoyment. Henry was in tlie flower of his life, being about thirty years of oge. nis portrait, ub drawn by Seb;istiano Guisliniani, the A'enctian aniba.<^ador, gives a very lively and striking idea of him : — " His majesty is as handsome as nature could form him, above any other Christian prince — hand- somer by far than the king of France. He is exceedingly fair, and as well proportioned as possible. When he learned that the king of France wore a beard, he allowed his also to grow." This must have been after the Field of tlie Cloth of Gold, for we are assured that he appeared there with a smooth face. " His beard being somewhat red, h.is at present the appearance of being of gold. He is an exccUont musician and composer, an admirable horse- man and wrestler. He possesses a good knowledge of the French, Latin, and Spanish languages, and is very devout. On the days on which he goes to the chase, he hears mass three times, but on the other days as often as five. He has every day service in the queen's chamber at vespers and compline. He is uncommonly fond of the chase, and never indulges in this diversion without tiring eight or ten horses. These are stationed at the different places where he proposes to stop. When one is fatigued he mounts another, and by the time he returns home they have all been used. He takes great delight in bowling, and it is the pleasantest sight in the world to see him engaged in this exercise, with his fair skin covered with a beautiful fine shirt. He plays with the hostages of France, and it is said they sport from six thousand to eight thousand ducats a day. Afl'able and benign, he offends no one. He has often said to the ambassador he wished that every one was content with his condition, adding, ' We are content with our islands.' " These certainly were the halcyon days of Henry and his court. How little could any one see, in the jolly monarch, the furious and ferocious monster of after years ! But Henry was at this period as devout as he was jovial. Cattierine, who was now about thirty-five, was of a serious and religious cast, thoughtful and amiable. She was a comely woman in her prime, unlike Spanish ladies in general, with auburn hair and a fair complexion, generally dressing richly, often in dark blue velvet, with the hood of five corners, bordered with rich gems, a chain of pearls clustered with rubies round her neck, and a cordelier belt of the same jewels round her waist, hanging to her feet. Unlike her robustious husband, she was by no means fond of field sports, but rather of working embroidery with her maids of honour, and holding serious conversation with such men as Sir Thomas More, who now comes into notice, and the learned Erasmus, who ptissed some time in Eng- land about this period, ond who said of her th;it she spent that time in reading the sacred volume which other prin- cesses occupied in cards and dice. On the throne she led the life of a religious devotee. She rose to prayers in the night at the same hours as the inmates of convents ; she dressed for the day at five in the morning, and beneath her royal raiment she wore the habit of St. Francis, being a member of the third order of his community. She fasted on Fridays and Saturdays, and on the vigils of saints' days. She confessed at least once a week, and received the eucharist every Sunday. For two hours after dinner one of her attendants read to her books of devotion. Such was the court of England, such the king and queen, at the time of the emperor's visit. Such a mixture of prosperity, of worldly enjoyment, and religious solemnity, seemed little to bode the scenes and manners which after- wards prevailed there. Era.smu8 was so struck by it, that he declared that the royal residence ought rather to be called the court of the Muses than a palace ; and he asked, " What household is there, among the subjects of their realms, that can offer an example of such united wedlock P* AVhere can a wife be found better matched with the best of husbands P " But even now, beneath this fair surface, the elements of mischief and trouble were at work. With all the king's religious practices, the licentiousness of his nature was beginning to emerge to the light. Already, while on his campaign in France, Henry had formed a liaison with the wife of Sir Gilbert Tailbois, who, after her husband's death, bore him a son in 1519, whom he called Henry Fitzroy. Since then there had been a great scandal about Mary Boleyn, the elder sister of Anne Boleyn; and Catherine had made such a storm on the discovery, as compelled the king to consent to the lady's marriage with a gentleman of the name of Carey j and now Anne Boleyn herself was just coming on the scene, to scatter trouble and dissension through this well-regulated household. For the time, however, all was mirth and jollity. Oa the Gth of June, Henry conducted the emperor with great state into London, where the inhabitants received him with a variety of shows and pageants. Sir Thomas More spoke the emperor's welcome in a learned oration, and there was a profusion of Latin verses in honour of the occasion. The two monarchs feasted, hunted, and rode at tournaments, whilst their ministers were bu.'^ily employed in carrying out the terms agreed upon at Bruges into a treaty, which was signed on the 19th at Windsor. The subjects of this treaty were the marriage of Charles with the infant princess Mary, which the two monarchs bound themselves to see completed, under a penalty, in case of breach of engagement, of four hundred thousand crowns. Charles also engaged to in- demnify Henry for the sums of money duo to him from Francis ; and, what was most extraordinary, both monarchs bound themselves to appear before cardinal Wolsey in case of any dispute, and submit absolutely to his decision, thus making a subject the superior of monarchs. The emperor also engaged to indemnify the cardinal for his losses in breaking with Francis, by a grant of nine thousand crowns .annually; thus paying this proud priest for being the author of this war. Yet, after all his court- ing and flattering of Wolsey, after again assuring him of his determination to set him in the papal chair, it is certain that he hated the man, and only used him a? a tool. His aunt, queen Catherine, had deeply resented the cardinal's pursuit of the duke of Buckingham to the death, for whom she entertained a high regard ; and Wolsey was aware of it, and never forgave her. It was, probably, in reply to Catherine's relation of this trugic event that Charles, whilst on this visit, was overheard to say, " Then the butcher's dog has pulled down the fairest buck in Christendom " — a witticism which flew all over the court, and was never for- gotten by the vindictive Wolsey. Having agreed to bring each forty thousand men into the field, and to attack France simultaneously on the north and the south, and that Charles was to co-operate with the English for the re-conqucst of Guicnne, the emperor em- barked on the.Cth of July, and pursued his voyage to Spain. A.D. 1522.] INVASION OP FRANCE, 161 CHAPTER VIII. REIGN OF HENRY THE E!GHTH-(Continucd). The Wnrwith France-Tho Earl of Surrey inviides that Country- State of France— Tlie gallant Conduct if Francis I - Revolt of the Dnke of Ernvlon-rope Adrian VI. dic.=— Clement VII. elected- Appearance oi Luther- Henry writes aeainst him— Is vtyled by the Pope " Defender of the Faith "- Progress of the War- Francis I. talsen Prisoner at Ih. Battle of PaTia- Change of Feelinc at the English Court— Treaty with France— Wolsey grows unpopular— Francis I. regainshis Liberty- Italian League, including France :ind 1 ngland, against the Emperor- Fall of the Duke of Bourbon at the Siege if Rome-Sacking of Rome, and Capture of the Pcpe-The Pope escapes- Henry applies to his Holiness for a Divorce from the Queen- Anne Boleyn— War declared against Spain— Cardinal Campeggio arrives in England to decide the Legality of Henry's Marriage with Catherine— The Queen refuses all Negotiation on the Subject— Henry's growing Intimacy with Anne Boleyn. and Discon- tent with Wolsey— Cranmer's Advice regiirding the Divorce— Fall of ■Wolsey- His Banishment from Court, and Dealh-Tlie Queen's Divorce agitated in Parliament- Opposed by the Clergy—The Queen inflexible- Sir Tliomas More resigns— Treaty with France— The King's Marriage with Anne Boleyn -Cranmer made Archbishop— The Pope reverses the Divorce — Separation of England from Rome. On tlic dep.arture of the emperor, Henry commauJed the earl of Surrey to scour the channel before him j anii, within twenty miles of the capital. They had stopped by the way to invest Bray, Montdidier, and some other small places, and now confidently expected the arrival of tho Herman army. But the Germans, by this time, were in full flight before the duke of Guise, and Vendome and Tremouille manoeu- vred more menacingly on the front and flank of the allies. Tremouille, in particular, grew more and more aud;icious. 163 OASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAXD. [a.d. 1523. beat op their quarters with his cavalry, harassed them by frequent skirmishes, and intercepted tlieir convoys. The position of the allied troops became every day more critical. They were threatened with a growing force in their rear, drawn from the garrisons of Pi- cardy, and there was danger of their supplies, which were all derived from Calais, being cut oflF. The troops were become sickly, and discontented with their situation. It was high time to retrace their steps, and they commenced their march by way of Valen- ciennes. But the weather was very rainy, the roads were almost impassable, cold and frost succeeded, .and the sickness and mur- murs of the troops aug- mented every day. lum- bers perished on the march; all were eager to reach their homos; and, King Henrv and his Council. From Hall's Chronicle. as the Flemings drew near their frontiers, they de- serted in shoals. The armies then separated, and Suffolk reached Calais in December, with his forces greatly reduced, and all in miserable condition. Henry, who had calcn- liited most confidently on the effect of this concerted scheme, was highly enraged at the failure of the duke of Suffolk; who, though he was a very handsome and gallant man at a tourna- ment, had shown himself thoroughly destitute of the talents of a general. The duke, though he was so nearly allied to the king, yet dreaded so justly his resentment, that he prudently remained at Calais till the fury of it abated, and it required all the address of the cardinal to restore him to Henry's good - will. The emperor had scarcely effected any- -m Old Greenwitli c, as it appeared in the Keign of Henry VIII. i.D. 1523.] EBIGN OF HENRY Vlil. 1G9 FRANCIS I., KINO OF PRANCE, TAKEN PRISONER AT THE BATTIE OP PAVIA. (sEE PAOE 172.) 67 170 OASSEI.L'S ILLUSTRATED nrSTORT OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1521. thing during this campaign, and thus allowed Francis more completely to buffle the invasion in the north. It was long before he coulJ prevail on the Cortes to grant supplies for the payment of the German auxiliaries: the arrival of the troops was retarded by other difficulties, when the want of money had been obviated ; and when they did come, it was so late in the season, that the Spanish lords refused to entangle themselves in the wild fastnesses of the Pyrenees, on the march towards Guienne, in the depth of winter. Charles coiild only compel them to follow him by the exertion of his authority, and they accomplished nothing but the reduction of Fontarabia. The troops which' Francis had sent into Italy under Boni- vet had effected considerable ."^orvice. Descending from Mount Cenis, Bonivet poured his army of French, Germans, and Swiss over all the north of Lombsirdy. Asti, Alex- undria, and Novara fell into his hands. But he lost time in mancenvring by the river Ticino ; and when he arriveii before Milan, he found it put into so complete a state of defence by Prospero Colonna, that it resisted all his efforts to take it, either by storm or by the slower process of famine. The inhabitants, who had already experienced the tyranny of French conquerors, were enthusia^^tic in their maintenance of it ; and in November the weather became so severe, that Bonivet was compelled to retire into winter quarters at Rosate and Biagrasso. On the Htli of Septcrabor, whilst Bonivet was investing Milan, and the duke of Suffolk was advancing on Paris, an event occurred which arrested the attention of Cardinal Wolsey even more than the engrossing moves on the great chess-board of war. This was the death of the pope Adrian. He had occupied the papal chair only about twenty months; and so imp.atient were the Italians of the Flemish pope and his strict economy, that they styled the doctor who attended him in his last sickness the saviour of his country. Wolsey lost no time in putting in his eWm ; and wrote to Dr. Clark, tlio English ambassador at Rome, telling him to spare neither money nor promises, for that it was by command of the king, who would undoubtedly see all his engagements perhirmeil. This time Wolsey was put in nomination, and obtained a considerable number of votes; but there was no real chance for him, for the Italians were clamorous to have no more ultramontane, or, as they styled them, b-arbarian popes. Charles V., spite of all his promi.^es to Wolsey, not only did not move a finger in his favour, but threw all his influenoe into the scale to carry the election of Giulio dei Medici ; whilst tlifl French cardinals, to a man, were opposed to AVolsoy as'Uic most dangerous enemy to tiicir sovereign. The conclave met in October, and the discussion was continued through six stormy weeks. The election at length was seen to lie betwixt Jiioovacoio Romano and Giulio dei McduA. Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, who held the most decisive influence in the conclave, threw his weight into tlie scale foi-iRomano, and the balance hung undecided ; but all at onee it cave way. Oolonnu, who hated the Medici, gave up his opposi- tion, and Oiulio ;ht led out their troops silently to the park. A body of pioneers commenced operations on the wall, and before daylight they had effected a breach of a hundred paces in length, and at da\vn they carried the castle by surprise. Francis drew his troops out of their entrenchments, and made a push to cross the Ticino, but he found the bridge demolished, and a strong body of the Spaniards closely drawn np on the banks. Attacked fiercely by the garrison in the rear, and hemmed in by the imperial army in front, the battle became desperate. Francis had his horse killed under him ; the Swiss, contrary to their wont, turned and fled at the first charge ; and the Germans, who fought with singular valour, were anni- hilated to a man. The Spanish musketeers then broke the French ranks; and the king, being already wounded twice in the face, and once in the hand, refused to surrender to the Spaniards who environed him. Fortunately, Pomperant, a French gentlemen in the service of the duke of Bourbon, recognised him, and called Lannoy, to whom the king resigned his sword. Lannoy kneeling, kissed the king's hand, took the sword, and gave him his own in return, saving it did not become a monarch to appear unarmed in the presence of a subject The king was relieved of his helmet by James D'Avila ; and the Spanish soldiers, who admired his valour, came crowding around him, and snatched the feathers from it, and, when they were all gone, even cut pieces from his clothes, to keep as memorials that they had fought hand to hand with him. Francis was soon left standing in his jerkin and hose, and, spite of his mis- fortune, could not help laughing at his situation, and at the eagerness of the soldiers for something belonging to him. Presently Bourbon presented himself with his sword in his hand, dripping with the blood of his own countrymen. At that sight the king was seized with the deadly paleness of indi;:nation. Bourbon fell on his knees, and requested permission to kiss his sovereign's hand, but Francis turned from him with contempt. "Ah, sire!" exclaimed the constable, bursting into tears," had you followed my advice in some things, you would not be now in this condition, nor would the plains of Italy be soaked with the best blood of France." There was too much truth in the statement ; for Francis had been mi.sled by the arts of a vengeful woman, and Bourbon had been driven by crying injustice into rebellion. But Francis, mounting a horse which was brought him, rode away with Pescara and Lannoy, without deigning another look at the duke. He was conveyed to the fortress of Pizzighit'ne, where he was strictly guarded, but with all honour, till the pleasure of the emperor should be ascertained. Francis wrote to his mother by Pennalosa, to whom Francis gave a passport to pass through France, to convey the news to the emperor. Louise was at Lyons when the messenger arrived there, and delivered the royal letter. It contained simply the words, " Madame, all is lost, except our honour." Admiral Bonivet, marshal de Chahannes, and Richard do la Pole, a pretender to the crown of Enjland, with more than ci(;ht thousand of the French army, fell in this action. The titular king of Navarre, the bastard of Savoy, and many distinguished officers, were taken with the king. All the artillery, arms, ammunition, military chest, and baggage of the vanquished army fell into the hands of the allies, who were astounded at the greatness of their victory. The amazement and consternation which fell on France at the news of this terrible disaster are scarcely to be imagined. Nothing, indeed, could bo more melancholy than the situa- tion of that kingdom. Her king was captive, her most distinguished generals and the flower of the army were taken or slain, powerful and triumphant enemies on all sides were ready to seize her as a spoil, ,ind she was equally destitute of allies, of money, of troops, or wise counsel. Scarcely less was the terror of the princes and the states of Italy, for their only safety, the balance of power, was destroyed, and there appeared no defence against the pre- dominant power of the emperor. Charles himself assumed an air of singular composure and moder.iti'in on the receipt of this brilliant new.^^. He hiid been daily expecting to hear of the defeat of his army, when, on the 10th of March, came the tidings of this great victory. We may imagine, therefore, his real joy. But such was his command of his feelings, that nothing of this appeared in his manner. He perused the despatches with the most perfect composure, affected even to commiserate the fall of his rival, and moralised sagely on the uncertainty of all human greatness. A little time, however, was suffi- cient to show that all this was dissimulation, and his con- duct to Francis was ample proof that he had neither pity nor generosity. Henry of England, on the contrary, gave a loose to his expressions of joy. Though he was actually on his way to coale.sce with Francis against Charles, he saw at once the immense advantages his defeat and capture offered for aggressions on his kingdom, and he therefore ordered the most public rejoicings in London and all his other citie-s and rode himself in state to St. Paul's, where the cardinal performed mass, assisted by eleven bishops, in presence of the court and all the foreign ambassadors ; and afterwards Te Dcura was sung. Henry then posted off Tunstal, bishop of London, and Sir Richard Wingfield, chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster, into Spain to congratulate the emperor on his splendid triumph, and modestly to propose that they should divide France between them. Nay, Henry had the aa- sur-ince to claim, by the treaty betwixt these two exemplary monarchs, that he should be crowned king of France at Paris, and that Ch.irles should satisfy himself with certain northern ,and southern provinces. By another articlo>of this treaty it was stipulated that any prince taken prisoner during the war should be delivered over to that sovereign whose terri- tories he had invaded. Henry, therefore, instructed his ambassadors to claim the surrender of Francis to him, on the plea that he had not only invaded Normandy and Guienne, but France itself, which he contended was right- fully his inheritance. These extravagant and absurd demands, which could have risen in the mind of no man who was not puffed up by the most insane vanity, were not very likely to be received with any degr. e of attention by Charles in the very honr of his triumph, and conscious of the immensely augmented power of his positi(m. To induce Charles to consent to this improbable arrangement, Henry proposed at once to put the princess Mary, who was betrothed to Charles, into his hands ; —in fact, to make the exchange of her person for that of Francis. Henry was the more buoyed up in these wild notions by the fact that 1525.] OPPOSITION TO TDE KING'S DEMAND FOE MONEY. 173 the ambassador of Charles had just been applying for the delivery of the princess. So confident was Henry of the cession of his claims by the femperor, that he instantly took measures to raise the money necessary for the invasion of France. As he had resolved to rule without the interference of parliaments, he sent out commissioners to every part of the country to levy the sixth part of the goods of the laity and a fourth of tiici.se of the clergy. The scheme was entirely unconstituticmul, the commissioners performed their part in a harsh and over-bearing manner, trusting thus to intimidate the people into compliance, and the ccmsequence was a universal resentment and resistance. Clergy and laity, rich and poor, all alike denounced the arbitrary and illegal impost. " How the great men took it," says Hall, " was marvel : the poor cursed, the rich repugned, the lighter sort railed, and, in conclusion, all men execrated the cardinal as the subverter cf the laws and liberties of England. For, said they, if men should give their goods by a commission, then were it worse than the taxes of France; and so England would be bond and not free." This was the more just because the cardinal in person acted as commissioner in London, and lent all the weight of his office and position to sanction the oppression. He used all his arts to prevail on the citizens to comply, but neither threats nor blandishments moved them. The resistance was obstinate and universal. Archbishop Warham, formerly the wise minister of Henry, though now old, addressed a plain and honest letter to tlie haughty cardinal, saying: "I have heard that when the people be commanded to make fires and tokens of rejoicing for the taking of the French king, divers of them have spoken, that they have more cause to weep than to rejoice thereat. And divers, as it hath been shown me secretly, have wished openly that the French king were at his liberty again, so as there was a good peace, and the king should not attempt again to win France, the winning whereof should be more chargeable to England than profitable, and the keeping thereof much more chargeable than the winning." In London the excitement became excessive : the people placarded the walls with their complaints, and the clergy preached against the arbitrary tax, and declared that for themselves they would pay no money which was not voted in convocation. Prom London the fire spread through the other towns, the people began to take up arms, the clergy to encourage them, and Henry, who was soon terrified, with all his bluster, took the alarm, and declared that he wanted nothing from his loving subjects but as a benevolence. But the very word benevolence awoke a host of hateful recollections. The tumult was only increased by it ; and a lawyer in the city published the passage from the act of Eichard III., by which benevolences were abolished for ever. This seemed to arouse the lion spirit in Henry ; the prospect of the crown of France was too fascinating to be lightly surrendered ; he, therefore, called together the judges, and demanded their opinion on his power to tax his subjects without parliament. The venal judges reminded the king that Eichard III. was a usurper, and that his parliament was a factious parliament, all the acts of which were illegal and void, and could in no wise bind a legitimate and absolute king, who, like him, held the crown by hereditary right. This bold and base doctrine was loudly echoed by the privy council, but vain were such authorities with the people. On hearing this decision, they again flew to arms. In Kent they speedily drove the cora- mi.-sioners and tax-gatherers out of the county j in Suffolk they marched in an armed body of four or five thousand men, and even threatened the duke of this county, Brandon, the king's brother-in-law, who was the chief com- missioner there, with death. Surrey, who stood high in the estiuiatioa of the people, interfered to calm ihem, and to prevent mischief; and Honry saw that the contest was hopeless, and by' procIain;itiim retracted his demand. Wolsey, who had been extremely prominent in endeavouring to enforce the detested tax, now caused a report to be industriously circulated, that he had, in truth, never been favourable to it, but the people only replied when they heard it, " God save the king ! we know the cardinal well enough." Hut Henry might have spared himself all this tumult and unpopularity. The emperor was never less likely than now to concede such favours and advantages to him. He was a deep and subtle prince ; no man could see more intuitively and instantly the wonderful change in his power and position which the battle of Pavia created. He was at once freed from a potent and ambitious rival. His own plans were no longer thwarted, his own territories were no longer threatened ; but, on the contrary, the whole of the Continent lay, as it were, at his feet. He seemed to stand upon it a huge imperial colossus, almost without the .shadow of a rival. Henry was the only man from whom he had anything to fear, and Henry, he saw, was destitute of money, and unsupported in his desires for continental conquest by hispeople. Charles at once, therefore, assumed the great man, and determined notonly to moriify Henry's pride, but to punish him for his neglect to invade Picardy, accord- ing to agreement, so as to alleviate the pressure of the French arms on him in Italy, and for his secret negotia- tions with the French court. He tlierefore received Henry's ambassadors with marvellous coldness. So far from con- senting to his propositions, he informed them that, by the advice of his council, he had determined not to invade France at all. He insinuated that the engagements Of Henry were not to be relied on, and gave his non-invasion of Picardy, according to contract, as a proof. He did not forget to remind them of Henry's recent negotiations with France. So far from being anxious to receive the Princess Mary, the ambassadors discovered that Charles was actually contemplating another marriage, and was in treaty for the infanta Isabella of Portugal. Charles had calculated upon Henry for large subsidies during the war, but instead of these he had found Henry equally straitened for money as himself, and had, in fact, endeavoured, in the midst of his struggles with Francis, to extort from him the money which ho had given security for on his account. Still more, it was discovered that the emperor had already made a truce for six months with France, and now coolly advised the ambassadors to seek from their sovereign power, not to negotiate the plan of an invasion of France, but the terms on which the French king should be liberated. To crown all, and leave no question of the feeling which Henry's late conduct had pro- duced in Charles's court, he wrote to Henry, no longer styling himself his loving uncle, and penning the gro.ssest flatteries with his own hand, but he simply and curtly signed himself Charles, to official oommunications duly and officially prepared. 171 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d 1525. This was a rebuff not to be received complacently by a man of Henry's vain and volcanic spirit. He read the astounding despatches with an astonishment which burst into a tempest of rage. At once a tide of impetuous revul- sion flowed over his whole soul. He abandoned in a moment all ideas of conquests, invasions, and the crown of France, and determined to do everything in his power to procure envoy, Giovanni Joacchino, were again despatched to Lon- don. A truce for four months was immediately concluded, and Wolsey, who fanned the new flame in Henry's bosom fur objects and resentments of his own, soon arranged the terms of a treaty with them. These terras were extremely acceptable to Henry, as they furnished liim with a prospect of a considerable addition to his income, without the dis- Anne Bolevn. the liberation of Francis, and to unite with him against the perfidious and insulting Spaniard. He had, in his ebullition of triumphant anticipation on the news of the capture of Francis, dismissed the French envoys, wlio were residing privately in London, and now let it bo understood that their presence would be heartily welcome. Louise accepted the hint with all alacrity, and John Brenon, president of the council of Normandy, and her favourite agreeable necessity of having to go to parliament for it. The treaty consisted of six articles. By the first, the con- tracting parties engaged to guarantee the integrity of each other's territories against all tlic princes in the world. The object of this was to prevent Francis bartering any of hi-: provinces with Charles for his liberty. By the second, Francis and his heirs were made to guarantee to Henry the payment of two millions of crowns, by half-yearly instal- A.D. 1525.] TREATY WITH FRANCE. 175 :^*f^j#^ Bird's-eye View of Rhodes in the Sixteenth Century. Frura an Ancient Manuscript. menta. and a hundred thousand crowns for life, after the | article, the king of France engaged to pay up all the arrears payment of that amount. Nino of the chief noblemen of of the dowry of Mary, the queen-dowager of France. The France, and nine of the richest cities, also, gave their rest of the articles were for the prevention of depredations bonds for the security of these payments. By the third ' at sea, for comprehending the king of Scots in the treaty. 17G OASSELLS ILLUSTKATKD HISTORY OF ENGLAND, [a.d. 1520. and for the provention of tlic return of the duke of Albany to Scotland durinj; the minority of James V. This treaty yras signed at the Moore, the king's house in Hertfordshire, on the 30th of August. Tho cardinal, who never forgot himself on these oecasinns, was well rewarded for his trouble in promoting and arranging this alliance. He received a grant of one hundred thousand crowns for his good offices in the aff.iir, and the arrears of his pension in lieu of his surrender of the bishopric of Toumay, the whole to be paid in equal instalments in the course of seven years and a half. But whilst the French regent, Louise, made these liberal concessions for the friendship of Henry, and showed every apparent disposition to guarantee the conditions, Louise swearing to them, and Francis ratifying them, care was taken to leave a loop-hole of escape at any future period. The attorney and solicitor -generals of the French govern- ment entered a secret protest against the whole treaty, so that Francis might, if occasion required, plead the illegality of the whole transaction. But it was not so easy to procure the liberation of the captive king of Prance. Moderate as Charles had professed to be, and sympathetic regarding the misfortunes of Fran- cis, he soon showed that ho was determined to extort every possible advantage from having the royal captive in his hands. He had been detained in the strong castle of Pizzighitone, near Cremona ; but thinking that he should be able to influence the emperor by his presence, he petitioned to be removed to the Alcazar of Madrid. The ministers of Charles, fearful that the French king might s.j far win upon him as to draw from him some imprudent concessions, got him away to Toledo, to preside at an assembly of the drtes, before the arrival of Francis. The captive king, impatient of the recovery of his liberty, now offered to give up all claim to Naples, Milan, Genoa, and all the other territories in Italy ; to relinquish the supi>- riority over Flanders and Artois ; to restore the duke of Bourbon and bis followers to their estates and honours ; t'j marry Eieanora, the emperor's sister, and to pay three millions of crowns for his ransom. These enormous con- cessions did not, however, satisfy the moderate and philo- Bophic Charles^ lie demanded the surrender of Burgundy, which, he maintained, had been wrested unjustly from his family. This Francis positively declined, and wa- thercupon informed that he must either restore it, or calcu- late on remaining a prisoner for life. But so determined on this point w.is Francis, knowing that with the possession of Burgundy his enemies could at any time penetrate into the very heart of his kingdom, that he signed his abdication in favour of the dauphin, and gave way so completely to the distressing influence of despair? that Iris lieolth failed rapidly; and the emperor; alarmed lest his captive should escape out of his hands, and with him all the .idvnntngm he was ondeavooring to extort from him, hastened from Toledo to Madrid, and visiting Francis with an air of kind- ness, gave him hopes that all difficulties should be removed. This had such a cheering eflVct on the health of the captive, that Charles now again thought his fears unnecessary, and returned quietly to Toledo, leaving Francis in a confine ment as strict as ever. The chagrin of the French monarch brought back his dangerous .symptoms, and the greedy emperor was once more seized with his old fears. His position at this moment was anything but enviable. His affairs in Germany were in a condition to excite many anxieties. The Turks had taken Rhodes, entered Hungary, and menaced his own do- minions : but a far more formidable enemy was growing and becoming every day more fearful. This was the reformation, which now had a very powerful body of adherents, and threatened to prostrate all the supporters of the ancient church. Barbarossa, who, from a pirate, was become a great prince, obstructed his commcice and menaced tho coasts of Spain. Ilis relative, the king of Bngland, resenting his treatment, was become the fast friend of France; and France, under the able management of Louise, was again in a posture of respectable defence. His exchequer was empty, and he had no meanS^f wresting Burgundy from Prance j and he might lose the very countries and the money offered him, should the king die, or should ho effect his escape. He was aware that plots were on foot for the purpose ; that no money would be spared by the lady regent; and the escape of the king of Navarre, in his servant's clothes, though he had been as strictly guarded since the battle of Pavia as Francis him- self, brought the possibility of such a chance very vividly to his mind. At length, therefore, on the 14th of January, 1520, was signed the famous treaty called the Concord of Madrid, one of the mo.-t grasping and impudent pieces of extortion which ever one prince forced from another in his necessity. By this treaty Francis gave up all that he had offered before — namely, all claims of superiority over Flanders and Artois, and the possession of Naples, Milan, Genoa, and the other Italian territories, for which France had spent so much blood and treasure. But besides this, Francis was to deliver to the emperor his two sons, the dauphin and tho duke of Orleans, as hostages, and also bind himself, if he did not, or could not, fulfil all his engagements within four months, to return and yield himself once more prisoner. He was to marry queen Eieanora ; and the dauphin, tho princess Maria, the daughter of Eieanora. But these were but a small part of the demands of the insatiable emperor. He compelled Francis to engage to persuade the king of Navarre to surrender all his rights in that kingdom to Charles, and the duke of Gueldres to appoint Charles the heir to his dominions ; and if he could not persuade them, he was to give them no aid when the emperor invaded their states. Next, Francis was to lend his whole navy, five hundred men-at-arms and six thousand foot soldiers, to put down the princes of Italy, who were uniting to effect hig own freedom ! Then. Francis was to pay to the king of Bngland all those sums which the emperor himself had engaged to pay. Still more. Jie was to restore Bourbon and the rest of tho rebels to their estates and honouni<. Tho whole of the oonditions ^rcre so monstrous, that' they cannot be road without astonishment at the rapaottyof this mean and clutching prince. When the treaty was signed, the emperor aaHnncdionce more his mien of kindness, fa^Tned■ upon the man whom he had held in suoli rigorous durance, and from whom ho had extorted not only his posisess ions, but his honour. He in- troduced him to his future queen, called him hia dearest brother and most beloved friend, and vainly hoped to m!ikc his victim forget the royal rack on wliich he had stretched him. But such things never are forgotten. In the soul oi Francis they lived strong and imperishably, and whilst he 1526.] A LEAGUE FORMED AGAINST THE EMPEROR. 177 complied with the detestable pressure of this imperial vam- pire, he secretly swore to break every eugagement, as forced, execrable, and unwarrantable. Historians affect to condemn Francis for this conduct. Could they expect anything else, or could the unprincipled emperor have expected anything else, had he not been blinded by his greed. In all ages and nations, such forced and iniquitous engagements have been held void. It was a game played betwixt a man whose avarice had no bounds, and whose honour had no existence, and another, who consents to feign acquiescence to defeat the hideous machinations of his oppressor. Hating and loathing the monster who had thus extracted from him in his captivity things more precious than his lifu's-b'iOod, Francis set out for the frontiers under strong guard ; and in a ship moored in the middle of the river Bidassoa, which separates France from Spain, Francis was permitted for a moment to embrace his two sons, who were going into captivity, that ho might come out shorn to the quick. No sooner did he land in his own territory, than he mounted a Turkish horse, and shouting in transport, " I am a king again ! " he galloped forward to St. Jean de Luz, and thence to Bayonne, where his sub- jects thronged out and welcomed him with the most en- thusiastic delight. Can any one doubt what were his feelings towards his intended brother-in-law of Spain at that moment P Henry VIII. was one of the first amongst princes to send ambassadors to . congratulate Francis on his restoration to freedom, and to urge him to break every article of the infamous terms which had been forced upon him. Sir Thomas Cheney was sent from England to meet Dr. Taylor, the English ambassador at Paris ; and together they proceeded to Bayonne, and were introduced to Francis, who toll them he greatly felt the friendship of Henry, who had, indeed, remonstrated with Charles on his behalf, though Charles had not paid much respect to the intercession. There was no need of any arguments from the two English casuists to induce Francis to break the engagements he had entered into. He had never meant to keep them. Before signing the document, he had protested, before two notaries and a few confidential friends, tliat ho acted under restraint, and that he should hold himself bound to observe none of the conditions that were not just and reasonable. Two ambassadors had attended him from Spain to take his signature of the treaty, when he was free and on his own soil, as a ratification of it, which he had engaged to give ; but when the ambassadors presented themselves for this purpose, Francis dt-clined, afBrniing that he could not enter into any such engagements witlmut the advice of his council, and the approbation of his subjects. He assured them, however, that he would immediately summon an assendjly of the notables at Cognac, and requested them to attend him thither, to learn the decision of the assembly. This body met at that place in June, and declared, with one voice, that the king had no right or power to sever Bur- gundy from the kingdom without their consent, and such consent they would never give. The Spanish ambassadors were present when this decision was pronounced, and they said that the king, not being able to fulfil his contract, was bound to return to his captivity, and they called upon him to obey. Instead of a direct answer to this demand, a treaty betwixt the king of France, the pope, the Venetians, and the duke of Milan, which had been secretly concluded a few days before, was produced, and published in their hearing. As this was tantamount to a declaration of war, the ambassadors demanded their passports, and returned to Spain. The pope, on entering into this Icagu?, absolved Francis from all the forced oaths that he had sworn. This confederacy of Francis and the Italian princes and states against the emperor, bound the allies to rai.«e and pay an army of thirty thousand foot and three thousand horse, with a certain number of ships and galleys. The king of France was to be put in possession of the county of Asti and the lordship of Genoa, and Francis Sforza, duke of Milan, engaged to pay him fifty thousand crowns annuiilly. Naples was to be wrested from Charles, and its crown placed at the disposal of the pope; but the king that he appointed was to pay an annuity of seventy-five thou.-iand crowns to the king of France. Henry of England, though ha declined to take any active part in the league, but consented merely to be nominated its protector, was to have a principality in Naples, with thirty-six thousand ducats a year ; and the cardinal, who always came in for his share of spoil, was to have a lordship, worth ten thousand. Though the league was formed expressly against the em- peror, yet, to give it an air of justice and fairness, he was invited to become a party to it, provided he approved of the arr.angements designed for Italy, dropped his demand on Bur;;undy, and consented to liberate the sons of Francis for a liberal ransom. If he declined the terms, as they well knew that he would, the confederates bound themselves to assist the king of France in enforcing them. The com- pletion of this treaty was duly notified to the emperor by the ambassadors of the different confederates. Charles re- ceived the information with extreme anger. He severely upbraided the pope for his part in it, when he knew that he had been the chit f means of placing him in the pupal chair, though a bastard ; .and as for Francis, he denounced him as a thoroughly perjured prince, who had violated every article of the treaty of Madrid, and he challenged him to justify his conduct by a direct appeal to single combat. Francis not only replied, but published his reply in every court of Europe, in an able and eloquent defence, drawn up by Duprat, the chancellor of France. Ho, in his turn, upbraided Charles with his selfish, grasping, oppressive, and dishonourable conduct, when the fortune of war put him into his power ; that ho had broken the treaty of Noyon by retaining the kingdom of Navarre ; had induced the duke of Bourbon and his adherents to rebel ; and had extorted terms and oaths from him by violence, whilst he was his prisoner, in the most cruel and ignominious manner ; that all the world held such oaths and engagements to be utterly void, and that, when they were forced upon him, he had told him that they were void, and coidd not be kept i that he knew very well that ho had no power to surrender Bur^;undy, but that he was quite willing to pay a just amount of money in lieu of it, and another for the ransom of his children. Charles replied in a strain of great bitterness, and he did not confine himself to words ; he put his troops in motion, and, in the first place, advanced to punish the pope, and break up the Italian confederacy. The Spaniards, from the kingdom of Naples, advanced on one side, and the 178 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1527. Qormrm and Spanisn subjects of the emperor, from Lorn- i bardy, f:»rm.», and Piacenza, on ihc other : there was no Freno'i prince to support him, .ind Clement was speedily compelled to sua for peace. Moncida, the governor of Naples, sigDcJ a treaty with him ; and a month aftorwards, in a m.)st perfiJioiu manner, in concert with the family of Colonna, surprised the city of Rome, plundered the Vatican, \ and compelled the pope to seek refuge in the Castle of : St. Angelo. This took place on the 2l9t of September, 1 52G; ' and Moncada and tlij Colonna prince?, finding they could not come at the [Ooe, made a new treaty with him, and greatest part of the Abruzzi and of the city of Aquila, the capital of the province. So closed the year 1 52G ; and the new year opened with preparations for still more terrors for devoted Italy. The emperor Charles had no money to maintain the troops necessary for the extensive domination that he aimed at, and he therefore allowed the mercenary troops in his employment, rather than in his pay, to indemnify them- selves by the plunder of the wretched inhabitants of the countries where they were collected. These troops con- sisted of a mob of vagabonds, outlaws, and marauders. Boudoir of Anne BoVyn, ia the Gat«w.iy of Hcvnr Castlo. withdrew. No sooner was Clement at liberty, than he declared all tho conditions forced from him, by the porfidy and violence of his enemies, were void ; and to protect himself, he invited the count of Yaudomont, who had claims to the throne uf Naples, to bring troops from France, and assert his right. To avert this mischief Lannoy, the viceroy of Naples, marched a, body of troops against Rome; but this time the pope was prepared for his reception, having obtained reinforcements from liis Italian allies. These allies, chiefly the Florentines and Venetians, repelled Lannoy, entered the Neapolitan states with an army of six thousand men, and made themselves masters of the from every country in Europe, who, by their long course of licentious freedom, were become utterly c.allous to the sufferings which they inflicted. Freundesberg, a German soldier of fortune, w.as at the head of fifteen thousand of these adventurers, consisting of Germans, Spaniards, and Swiss ; and Bourbon, at the head of ten thousand more half-starved and half-clad mercenaries, was in possession of the whole duchy of Milan, but with no means of support- ing his position. These two ferocious hordes having formed a junction under his banner, clamoured for their p.iy. Bourbon told them he had no money, and that Milan had been so repeatedly overrun and ravaged, that it was dosti- 1527.] ROME STORMED AND SACKED. 179 tute of all means of supporting them ; but that he would lead them into the enemy's country — into the richest cities of Italy — where they might amply indemnify themselves for all their past sufferings. Animated by these assurances, they swore to folloiv him whithersoever he might lead them. On the 30th of January, 1-527, he marched out of Milan, with this army of hungry desperadoes. They directed their course to the opulent cities of Piacenza, Bologna, and Florence ; but the allied army made a rapid mjvemont, and succeeded in covering those towns. But this rush of the allies northward, left Rome exposed, and Bourbon pushed forward to seize the advantage. It was time, for his lawless troops, disappointed in their expectations of plundering the cities mentioned, were growing furious, and it required all the authority of Bourbon to keep down the mutiny. Their hopes raised again by his promises, they rushed on in rapid march towards the Eternal Oity, where they were met by Lannoy, the viceroy of Naples, who informed them that he had besieged Rome, and compelled the pope to make peace, on condition that he prevented the troops of Bourbon approaching the city. At this declaration the clamour in the invading army became terrihle. They re- fused to listen to Lannoy-, they threatened to murder him, and called on Bourbon to lead them forward. Bourbon, who was now tho sole commander, for Freundesherg had fallen sick, and was left behind at Ferrara, assured Lannoy that it was not possible for him to arrest the march of his troops, for he had no means of satisfying their demands but by the sacking of Rome. The (rormans in his army were chiefly Lutherans, and were equally on fire with a desire of destroying the pope and Rome, and with the hope of the spoil of that ancient seat of pngan and of Oliristian power. To them it was a holy crusade, made sweet — like all crusades — by the mingled feelings of avarice and fana- ticism. They marched on, and on the 5th of May they encamped in the fields of the Eternal City. Bourbon rode amongst them, exclaiming, "Behold yonder churches and palaces, the receptacles of the wealth of the Christian world. Repose yourselves to-night, and to-morrow all that aflluenco shall be your own ! " AVith the first light of morning this wild and sava^;ho8t was on foot, eager to seize the hoarded opulence of ages. A thick fog covered their approach, and they rushed to scale the walls with all the fury of a famishing and sanguinary host. But the walls were well manned, and on every side they were repelled and flimg back with such slaughter, that they began to waver and lose heart. Bourbon, perceiving the ominims impression, seized a scalin;;-laddor, and planting it against the wall, began to mount, cr.lling on his soldiers to follow his example. But a shot from an arquebuse struck him in the groin as ho was ascending, and he fell into the ditch. Perceiving that his wound was mortal, he bade those about him to throw a cloak over him, to conceal his death, and to advance and avenge it. The death of their commander, however, could not be concealed. It flow like wild-fire through the host, and, infuriated at the news, they rushed forward with dreadful shouts of " Bourbon, blood, and slaughter ! " On every side they clambered the walls like maniacs, fighting hand to hand for four hours, and seeing a thousand of their comrades fall around them. In the afternoon they were in entire possession of the suburbs, burst their way across the Sistinc bridge, and were in the city. To describe the horrors that followed, would be to reiterate the catalogue of every crime, cruelty, and abomination that men perpetrate on such occasions. For five days the city was given up to the licence and plunder of this demoniac soldiery. The savage and maddened vagabonds ran'thrnugh the streets, crying "Blood! blood! Bourbon! Bourbon!" Every building, public and private, was burst open and plundered and desecrated. Churches, palaces, private houses were stripped of everything valuable, and the miserable people were treated with every imaginable horror, insult, and indignity. The pope again escaped into the strong castle of St. Angelo, but several of the cardinals and bishops fell into the merciless hands of the barbarian soldiers. All the writers of the time agree in the statement that the horror of this sacking of the capital of Christendom by a Christian army, transcends everything of the kind in history. For months the city was in the hands of this ter- rible concourse of savages. The news of the sacking of Rome, and the imprisonment of the pope, excited the most lively sensations of horror and indignation throughout the Christian, and especially the Oathnlic world. None appeared more affected than the emperor, by whose troops the sacrilegious deed had been perpetrated. He put himself and his court into the deepest mourning, forbade all rejoicing for the birth of his son, and commanded prayers to be offered in all the churches throughout Spain for the liberation of his holiness. No one could play off a piece of solemn hypocrisy more solemnly than Charles V. Francis and Henry, who were in the midst of a fresh treaty of alliance, at once affected real or pretended horror. They agreed immediately to invade Italy with thirty thousand foot and a thousand horse, to join the confederate army there, and drive out the troops of Spain, and liberate the pope. Sir Francis Pointz was despatched as ambas- sador to the emperor in Spain, and cardinal Wolsey pro- ceeded to France to concert with Francis the plans of the two kings. Wolsey travelled with his usual more than kingly pomp, attended by a retinue of nobles, and of twelve hundred horse. He was met on the frontiers of Prance by the cardinal of Lorraine, also with a splendid attendance of prelates, nobles, and gentlemen, and conducted through the different to^vns witli processions, pageants, and all the homage that oould be paid to a monarch. The king of France, as a mark of his especial favour, granted him the privilege of setting at liberty all the prisoners in tho towns through which ho passed. Wolsey remained at Abbeville a fe no more blandishments, but treat them according to their deserts. The great defender of the faith, at the time at which we are now arrived, was growing dissatisfied with his wife, and was about to seek a divorce from her, which must neces- sarily involve the pope in difficulties with the queen's nephew, the emperor. Henry was married to Catherine when she was in her twenty-sixth year. So long as the disparity of their ages did not appear, for he was five or six years younger, and she was pleasing in her person, he ap- peared n"t only satisfied with, but really attached to her. But she was now forty-two years of aje, had undergone much anxiety in her earlier years in England, bad borne the king five children, three sons and two daughters, all of whom died in their infancy, except the princess Mary, who lived to mount the throne. Catherine, of late years, had suffered much in her health, and we m;iy judge from, the best-known portrait of her, thiit she had now lost her good looks, and had a bowed-down and sorrow-stricken air. In the years 1525 and 1526 her very life had been despaired of. Whatever might h.ave been Henry's conduct in his earlier years, he seems to have been careful to keep any of his amours from the public eye, and the knowledge of the queen. As time went on, he became more careless. His attachment to the widow of Sir Gilbert Tailhois was a matter of open notoriety, and he had by her, in 1519, a son named Henry Fitzroy, whom he op»nly avowed, and created duke of Richmond. Hi» next notorious intrigue was with Mary Bolej-n, the sister of Ann Boleyn, whom he married, in 1520, to William Carey, of the privy chamber. Anne Boleyn, who now caught the attention of the fickle monarch, had been living in France, at first as attendant on Mary, king Henry's sister, the q\ie«a of Louis XIL, and afterwards in the family of the duke of Alenfon. She returned to England on the breaking out of the war with Francis L, in 1521 or 1522; and seems, by her beauty, wit, and accomplishments, to have created a great sensa- tion in the English court, where she was soon attached to the service of queen Catherine. Henry is said to have first met her by accident, in her father's garden at Hever Oastle, in Kent ; and was so charmed with her that he told Wolsey that he had been "discoursing with a young lady who had the wit of an angel, and was worthy of a crown." She is supposed at that time to have been about onc-and-twenty, tall, of a most graceful figure, of a bru- nette complexion, and extremely accoinplislied. Her great admirer, Sir Thomas Wyatt, the celebrated poet, describes her as of "a beauty not so whitely, clear, and fresh, but above all we may esteem ; which apprareth much more excellent by her favour. p.assing sweet and cheerful, and was enhanced by her whole presence of shape and fashion ; representing both mildness and majesty, more than can be expressed." He is quite rapturous on her musical skill and the sweetness of her voice, both in singing and speak- ing. " Beauty and sprightliness sat on her lips." says Sanders; " in readiness of repartee, skill in the dance, and in playing on the lute, she was unsurpa-'^sed." Such was Anne Boleyn when the fading beauty of queen Catherine ceasing to retain the eye of her unscrupulous husband, it fell on this fascinating object, brilliant with all the gaiety of youth and the graces of her foreign education. It has been much discussed by historians and writers on the Reformation, whether Henry had begun to express his doubts of the lawfulness of his marriage with Catherine before he saw Anne Boleyn or not ; — as if it at all alFectad the question of the Reformation in England. Anne Boleyn had a tendency towards the reformed faith — Catherine was firmly fixed in the Catholic creed ; but neither of these things had anything to do with the question of the Reformation, Henry was determined to obtain a divorce from Catherine, and when the pope refused to grant it» Henry broke with the pope, and set himself up as the head of the church in England. That was the auspicious cir- cumstance which opened the way to the Reformation in England, but Henry never was a Reformer. To the day of his death he was as thoroughly and bigotedly a Catholic as he was before his breach with Rome — the only difference was, that he was pope in England for himself. He had separated the government of the church from Rome, but both he and the church were still Roman to the core. He would have broke with the pope on any other occasion where his will wivs concerned ; the occasion which he found was the n- still less popular than with the bishops. They had a great veneration for the insulted Catherine, who bad maintained for so many years the most fair and estimable character on the throne, and against whose virtue not a breath had ever been heard. They attributed this scheme to the acts of the cardinal, who was the enemy of the em- peror and the warm ally of Franco ; and they dreaded that the divorce might lead to war, and the suppression of the profitable trade with the Netherlands. Unable to obtain much sanction at home, Henry at length referred the cause to the pope ; and Stephen Gardiner, then known by the humble name of Mr. Stephen, .and Mr. Fox, proceeded to Italy with the royal instructions. The grand difficulty was to effect the divorce in so legal and complete a manner that no plea might be able to be brought against the legitimacy of the proposed marriage ; and for three months fresh instructions were issued and revoked, and issued in amended form again, which were laid before Dr. Knight, the king's agent at the papal court, and the three brothers Oasali, Wolsey's agents, and before Stapbi- Iseo, dean of the Rota, who had been gained over whilst lately in London. But the emperor bad not been idle. The pope, as we have seen, had been shut up by the imperial troops in the castle of St. Angelo ; and, in negotiation for his liberation, Charles had made it one of the principal stipulations of his release that he should not consent to act preparatory to a divorce without the previous knowledge of Charles himself. Scarcely had the pope made his escape to Orvieto, as we have related, when the English emissaries appeared before him. Poor Clement was thrown into a terrible dilemma. The imperialists were still in possession of Rome, and if ho xjonsented to the request of Henry, he had nothing to expect but vengeance from the emperor. To make the matter worse, a French army, under the command of Lautrec, and accompanied by Sir Robert Jerningham as the English commissary, which had been sent over the Alps to his assistance, and to enable him to recover his capital, loitered at Piacenza, and delayed the chance of the restoration and defence of Rome. The English envoys presented to him two instruments, which bad lieen prepared by tlie learned agents above named, by tlie first of which he was to empower Wolsey, or in case of any objection to him, Staphilaeo, to hear and decide the case of the divorce ; and by the second he was to grant Henry a dispensation to marry, in the place of Catherine, any other woman soever, oven if she were already promised to another, or related to him in the first degree of affinity. This was a most extraordinary proceed- ing, an acknowledgment by Henry of the very power in the pope which ho affected to doubt and deny. The objection to the marriage of Henry witli Catherine was that she was within the prescribed degree of affinity, liaving been his brother's wife, and muroover, as Henry was accused, and by this instrument appeared to admit, of having established the same degree of relatiimship, though illicitly, with the sister of Anne, Mary Boleyn, as had exi-ted betwixt Catherine and his brother legally, this was to prevent anv olyections to the marriage with Anne. The pope signed both documents, but recommended that Henry should keep them secret till the French army, under Lautrec. should arrive, and free him from fears, even for hie life, of the vengeance of the emperor. That liavlng taken place, he promised to issue a second corami.-sion of the same import, which might at once be publicly proceeded with. Scarcely, however, had Dr. Knight left Orvieto. when Gregorio da Casati brought a request from the English court that a legate from Rome might be joined in the com- mission with Wolsey. To this Clement observed, that the king of England was pursuing a very circuitous course. If the king was really convinced in his conscience that his present marriage was null, he had better marry again, and then he him.self or a legate could decide the question at once. But if a legate were to sit in jurisdiction, there must be appeals to himself in Rome, exceptions, and adjournments, which would make an affair of years of it. But, after saying this, the pope .signed the requisition. At the instigation of WoLsey, who was anxious that the treaty which he had signed with France sliould be carried into effect, war was now declared formally against the em- peror. The ambassadors of both France and England were recalled on the same day from the imperial court, and on the 27th of January, Clarenceaux and Guienne, kings at arms, defied Charles in the name of their respective sove- reigns. Charles made a dignified and fitting reply, in which he bad evidently by far the best of it. To Guienne, the French king-at-arms, he observed th.it his message was superfluous, as he and his master had long been at war; but to Clarenceaux he justified his conduct at length. In reply to tlie demands of the money which he had borrowed of Henry, he acknowledged the debt, and pledged himself to discharge it in due time and manner. As to those of Francis, which he had engaged to pay on the former decla- ration of war against him by himself and Henry, he said they were no longer due from him, as Francis had again taken their obligation upon himself, both in the treaty of Madrid and the recent treaty of London. To the alleged breach of promise of marriage to Mary of England, and the consequent amount of penalty, he denied the obligation ; Henry having refused to allow of the solemnisation of the marriage when demanded, and had, moreover, consented to his marriage with Isabella. " God grant," he continued, "that I may not have better reason to defy him than he has to defy me. Can I pass over the injury with which he threatens my aunt, by his application for a divorce? Or the insult which he has offered to me, by soliciting me to marry a daughter whom he now pronounces a b:istard ? But I am perfectly aware from whom these suggestions proceed. I would not satisfy the rapacity of the cardinal of York, nor employ my forces to seat him in the chair of St. Peter ; ami he, in return, has sworn to be revenged, and now seeks to fulfil his purpose. But if war ensue, let the blood that must be shed rest where it ought, on the head of him who was the original instigator of it." The news of the war with the empTor was received in England with the utmost di.sgust and di.scontent. The people denounced the cardinal as the troubler uf the king- lee OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1528. dom and the interrupter of its commerce. The merchants refused to frequent the new mart« in France which were appointed, instead of their accustomed ones in the Nether- lands. The wool-combers, spinners, and clothiers were stopped in their sales by this resolve on the part of the merchants ; their people were all thrown out of work ; and the spirit of commotion grew so strong, that there were serious fears of open outbreaks. In the cabinet, the cardi- nal had as little support in his policy as out of doors. There was not a member, except himself, who was an advo- cate of the French alliance ; but all his colleagues at the be restored. Negotiations commcncoJ, and were carried on for some time for a general pacification ; but this being proved unattainable, a peace was concluded with the Netherlands, and the war was allowed to remain betwixt England and Spain. But the fact was, the war, so far as it regarded these two countries, was merely nominal ; it raged only in Italy, betwixt the French and the imperialists. Henry had no money for war, and, besides, all his thoughts and energies were occupied in carrying through the divorce, which he now found a most formidable affair, fresh difficulties start- Qaeen Anne Boleyn. From the original of Holbein, in the collection of the Kight Hon. the Earl of Warwick. council-table were eagerly watching for some chance which should hasten his downfall. Even the king himself was averse to the war with his nephew, the emperor ; and espe- cially as he was aware that the fear of Charles's resentment deterred Clement from cordially proceeding with the di- vorce; and Henry hinted that if peace were restored, Charles might be indued to withdraw his opposition. Fortu- nately, the Flemings were as much incage 183.) t83 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED IIISTORT OF ENGLAND. adranhigc, and he never felt himself safe in his pro- ceedings. It now occurred to him that, though the pope had granted permission for Wolsey and the legate to decide t'lis momentou-! question, yet he might be induced, by the influence of Charles, to revise and revert the sentence pro- nounced by his delegates ; and this might involve him in the most inextricable dilemmas, especially should he have acted on the sentence of divorce, and married a<);;»in. Once more, therefore, he despatched Gardiner and Fox to Italy, in quest of more certain and irrevocable powers. They were to proceed to Venice, and there demand, in the names of the French and English kings, the consent of Francis being first obtained, the restoration of Ravenna and Cervia to the Roman state, a restoration for which Clement was extremely anxious. We are not told whether the Venetians were likely to make this sacrifice, or of any compensatiim to be made them ; but the envoys were then 1 1 proceed to Orvieto, and calling the brothers Gregorio and Vincenzo da Casali to their aid, they were to demand from Clement, in gratitude for this promised favour, his pijnature to two especial instruments, which the envoys had brought with them from England. The first of these instruments was a dispensation of the same tenor as the former one, but more complete ; the second was called a decretal bull, by which the pope was to pledge himself to confirm the sentence pro- nounced by Woisey and the legate ; and, moreover, was to declare that the prohibition of marriage within certain degrees of affinity in Leviticus was a part of the divine law, admitting of no exception or di.-ipensation, notwithstauding the permission in Deuteronomy. Clement was placed in a very trying situation. He was anxious to oblige Henry, anxious to secure Ravenna and Cervia ; but to grant that bull was to annihilate the dogma of the church's infallibility, for Julius II. h.id granted that dispensation, notwithstanding the fact of Catherine's union with Henry's brother. He had been also informed that Henry's object was only the licentious one of en- deavouring to gratify the wish of a woman who was already living in adultery with him. But this was rebutted by a letter already received from Woleey, assuring the jiope that Anne Boleyn was a lady of unimpeachable character. Driven from this point, Clement still demurred a-s to the firmidable bull; and only consented, after consultation with a convocation of cardinals and theologians, to issue an order for a commission to inquire into the validity of the dis- pensation granted by pope Julius, and to revoke it, if it was found to have been by any means surreptitiously obtained. Fox arrived in England with these instruments in the beginning of May. and was received by Henry in the apartmentfi of Anne, who, on hearing the contents of them, imagining thera much more decisive than they were, went into transports of exultation, believing all difficulties now over, and promised all sorts of advancement to the man who had brought them. There was a clause in the commis- sion legitimising the princess Mary, though the marriage of the mother should be proved invalid. Such are the whimsical proceedings of popes and kings, who undertake to alter all the laws of nature at their will. Henry, how- ever, seems to have received the instruments with a very equivocal satisfaction ; and Wolsey with great foreboding. An assembly of divines and casuists was immediately assembled, who subjected every clause of the instruments [a.d. 1528. to a close examination ; and Gardiner was again sent off to Italy with new instructions, requesting that c ir.linal Cam- peggio should be joined in the comniissie revoked. The pope gave way to the impor- tunities of Gardiner, so far as to sign the bull; but believing that if Wolsey once had it in his hands, be would publish it, and throw the whole onus of the measure upon him, he took care to commit it to the keeping of Cnrnpi-gsio, with the strict injunction never to let it go out of his hands, but to read it to the king and the cardinal, and then privately to commit it to the flames. A.D. 1528.] ARRIVAL OP THE POPE'S LEGATE IN ENGLAND. 189 At this exciting crisi.s, and in the pleasant month of May, tlie court ami capital were thrown into consterna- tion hy the re-appearance of that scour<;e of the nations in thn.'jR {l:iys, the sweating sickness. We have related the terrible mortality attending this malady on its first appear- ance in 1-18-5. but the mode of healing the disease wag now so well understood by the physicians, that they who followed strictly thf ir regulations, were in no real danger. It only required to lie quietly in bed for twenty-four hours, when the danger was over. But any violation of this rule by which the patient was exposed to the air, stopped the profuse perspiration, and the patient died in a few hours. The disorder now appeared first amongst the female attend- ants of Anne Boleyn, and Henry had her hurried off forth- with to Hever Castle, in Kent, her father's residence. But she cnrried the aura of the complaint with her, and it spread through the fjimily. She herself, and her father. lord Rochf(]rt, were in extreme danger, but Dr. Butts, the royal physician, who attended her, brought them safely through. Henry, who was as great a coward as he was a braggadocio of courage and heroism, fled precipitately from the infected place, shut himself up from all approach of his own servants or strangers, and frequently changed the scene of his residence. He was seized with such fear, that he became most pious and amiable. He sent for queen Catherine, with whom he had long ceased to cohabit j expressed the greatest affection for her, lived with her as a most devoted husband, and attended constant devotions with her. He confessed every day, and took the sacrament with Catherine every Sunday and saints' day. He seemed struck with remorse for his late stern treatment of the cardinal, and sent to him regulations for his diet during the continuance of the pestilence, insisting on hearing from him every day, and on his being so near that the same physician might attend them in case of illness. The cardinal, who had also fled like his sovereign, and concealed himself, was busied in settling the affairs of his soul. Ho made his will and sent it to Henry, as it no doubt was made magnificently in his favour, and he accom- panied it by the most humble assurances that " never for favour, mede, gift, or promysse, had he done or consented to anything that myght in the least pnynte redownde to the king's dishonour or disprouffit." Henry, in like manner, made his will, and sent it to Wolsey, " that he might see the tried and harty mynd that he had with him above all men living." All this piety, humility, and return to domestic kindness and decorum, led people to imagine that the king had determined to abandon the divorce and the favourite lady, and live like an honest, respectable man ; but they forgot that ' When tlie devil was sick, the devil a monis would be; When the devil gpt well, the devil a monk was he." No sooner had the contagion disappeared, than he recalled Anne Boleyn to court, and ordered the nobles to attend her levees as if she were already queen. All the time that she had been absent, and he had been living so like a good husband with his own wife, and had been so zealous in his devotions, he had been corresponding with his mistress in the most passionate and love-sick terms. These letters yet remain. Wolsey had suffered a severe attack of the disorder, or gave out that he had, in July, that he might touch the repentant mind of Henry, or keep him quiet till the arrival of Campeggio ; and Anne Boleyn, who, as if to imitate her royal lover, or to flatter the cardinal on the eve of his exercising a function of such vital consequence to her ambition, had bei;un to fawn on Wolsey, wrote to him the most sadly hypocritical letters. Campeggio, who had most reluctantly undertaken the appointment of commissioner in this cage, was all this time slowly, very slowly, progressing towards England. He was an eminent professor of the canon law, and an experienced statesman. He had been a married man, and had a family; but, on the death of his wife, in 1509, he had taken orders, was made cardinal in 1.517, and had been employed by Leo and his successors in various arduous cases to their highest satisfaction. Campeggio was now suffi;ring all the excruciations of the gout, and was eager to transfer this business to some one else ; but Clement was at his wit's end with the difficulties of his situation, and thought that not only the abilities of Campeggio, but his gout itself was a thing to be thankful for, as it might give him plausible grounds for delay. The poor pope was environed by perplexities. The emperor Charles watched all the movements of the affair with the closest attention. He vowed to support and defend his aunt. His ambassador, Quigonez, steadily opposed every proposition of Henry's ambassador, Gardiner. Charleg, on the one hand, as well as Henry on the other, threatened, if the pope decided against him, to renounce his obedience to the Holy See. To make matters worse, the arms of France were on the decline in It.aly, those of the emperor in the ascendant. When Clement ventured to sign the decretal bull, there was a very different promise of affairs. Lautrec, the French general, was traversing Italy with a victorious army. He drove the imperialists to the very walls of Naples, and had every prospect of securing that city by the goodwill of the inhabitants. But his suc- cesses were rendered abortive by the folly of Francis, who was spending his time amongst his mistresses, and neglected to send his valiant army either money or reinforcemcnta. A contagious disease broke out in the French camp while vainly waiting for these ; and Lautrec, the English commis- sary, Sir Robert Jerningham, and the greater part of the men perished, the enfeebled remnant being made prisoners of war. To have run in the face of the victorious emperor, with all Italy now prostrate at his feet, would have been madness in the pope, and his only resource betwixt the two troublesome kings was all possible delay. Clement, indeed, was seriously disposed to make peace with Charles, but secretly ; in which case it was quite out of the question that he would decide against Catherine. Campeggio arrived in London at last, on the 7th of October, but in such a state of exhaustion, from the violent and long attacks of the gout, that ho was carried in a litter to his lodgings, and remainid for some time confined to his bed. Henry, with his characteristic hypo- crisy, on the approach of the legate, again sent away his mistress, and recalled his obliging wife, with whom he appeared to he living on the most affectionate terms. They had the same bed and board, and went regularly through the same devotions. The arrival of the legate raised the courage of the people, who were unanimous in the favour of the queen, and though Wolsey made every exertion te silence and restrain them, they loudly declared that, let the king marry whom he pleased, they would acknowledge no successor in prejudice to JIary. 190 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED niSTCiT OP ENGLANT). [a.d. 1520. It was a fortnight before the legate was ready to see the "king. On the 22ad of Oct iber he made his visit, and was, of course, most graciously received by Henry and the cardinal, but they could extract from him no opinion as to the probable result of the inquiry which was at hand. Henry and Wolsey exerted all their arts to win over tlie great man. The king paid him constant visits ; and to mollify and to draw him out, heaped all sorts of flatteries upon him. and made him the most brilliant promises. He had already made him bishop of Salisbury, and presented him with a splendid palace in Rome ; and he now offered to confer on hira the rich bishtpric of Durham, and knighted "his son Ridolfo, by whom he was accompanied. But nothing moved the impenetrable ecclesiastic ; for if favours ■were heaped on him here, terrors awaited hira at Rome. If he betrayed the trust of his master, the pope. He replied to all solicitations that he had every disposition to serve the king, so far as his conscience would permit him. To produce a favourable bias in the opinions of the inexorable man, the judgments of eminent divines and doctors of the canon law on the king's case were laid before him, which he read, but still locked his own ideas in his own breast. On the 27th of October Campeggio waited on the queen In private, and afterwards accompanied by Wolsey and four other prelates. Clement had strongly impressed it on ihe legate to try first to reconcile the king and queen; if that were found impossible, to prevail on Catherine to enter a convent ; and if that were unavailing, to conduct the trial with all due form, but to take care to come to no conclusion — at all events, before he had consulted him. Campeggio soon saw that no reconcilement on the part of Henry was possible ; he, therefore, as earnestly advised the queen to retire to a convent, stating to her the objec- tions to the validity of her marriage. Catherine was calm, lut firm. She said that for herself she took no thought, but that she would never consent to compromise the rights of her daughter by voluntarily admitting the pleas against her marriage. She demanded the aid of able counsel to defend her cause, chosen by herself from amongst the sub- jects of her nephew. This, to a certain extent, was granted. Several prelates and canonists were appointed, including two natives of Flanders, who came over, but returned again before the trial. The murmurs of the people continued so audibly, spite of the endeavours of Wolsey to subdue them, that Henry went into the city himself to strike a terror into the com- plainers. The king assembled the lord mayor, aldermen, and chief citizens at his palace in the Bridewell, and stated the injuries which he had received from the emperor, the reasons for his alliance with France, the causes of uneasi- ness with his marriage, his conscientious anxiety to do what was right, and his recourse therefore to the impartial Judgment of the holy see. He then warned all men to beware how they cast aspersions upon him, or arraigned his conduot, declaring that the proudest of them should answer with their heads the presumption of their tongues. He followed up this menacing language by ordering a strict search for all conceale 1 arms, and forbad all foreigners, except ten of each nation, to remain in London. Having thus shown that he was apprehensive of an insurrection on account of his treatment of the queen, and taken steps to prevent it, Henry next endeavoured to obtain from Campeggio the publication of the decretal bull, or :it least that it should be shown to the privy council, but the legate remained firm to his instructions. The king's agents at the same time plied Clement with peri^uasivcs to the same end, but with the same result. So far from giving way, the agents informed Henry that the emperor had given back to the pope Civita Vecchia and all the for- tresses which he had taken from the holy see, and that it was to be feared that there was a secret understanding be- twixt the pope and Charles. At this news Henry des- patched Sir Francis Bryan, master of the henchmen, and Peter Vannes, his secretary of the Latin tongue, to FranC'is L, upbraiding him with his neglect in permitting this to go on ; and they then went on to Italy, and called on the pope to cite all Christian princes to meet in Avignon and settle their differences. In the meantime, these agents were to consult the most celebrated canonists at Rome, on the follow- ing extraordinary points : " 1. AVhether, if a wife were to make a vow of chastity, and enter a convent, the pope could not, in the plenitude of his power, authorise the husband to marry again. 2. Whether, if the husband were to enter into a religious order, that he might induce the wife to do the same, he might not afterwards be released from his vow, and have liberty to marry. 3. Whether, for reasons of state, the pope could not licence a prince to have, like the ancient patriarchs, two wives, of whom one only should be publicly acknowledged, and enjoy the honours of royalty." Henry was now goaded, by the difficulties by which he was surrounded, to such a pitch of desperation, that he was ready to turn monk, turn bigamist, and set up for an ancient patriarch, and at the same time prepared to play all sorts of unpatriarch-like tricks, to get rid of Catherine, and like another Proteus slip through her hands, and out- wit her of the sovereignty. But, to his utter amazement, Catherine now showed him that she held him by a band ten times stronger than he had ever dreamed of. His great object was to prove that the dispensation of Julius II. was not valid, and was by no means proved to be authentic. Catherine now produced a copy of a breve of dispensation which had been sent to her from Spain. It was granted by the same pope, dated on the same day, but worded in such a manner as quashed all the objections made to the bull. The king and his party were thunderstruck. There was not an argument left them. But, at this awkward crisis, a sudden hope sprung up. On the 6th of February, 1529, the intelligence arrived that Clement was dying, and by that time was probably dead. Now was the time to place Wolsey in the papal chair, and thus end all difficulties. Francis promised cordially to aid in the attempt, but, to their dismay, Clement revived, and dashed to the ground all their hopes. Made desperate by these chances, Henry now gave the invalid pope no rest from his solicitations. His agents forced themsefves into his very sick chamber, and demanded that the fatal brae in Spain should be revoked, or that Charles should be compelled to exhibit the origiiul within a certain time. Weak as the pope's body was, his mind, however, remained firm. He declared that he could not depart from ".he course already prescribed, that Catherine had even entered a protest in his court against the persons of her judges, and he recommended Henry, as the best advice he could give him, to lose no time but to trv and determine the matter in his own realm. A.D. 1520.] TRIAL OF QUEEN CATHERINE. 191 Every circumstance, indeed, concurred to recommend the necessity of this course. As the difficulties and di-lays increased — ami Campeggio had been seven months in Eng- land — the passion of Henry increased with them. After some time he bad recalled Anne Boleyn to court, and it was now rumoured, that if they were not privately married, they were living as if they were. Anne had a separate establishment, and the king seemed to grudge no extrava- gance of expenditure on her account. Whilst the princess Mary had only two payments of £20 each entered in the accounts of the privy purse betwixt November, 1529, and December, 1532, and queen Catherine none, there were more than forty entries for the " ladye Anne." There was £100, then £110 at Christmas, "for to disport her with." He paid her bills, one of which amounted to £217, and made her presents of jewels, robes, furs, silks, cloth of gold, a night-gown, and "linen shirts." It was getting high time that a decision should be arrived at, and in the midst of this pressure, Henry was enraged to learn that there were secret meetings betwixt the courts of Paris and Madrid, and that Henry's good brother and perpetual ally, Francis, was on the point of making peace with the emperor. Whilst Henry's wrath fell on Francis, that of Anne fell on Wolsey, whom she accused of being at the bottom of all the delays, and no friend to either the king or her. It was suddenly resolved to recall Gardiner from Rome, and proceed to the trial of the divorce at home. The court which was to try the cause met in the parlia- ment chamber in the Blackfriars, and summoned the king and queen to appear before it on the 18th of June. Henry appeared by proxy ; Catherine obeyed the summons in person, but only to protest against the ju'lges as the subjects of Henry, her accuser, and to appeal to the pope. This appeal was overruled, and the court adjourned to the 21st of June. On this day both Henry and Catherine appeared, the king sitting in state on the right hand of the cardinal and legate, and Catherine sat on their left, attended by four friendly bishops. On their names being called, Henry answered " Here ! " but Catherine was unable to reply. On being again cited, however, she rose and repeated her protest on three grounds. First, as being a stranger; secondly, because the judges were subjects, and held benefices, the gift of her adversary ; and last, because from such a court she could not expect impartiality. This protest bein'^ held inadmissible, she rose again, crossed herself, and, leaning on her maids, approached the king, threw herself at his feet, and, according to Cavendish, the secretary of Wolsey, addressed him thus : — " Sir, I beseech you, for all the loves that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice and right. Take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman and a stranger, born out of your domiidons. I have here no assured friend, much less impartial counsel, and I flee to you as the head of justice within this realm. Alas : sir, wherein have I offended you ? I take God and all the world to witness that I have been to you a true, humble, and obedient wife, ever conformable to your will and pleasure. Never have I said or done anything con- trary thereto, being always well pleased and contented with all things wherein you had delight or dalliance, whether it were in little or much; neither did I ever grudge in word or countenance, or show a visage or spark of duscontent. I loved all tho.se whom you loved only for your sake, whether I had cause or no, whether they were my friends or mine enemies. This twenty years have I been your true wife, and by me you have had divers chil- dren, although it hath pleased God to call them out of the world, which has been no fault of mine. I put it to your cimscience whether I came not to you a maid. If you have since found any dishonour in my conduct, then am I content to depart, albeit to my great shame and disparage- ment ; but if none there be, then I beseech you thus lowlily to let me remain in my proper state. The king, your father, was accounted in his day as a second Solomon for wisdom ; and my father, Ferdinand, was esteemed one of the wisest kings that had ever reigned in Spain : both, in- deed, were excellent princes, full of wisdom and royal behaviour. Al.so, as me-seemeth, they had in their days as learned and judicious counsellors as are at present ia this realm, who then thought our marriage good and law- ful ; therefore, it is a wonder to me to hear what new inventions are brought up against me, who never meant aught but honestly. Ye cause me to stand to the judgment of this new court, wherein ye do me much wrong if ye intend any kind of cruelty; for ye may condemn me for lack of sufficient answer, since your subjects cannot be impartial counsellors for me. as they dare not, for fear of you, disobey your will. Therefore, most humbly do I require you, in the way of charity, and for the love of God, who is the judge of all, to spare me the sentence of this new court until I be advertised what way my friends in Spain may advise me to take ; and if ye will not extend to me this favour, your pleasure be fulfilled, and to God do I commit my cause." The queen having uttered this admirable speech, as con- founding by its home truths and pl.iin common sense, as it was affecting by its genuine pathos, rose up in tears, and instead of returning to her seat, as was expected, made a low obeisance to the king, and walked hastily out of the court. "Madam," said Griffiths, her receiver-general, on whose arm she leant, "you are called back." For the crier cried aloud with this summons, " Catherine, queen of England, come back again into court." But the queen said to Griffiths, " I hear it well enough, but on^-on, go you on ; for this is no court in which I can have justice. Pniceed, therefore : " adding, " I never before disputed the will of my husband, and I shall take the first oppor- tunity to ask pardon for my disobedience." Henry saw the deep impression which the speech of Catherine had made on the court, and rose to counteract it. He affected to lament " that his conscience should urge him to seek divorce from such a queen, who had ever been a devoted wife, full of gentleness and virtue." And this the king unblushingly said in the presence of numbers of his council, to whom a short time before he had accused the queen of a design against his life, and had been advised by them, in consequence, to keep at adistance from her, and especially to take the princess Mary out of her power. He then went over all the old story of his conscience, and his scruples, and the opinion of archbishop Warham, and the French bishop of Tarbes, and that, in consequence, a licence of inquiry had been signed by all the bishops. On hearing this, Fisher, bishop of Rochester, who was imo of the bishops who had attended the queen, cried out that he had never signed it. " But," said Henry, briskly, " here is your hand 192 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1520 and seal." Fisher pronounced it a forgery. Warham admitted that it was not Fisher's signature, but that he authorised it to be signed for him. Fisher denied it posi- tively, saying if he wished it to be done, he could have done it himself. At this the court rose, but the doom of the honest bishop vrais sealed. He had been the king's tutor, and WIS supposed to stand high in his favour, but from this hour he was a marked man, and paid the penalty of his truth on the scaffold. On the 25th of June Catherine was summoned before the court again, but she refused to appear, sending in, however, and causing to be read, her appeal to the pope. On this she was declared contumacious ; and the king's counsellors no progress being made, Henry summoned the court, and demanded judgment in imperious terms. But Campeggio replied with unmoved dignity: — " I have not come so far to please any man for fear, meed, or favour, be he king or any other potentate. I am an old man, sick, decayed, looking daily for death ; what should it then avail me to put my soul in the danger of God's displeasure, to my utter damnation, for the favour of any prince or high estate in this world P Forasmuch, then, that I perceive that the truth in this case is very difficult to bo known ; that the defendant will make no answer thereunto, but hath appealed from our judgment ; therefore, to avoid all injustice and obscure doubts, I intend to proceed no further in this matter untd ^^ Antechamber in Uever Castle, Kent : Residence of Aime Bolevu. asserted that the following points had been clearly proved: — that her marriage with prince Arthur had been con- .summatcd, and, therefore, that with Henry was unlaw- ful; that the dispensation of Julius II. had been obtained under false pretences and a concealment of facts ; and that the papal Irtic which had been sent from Spain was a manifest forgery. They, therefore, called on the judges to pronounce for the divorce. But even had all this been proved, which it had not, Cam- peggio was not intending to do anything of the kind. The peace which had been rumoured betwiit the pope and the emperor had been signed on the 29th of June, and Clement was now much at bis case. On the 23rd of July, I have the opinion of the pope and such others of his council as have more experience and learning. I, for tlii.i purpose, .adjourn this court till the commencement of the next term, in the beginning of October." On hearing this astounding announcement, the friends of the king — who was him.-elf a hearer and witness of the whole proceeding, in an adjoining apartment — were struck dumb, all except Brandon, the impetuous duke of Suffolk, who. in his impatience, struck his fist on the table, and exclaimed, "Now is the old proverb verified : 'Never did cardinal bring good to England.' " AVolsey, who felt the accusation as particularly aimed at him, could not restrain himself; but, rising, replied, with mingled warmth and A.D. 1529.] REIGN OP EEXRT VIII 194 OASSELL'S ILLrSTRATED HISTORY OF EN'GLAND. [a.o. 1529. 1 dignity, " Sir, of all men in this realm, yc havu the least Ciiuse to dispraise or be offended witli cardinals ; lor, but for me, f imple cardinal as I am, you at this moment would have had no hea I upon your shoulders, and no tongue therein to make so rude a report against us, who intend you no manner of displeasure. Know you then, proud lord, that I, and my brother here, will give place neither to you nor to any other in honourable intentions to the kin;?, and a desire to accomplish his lawful wishes. But bethink yc, my lord, were ye the king's commissioner in a foreign country, having a weighty matter to treat upon, would ye not advertise his majosty, or ever ye went through the same ? Doubtless that ye would right carefully ; and, therefore, I advise you to banish all hasty malice, and con- sider that we be here nothing but commissioners for a time, and dare not proceed to judgment without the know- ledge of our supreme head. It is for this cause that we do no more or less than our commission alloweth. There- fore, my lord, take my counsel; hold your peace, pacify yourself, and frame your words like a man of honour and wisdom. Ye know best what friendship ye have received at ray hand(i, and which I 'never before this time revealed to anv one alive, either to my own glory or to your dis- honour." It would be difficult to conceive the state of agitation into which the court of Henry w«s new thrown. Instead of receiving a decision, to be put off till October ; and that was not the worst, for in a few days the news arrived that the commission of the cardinals had been revoked by the pope on the 15th of July, or eight days previous to this adjournment, and that thepapal court had entertained the i^peal of queen Catherine, and recalled Campog'^io. Thus, not even in October; or at any time in England, was there a shadow of a chance of a decision, and had such taken place at this time it would have been null, the commission' having previously expired. Still worse, whilst Henry was in the highest state of irritation, there arrived an instru- ment from Rome, forbidding- him to pursue his cause by the legates, but citing him to appear by attorney in the papal court, under a penalty of ten thousand ducats. .Ml these circumstances fell with accumulating force on AVolsey. Anne Boleyn, in her chagrin, accused him as the cause of all. The king listened to these charges in the worst of moods ; and called on Wolsey to try some means by which' he could clear himself of such damaging sus- picions,, and open, some new way to the accomplishment of the desired object. Several schemes appear to have been attempted. In the first place, Wolsey prevailed on Oampeggio to accompany him in an interview with the qnoen, with the purpose of seeking to bendhor mind to oon- oeasion. This was the result of a fien- scene with Henry. Bie had sentjfor Wolsey, and had. poured out his storm of fury upon him' for a good' houic. Out retnming: to his barge, the liishop of Garlislo, ^Tho■wn8 waiting in it for hiui^. ohserred that it was warm ^veatilO^. " Yea, my lord," said' Wolsey, " and if you had been where I have been, you^ iVBuld say ic\vaB hot." That night, two hours after ho had retired to bod., if not to rest, he was called up again by the father of Anne Bolo3m, now carl of Wiltshire, by command o£tho king-,, to hasten his going to Bridowoll pninoe, that ho miglitbe ready to accompany Campcggio at a nmre early hour in the morning, such was the impatience of the king, lady Anne, and her friends. Wolsey is said again so far to have forgotten prudence as to rate the earl soundly for hi.-; eager- ness in pushing on this matter ; so soundly that the old man safe on the bedside and wept bitterly all the time the cardinal was dressing. All parlies seem to have been worked up at this p ^riod into a state in which their patience and their discretion hacl forsaken them. Early in the morning Wolsey and Campeggio waited on the queen, and requested an interview. She was at work in the midst of her maids, but she arose just as she was, and came to them in the presence-chamber, with a skein of silk round her neck. " You see," said the queen, showing the silk, " my employment. In this way I pass my time with my maids, who are indeed none of the ablest coun- sellors. But I have no other in England, and Spain, where there are those on whom I could rely, is, God knoweth, far off." They begged to see her majesty in private, but Cathe- rine, at first, said there could be nothftg affecting her that thopeopleabout her might not hear. Wolsey then addressed her in Latin, but she desired him to speak English. Then Wolsey communicated the king's message, which was to offer her everything which she could name of riches and honours, and the succession of Mary next after the male issue of the next maniage, if she would consent to a divorce. Upon this the queen again repeated that her position was that of a stranger, destitute of the support and counsel of friends ; and begging the cardinals would be good unto her, and advise her for the best, she led the way to her private room. The result of this interview was never known, but it was clear from the future, that it did not move Catherine from her determination to stand on her rights. This attempt having failed, another was tried. The king set out on a. procession, taking Catherine with him,, and treating her with all the honours due to the queen of England. They went first to Moore, the royal residence in Hertfordshire, where they remained a month, andthonwent j on to Grafton, in Northamptonshire, the ancient seatof the t Wydvilles. The plan of this journey appears toiiavebeen, for Henry, by affected kindness and respect, to endeavour to soften Catherine, and move her to consent to the separa- tion. But the experiment decidedly failed, for we find that at Grafton the lady j\jine was there as well as iho queen; that the king had used all his persuasion to induce the queen to become a^ nun, but that lio found it lost time, and again negieotadi her, spending all his time with: Anne Boleyn: Catherine oonta-ived. though striotly WBCohed, to correspond with Rome and Spain, suoh.expmlieuta for her transmission of letters being used as presents of poultry, in which letters passed inclosed in urangcBor the like. All this time AnneBoleyn, her father, and the otherenemics of Wolsey, were workinghard fir his ruin. Everything was brought forward aaainsD him that could be thought of. He was declared to he- aseteled enemy of Anne's, and, there- fore, throwing every possible obstacle iu tho way of the divopoe; They deolarcdi that he had long been in treason- able comespimdenoe -svith Franoe, and that be had been bribed by LouisBitha' regent, to order the duke of SiilTolk to retreat fromiMonCdidicr, when ho might hove advanced and taken Paris. Prubab'y. sinoo the cardinal had so sharply snubbed Sufililk in the court at the trial, he might be read^ to aaaarfe this. All this Henry drank in with obvious avidity. The cardinal was no longer called to court, and was never consulted on special affairs, exce{it by messengers. His letters were intercepted and read, t" find A.D. 1529.] THE FALL cause of accusation against him. The courtiers, and espe- cially the great families immediately connected with the L'oleyns, as Norfolk and others, were all eager for a sliare of the cardinal's enormous wealth. So open was this become, that they talked of it freely at table, and, more- over, added that the cardinal once gone, they could relieve the church of its huge estates too. Wolsey was perfectly aware of all this ; and his sole hope was in obtaining an interview with the king, on whom he trusted to exercise some of his old influence. Such an interview came, but it brought little comfort. Campeggio was about to take leave, and return to Rome : AVolsey was allowed to accompany him to court, and the two legates proceeded to Grafton, where the king was. The Italian legate was received with all the respect due to his rank, and was even presented with some parting gifts, as customary on such occasions ; but Wolsey's reception was cold ; and he found that though Campeggio had an apart- ment prepared for him, there was none for himself, and he was obliged to retire for the night to Towcester. At first he had hoped that things were not so bad ; for when the cardinals were admitted to kiss the king's hand, and all eyes were fixed on Wolsey, expecting to see the king frown on him, they were greatly confounded and astonished to see Henry raise him up with both hands, and taking him aside, converse with him for a considerable time with his old familiarity. The cardinals dined with the ministers ; Henry, with the lady Anne, in her chamber. After dinner he sent for him again, led him by the hand into his closet, kept him in private conference till it was dark, and gave him his command to return on the following morning. This wavering of Henry, this return, as it were, of the old feeling of regard for the cardinal, which continued to the last, warrants the belief that, if the party against him at court had not been of so peculiar a kind,— if the wit, the influence, and the witchcraft of woman had not been set with a deadly power against him, he might still have triumphed over all his enemies, and remained the all- powerful minister, perhaps, till his death. But, as he said, '■ there was a niyht-crow that possessed the royal ear against him, and misrepresented all his actions." No one saw so clearly as Anne the lurking regard in the bosom of the king, the strength of the old habit of consulting with him, and depending on his judgment. This was perceived by Du Bellai, the French ambassador, who attributes the fall of Wolsey entirely to Anne Boleyn. He greatly commiserated his fate, and in one of his letters says, " The worst of the evil is, that Mademoiselle de Boulen has made her friend promise that he will never hear him speak, for she well thinks that he cannot hdp having pity upon him.' Shakespeare makes Wolsey him- self assert this as the one insuperable fatality of bis case : — Thcra was the weight that puU'd me down, Cromwell l" The king has gone beyond me, — all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever '. No sun shall ever usher fortli my honours. Or gild the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Accordingly, though all the court was thrown into conster- nation by the kind manner in which the king had received the cardinal, and were trembling for their own safety, before morning the night-crow had again succeeded in OF WOLSEY, 1 195 embittering Henry's mind against his old minister, and extracted from him a promise that he would never speak to him more. In that lay the victory, and she knew it. If the cardinal was kept out of sight and hearing, his destiny was sealed by the deadly enmity and art of the new and all-powerful favourite. When, therefore, Wolsey returned in the morning, the king was already on horseback, and, instead of seein-i; him, he sent him a message to attend the council, and then depart with Campeggio, and so he rode away. Cavendish, Wolsey's faithful secretary, says, "Tliis sudden departure of the king was the especial labour of Mrs. Anne Boleyn, who rode with him purposely to draw him away, because he should not return till after the departure of the cardinals. The king rode that morning to view a piece of ground to make a park of (afterwards called Hare- well Park), where Mistress Anne had provided him a placo to dine in, fearing his return before my lord cardinal's departure. Campeggio took his leave of England at the commence- ment of Michaelmas term ; but he was not permitted to depart without a gross insult. At Dover the officers of the customs broke into his apartment, and charged him with endeavouring to carry off Wolsey's treasure. The stern old legate, who had repeatedly refused Henry's bribes, by which he might have enriched himself to any extent, was not likely to engage in any such transaction ; of which the contents, on being turned out, displayed the most surpris- ing proofs, for there was such an assemblage of old shoes, old clothes, roasted eggs, and dry crusts, as were only the fitting possessions of a most rigorous and abstinent ascetic. The real quest was after the legate's papers, the all-suBicient decretal bull, any letters of Wolsey to the pope, and, still more anxiously sought after, a set of Henry's love-letters to Anne Boleyn, which, by some means, had got into the legate's hands. The search was fruitless. The wily Italian had probably obeyed the injunc- tion of the pope to the letter, and burnt the bull, and sent forward before him the especial prize of the love-letters, which arrived safe, and are still shown in the library of the Vatican. Wolsey did not escape so well as the indignant Cam- peggio. On the 9th, the same month as he opened the court of chancery, he perceived that there was a deadly coldness as of Christmas frost around him. No one did him honour — the sun of royal favour had set to him for ever. On the same day Hales, the attorney-general, filed two bills against him in the King's Bench, charging him with having incurred the penalty of pra;munire by acting in the kingdom as the pope's legate. This was a most barefaced accusation, for he had accepted the legative authority by Henry's express permission ; had exercised it for many years with his full knowledge and approbation, and in the aS'airs of the divorce, at the earnest rer^uest of the king. But Henry VIII. had no law but his own will, and never could want reasons for punishing those who had offended him. Wolsey now saw that his doom was fixed, and his spirit sank prostrate and irrevocably. There have been men who had lived so proudly, who would have died as proudly ; who would have stood upon their ri.ghts, their ecclesiastical office and rank, and would have dared the ruthless monarch to do his worst. That would have been a superb spectacle, in which the victim would have been pulled down, but sunk, resistant to the last, like a 1»6 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1529. hero, and perished with grandeur. But Wolsey's grandeur was of a different kind — it was the grandeur of woe. The fall of Wolsey is one of the most complete and per- fect tilings in the hi-tory of man. The hold which he had 60 long on that fierce and lion-like king — that passionate and capricious king — is amazing; but at once it gives way. and down he goes for ever. But great as he was in his prosperity, so he is great in his ruin. There are those who accuse him of servility and meanness, but they do not well comprehend human nature. Wolsey knew himself, his master, and the world. Wolsey knew himself. He knew Lis own proud ambition, and he knew that his story must stand for ever a brilliant point in the annals of his country ; but to give it an effect that would cover a multi- tude of sins, and make him, who had hitherto been a daring adventurer and a despot of no mean degree, an object of lasting commiseration, it was necessary to fall with dignity and die with penitence. He knew his master, that his favour was gone, his resistance at the pitoh, and kept there by a fair enemy whom there was no thrusting away. His cupidity once kindled, there was nothing to expect but destruction, certain and at hand. Nay then, farewell I 1 bare tODched the highest point of all my greatness. And from that full mcrl Han of ray glory I haste no-A- to mj setting : I shall fall Like a bright eshalatlon in the e^talDg, And no man see me more. In the contemplation of Wolsey in his fallen condition, we are so much affected by his humility, his candour, and his sorrow, that we forget his former haughtiness and his crimes. He never accuses his sovereign of injustice ; he breaks out in no passion against him ; he acknowledges that he was the creature of his favour ; and that all he had, rank and fortune, were his, to take away, as he had given them. His tears for so great a reverse, for such a stripping down of fame and honour, are natural ; and liis tears and sorrow for his faithful servants open up the noblest place in his heart, and go far to make you love and honour him. We cannot help comparing the career of Thomas a Becket and his own. Probably under the same circumstances AVolsey might have put on the same air of menace and defiance. But here matters were in a different position. Henry VIII. was not Henry II., nor was the papal power now of the same terrible force in England. Bluff Harry was one that could and would have his will, outrageous and bloody as it might be ; and the spirit of the reformation was already shaking the tiara to the ground in this coimtry. Of Wolsey, as he appeared at this moment, scathed and stunned by the thunderbolt of the royal wrath, we have a striking picture. The bishop of Bayonne, the French ambassador, says in a letter : — " I have been to visit the cardinal in his distress, and I have witnessed the most striking change of fortune. Ho explained to me his hard case in the worst rhetoric that was ever heard. Both his tongue and his heart failed him. He recommended him- self to the pity of the king anJ madame (Francis I. and his mother) with sighs and tears ; and at last left me, without having said anything near so moving as his appearance. His face is dwindled to one half its natural sizo. In truth his misery is such that his enemies. Englishmen as they are, cannot help pitying him. Still they will carry things to extremities. As for his legation, the seals, his autho- tity, &o., he thinks no more of them. He is willing to give up CTerythinj. even the shirt from hi? b:iok, and live in a hermitage, if the king would but desist from his displeasure." On the 1 7th of October Henry sent the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk to demand the great seal ; and they ore said to have done that duty with some ungenerous triumph. But Wolsey delivered up his authority without complaint, and only gent in an offer surrendering all his personal estate to h's gracious master, on condition that he might retire to liis diocese on his church property. But the property of Wolsey had long been riveting the greedy eye of Henry, and next to Anne Boleyn, that was, probably, the " weight which pulled him down." A message was soon brought him by the same noblemen, that the king expected an entire and unconditional enbmission, whereupon he granted to the king the yearly profits of his benefices, and threw himself on his mercy. It was then intimated that his maj^jty meant to reside at York Place (Whitehall) during the p irliaraent, and that he might retire to Esher, in Surrey, a house be- lonjing to his bishopric of Winchester. The fallen cardinal prepared to obey, but before leaving his splendid abode of York Place, he delivered a complete inventory of its con- tents to the king's messenger. These contents are thus described by Cavendish, his own secretary: — '• In his gallery were set divers tables, upon which were laid divers and great stores of rich stuffs ; as whole pieces of silk of all colours, velvets, satins, muffs, taffetas, grograms, scarlets, and divers rich commodities. Also, there were a thousand pieces of fine hoUands, and the hangings of the gallery with cloth of gold and cloth of silver, and rich cloth of bodkin of divers colours, which were hanged in expectation of the king's coming. Also, on one side of the gallery were hanged the rich suits of capes of his own providing, which were made for the colleges of Oxford and Ipswich ; they were the richest that ever I saw in all my life. Then had he two chambers adjoining the gallery, the most commonly called the gilt chambers, wherein were set two broad and long tables, whereupon was set such abun- dance of plate of all sorts as was almost incredible to be believed, a great part being all of clear gold ; and upon every table and cupboard where the plate was set, were books importing every kind of plate, and every piece, with the contents and weight thereof." Hampton Court palace he had given to the king before, and the unavailing sacrifice which he now made of this palace and its wealth amounted to 500,000 crowns, equal to half a million of our money. Having delivered over his lordly abode, he descended, and entered his barge. He there found the Thames covered with boats full of people of all degrees, who were waiting to see him conveyed to the Tower, for such was the news which had flown from court all over the city. But they were greatly disappointed to see his barge turn its prow up the river instead of downwards. He ascmded to Putney,' where ho mounted his mule, and was sorrowfully riding up the hill when there came spurring after him Sir Henry Norris, one of the king's chamberlains, bringing him a ring which the king had taken from his own finger, and accompanied it by a comfortable message. Sir H^nry de- livered it, saying. " Therefore, take patience, for I trust to see you in a better estate than ever." At this unexpected and extraordinary occurrence, the cardinal, wholly overcome by bis emotions, dismounted from his mule, fell on his A.D. 1S30.] WOLSEY ORDERED TO RESIDE IN HIS ARCHBISHOPRrO. 197 kneea in the road, and, pulling off his cap. fervently thankod God for such happy tidings. Then arising, he told Sir Henry that hi.s nvs.'iage was worth half a kingdom; hut that he had .scarcely anything left but the clothes on his liack, yet he found a small gold chain and crucifix, which he pre- sented to him. He next lamented that he had no tnki'n of his gratitude to send to his sovereign, but recollecting him- self, he said, " Stay, there is my fool that rides beside me. I beseech thee take him to court, and give him to his majesty. I assure you, for any nobleman's pleasure, be is worth a thousand pounds." But the poor f"ol was so attached to his master, that it required six stout yeomen to force him away, and carry him to the king. On the 3rd of November, after the long intermission of seven years, a parliament was called together. The main object of this unusual occurrence was to complete the ruin of Wolsey, and place it beyond the power of the king to restore him to favour, a circumstance of which the courtiers were in constant dread. The committee of the House of Lords presented to the king a string of no less than forty- four articles against the fallen minister, enumerating and exaggerating all his offences, and calling upon the monarch to take such order with him, " that he should never have any power, jurisdiction, or authority hereafter, to trouble, vex, and impoverish the commonwealth of this your realm, as he hath done heretofore, to the great hurt and damage of almost every man, high or low." This address was carried to the Commons for their concurrence ; but there Thomas Cromwell, who by the favour of Wolsey had risen from the very lowest condition to bo his friend and steward, and was now advanced to the king's service by the par- ticular recommendation of the cardinal, attacked the articles manfully, and caused the Commons to reject them, as the members were persuaded that Cromwell was acting by suggestion of the king ; which is very probable, for so far from Henry showing Cromwell any dislike for this proceeding, he continued to promote him, till he became his prime minister, and was created earl of Essex. The conduct of the king, moreover, towards the fallen man continued in other re-spects to keep alive his hope.><, and fill his rivals witli terror, who felt that if he were returned to power there was no safety for them. Wolsey found the episcopal house at Esher largo, but almost desti- tute of furniture, or of any means of comfort or convenience. He found that neither his accommodation nor his funds would permit him to retain his retinue of attendants, and on the .5th of November he dismissed the greater part of them, amid floods of tears s-hed both by himself and them; for, with all his pride and injustice out of doors, he had been a kind master at home, and was greatly beloved by his servants. Some of the gentlemen who could support themselves refused to leave him. But when his servants were dismissed, the solitude of Esher Place was no pe.aco. The struggle at court was going violently on betwixt the king's deep and lingering affection for the cardinal and the resolve of Anne Boleyn and her relatives to make them- selves safe against him. This state of things, therefore, produced a constant oscillation of favour and disfavour, gleams of sunshine and then denser gloom, which kept the unhappy man in a murderous alternation of spirit. One day, tho 6th of NjvembL-r, the day after ho had parted with his servants, and was very low, Sir John Russell came in great seorcsy from tho king, at Greenwich, bringing a most :omfortable assurance that Henry was really not offended with him ; and a few days after came judge Shelley, de- manding a formal and perpetual surrender of York Piacc, which was tho property of the see of York, and the aliena- tion of it illegil. In vain he represented that it was a sacrilegious act : he was obliged to comply. " Thus," says Cavendish, " my lord continued at Esher, daily receivir,^ messages from the court, some good and some bad, but more ill than good." The design of Wolsey's enemies, we are told, was to drive him to some r.ash act, by which he should commit himself irrevocably with the king, or to wear him out by anxiety ; and in this they nearly succeeded, for at Christmas he fell 60 dangerously ill that all about him believed him to be dying. This news once more rou-^cd all the slumbering regard of Henry for the cardinal. Ho instantly despatched Dr. Butts, his own physician, to ascertain his real state ; and on Butts reporting that he was dangerou.-Iy ill, and that if he did not receive some comfort from his majesty he would bo a dead man in four days. " God forbid," exclaimed tho king, " that he should die, for I would not lose hira for twenty thousand pounds. Go immediately to him and do your best for hira." Nothing, replied the physician, would do him any good if the king did not send him a gracious message. On this Henry took a ring from his finger, charged with a ruby, on which his own picture was engraved, commanding the doctor to deliver it to him, and assure him that he was not offended with him in his heart, adding many kind expressions. At his request Anne Boleyn also took her tablet of gold that hung at her side and delivered it to the doctor, " with many gentle and loving words." When Butt arrived with these me.-^sages, the cardinal rose up in his bed, received tho token with every sign of delight, thanked the doctor heartily, and in a few days was out of danger. Henry having now seized upon all the cardinal's property, the incomes of his bishoprics, abbeys, and other benefices, his colleges at Ipswich and Oxford, with all their furniture and revenues, his pcn^ion^, clothes, .and even his very tomb, seemed contented to leave him his life. He therefore, on the 12th of February, I.t30, granted him a full pardon for all liis real and pretended crimes. On tho 17th Wolsey made a formal surrender of his bishopric of Winchester and abbey of St. Alban's, with all his other rents and pensions: at home and abroad, and having possession of this rich booty the king allowed tho cardinal the revenues of the archbishopric of York, reserving to himself York Place. He gave him also a pension of one thousand marks a year out of the bishopric of Winchester, and soon after sent him a present of £3,000 in money; and in plate, furniture, &o., the value of £3,374 33. 7d., and gave him leave to reside at Richmond. This new ilow of royal favour wonderfully revived tho cardinal's hopes, and as vividly excited tho fears of tho Boleyn party. To have this formidable man residing so near them as Richmond was too perilous to be thought of. Some fine morning tho king might suddenly ride over there, and all be undone. Henry was, therefore, besieged with entreaties to remove him further from the court, and to such a distance as should prevent the possibility of an interview. They prevailed, and Wolsey received an order through his friend Cromwell to go .and reside in bis arch- bishopric of York. To the cardinal, who felt a strong 198 OASSBLL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1530. p<'rsuasion that if he could but obtain an interview with ' the king all would be set right, this was next to a death- warrant, lie entreated Cromwell to obtain leave for him to reside at Winchester, but this was refused, and the duke , of Norfolk, Anne's uncle, sent Wolsey word that if he did not get away imraadiatcly into the north, he would come and tear him in pieces with his teeth. "Then," said M'olscy, " it is time for me to be gone." Cromwell, faithful to him !o the last, obtained a present taining his plate and lurniturc, and paused first at Peter- borough, where he spent Easter. From the moment that he commenced this journey he seemed a new man — to have left the haughty minister of state behind, and brought only the Christian bishop ; and in no part of his life did ho appear to so much advantage. He seemed really to have adopted the spirit of the words which Shakespeare puts into his mouth — • '. fcel mjr heart new opened." The Dismissal of Cardinal Wolsev. of a thousand marks from the king for him, and a most gracious message ; and the great fallen man set out, with something of his old state, towards the scene of his true pnstoral duties, but of exile to him as a statesman. He wont progressing slowly on his way from stage to stage, riding on his mule in a grave sadness, and followed by a hundred and eixty attendants, a long train of wagqns con- Wherever he came, he immediately won the esteem and love of people of all ranks, by his hospitality and pleasant affability. He spent the summer and autumn at his dio- cesan houses of Scrohy and .Soutiiwell, and arrived at his castle of Cawood, seven miles from York, only at Michael- mas. Both at Southwell, Scroby, and now at Cawood, ho set about at once to put the houses of the diocese into perfect A.D. 1530 ] WOLSEY ARRESTED FOR HIGH TREASON. 100 repair. His passion for building was as strong upon him as ever. He had soon three hundred labourers and artisans engaged in the restoration of Oawood. As at Scroby, so there he went to some neighbouring church every Sunday, where he performed mass, and one of his chaplains preached. After service, he invited the clergy and most respectable parishioners to dinner, and distributed alms to the poor. Everywhere on his journey he had shown the same unassuming regard to the people, who flocked to behold him. On a wild moor near Ferrybridge, on the last day of his journey, he had found upwards of five hundred children brought together and assembled round a great stone cross, to seek his blessing and confirmation at his hands. Ho immediately alighted and confirmed them all, 80 that it was late that night before he reached Cawood. all carried to London, and greatly exaggerated to the king, with every art to excite his jealousy. Cromwell gave hira information of this, and warned him earnestly to keep him- self as quiet and as much out of public view as possible, or his untiring enemies would bring mischief out of it for him. It was too late. On the 4th of November, only three days before the grand installation was to come oif, the earl of Northumberland, accompanied by Sir William Walsh and a number of horsemen, arrived at Cawood. Wolsey was sitting at dinner, and he rose, expressing a wish that the earl had come a little earlier ; for he had been brought up in his household, and he therefore jumped at the conclusion that he had been selected to bear him good tidings. But this selection had probably been made more by the will of Anne Boleyn than of the king, and for a very different WoJsey received by the Monks of Leicester Abbey. (See page 200.) He treated the clergy of his cathedral in the kindest man- ner, telling them he was come to live amongst them as a friend and brother. Delighted with their metropolitan, the clergy waited upon him in a body, and bogged that ho would allow him- self to be installed in his cathedral, according to the custom of his predecessors ; and Wolsey, after taking time to con- sider of it, consented, on condition that it should be done with as little splendour as possible. No sooner, however, was this news divulged, than the noblemen, gentlemen, and clergy of the county sent into York great quantities of pro- visions, and made preparations for a most magnificent feast. But this was suddenly prevented by a very un- expected event. The accounts of the cardinal's doings, his buildings, his hospitality, and his great popularity, were object. The earl was Anne's old lover, who, as the young lord Percy, had been torn from her by the h.inJ of Wolsey, though at the dictation of the king ; and the proud beauty showed that she had not yet forgotten or forgiven the cir- cumstance. Wolsey, believing in good news, went out to receive the earl with a cheerful countenance ; and observing his numerous retinue, he said, "Ah! my lord, I perceive that you observe the precepts and instructions which I gave you, when you were abiding with me in your youth, to chcri.Hh your father's old servants." lie then took the earl aB'cctionately by the hand, and led him into a bed- chamber. Then he no doubt expected to Iicar some good tidings ; but the earl was observed to be much affected, and, with much embarrassment and hesitation, he at length laid his liand on the old man's shoulder, and said, " My 200 CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAKD, [;i.D. 1530. lord, I arrest you of high treasrin." Wolsey was struck dumb, and ttood raotionlfss as a statue. He then bowed to the order, and prepared for his journey. On Sunday the earl set out with his prisoner, and on the 9th of November, on the third day, they arrived at Sheffield Park, the residence of the earl of Shrewsbury, steward of ttie king's household. The earl, lady Shrewsbury, and their family, recfived the cardinal with much kindness and respect, and he remained with them a fortnight, awaiting the further orders of the court. During this anxious time his constitution gave way ; he was Foized with dysentery. \Vhilst in this suffering state, Sir William Kingston, con- stable of the Tower, arrived, with four-and-twcnty of his guards, to conduct him to London. The earl of Slirews- bnry, fearing the effect of this news on the cardinal in his weak condition, requested Cavendish to communicate it to him in the best manner that he could. Cavendish, there- fore, told him he brought him good news : the king had sent Sir William Kingston to conduct him to his royal pre- sence. " Kingston ! " cried the cardinal ; and clapping his hand on his thigh, gave a great sigh. The earl of Shrewsbury entered, and told him that he had letters from his friends at court, who assured him that the king ex- pressed the greatest friendship for him, and was determined to restore him to favour. Then followed Kingston himself, who fell on his knees, and refusing to move from that posture till he had delivered the royal message, he assured the cardinal of the king's great goodness towards him, and that he bad commanded him to obey him in all things. But the cardinal, who was too well acquainted with the real meaning of such things, replied, " Rise, sir ; I know what is desigited for me. I thank you, sir. for your good news. I am a diseased man, but I will prepare to.-rido with you to-morrow." In a state of great exhaustion, TColsey-eet out,: and on the third evening reached I^icester Abbey, where the abbot, at the head of a procession of the monk.s, with lighted torches, received him. He was comptetfly worn out, and being lifted from his mule, said, " I am come, my brethren, to lay my bones amongst you." The monks carried him to his bed, where be swooned repeatedly ; .and the second morning his servants, 'who bad'Watohed Jiini with anxious affection, saw that he waa dying. He sailed to his bedside Sir William Kingston, and.amon^t others, addressed to him these remarkable words : — " Had I but served God as diligently as I have served the king, he wouM not have given me over in my gray hairs. But this is the just reward that I must receive for my diligent pains and study, not regarding my service to God, but only to my prince. Let me advise you to take care what you put in the king's head, for you can never put it out again. I havo ofttn kneeled before him, sometimes three hours together, to persuade him from his will and appetite, but could nnt prevail. He is a prince of most royal courage, and hath a princely heart ; for, rather than miss or want any part of his will, he will endanger one half of his kingdom." In what tha dying cardinal said as to the impossibility of ever puttin:^ an idea out of Henry's head that you once put in, no doubt ho alluded to his having suggested the idea of the divorce and the marriage of a French princess, which suggestion had thus fatally worked for himself. On the 2yth of Kuvembcr, 1530, thus died Thomas, lord car- dinal Wolsey, one of the most extraordinary characters that was ever raised up and again overthrown liy the mere will of a king, and who unconsciously contributed to one of the most extensive revolutions of human mind and govern- ment which the world has known. No words can more perfectly present the two sides of hii character than those of our great dramatist : — Quttn Caihtrint. Ha was s mm Of an unboandeil stomtch, erer ranktnf; Himself wiih princes; one, that by sai{i;estion T.cil aU the kingdom : Bin.ony was &ilr pUy; His own opinion was his law : 1' ihe pre.*cnco He would say untnillis; and be erer double. Both in bis wrnla and nieftoini; : he woa never, Bnt where be meant to i-nin, pitiful His premises were, as he then wa?, mijrhty; But bis per'oiraance, as he is row, nothing. Of his own body he was ill, and f;ara The clergy ill example. GriJ^h, This cardinal, Thonph from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashioned to much honour. From iiia cradle He was a !estowin;;. madam. He was roost princely : ever witness for him Those twins of learning, that he raised in yon, Ipswich and Oxford ! one of which fell witliUm, Cnwilting to outlive tbe good that did it; Tlie other, though unflolshed. yet so famous So excellent in iieart. and still so ri.^int;. That Cliri.slendom shall ever .-peak his vlrttie. His overthrow heaped happiness upon bim; For then, and not till then, he felt himself. And found Ihe blessedness of bein? iitUe : And, to add greater bononrs to his age Than man could ftive Jrim, ho died fearing Qod. The manner iu which Henry received the newstJETtiie death of his old favourite was very chasacteristic of Uieimaii.'^r a moment inducing some degree of feeling, and then«»aadrianly reverting to the idea of profiting by the event. CaTanaieh, the faithful secretary of Wolsey, rode on from Leieester to London, to announce the decease of the cardinal to ihe king. He found him engaged iu a match of archery in the park of Hampton Court, that -magniticent pile raised and presented to him by that magnificent minister. When the sport was finished, and Cavendish had delivered his solemn message, Henry seemed considerably touched by it, but almost immediately began to inquire with great eagerness after a sum of fifteen hundred pounds, which some one had told him Wolsty had secreted in some private pl.ice. Cavendish assured him that it had been put into the hands of a certain priest. Henry questioned him over and over again regarding this coveted sum, and said : — " Then, keop this gear secret between yourself and me : three may keep counsel, if two be away. If I thought my cap know my mind, I would cast it into the fire and burn it. And if I hear any more of this, I shall know by whom it has been revealed." In following the story of Wolsey to its close, we have a little overstepped the progress of affairs. As soon as the great man was out of the way, a ministry was formed of leading person.-) of the Boleyn party. The duke of Xorfolk, Anne's uncle, was made president of the council, Brandon, duke of Suffolk, lord marshal, and the earl of Wilt»hire, the father of Anne Boleyn, had a principal place. Sir Thoma.-^ More, unfortunately for him as it proved, was made lord chancellor instead of Wolsey, a promotion which he reluct- A.D. 1030.] THE RISE OF CRANMER; 201 antly accepted. Amongst the king's servants, Stephen Gardiner, who had been introduced and much employed by Wolsey, still remained high in the king's favour, and occupied the post of his secretary. Gardiner a bigoted catholic, and afterwards one of the most bloody persecutors of tlie reformers, now however, in trying to promote the wishes of the king for the divorce, unconsciously promoted the reformation, Tlie king, returning from the progress which ho had m.ade to Moore Park, and to Grafton, remained one night at Waltham. Gardiner and Pox were loilgod in the house of a Mr. Cressy, a gentleman of good family. After supper the conversation turned on the grand topic of the day — the king's divorce, and Gardiner and Fox detailed the difficulties that surrounded it, and the apparent impossibility of getting the pope to move in it. A grsive clergyman, the tutor of the family, of the name of Thomas Oranmer, after listening to the discourse, was asked by Pox and Gardiner what he thought of the matter. At first he declined to give his opinion on so high a matter, but being pressed, he said, he thought they were wrong altogether in tlie way they were seeking the divorce. That as the pope evidently would not commit himself upon the subject, his opinion was that they fhould not waste any more time in fruitless solicita- tions at Rome, but submit this plain question to the most learned men and chief universities of Europe : " Do the laws of God permit a man to marry his brother's widow ?" If, as he imagined, the answers were in the nCg,>»tive, the pope would not dare to pronounce a sentence in opposition to the opinions of all these learned men .and learnea bodies. On the return of the court to Greenwich, Fox and Gar- diner related this conversation to, the king, who instantly swore that " the man had got the right sow by the ear," and ordered him instantly-to be sent for to court. Cranraer, on his arrival, maintained his opinion in a manner which wonderfully delighted Henry, and raised hia hope of hiiving at length hit on the true mode of solving the difficulty. He immediately retained Cranmer in hi.s service, appointed him his chaplain, and placed him in the family of Anne's father, the earl of Wiltshire, where he was to write a book in fiivour of the divorce, and to devote himself to the promotion of this great object. Cranraer, like almost every one who took the fancy of Henry, soon rose to gre.at honour, became arch- bishop of Canterbury, a great champion of the reformation, and ended his life, like most others of the great courtiers of that monarch, by a violent death. Fatal were the honours conferred by Henry VIII. : they led rapidly upwards to the block or the fagot. Cranmer went zealously into the work appointed for him, for it was a grand step towards that object which he had above all others secretly in his heart — the reformation of the church ; and no doubt his friends and coadjutors gave him all possible aid in his labours. The course which he was pursuing went not only to effect Henry's divorce, but to establish the fact that the laws of God were to be appealed to in the Bible, and not in the pope ; and this once determined in so public and notorious a case, would Crcnte a breach betwixt Rome and England which never would be filled up. He very soon, therefore, had his treatise ready, which was printed — -for now that great engine, the press, was beginning its revolutionising operations — and was diligently circulated, both at home and abroad. Agents were despatched to obtain the required opinion from the different universities, both in England and on the continent, well provided with that most persuasive of rhi:toric:ans — money. At his own universities, however, Henry found no little opposition. The doctors and seniors were, out of hope of promotion, found ready to decide as the king wished ; -but the younger members were deter- mined and uproarious in resistance. The subj'?ct was d'jbated in convocation at Oxford with great heat and confusion, and the assembly was obliged to be dissolved without coming to any conclusion. Henry was highly indi^^nant at this proceeding, and addressed one of his bullying remonstrances to the university, calling on the heads of houses to bring their juniors into more order, or those young gentlemen, in attempting to play the masters, might find it not good to provoke hornets. " The wise men," as Anthony a Wood terms them, did their best, bat they did not silence or bring over the younger men without immense labour. Dr. Fox, Dr. Bell, and Longland, bishop of Lincoln, were down there, doing everything to overawe or win over the refractory ; and, after incredible labour, they succeeded in procuring a formal declaration in favour of the divorce. In Cambridge the same result was obtained by the same coercion — by threats and promises ; and the seal of the university was attached to a formal document, declaring the marriage of Henry and Catherine to be illegal. On the continent, where Henry's menaces had no weight, his purse was freely opened ; and the universities of Bo- logna, Padua, and Fcrrara, as well as many learned men, were prevailed on to take the view that Henry wished, la Germany his agents were far less successful. Both protestants and catholics in general condemned his pro- posed divorce ; and Luther and Melancthon said he had much better follow the example of the patriarchs, and take a second wife, than put away the first, without any crime on her part. This strange doctrine was some months afterwards recommended to the pope by some one of his dignified clergy, as the best means of liberating both himself and the English king from the difficulty. From France and its fourteen universities Henry expected much more com- pliance, but he was there, also, greatly disappointed. Francis replied that he dared not excite the anger of Charles till he had paid him four hundred thousand crowns, the ransom of his sons, who were still detained as hostages iu Spain. The hint was not lost : Henry advanced to Francis four hundred thousand crowns as a loan, though ho already owed him five hundred thousand, and sent him the lily of diamonds which Charles and Maximilian had formerly pawned to Henry for fifty thousand. By this profuse liberality Henry won over the French king, who, obtain- ing the freedom of his sons, exerted all his influence to procure from the faculty of theology in Paris a declaration favourable to his desires. A violent opposition, neverthe- less, arose in the faculty, and the contest was carried on between the faculty and the crown for several months, till Francis, growing impatient, had a spurious decree fabricated, which was published by Henry as genuine. From Orleans, Toulouse, and Bourges, and from the civilians of Angers, similar decisions were procured, but the theologians of the last city maintained the validity of the existing marriage. The answers from other universities were either not received or were suppressed. The scheme of Cranmer had not worked particularly 203 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1530. wo'il : the opinions of the universities were for the most pnrt cither ndversc, or were forced, and those of learned men injre opposed thnn coinciding. It had been the inten- tion, whthia new doctrine with equal wonder and delight. Never was lau'^uage so completely adapted to the dictates of his own heart; the yearnings and tendencies of his haughty and domineering nature, made quiveringly sensitive by tho stimulating: necessities of the crisis. His ' ungovernable passion, fon Anne Boleyn, his love of wealth, of power, and distinction, were all incon- ceivably gratified ; he thanked Cromwell heartily, and had hinv instantly sworn of his privy council. No time was lost in trying the efficacy of Cromwell's daring scheme. It was one at which the stoutest heart and most iron resolution might have trembled, to sever that ancient union which had existed so many ages, and was hallowed in the eyes of the world by so many proud recol- lecti'ins ; but Cromwell had taken a profound survey of the region he was about to invade, and had learned its weakest places. He relied on the unscrupulous impetuosity of the king's passion to bear him through; he relied far more on the finesse of his own genius. With t!ie calmest resolution, he laid his finger on one single page of the statute-book, and knew that he was master of the church. The law which rendered any one guilty of a prajmunirc who received direct favours from the pope, permitted the monarch to suspend the action of this statute at his discretion. This he had done in the case of AVolsey. AVlien he ace ptcd the legative authority, he took care to obtain a patent under the great seal, authorising the exercise of this foreign power. But Wolsey, when he was called in question for the administration of an office thus especially sauoiioned by 201 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1531. the crown, neglected to produce this deed of indemnity, hoping still to be restored to the royal favour, and unwilling to irritate the king hy any show of self-defence. There lay the concealed weapon which tlie shrewd eye of Crom- well had detected, and by which ho could overturn the ecclesiastical fabric of ages, lie declared, to the consterna- tion of the whole hierarchy, that not only had Wolsey in- volved himself in all the penalties of a prajmunire, but the whole of the clergy with him. They had admitted his fact before them. Thoy were called on to renounce the supremacy of the holy see — to throw down an authority which their ancestors for a thousand years had hold to be sacred and inviolable. The convocation, in this unpre- cedented dilemma, debated the matter for three days, with- out coming any nearer to a solution of the difficulty. They then hold conferences with Cromwell and the royal com- missioners, in which various expedients were proposed and rejected, until there came a peremptory message from the ^■^-'•■^'^■^^ Thomas Crnnmer. From the original of Geibicus Fliccus, in llie British Museum. exorcise of the papal authority, and thereby were become, in the language of the statute, his fautors and abettors. Dire was the di!>may which at this charge seized on the whole body of the clergy. The council ordered the attorney- general to file an information against the entire ecclesiastical corps. The convocation assembled in haste, and offered, as the price of a full pardon, a hundred thousand pounds. Bat still greater was the amazement and dismay of the clergy, when they found that this magnificent sum was rejected, unless the convocation consented to declare, in the preamble to the grant, that the king was " the protector and only supremo head of the church of England." The clergy now opened their eyes to the real and unexampled king, by the earl of Wiltshire, that he would accept of no qualification of the sentence proposed, except the addition of the words "under God." Henry had so greedily imbibed the incense offered hir.i in the proposal of Cromwell, that ho already began to talk loftily of having no superior but God, and grew furious with Cromwell for not carrying the thing ho had proposed off-hand, without any regard to itii transcendent difficulty. " Mother of God ! " he exclaimed, in n towering passion, to Cromwell and the commissioners for the business, " you have played mo a shrewd turn. I thought to have made fools of those prelates, and now you have so ordered the business that they are likely to make a fool of me, as they A. D. 1531.] EEIGN OF HENRY Till. 205 PRIVATB MARRIAgK OF ANNE BOLEfN 10 HBNRT Till. 70 200 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1531. have done of yon already. What is this quantum per legem Christi liceai f Go to them again, and let me have the buBiness passed without any quanlitms or tantvms. I will bare no quantum nor no tantum in the matter, but let it be done out of hand." In the end, however, Henry consented to the quantums and the tantums. By his permission, the venerable arch- bishop Warhiim introduced and carried an amendment in the convocation, by which the grant was voted with this clause in the preamble : — " Of which church and clergy we acknowledfte his majesty to be the chief protector, the only and supreme lord, and, as far as the law of God will allow, the supreme head." The wedge was introduced ; the severance was certain ; the perfect accomplishment of it only awaited another opportunity for an easier i?sue. The northern convocation adopted the same language, and voted a grant of eighteen thousand eight hundred and forty pounds. Meantime, every effort had been made to bend the pope to Henry's view of the case ; every opportunity had been seized to that end. Early in 1530 an embassy had been sent to Italy to take advantage of an interview about to be had betwixt the pope and the emperor at Bologna. The chief envoy on this occasion was the earl of Wiltshire, the father of Anne Boleyn, accompanied by Stokesley, bishop of London, Lee, the king's almoner, and Bennet, doctor of laws. To these were added several clergymen, at the head of whom was Cranmer. Henry declared to those about him that this was his last effort, and that, if it failed, he would withdraw from Clement, as a pontiff unfit for his office through ignorance, and still more unfit through simony. On the other hand, the emperor, still pressing the pope, obtained from him a breve, forbidding Henry to marry before the publication of his sentence. Whilst things were in this position, Henry's ambassadors arrived. The pope still declared he would do all that he possibly could for Henry. But the emperor received them in a very different humour. As soon as the earl of Wilt- shire began to speak, he interrupted him, saying, " Stop, sir ! allow your colleagues to speak. You are a party in the cause." The earl, undeterred by this, answered boldly that he stood not there as a father defending the interests of his child, but aa a minister representing his r-ovcreign ; that if Charles would comply with the wish of Henry, he would be quiet, if not, he would proceed with- out his permission ; and that he now offered him, as the price of his acquiescence, three hundred thousand crowns, the restoration of the marriage-portion of Catherine, and security for her maintenance suitable to her high birth during her life. Charles declared, in reply, that he was not going to sell the honour of his aunt, and that he would support her caiu^e by the means at his disposal. This being the position of things, Cranmer challenged all tho learned men of the papal court to dispute the question of the kingV marriage, but none of them accepted the challenge. The proposal wae a very .safe one, for the pope was not likely t9 permit saeh a discussion in the very face of the emperor ; but it answered Cranraer's object : it highly delighted Henry, who made him ambassador to the emperor ; and the pope, to conciliate Henry, also made him his pleni- potentiary in England. In Janunry. 1531, the brief forbidding Henry to proceed to a marriage with Anne Boleyn, which the pope had signed, was published by the emperor in Flanders, Henry, to neutralise the effect of this, sent down Sir Thomas More, the lord chancellor, attended by twelve peers spiritual ami temporal, to the House of Commons, to explain all that the king had done towards the discharge of his conscience and the safety of the realm hereafter, in regard to the divorce. Sir Thomas c.irried thither a box containing the decrees of the universities and tho opinions of learned men. which he placed (m the table ; whereupon Sir Bryan Tuke opened the box, and took out twelve writings sealed, the decrees of the twelve universities, which he read, translated into English. There were, besides, above a hundred books and writings, which there was no time to read ; and the speaker bade the members, on their return to their several counties and towns, to show to all their neighbours that the king had not done these things for his own will and pleasure, but only for tho di.scharge of his conscience and the security of the succession of the realm. Parliament being prorogued, the king, on the 31st of May, sent a deputation of peers to communicate to the queen the decrees of the universities and the dicta of the learned, and to entreat her to quiet the king's conscience, by consenting to the divorce. But Catherine was firm as ever. She said : — " I pray God send his grace a quiet conscience ; and this shall be your answer — That I say I am his lawful wife, and to him law- fully married, and by the order of the holy church I was to him espoused as his true wife, although not so worthy ; and by that point I will abide, till the court of Rome, which was privy to the beginning, have made thereof a deter- mination and final ending." The king was so enraged at this answer that he never saw her again; and in the month of July she was ordered to quit Windsor. " Go where I may," she said, on receiving this harsh command, " I am still his lawful wife, and will pray for him." No woman ever maintained her just rights with more firmness and true dignity than Catherine of Arragon. She retired first to the Moore in Hertfordshire, then to Easthampstead, and finally to Ampthill, where she continued to reside. After the prorogation of parliament. Sir Thomas More. who was sincerely attached to the catholic religion, begged to be permitted to resign the great seal. He saw that a thorough breach with Rome was inevitable, and he desired to have no hand in it. Indeed, Sir Thomas had allowed the spirit of the times already too much to influence his nobler nature. He was one of the most learned, witty, and light- hearted of men. In the silence of his closet he had arrived at the most admirable ideas of the rights of conscience, and in his celebrated work, the Utopia, he had tolerated all religious opinions in bis imaginary kingdom. But on being raised to power he forgot the liberality of bis sentiments, and was seized with that very persecuting spirit which ho had in his writings so entirely condemned. His treatment of one man is peculiarly disgraceful to a writer who know so much better. This was James Bainham, a gentleman of the Temple, who was accused of the new opinions, and whom More had taken to his own house, where he ordered him to be whijiped in his presence, and •■hen sent him to the Tower, aud put him to the torture. This unfortunate gentleman was induced by the force of agonies tu abjure his opinions ; but returning to them, and openly advocating them, was condemned and burnt in Smithfield, a fate which soon became common to those who denied tho dogmas of the church, which Henry himself was in arms aguiust. A.D. 1532.] MARRIAGE OF ANNE BOLEFN. 207 Well had it been for More had he sooner retired from a position which so lamentably injured his spirit and his fame. But having made up his mind to it, he descended to a private station in May, 1532, with the utmost gaiety and content- ment, though his family were extremely averse to what they deemed a needless and mortifying sacrifice. Henry accepted bis resignation with great reluctance, and transferred the great seal to Sir Thomas Audley. Henry, under the guid- ance of Cromwell, made progressive steps towards this separation which More feared. He now procured an act to be passed by parliament, abolishing the annats, or first- fruits, which furnished a considerable annual income to the pope, and another abrogating the authority of the clergy in convocation, and attaching that authority to the crown. Feeling that in this struggle he should need the friendship ef Francis, he proposed a new treaty with France, which was signed in London on the 23rd of June ; and, the more to strengthen the alliance, the two monarchs proposed a meeting between Calais and Boulogne. Great preparations were made on both sides, and Henry begged Francis to bring his favourite mistress with him. This was as an excuse for Henry to bring Anne Boleyn, who was now created the marchioness of Pembroke, and without whom Henry could go nowhere. Francis did not bring his fair friend to the royal meeting, but Henry paraded his new marchioness in great state before the world. He issued orders for a great train of noblemen, prelates, and gentle- men to assemble at Canterbury on the 26th of September, to attend him to the continent, and he embarked at Dover on the 11th of October, and landed at Calais the same afternoon. The two kings met in a vaHey near the marches, on the 21st, and proceeded to Boulogne, where Francis entertained the king and court of England in the most magnificent manner for four days ; and on the fifth the two kings, with their attendants, set out for Calais, where Henry entertained the king and court of France with equally royal hospitality for the same period of time. On the Sunday evening, Anne got up a masque for the pleasure of the French guests. She came in after supper with seven ladies in masking apparel of strange fashion, made of cloth of gold, slashed with crimson tinsel satin, with tabards of fine cypress. Then the lady marchioness took the French king, the countess of Derby the king of Navarre, and every lady took a lord. In dancing, king Henry removed the ladies' visor."!, so that their beauties were shown. The French king then discovered that he had been dancing with an old acquaintance, the lovely English maid of honour to his first queen. He conversed with her awhile apart, and the next morning sent her a jewel worth fifteen thousand crowns. On the 30th of the month, the two kings mounted their horses, and Henry conducted the French king to the border of his dominions, where they took leave of each other with many protestations of perpetual friendship, as they had done at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. The two monarchs had proclaimed with great diligence that the object of their meeting was to concert an expedi- tion against the Turks, but it is more probable that Henry sought to induce Francis to co-operate with him, and withdraw from the court of Rome — a circumstance which would havs been equally detrimental to the pope and the emperor ; but Francis was not prepared for so violent a measure, in fact, he had no stubborn desire to spur him on to it. It is said that Francis, during the interview, had urged Henry to wait no longer for the permission of the pope, but to marry the marchioness of Pembroke without further delay, but it is quite certain that another counsellor was more urgent, and that was — Time. It was high time, indeed, that the marriage should take place, if they meant to legitimate his child, for Anne Boleyn was far advanced in her pregnancy. Accordingly, the marriage took place some time about now, but there are various accounts of the time and place of this event. Some authors affirm that she was privately married to the king at Dover, the same daj they returned from France ; others that the nuptials were secretly performed in the presence of her father and mother, and of tlie duke and duchess of Norfolk, in the chapel of Sopewell nunnery. To that nunnery, Anne, indeed, retired for some purpose immediately on her return from France, and Henry, who could not visit her in the nunnery, is said by tradition to have met her, occasionally, at a yew-tree, about a mile from that convent. There is also a tradition that she was married at Blickling Hall, in Norfolk ; but Wyatt, her great admirer, as well as Stowe and Godwin, with far more probability, assert that this event took place in the following manner and place, on St. Paul's day, January 25th, 1533. " On the morning of that day," says a contemporary, " at a very early hour. Dr. R iwland Lee, one of the royal chaplains, received the unwonted order to celebrate mass in an unfrequented attic in the west turret of Whitehall. There he found the king, attended by Norris and Heneage, two of the grooms of the chamber, and the marchioness of Pembroke, attended by her train-bearer, Anne SaviUe, afterwards lady Berkeley. On being requested to perform the nuptial rite between his sovereign and the marchioness in the presence of the three witnesses assembled, the chaplain hesitated ; but Henry is said to have assured him that the pope had pronounced in favour of the divorce, and that he had the dispensation for a second marriage in his possession. As soon as the marriage ceremony had been performed, the parties separated in silence before it was light; and viscount Rochford, the brother of the bride, was despatched to announce the event in confidence to Francis I." Such were the circumstances of this extraordinary and fatal marriage. There were present at it three persons whose doom it involved, and who were soon to shed their blood on the scaflold by the order of the royal bridegroom ; Anne herself, her brother, lord Rochford, and Henry Norris, one of the grooms of the chamber. These, however, though the most bloody, were not the most strange circum- stances. However, Henry became the husband of two wives, anticipating the divorce which no circumstances were able to procure. In these circumstances was born the celebrated queen Elizabeth, the product of an adulterous connection, and, according to the brutal father's own diction in after years, illegitimate, the former wife of Henry being still living and undivorccd ; her marriage only being declared null and void, while, by the laws of God and of the highest authority of the time, it was not. This marriage was kept so secret that it was not even communicated to Cranmer, who had just returned from Germany, and taken up his abode in the family of Anno Boleyn. Cranmer whilst in Germany had married, catholic priest as he was, the niece of Osiandor, the protestant minister of Nuremberg. This lady he had brought secretly 208 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [A. 1533. to England, and was now liring a married priest, in direot violation of Che church that he belon<;ed to. Circumstanoes nuvr fell out which put the dishonourable character of Oranmer more strongly to proof. Archbishop Warham was dead, and Henry nominated Oranmer to the vacant primaoy. Had Oranmer been a man of high and genuinely Ohristian principle, be must now have thrown off his mean disguise, have avowed his adhesion to the protestant cause, being thereby, as well as on account of his marriage, totally disqualilied for occupying the highest office in the national hierarchy. But Oranmer was an ambitious time-server, and he went through a series of most melancholy decep- tions, which would ruin the reputation of any man. Though a married man, he did not simply content himself with remaining a priest, but he accepted the office of arch- bishop. Though he had advised the king to break with the church of Rome, he received the bull and pallium from the pope, and stood, a perjured protestant, in the highest place of. th« catholic church. It is impossible to find anywhere an example of more deplorable double, or rather, treble dealing, for he had three faces under one hood : those of a protestant, a married man, and catholic priest sworn to celibacy ! What makes it worse is, that he entered a secret protest when taking the oaths that he never meant to bind himself by them, where his duty to his Qod or his king was concerned. And this at the moment that he was attempting to deceive both his Ood, his king, and the whole country ! What is still worse, again, is that he did all this without any compulsion. He was not like Francis I., who was forced by Charles V. into oaths or actual captivity, and blight of all his life, and neglect of all his duties as a sovereign. There was nothing to prevent, but everything to call upon, Oranmer to avoid false oaths and the crimes of hypocrisy and deceit, and be a poor protestant minister, bnt an honest man. Oranmer, like Anne Boleyn, have proved great stumbling- blocks to those who regard them as pillars and promoters of the reformed English church. They would fain have them honest, as they are obliged to acknowledge that they had an undeniable influence on the English reformation. But this is a false mode of viewing such subjects. The Almighty makes use of men and women far from perfect in effecting his designs. He turns even their crimes to the advantage of mankind. From the days of Balaam and his ass — the ass being the far better animal of the two, for he saw the angel and would have followed his bidding, whilst Balaam, with prophetic gifts, was ready to sell them for money — down to those of Napoleon Bonaparte, this great fact is written with the divine finger on all history, that out of evil Gild brings forth good ; with poor and rust-eaten tools he accomplishes his wonders. The crimes, the pas- sions, the weaknesses, and meannesses of Henry VIII., Anne Boleyn, and Oranmer, have nothing, therefore, to do with the real merits of the reformation in these kingdoms. That reformation was marching on through the land, entering into city after city, dwelling after dwelling, per- vading the minds and the very marrow, as it were, of the people, and the eruption must come. The severance from Borne mustoome, as sure as the volcano, after seething to a certain point of heat, will throw up its fiery contents into the air, prostrating the old and preparing its lava- soil for the new. Whether, therefore, the volcano send up unex- oeptionable rocks, the best of lava, or the purest gas — whether Henry, or Oranmer, or the Boleyn were the best or the purest of mort-als, is quite beside the question. God moTes In a mysterious ynj HU wonders to perfonn, and he does these wonders perfectly. With or without Henry Tudor, with or without Anne Boleyn, with or with- out Oranmer, sooner or later, he would have produced the reformation in England. The mine, the train, the match were already prepared, and the preparation and the result would have been no way different, had angels instead of indifferent mortals applied the spark. Oranmer was consecrated archbishop of Canterbury on the 30th of March, 1533, and he was immediately ordered to proceed with the divorces. The new primate, therefore, wrote, on the 11th of April, a formal letter to the king, soliciting the issue of a commission to try that cause, and pronounce a definitive sentence. This was immediately done ; and Oranmer, as the head of this commission, accom- panied by Gardiner, now bishop of Winchester, the bishops of London, Lincoln, Bath and Wells, with many other divines and canonists, opened their court at Dunstable, in the monastery of St. Peter's, six miles from Ampthill, where the queen resided. To this court they summoned both the king and the queen. Henry appeared by proxy ; but Oatherine ignored the court and its proceedings alto- gether. It was not likely, indeed, that, having denied all authority in the matter but that of the pope, she should now recognise a tribunal which was proceeding as the devoted instrument of a monarch who had declared, in a letter to those very judges, that he, their sovereign, recog- nised no superior on earth, but only God, and' was not sub- ject to the laws of any earthly creature. All officers and institutions — the church itself — had now shown that it was scarcely influenced by any law or motive but the will and fe.ar of this self-inflated king. Parliament and convocation had heaped fresh insults upon Oatherine before proceeding to try her. Parliament, acting on the dicta of Oranmer .ind of Oromwell, had passed an act, strictly prohibiting any appeals to the court of Rome, so that Oatherine was cut off from all application to the only authority that she ac- knowledged; and another, stripping her of the title of queen, and designating her solely as the princess dowager of Wales, the widow of prince Arthur, her first and only lawful husband. On the 12th of April, Henry again — and now openly — solemnised his marriage with Anne Boleyn. Dr. Lee, the same clergyman who had married Henry to Anne, was sent to cite Oatherine to appear. Every precaution was used to prevent Oatherine knowing that it was intended by this court to proceed to a final judgment: but that mattered little ; for, from first to last, she disallowed the authority of any trial by the king's subjects. On the 12th of May Oranmer pronounced Oatherine contumacious, and on the 23rd, that her marriage was null aud invalid from the beginning. On the 28th, in a court held at Lambeth, the archbishop pronounced the king's marriage with Anne Boleyn to be good and valid. On the Ist of June, being Whit Sunday, Anne was crowned with every possible degree of pomp and display. She was first brought by the lord mayor from the palace at Greenwich in a gay procession of barges to the Tower. Then, after some days, a brilliant procession of noblemen, great prelates, and ambassadors, conducted her through the streets ef London in an open litter covered with cloth of gold shot with white, and the A.D. 1533.] CORONATION OF ANNE BOLEYN. 209 two palfreys which supported the litter clad, heads and all, in a garb of whi^e damask. The queen was dressed in a surooat of silwr tissue, aud a mantle of the same lined with ermin- Her dark tresses were worn flowing down her shoulders; but on her head she wore a coif with a circlet of precious rubies. Over her head was borne a canopy cariied by four knights on foot. The streets were hung with crimson and scarlet, and that part of Cheapaide with cloth of gold and velvet. There were all sorts of pageants, in which pagan deities mingled freely with Christian emblems. No coronation had ever been witnessed at Westminster more costly or brilliant. Anne being now far advanced in pregnancy, muat have fbund it a most fatiguing ceremony. Cranmer, of course, placed the crown upon her head. Henry, notwithstanding his separation from Rome, was anxious to obtain the sanction of his marriage by the pope ; but instead of that, Clement fulminated his denunciations against him over Europe. He annulled Oranmer's sentence on Henry's first marriage, and published a bull excommu- nicating Henry and Anne, unless they separated before the next September, when the new queen expected lier confinement. Henry despatched ambassadors to the dif- ferent foreign courts to announce his marriage, and the reasons which had led him to it ; but from no quarter did he receive much gratulation. One person in particular wrote to him in the most cutting and unsparing strain. This was cardinal Pole, a near kinsman of his, whom he liad used great endeavours to win to his side. When the bishoprics of Winchester and York became vacant by the death of Wolsey, the king would fain have conferred one of them on Pole, whom he had educated and destined for the highest ofiices of the church. The young clergyman could not conscientiously approve of Henry's divorce scheme, and accordingly fell under his displeasure. Henry, however, permitted him to retire to the continent, and, having been educated in Italy, he there soon received the cardinal's hat from the pope. He now wrote to Henry, reproaching him vehemently with his proceedings, and even applying to Anne the names of Jezebel, sorceress, and similar offensive epithets. He treated her with the most unsparing irony, saying that she had been praised as virtuous ; and adding, " She must needs be chaste, as she ohose to be a king's wife instead of his mistress ; but," he continues, " she must have known how soon he was sated with those who had served him in the latter quality ; and, if she wanted examples, her sister was enough." The people, from one end of the country to the other, were on the side of Catherine. They justly looked upon her as a virtuous, amiable, and religious queen, who was thrust aside to make way for a younger rival ; and they did not hesitate to express their opinion of that rival's conduct. They cried out against "Nan BuUen " lustily on all occa- sions, and declared that they would have none of her. The monastic orders, who were writhing under the privation of their ancient houses and estates, and who foresaw further and more extensive spoliations in the reformation tendencies of Cranmer and the new queen, preached every- where hatred to the " Bullen '' usurper of the throne, and bold denunciations of the licentious conduct of the king himself. One friar Peyto, a very devout and lealous member of the order of Observants, preached before the king and queen at Greenwich, and denounced, in uncom- promising terms, the most terrible judgments on them both. He reminded them of the story of Ahab, and cried out, " Even where the dogs licked the blood of Naboth. shall they lick the blood of Jezebel." He told Henry tliat, like the king of Israel of old, he had got his lying prophets to prophecy what he willed: "but," continued he, "I am Micheas (Micaiah), whom thou wilt hate because I must tell thee truly that this marriage is unlawful ; and I know I shall eat the bread of affliction and drink the waters of sorrow ; yet, because our Lord hath put it into my mouth, I must speak of it." More than Peyto himself expected the royal vengeance ; but Henry, for a wonder, restrained himself, and preferred to set one of his chaplains to answer the friar. Probably the knowledge that the general opinion was that of the friar might induce Henry to this course, so different to his conduct in after years. The next Sunday, being the 8th of May, Dr. Curwen preached in the same place, and, after endeavouring to answer hig arguments, made a furious attack on the friar himself, calling him a dog, a slanderer, a base, beggarly friar, a rebel and traitor. He denounced him as a foul slanderer of persons in authority; and asserted that, so far from the king's marriage being an offence to God or man, it was a measure both highly desirable and highly commendable, as that which was to establish a righteous royal seed for ever : and then, supposing that his eloquence had completely defeated and put to flight the friar, he challenged him byname, shouting, " I speak to thee, Peyto, that makest thyself Micheas, that thou mayest speak evil of kings ; but now thou art not to be found, being fled for fear and shame, as being unable to answer my arguments." But there came an answer — though not from Peyto — wnich was not greatly to the credit or the foresight of the preacher, for in the rood-loft, one Elstow, a friar of the same house as Peyto, stood up, and in a loud and undaunted manner said, " Good sir, you know well enough that father Peyto, as he was commanded, is gone to a provincial council holden at Canterbury, and is not fled from any fear of you, but to-morrow will return again. And meantime, here am I, another Micheas, ready to lay down my life to prove all those things true which he hath taught out of the holy scriptures ; and to this combat I challenge thee before God and all equal judges ; even unto thee, Curwen, I say it, which art one of the four hundred prophets into whom the spirit of lying is entered, and seekest by adultery to esta- blish succession ; betraying the king into endless perdition, more for thine own vainglory and hope of promotion than for the discharge of thy clogged conscience, and the king's salvation." The friar wont on in the same strain, growing bolder and bolder, and hurling the most awful denunciations at the head of the king, and none could bring him to silence, till Henry, in a voice of thunder, commanded him to be still. The king did not pass this over. The two friars the next day were summoned before the council, and sternly rebuked and threatened. The earl of Essex told them they deserved to be put into sacks and thrown into the Thames. " Threaten those things," said Elstow, smiling, "to the rich and dainty folk, which are clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously everyday, and have their chiefest hope in this world ; but we heed them not — nay, we are joyful that for the discharge of our duties we are driven hence; and, thanks to God, we know the way to heaven to be as ready by water as by land, and 210 CASSKLL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOUY OF JtiNGLA-Nl). [a.d. 1533 therefore care not which way we go." The end of this plain speaking wa8, that the friars, with all their order, were soon after banished ; and Curwcu, as friar Elstow bad prophesied, was promoted to the episcopal bench. Yet no complaints of the clergy or the people could pre- vent the ruthless king wringing tlic heart of liis forsaken wife, by demands of her renunciation of all title to royalty. On the 3rd of July lord -Mountjoy, who had formerly been accident she had run into her foot. She )iad a number of her servants assembled to hear what was said, and she then demanded whether the message were in writing or was to be delivered by word of mouth. Lord Mountjoy said he had both a verbal and a written command, but when he began to address her as the princess of Wales, she stopped him, and let him know that she was not princess-dowager, but the queen, and withal the king's true wife; had been CarOiual Pule. From the original picture. Iter page, waited on her from the king to announce to her the completion of the divorce, and to warn licr to take a lower style and address than that of queen. Catherine was living quietly at Ampthill, and the martyrdom through which she had lately been made to pass had sh.ikcn her 111 alth severely. It was some days before she could see il.o messenger, and when she did she w.os still lying sick '•a her couch, and suiTcrlng from a thorn which by some crowned and anointed queen, and by the king had Ii.'id lawful issue ; had committed no crime by which real for- feiture of her rank and estate could come, but that the estate and name of queen she would vindicate, challenge, and maintain during her lifetime. Mountjoy begged to remind her that she had not only been divorced, but that tliis divorce was confirmed by t!:o act of the parliament in both houses, and that the ]i\'y A.D. 1533 ] UNPOPULARITY OF HENRY'S PROCEEDINGS. 211 Anne had also been anointed and crowned queen of England, which act was also confirmed by the lords spiritual and temporal, and the commoners of the realm ; but Catherine, with undaunted spirit, repudiated all such proceedings, as effected by bribery and unfair means, de- claring that neither universities, convocations, nor parlia- ments, had power to divorce, but the court of Rome alone, to which she still appealed. Mountjoy then represented to Iier that her obstinacy might occasion p ipular commotions in the kingdom, to which she replied that she should much regret that ; she trusted there would be no dissensions in the realm on her account, which she never contumplatciJ, nor ever would ; but she would never consent to injure her daughter's rights, and the health of her own soul by com- pliance ; and if she should be so unfortunate as to forfeit the favour of the people, still, she trusted to go to heaven cum Jama ct infama, for it was not for the favour of the were nowhere popular. Over the whole of Europe Cathe- rine was an object of sincere sympathy. In his owa dominions we have seen the vehemence of popular expres- sion against his marriage, and the women were ujoro indiguant than the men. In his own court, and amongst the very relatives of Anne Boleyn, he found stout partisans of the discarded queen. The wife of Anne's own brother, the countess of Rochford, had been lady of the bedchamber to Catherine, and with other court ladies were so open and violent in condemning the treatment of her, that Henry sent lady Rochford and anuther lady of high rank to the Tower. On the other hand, the pope was as unwilling to break entirely with Henry. England was a valuable lief of the Holy See, but Clement was held tiglit to his opposition to Henry's proceedings by the emperor, who may be said, with his aunt, queen Catherine, to have been far more really Place of Execution within the Tower of London. people, nor yet for any trouble or adversity that might be devised for her, that she would lose the favour of God. When Mountjoy showed her the report which he had drawn lip of the interview, she called for pen and ink, and care- lully struck out the words princess-dowager wherever they occurred. She also treated the whole divorce as a mere farce, being pronounced in the king's own realm, by " a man of the king's own making," Cranmer, whom she asserted to be a person Liy no means impartial. Henry had accomplished his long-striven-for oliject; he had deposed his old queen, and secured his now one ; he had assumed great power over the church, .ind derived some wealth from it, but he had no satisfaction in it. His movements had originated in passion, not in principle ; he was no reformer by nature, but fas^t bound in the preju- dices of his education, and he felt a constant longing to reconcile himself .again with the pope. Uia proceedings the artificers of the severance of England from Borne, than Henry, Cranmer, or Anne Boleyn. If queen Catherine had submitted readily to the divorce, induced by an cisy disposition or the oifer of rewards and honours, and if Charles had not exerted all his power, and alibis menaces, to keep the pope firm, there would have come no break with Henry. As it was, led by their mutual regrets, and by the active ofSces of Francis I., who was eager to join a fresh coalition against Charles, the pope consented to meet Henry's .ambassadors at Jfarseilles. In July he had, under influence of Charles and his brother Ferdinand, annulled the sentence of divorce pronounced by Cranmer, and excommunicated Henry and Anne if they did not sepa- rate before the end of September, and now, on the 25th of September, he embarked on board the French fleet to meet Francis and the English envoys. No sooner, however, was it settled that Clement and Francis should meet than 213 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1534. Henry was seized with alarm lest they should enter into a secret league prejudicial to him. He sent over to Francis the duke of Norfolk, accompanied by the viscount. Roch- ford, Parolet, Brown, and Bryan, with a retinue of one hundred and sixty horsemen, as if to accompany Francis, but in rcility furnished with secret instruc- tions to ditisuade Francis from proceeding to the inter- riew, and offering him a large subsidy if he would countenance him by establishing a patriarch in Prance, and forbid the transmission of money to the papal trea- sury. When Francis refused to listen to this advice. Henry recalled the duke of Norfolk, who was a zealous catholic, and whom Henry probably thought too anxious to a<;ree with the pope, and sent in his place the bishop of Winchester and Bryan. These envoys professed that they were come to execute the wishes of Francis, and encouraged by this, Francis refused to proceed with other business until Clement had done everything possible to arrange amicably the affairs of Henry. Great, therefore, was the astonishment of both the pope and the king of France to find, on proceeding to this business, that these ambassadors had come unfurnished with any powers to treat either with the pontiff or the French king. They were only commissioned to watch the proceedings, and report them to their master. Henry, with all his desire of reconciliation, was still in constant fear of committing himself, and finding that the pope had been prevailed on to decide against him, Francis insisted that the envoys should despatch a messenger for full powers to treat ; and, in the meantime, a marriage was concluded be- twixt the duke of Orleans, the son of Francis, and Catherine de Medici, the niece of Clement, an alliance which proved a great curse to France. The result of the despatch to England appeared in the arrival of Bonner, afterwards bishop of London, and one of the bitterest persecutors who ever lived, who, on the 7th of November, instead of proceed- ing to an accordance with Francis and the pope, to their amazement presented from Henry an appeal from the pope to a general council. This unexpected renunciation of the authority of the pope spoke plainly the distrust in Henry's mind of him, or of the influence behind him. All parties were now aiming at impossibilities. Henry would fain be reconciled with the ancient church, but he was mortally afraid of the power of Charles over the pontiff, and these fears were sedulously stimulated by the party at home, headed by Cromwell, Cranmer, and his own queen. Clement desired the reunion, but was a puppet in the hands of the emperor ; and Francis was bent upon his own views without possessing the confi- dence of either the pope or Henry. Both Clement and Francis resented the conduct of Henry, yet neither was wil- ling to give him up. Bonner pretended that the appeal to a council would throw no real obstacles in the way, and Francis, knowing that the bishop of Bayonne stood well with Henry, sent him to London to propose that he should under- take the management of his affair with the pope. Henry readily consented, and the bishop in high spirits hastened back, proceeded to Rome in the depth of winter, and set zea- lou.-ily to work to bring the matter to a favourable issue. The concession which the bishop flattered himself that he should now obtain was, that the divorce should be once more tried in England, and that the pope should ratify the sentence, and England should remain in fiill obedience to the papal see. So conceding did Henry appear, that ho authorised the bishop of Bayonne to promise, not merely obedience, but benefits to Rome, in proportion to the readiness of Clement to oblige bim. The long-contested question of the divorce, and the threatened consequence — severance of Ensr'and from the papal see — now appeared in a fair way of being settled, and all disunion healed. They were never farther off. However sincere and earnest the two principals in this contest, the pope and Henry, might be, there were at work in the court of England and the court of Rome, parties really more powerful than their principals, who were resolved that the two desiderata to tliis pacification never should be yielded. No sooner had the bisliop of Bayonne set out for Rome, than Cromwell and his party commenced an active campaign in parliament for breaking beyond remedy the tie with Rome, and establishing an independent church in this country. This able man, who for his past services was now made chancellor of the exchequer for life, framed two bills, and introduced them to parliament soon after the Christmas holidays. The first was an act establishing the title of the king as supreme head of the English church, and vesting in him the right to appoint to all bishoprics, and to decide all ecclesiastical causes. All payments or appeals to Rome were strictly forbidden ; and the submission of the clergy to these enactments, which in the former bill confined it to one year, was made perpetual, by the omission of that qualification. By the second bill, the marriage of Catherine, strangely enough at the very moment that Henry had conceded it« final decision at Rome, was declared unlawful, and that of Anne Boleyn confirmed. The issue by the first marriage was declared illegitimate and excluded &om the succession, and the issue of the marriage of Anne was made inheritable of the crown, and that only, and any one casting any slander on this marriage, or endeavouring to prejudice the succession of its issue, was declared guilty of high treason, if by writing, printing, or deed, and misprision of treason if by word. Thus was a new power established by the crown ; every person of full agCj or on hereafter coming to full age, were to be sworn to obey this act. Not only new powers were thus created, but a new crime invented ; and though this statute was swept away in the course of a few years, yet it is a remarkable one, for it became the precedent for many a succeeding and despotic government. Thus Henry, at the very time that he appeared anxiously seeking reconciliation with Rome, was in reality sever- ing himself from it. Who shall say what were his reasonings on the subject ? Was it his love of power, which induced him, as it were, against his own wishes, to accept these measures from his ministers and parliament P or did he hope to receive a favourable and irrevocable decision from Rome, before these strange proceedings became known P Be that as it may, at Rome, where, too, the king's agent, the zealous bishop of Bayonne, was flattering him- self with snccess, the party of the emperor and of Catherine acquired the ascendancy, and the consistory decided not against the validity of Catherine's marriage, bat /or it I On the 23rd of March, 1534, the consistory in Borne pronounced this important decision, and on the 30th of the same month the royal assent was given in London to these bills. It is stated by De Bellay, that the papal court were waiting for the receipt of a despatch from Henry, assenting A.D. 1534.] THE MAID OP KENT. 21$ to his return to obedience to the papal see, and that the messen-^er not arriving, the imperial influence pushed forward the decision, and that the very next day Henry's messenger arrived, bringing his full acquiescence. The story is piquant and startling, but it does not appear to be fact. Both parties seem to have been using every exertion to carry their point, ftnd the passing of these bills through both lords and commons on the 20th of March, three days only before the act of the consistory, shows that the English party was proceeding without any reference to what was agitating in Rome; and even the date of the royal assent to those bills, the 30th of March, does not allow time for the decision at Rome to have arrived, and produced, as it has been said, the determination of Henry to sanction the acts. In Rome the imperialists received the decision of the consistory with transports and acclamations of joy. They fired cannon, they lit bonfires, they cried through the streets, " The emperor and Spain," as if they had won a great victory ; and in truth they had, but it was at the cost to the church of Rome of the fairest and the most affluent of its tributary kingdoms. The emperor had given to the popedom a blow vrhich time was never destined to repair, and for which all the vast realms of the rejoicing Charles could furnish no recompense. Thus was the religious independence of England — drawing after it, as a necessary sequence, civil liberty — established for over. It is by far the most memorable day in the history, not only of England, but of modern Europe ; and it has been well said by an historian of the last age, that " those who believe in an over-ruling Providence, and think the reformation of religion has been a blessing to England, will gratefully acknowledge its influence on this occasion." This great revolution was brought about by those who weie its gre atest enemies. CHAPTER IX. REION OF HENRY THE EIGHTH.- (Conclndod). Separation of England from Rome— Popular Dlatnrbancea— The Maid of Kent —Henry assumea the Title of the Head of the English Chnrch-tisher and More beheaded— Cromwell made Vicar-General of Ecclesiastical Affairs— Death of Qoeen Catherine— Henry rejects the Emperor's Invita- tion to return to Unity with Rome— Dissolution of Monasteries— Inrlta- Uon from Germany to Join the Smalcaldlc League— Anne Boleyn sent to the Tower, tried, divorced, and beheaded— Henry marries Jane Seymour- Henry's Children declared illegitimate— Insnrrectlons—Pil. grimage of Grace- Fresh Instirrectlons and Execnticns— Prince Edward born— The Qaxen dies— Insurrections raised by Cardinal Pole, and Execution of the Insurgents— The Statute of the Six Articles— Grant of all the Proceeds of the dissolved Monasteries— Fresh Executions on account of the Pole Insurrections- Henry marries Anne of Cleves — Knights of St John dissolved— Fall and Execution of Cromwell— Anno of Cleves divorced— Henry marries Catherine Howard— Countess of Samm executed— Queen Catherine Howard attainted of High Treason, and beheaded— War with Scotland— Treaty for Marriage betwixt Prince Edward and Mary of Scotland— Henry marries Catherine Parr— Broach with and Invasion of Scotland — War with France — Dissolution of Hospitals, Charities, Colleges, &o.— Peace with Prance— The Queen In Danger— The Earl of Surrey beheaded— Death of Henry- His Character. The discontent excited in the country amongst those attached to the church of Rome, by the separation, and by the seizure of church property, with the fear of still greater spoliation, excited many murmurings ; and the king, aware that his proceedings were regarded with disapproba- tion by a vast body of people both at home and abroad, became suspicious of every rumour, jealous and vindictive. Amongst the singular conspiracies against the royal tran- sactions, one of the earliest arose out of the visions of a young woman of Aldington, in Kent, of the name of Elizabeth Barton, who was of a nervous and mesmeric temperament, and whose mind was greatly excited by the sufferings of queen Catherine. The rector of the parish, struck by many of the words which fell from her in her mesmeric trances, regarded her as a religiously inspired person, and recommended her to quit the village, and enter the convent of St. Sepulchre, at Canterbury. Tliere her ecstacies and revelations, probably strengthened by the atmosphere of the place, became more frequent and strong. The nuns regarded her declarations as prophecies, and the fame of her soon spread round the country, where she acquired the name of the " Holy Maid of Kent." Richard Maister, the rector of Aldington, who first patronised her, seems to have continued his interest in her after she became an inmate of the convent, but Booking, a canon of Christchurch, Canterbury, who became her confessor, was her most enthusiastic abettor. Deering, a monk, collected a number of her declarations, visions, and prophecies. She had began these visions so early as 1526, but they had become every year more blown abroad ; and it was observed that they had all a tendency to exalt the power of the pope and the clergy, and to denounce the vengeance of Heaven on all who disobeyed or attempted to injure them. Henry had had his attention drawn to this yonng woman and her visions and utterances in her early career; and he had shown Sir Thomas More her sayings, who replied that he saw nothing in them but what " a right simple woman might, in his mind, speak of her own wit well enough." But as the cause of Catherine more and more agitated the publio mind, and the invasion of the monastio property embittered the religious orders, the vaticinations of the maid had risen also in intensity, and struck at higher personages. She asserted that God had shown her a root with three branches, and had declared that it never would be merry in England till both root and branches were destroyed. This was interpreted to mean Wolsey as the root, and the king, Norfolk, and Suffolk, as the three branches. Next she declared that she had seen the Almighty deliver to Wolsey three swords, signifying the threefold authority which he exercised as legate, chan- cellor, and minister, " in the great matter of the king's marriage ; " and, besides, she had at the same time de- clared that, unless the cardinal made good use of these swords, " it would be laid sorely to his charge." In another vision she went farther, and prophesied that, if he repu- diated Catherine, he would die within seven months, and be succeeded by his daughter Mary. Henry had already disproved her soothsaying by far outliving the time pre- scribed ; but when, in 1533, the opponents of his measures had become greatly irritated, he considered the words of the maid, which were sedulously taken down and circulated through the press, were a powerful means of stirring up the popular feeling against him, and he therefore ordered the arrest of herself and the chief of her accomplices. In November they were brought into the Star Chamber, and carefully examined by Cranmer, the archbishop, Crom- well, and Hugh Latimer, who soon after was made bishop of Worcester. This tribunal appears to have intimidated both the maid and her abettors into a confession of the imposture, and they were condemned to stand during the sermon on Sunday at St, Paul's Cross, and there confess 514 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1534. tlie imposture. After that they were remanded to prison, nnd it W33 tliouglit that, having disarmed these people by this exposure, he would be satisfied with the punishment Jhey haul received. But Henry was now become every day more and more addicted to blood, and ready to shed it for nny infringement of those almost divine rights which the supremacy of the church seemed to have conferred on him in his own conceit. On the 21st of February, 1534. there- fore, a bill of attainder was broujht into the House of Lords against ths mniJ, and against Maister, Becking. Deering, Gold. Rich, and Risley, as her abettors, on the plea that their conspiracy tended to bring into peril the king's life and crown. The bill, notwithstanding that it was regarded with horror by the public as a strange and cruel stretch of authority, was passed by the slavish parliament ; and on the 21st of April, 1534. the seven accused were diawn to Tyburn nnd hanged. At the gallows the poor nia-den, Elizabeth Barton, made this confession : " Hither am I come to die, and I have not only been the cause of mine own death, but am also the cause of the death of .ill those persons which at this time here suffer. And yet. to say the truth, I am not so much to be blamed, considering that it was well known unto those learned men that I w.is a poor wench without learning : but because the things which fell from me were profitable unto them, therefore they much praised me, and bare me in hand that it w.is the Holy Ghost which said them, and not I : and then I. being puffed up with their praises, fell into certain pride and foolish fantasy, which hath brought me to this." The case of the poor girl is clear enough by the light of modern science. She was a mesmeric subject, whose mind was stimulated and played upon by those about her for their own purposes. With her. besides the persons who suffered immediately, there were also accused of corresponding with her, Edward Tiiwaites, gentleman, Thomas Lawrence, registrar to the archdeacon of Canterbury. Fisher, the venerable bishop of Rochester, and Sir Thomas More. Fisher was now old, and had passed a life of great honour for his learning, integrity, and accomplishments. He was an admired friend of the celebrated Erasmus. He was the last survivor of the counsellors of Henry TIL, and the prelate to whose care the countess of Richmond, the mother of Henry VII., had committed the education of her grand- son, now Henry VIII. Henry had felt or professed great affection for his old tutor, and had boasted that no prince in Europe had a prelate equal in learning and virtue to the bishop of Rochester. Fortunate would it have been for Henry had he been wise enough to follow the counsels of Fisher ; and most unfortunate for the bishop that he lived under a prince who would either bend to his brutal and sensual will every mind about him, however great and dignified, or would destroy their possessors from his path. The man who had boasted that he had never spared man in his anger, or woman in his lust, never forgave bishop Fisher for his bold and conscientious advocacy of the repudiated queen, and especially for denying the signature of his name, whicli had been forged, amongst others, to condemn her. Nothing but the blood of those who thwarted liim could satisfy Henry. He seized on this pretence to farther his vengeance, and he soon discovered more plausible cause to consummate it. Fisher, who was in his seventy-sixth year, confessed that be had seen and conversed with Elizabeth Barton ; that he had heard her utter her prophecies concerning the king ; and that he had not mentioned them t^ the sovereiga, because her declarations did not refer to any violence against the king, but merely to a visitation of Providence ; and because, also, he knew that the king had received the communication of the prophecies from the maid herself, who had had for that purpose a private audience with the king. He was, therefore, he said, guiltless of any con- spiracy : and knew not, as he would answer it before the throne of Christ, of any malice or evil that was intended by her, or by any other earthly creature, unto the king's high- ness. Such a solemn defence in so excellent a man would have been sufficient, in any tolerable times, to have insured at least the granting of his prayer, that the king would free him from his present anxiety, and allow him the only favour which he craved, to prepare himself in quiet for his pas- sage to another world. But Henry was not a man to be moved by such impressive circumstances; his malice, once awoke, never di^d; and the parliament, the creeping instrn- ment of his will, attainted the venerable prelate with the others. Cromwell, to extort a confession of guilt from him, had sent him many brutal and terrifying messaj:;es ; and the poor old man declared, that let him vrrite whatever he would, it was taken for craft,' wilfulness, or disaffection. The name of Sir Thomas More was erased from this bill, though he could not be more innocent than Fisher, but not more than a fortnight passed before the blood-thirsty tyrant had contrived a more deadly snare for them both. He had them summoned, and commanded ti take the new oath of allegiance. T'liey were both of them ready t« swear to the king's full temporal authority, and to the suc- cession of his children, but they could not conscientiously take the oath which declared Henry the supreme head of the English church, and the marriage with Anne Boleyn lawful. Cranmer, who on this occasion showed more mildness and liberality than he had shown honest principles in his elevation, would fain have admitted these illustrious men to take the oath so far as it applied to temporal, and to dispense with it as it regarded the spiritual matters. But he pleaded in vain, and they were both committed to the Tower. Henry, having got the acts of parliament for the supre- macy and the succession, was not of a temper to let them become a dead letter. Whether it were owing to the care- lessness of parliament or the carefulness of the crown, the oath of the succession had not been verbally defined, and Henry now availed himself of this omission to alter and add to it so as to please himself. From the clergy he took care to obtain an oath including the full rccugnition of his supremacy in the church, omitting the qualifying clause in the former one ; and an assertion that the bishop of Rome had no more authority within the realm than any other bishop. He spent the summer in administering this oath to the monks, friars, and nuns, from all clergymen and clerical bodies whatever, and in obtaining decisions against the papal authority from the two convocations and the universities. The oath to the laity wis administered to men and women alike. Remembering the mental reserva- tion of Cranmer wlien he swore obedience to the pope, he now demanded from every prelate an oath of renunciation of every protest previously or secretly made contrary to the oath of supremacy. He ordered that the very word A.D. 1535] HENEY'S PERSECUTIONS. 215 pope should be oblitprated carefully out of all books used in public worship. If ever there was a full-grown egotist on earth it wns Henry VIII. Nothing could inflate him so much as the idea of absolute power, not over men's per- sons, but over their souls, opinions, and very thoughts. He could not now be satisfied without carrying his despotism down to the very bottom of every man and woman's being, and establishing a power there such as no pope in the darkest times had ever been able to obtain. Every sehoolTnaster was commanded to teach diligently the new and darling doctrine to the children under his care ; every clergyman, from the bishop to the curate, was bound to inculcate, every Sunday and every holiday, the doctrine that the king was head of the church, and that the autho- rity hitherto exercised by the pope was a usurpation, per- mitted only by the negligence or cowardice of his prede- cessors. To bind the clergy and the schoolmasters to their duty, the sheriff of every county was ordered to keep a close eye upon them, and to report to the council all who not merely neglected this duty, but who were even lukewarm in discharging it. He also called upon the prelates to write as well as preach in support of his new power; and Samp- son, Stokesley, Tunstall, and Gardiner obeyed the sum- mons. If Henry had been a zealous reformer, a disciple of the creed, we might have attributed his proceedings to an arbitrary and uncharitable earnestness for what he deemed the truth : but he was just as bigoted in the old faith as ever. His Bloody Statute, as it was called, the Statute of Six Articles, maintained that the actual presence .was in the sacramental bread and wine ; that priests were for- bidden to marry j that vows of chastity were to be observed; and that mass and auricular confession were indispensable Those who opposed any of these dogmas were to suffer death ; no doctrine was to be believed contrary to the six articles ; no persons were to sing or rhyme contrary to them ; no book was to be possessed by any one against the holy sacrament ; no annotations or preambles were to exist in Bibles or Testaments in English; and nothing was to be taught contrary to the king's command. In fact, the country had only got rid of an Italian pope and got an English one — pope Henry VIII. The terrible example which Henry had made of Wolsey awed the clergy, for the most part, into obedience ; and such was now the horrible influence of unlimited power upon him, that the tiger appetite for blood became every day developed, and soon led him on to a monstrous indulgence of cruelty and oppression which made his name a terror through the whole world. He dealt out royal murders without stint ; the highest, the noblest, the wisest, the best fell before him ; and men, famed for genius and learn- ing, were butchered one after another, as if they were the vilest malefactors. He attainted sixteen persons at once, at this time, and executed them without trial ; and all opinions were alike fatal to men, that were not his opinions. He burnt six persons together, half papists half protestants, lying a protestant and a papist arm in arm. The papists ne killed because they did not go far enough, the protestants because they would go too far ; and he opened a stream of blond and kindled a destroying fire, which raged on through the succeeding reigns to such an extent, that one hundred thousand persons were calculated to have perished under the royal determination of succeeding kings and queens to allow nobody but themselves to think, ere toleration was wrested from them. The first fruits of this awful concession, to a vain and selfish Ulan, of the usurpation of God's own dominion in the soul, were an indiscriminating mass of Lollards, Lutherans, Anabaptists, and Catholics committed to the flames. On the 22nd of July, during the prorogation of parliament, a young man of singular learning, who had written a book against purgatory and transubstantiation and eonsubstan- tiation was burnt in Smithfield ; and a poor tailor, Andrew Hewett, who simply affirmed that he thought Firth was right, was burnt with him. Several Anabaptists underwent the same fate. As the year closed in blood, so the next opened. Some of the monks, and especially the Carthusian, Franciscan, and Brigittin observants, secluded from the world, and more obedient to their consciences than their fears, steadily refused to take the oath, or to proclaim in their churches and chapels that the pope was Antichrist. All the Friar Observants were ejected from their mona-steries, and dispersed. Some were thrust into prisons, others were confined in the houses of the Friars Conventuals. About fifty perished from the rigour of this treatment, and the rest were exiled to France and Scotland. Others of them were hanged, and were told that they were mildly treated, for the Lutherans and other Protestants were burned. The priors of the then Charter-houses of London, Axholm, and Belleval, waited on Cromwell to explain their conscientious scruples ; but Cromwell, who was become the harsh and unhesitating instrument of Henry's despotism, instead of listening to them, committed them to the Tower on a charge of high treason, for refusing the king " the dignity, style, and name of his royal estate." When he brought them to trial the jury shrunk from giving such a verdict against men of their acknowledged virtue and character. Cromwell hastened to the court in person, and threatened to hang them instead of the prisoners, if they did not without further delay pronounce them guilty. Five days later, these three dignitaries were executed at Tyburn, with Richard Reynolds, a doctor of divinity and monk of Sion, and John Hailes, vicar of Thistleworth. They were all treated with savage barbarity, being hanged, cut down alive, embowelled, and dismembered. On the I8th.of June, nearly a fortnight afterwards, Biunew, Middlemore, and Nudigate, three Car- thusian monks from the Charter-house, were executed, with the same atrocities. Whilst these horrors struck with oonsternation all at home, Henry proceeded to a deed which extended the feeling of abhorrence over ail Europe. He shed the blood of Fisher and More. We have stated that parliament had not enacted the precise oath for the refusal of which Fisher and More were arraigned. But this made no difference : the king willed it, and the submissive legislature passed a bill of attainder for misprision of treason against them both. On this they and their families were stripped of everything they had. The poor old bishop was loft in a complete state of destitution, and had not even clothes to cover his nakedness. Sir Thomaa More was dependent wholly for the support of his life on his married daughter Margaret Roper. They were repeatedly called up after their attainder, and treacherously examined as to any act or word that they might have done or uttered contrary to the king's supremacy, as if to aggravate their crime and justify 210 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXQLAN'D. [a.d. 153' a more rigorous sentence. The pope Clement was dead, and was succeeJcdby Paul III., who, hearing of the sad con- dition of the venerable Fisher, sent him a cardinal's hat, thinking it mif:ht make llonry less willing to proceed to extremities with him. But the effect on the brutal tyrant was quite the contrary. On hearing of the pope's intention, he exclaimed, " Ha ! Paul may e>end him a hat, but I will take care that he have never a head to wear it on." Accordingly, the aged prelate was brought out of the Tower, on the 22nd of June, beheaded, and his head stuck it, with a sad levity, on his victims, yet not so hopelessly but that the wit of others could awaken hb old nature in him. A man of the name of Silver being brought before him for here.oy. Sir Thomas said, " Silver, you must be tried by fire." " Yes, my lord," replied the prisoner, " but you know that quicksilver cannot abide the fire." The chancellor, who would have burned the heretic, at once set at liberty the undaunted punster. It is to be hoped Riat his perception of the debasement of the author of " Utopia "' to the unholy esorcisa of the functions of the inquisitu: , Tli»TOa? Cromwell, Earl of Essex. From th? original, by llolbei;:, ia tUc collection of Sir Thomas Clifford, Bart. upon London Bridge, with 'his face turned towards the Kentish hills, amid which he had spent so many pleasant years. The boiy of the old bishop was stripped, and left naked on the spot till evening, when it was carried away by the guards, and buried in All-hallows churchyard at Barking. Such was the manner in which this supreme head of the church treated his f jrmer tutor, and one of the most accomplished and pious men of Christendom. More, the scholar, the wit, the genius, raised reluctantly to the chancellorship, had there so far been deteriorated from the noble mood in which he had written his " Utopia" as to have become, contrary to all its doctrines and spirit, a persocutor. He had even degraded his wit by exorcising made him the more willing to lay down the great seal, .'i- he did. On the 1 4th of June he was visited in the Tower by doctors Aldridge, Layton, Curwen, and Mr. Bedle, and there strictly interrogated in the presence of Pclstede. Wl.alley, and Rice, as to whether ho hod held any correspondence since he came into the Tower with bishop Fisher, or others, and what had become of the letters he had received. He replied that George, the lieutenant's^ servant, had put them into the fire, contrary to his wish, saying there was no better keeper than the fire. He wa? then asked whether he would not acknowledge the lawful- ness of the king's marriage, and his headship of the ehurch. He declined to give an answer. K.i). 1535.1 REIGN OF HENRY VIII. 217 HAEQARKT ROPER TAKWa LEAVE OP SEK VktUV.?^ 3IR THOMAS MORE, ON THK TOWER WHARF. (sF.R I^-^CE 5^8). 71 218 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1535. But he liad over and orer said enough to satisfy any one nut grown perfectly brutish with the idea of his own greatness, and drunk with absolute power. He had written a most touching letter, saying: — " I am the king's true, faithful subject, and daily bedesman. I pray for his high- ness, and all his, and all the realm. I do nothing harm ; I say no barm ; I think no harm ; and wish everybody good ; and if this be not enough to keep a man alive, in good faith I long not to live. I am dying already, and since I came here have been divers times in the case that I thought to die within one hour. And, I thank our Lord, was never sorry for it, but rather sorry when I saw the pang past ; and, therefore, my poor body is at the king's pleasure. Would to God my death might do him good ! " The odious despot, howe%'er, so far from being sensible to the generous sentiments of such a man, equally celebrated for his talents and his virtues, only sought to make his con- finement the more miserable. He sent Rich, the solicitor- general, afterwards lord Rich, to take away all More's books, papers, and writing materials, knowing that he could not be truly unhappy whilst he had them. But, probably, by means of George, the good-hearted servant to the lieutenant of the Tower, who dared more in his favour than any man of more account in the world's eye, he ob- tained a scrap of pnper, and wrote upon it his last affecting letter to his daughter, who had in vain earnestly and re- peatedly implored him to submit to the king, and take the oath. La vain: More would not pollute his conscience to save the wretched residue of his life. Though he had formerly so far forgotten himself as to force other men's consciences, he now stood firmly for his own. At length, on the Istof July, he was brought ont of the Tower, and was conducted on foot through the streets of London to Westminster. He was wrapped only in a coarse woollen garment, his hair was become gray, his face was pale and emaciated, for he had been nearly a year a close prisoner. This was thought well calculated to teach a lesson of obedience to the people ; when they saw how the king handled even ex-chancellors and cardinals. It was a sight to have aroused the spirit of men against the bloated monster who thus disgraced the throne, in any but a slavish generation. When he arrived, bowed with suffering, and supporting himself on a staff, in that hall where he had formerly presided with so much dignity, all who saw him were struck with astonishment. In order to confound him, and prevent the dreaded effect of his elo- quence, his enemies had caused the indictment against him to be drawn out to an immense length, the charges grossly exaggerated, and enveloped in a world of words. When this voluminous document had been read through, the duke of Norfolk, the chief-justice Fitzjames, and six other commissioners who presided at the trial, informed him that it was still in his power to submit his judgment to the king's, and to receive a full pardon. More declined to accept ]>ardon on such conditions. He declared that though it was impossible for him to remember one-third of the indictment, he could conscientiously say, that he had never violated the statute, nor done anything in opposition to the rule of his sovereign. He acknowledged that he had never approved of the king's marriage with Anne Boleyn, but then he had never expressed that disapprobation to any one but to the king himself, and that only when he had commanded him, on his allegiance, to inform him of his real sentiments. The indictment charged him with having traitorously endeavoured to deprive the king of his title of head of the church. Where, he asked, were the proofs of that ." On being committed to the Tower, he had said, when examined, that from the date of his attainder, he was politically dead, and incapable of giving an opinion on the merits of any law ; that his only occupation would be to meditate on the passion of Christ, and to prepare for hia own death. But in that answer, he had spoken no sin;;le word against the statute, he could only be charged with silence, and silence had never yet been declared treason. A second count of the indictment charged him with exhort- ing bishop Fisher in letters, while confined in the Tower, to resist the king's supremacy. He denied the charge, and demanded the production of the letters. Again it was stated that Fisher had held the same language as himself, and that was treated as proof of a conspiracy. Whatever Fisher might have said, he contended, was wholly unknown to him ; but this he did know, that be had never communi- cated his own opinion on the subject to any one — no, not to his dearest friends. The vile tools of the sangninary monarch were prepared to crush him by means of foul and false evidence. The infamous Rich deposed that in private conversation with More, in the Tower, he had said that " the parliament cannot make the king the head of the church, because parliament is a civil tribunal, without any spiritual authority." On this. More, with a bold dignity, which evidently no longer feared anything that man could do to him, spoke out, and not only utterly denied the statement, but reminded the court of the infamous character of Rich, which was such that no one who knew him would believe him upon oath. Rich, smarting under this well-merited castigation. there- upon called a couple of witnesses, but even they wore ashamed to support such vile testimony against such a man, and declared that though they were in the room, thev did not attend to the conversation. Foiled in the hope of direct proof of the charge, the slaves in the shape of judges decided that silence was treason, and the other slaves in the shape of jurymen, without even reading the indictment, gave a verdict against the prisoner. Sentence of death was then pronounced npon him, and he rose to finally address the court. But, in the rudest manner, they attempted to silence him. Twice, by their clamour, they succeeded, but the firmness of the noble victim at length triumphed, and he told them that he could now openly avow what he had before concealed from every human being, that the oath of supremacy was contrary to all English law. He declared that he had no enmity against his judges. There would, he observed, have always been a scene of contention, and he prayed that as Paul had consented to the death of Stephen, and yet was afterwards eallcj to tread in the same path, and ascend to the same heaven, so might he and they yet meet there. " And so," he added, in conclusion, " may God preserve you all, and especially my lord the king, and send him good counsel." As he turned from the bar, his son rushed through the hall, fell upon his knees, and implored his blessing; and on approaching the Tower-wharf, his daughter, Slargaret Roper, forced her way through the guard which surrounded him, and, cla.aping him round the neck, wept and sobbed aloud. The noble man, now clothed with all the calm dignity of the Christian philosopher, summoned fortitude A.o. 1535.J EXECUTION OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 219 enough to take a Joying and a final farewell of her, but as he was moved on, the distracted daughter turned back, and, flying once more through the crowd, hung on his neck in the abandonment of grief. This was too much for his .^toicism J he shed tears, and with deep emotion repeated his blessing, and uttered words of Christian consolation. The people and the guards were so deeply affected, that they too burst into tears, audit was some time before the officers could summon resolution to part the father and his child. On the 6th of J uly he was summoned to execution, and informed that the kiug, as an especial favour, had commuted his punishment from hanging, drawing, and quartering. On this Sir Thomas, who had now taken his leave of the world, and met death with the cheerful humour of a man who is well assured that he is on the threshold of a better, replied with the usual scintillanoe of his wit, " God pre- serve all my friends from such favour." As he was about to ascend the scaffold, some one expressed a fear lest it ■■hould break down, for it appeared weak. " Mr. lieutenant" said More, smiling ; " see me safe up, and for my coming down, let me shift for myself." The executioner then approached, and asked his forgiveness. More embraced him, and said — '■ Friend, thou wilt render me the greatest service in the power of any mortal: but," putting an angel into his hand, •'my neck is so short, that I fear thou wilt gain little credit in the way of tliy profession.'' The same fear of the eloquence of the illuotriuus victim which had attempted to stop his mouth on the trial, now forbade him to address the multitude ; he, therefore, con- tented himself with saying that he died a faithful subject to the king, and a true catholic before God. He then prayed, and laying his head upon the block, bade the executioner stay his hand a moment, while he put back his board. For "that," said he, "has never committed any treason." His head was severed at a single blow, and was, like Fisher's, fixed on London Bridge. I'he execution of these two illustrious men, who were celebrated all over Europe — especially Sir Thomas More, for his wit, his genius, his learning, and general character; Fisher being scarcely less so for the solid piety and integrity of his character — produced a sensation of horror throughout every civilised nation, and stamped the king of England as one of the most bloody and brutal tyrants who have disgraced the name of man. The only crime of these martyrs to freedom of opinion was, that they tacitly, not publicly, not daringly, not officiously, refused to believ e any absurd or tyrannic doctrine that the royal egotist pleased to assert. In Rome, where they were regarded as martyrs to the papal supremacy, the ferment was excessive, aud Paul III., the new pope, was incited to prepare a bill of excommunication against Henry, though his prudence induced him to withhold its publication. The emperor of Cicrmany and the king of France were less reticent of their expressions of execration. Charles told Bliott, the English ambassador, "If we bad been master of such a eerrant, of whoso abilities we ourself have had these many years no small assurance, we would rather have lost the best city in our dominions, than so worthy a counsellor." Francis spoke with still greater asperity to tlie English ambassador at his court of these abominations, and said, " Why does not your master rather banish offenders than put them to death ? " Henry was highly incensed that even kings should venture to find fault with his arbitrary temper, and sent word that " they had died by due course of law, and were well wcirthy to have died ten times worse deaths, if they had a thousand lives." But the world took the liberty of judging for them- selves, and it saw only in him what he was, a monster of self-will, and a murderer on a throne. The learned men joined the monarchs in a more lasting record of Henry's infamy. Cardinal Pule denounced him, in the most eloquent and vehement writings, as a disgrace to humanity ; and Eras- mus wrote to his friend Latoinus, that the English were now living under such a reign of terror, that they dared not to write to foreigners, nor receive letters from them. Corvinud, in his epistles, says, that ho had seen the tears of many for the fate of More, who never saw him in their lives, nor were in any way affected by any of his actions. A full measure of the indignation of the public, both at home and abroad, fell upon the queen, Anne Boloyn, for these measures, as she was deemed the chief cause of the breach with Rome, and this fatal power being conferred on a man so ill calculated to bear it. Though the English were obliged to speak their feelings in whispers, the populace abroad made very free with the royal butcher of the wise and good, and with his new queen. In the Netherluuds cloths were painted with the portraits of Henry, and were sold in the fairs, with " the picture of a wench, also painted on cloth, pinned upon it," the said weuch holding a pair of scales in her hand, in which were, in one scale, a pair of hands united, and on tlie other a feather with a " scrip- ture over the wench's head, ' Love ia lighter than a feather,' " at which the people made great jeering and laughter, uttering the most opprobrious words against queen Anne. Nor did Anne escape reproach even from her own savage lord. When the announcement of More's execution was brought to Henry, he was playing at tables with Anuc, whereupon ho cast his eyes reproachfully at her, and saying, " Thou art the cause of this man's death,' he rose up, leaving his game unfinished, and shut himself up in his chamber, in great perturbation of spirit. Nor were there wanting already the prophetic declarations of tho sorrowful reward she would reap for her encourage- ment of the fell tyrant. Wliea the beloved daughter of More, Margaret Roper, visited her father in the Tower one day, he asked her how queen Anne did. " In faith, father," she replied, " never better ; there is nothing else in the court but dancing and sporting." " Never better !" said he j "alas, Meg! alas! it pitieth me to think into what misery, poor soul, she will shortly come. These dances of hers will prove such dances, that she will spurn our heads off like footballs ; but it will not be long ere her head will dance the like dance." Queen Catherine felt the same certain conviction of Anne's own troubles, for both she and More knew the fickle, unrestrainable nature of the man in whose hand her fate w;is. " At the time of her sorest troubles," says Dr. Harpfield, " one of her gentle- women began to curse Anne Boleyn. Tho queen dried her streaming eyes, and said, earnestly, ' Hold your peace ! Curse not— curse her not, but rather pray for her ; for even now ia the time fast coming when you shall have reason to pity her and lament her case.' " Yet how little could even they guess how near that day was ! But it was not merely in lopping tho heads of honest statesmen and prelates that Henry VIII. now displayed the powers of supreme head over the church. There was a 220 CASSELL-S ir.LtrSTEATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. fA.D. l53o. more tempting prey which allured his araricions sonl, and promisfd tu recruit his exhausted treasury. These were the munasteries, ooavents, and abbeys. These institutiims had grown excessively corrupt tliri)Ui;h time. Without depending on the reports of Henry's commissioners, whose business it was to make out a case for him apiinst them, there is abundant evidence in contemporary writings that the monki", nuns, and friars were grown estremely sensual and corrupt. They had become wealthy, and wealth and indolence had produced their natural consequences — luxury, voluptuousness, and decay of real religious leal. In the poets of still earlier days — in Chaucer of England, and Sir David Lindsay of Scotland — we have ample proof of this state of things. Possibly, by reducing their property and enforcing a strict discipline, a tolerable reform might have been introduced into these houses, but Henry was not dreaming of reform, but of confiscation. His mouth watered for their wealth, and he was surrounded by a herd of courtiers who were as eagerly hoping to come in for a Benjamin's portion of the spoil. The clergy of every description were imprudent enough to irritate the lawless king, by denying his supremacy and att.acking his conduct. Rage and cupidity urged him to imit.te the reformers of Germany, and seize the spoils of this affluent body. Crom- well — whom he had appointed vicar-general, a strange office for a layman — went the whole length with him in those views ; nay, he was the man who first turned his eyes on this great attractive mass of wealth, and hallooed him to the spoil. He had told him that, if once he was established by parliament as head of the church, all that opulence was his. There can he no doubt that it was to carry out this seizure that Cromwell was put into that very office of vicar-general, as the only man to do the business, ami he went to work upon it with right good will. The first thing was to appoint a commission, and to obtain such a report as should induce parliament to pass an act of suppression of all the religious houses, and the for- feiture of all their property to the crown. The bishop of Paris, years before, had confidently affirmed, that whenever Wolsey should fall, the spoliation of the church would quickly follow. To expedite this matter as much as possi- ble, the whole kingdom was divided into districts, and to each district was appointed a couple of commissioners, who were armed with eighty-six questions to propound to the monastic orders. As the supremacy of the king, and approbation of his marriage, were made absolute requisites of compliance, there was little chance of escape for any monastery, be its morals what they might. With creatures selected by Cromwell, and who had the terror of that head- severing king before them, the result was pretty certain ; and we have a proof, in a letter of Dr. Layton, one of those commissioners, with what eagerness this office was solicited. He writes to Cromwell : — " Pleaset yowe to understand, that whereas ye intende shortly to visite, and belike shall have many suitors unto yowe for the same, to be your commissioners, if hit might stand with yowr pleasure that Dr. Lee and I might have committed unto us the north contre, and to begyn in Lincoln dioces northwarde here from London, Chester dioces, Yorke, and so forth to the border of Scotlande, to ryde downe one side, and come up the other. Ye shall be well and faste assurrede that ye shall nother fynde m(mke, ohanone, etc., that shall do the ling's bighnees so good servys, nother be so trusty, trewe, and faithful to yowe. There is nother monastorie, pell, priorie, nor any other reliiiouse howse in the north?, but other Dr. Lee or I have familiar acquaintance within X. or XII. mylls of liyt, so that no knaverie can be hyde from us. We knowe and have experience both of the fassion of the oontre and rudeness of the pepul." The visitors had secret instructions to seek, in the first place, the lesser houses, and to exhort t'.ie inmates volun- tarily to surrender them to t e king, and, where they did not succeed, to collect such a body of evidence as should warrant the suppression of those houses ; but after zea'ously labour- ing at this object through the winter, they could only pre- vail on seven small houses to surrender. A report was then prepared, which considerably surprised the public, by stating that the lesser houses were abandoned to the most shame- ful sloth and immorality, but that the large and more opulent ones, contrary to all human experience, were more orderly. The secret of this representation was, that the abbots anil priors of the great houses were lords of parliament, and were, therefore, present to expose any false statement. On the 4th of March, 1336, a bill was passed hastily through both houses, transferring to the king and his heirs all monastic establishments the clear value of which did not exceed £200 per annum.- It was calculated that this bill — which, however, did not pass the commons till Henry had sent for them, and told them that he would apply his favourite remedy for stiff necks, cutting off the heads — would dissolve no less than three hundred and eighty com- munities, and add £32,000 to the annual income of the crown, besides the presents received of £100,000 in money, plate, and jewels. The cause of these presents was a clause in the act of parliament, which left it to the discretion of the king to found any of these houses anew ; a clause which was actively worked by Cromwell and his commis- eioners, and, by the hopes they inspired, drew large sums from the menaced brethren, which lodged plentifully in the pockets of the minister and his agents, besides that which reached the crown. Cromwell amassed a large fortune from such sources. The visitors under this act were anthorised to proceed to each house, to announce its dissolution to the superiors--, to take an inventory of its effects, and to dispose of the dispossessed inhabitants according to their instructions. By these, the superior received a pension for life ; the monks under the age of four-and-twenty were absolved from their vows, and turned adrift into the world ; those who were older, were either quartered on the larger and yet untouched monasteries, or were told to apply to Crom- well or Cranmer, who could find them suitable employment. As for the nuns, they were turned oat unceremoniously with the gift of a single gown, and were left to secure a means of existence as they could — a most ruthless proceed- ing. The cruelty of these ejectments was greatly aggravated by the crowd of hungry courtiers to whom the improvident king — as improvident as he was grasping and inhuman — had already given or sold the possession of the greater part of the property of the monasteries. The parliament, which had now sate six years, and wbiob was one of the most slavish and base bodies that ever were brought together — having yielded every popular right and privilege which the imperious monarch demanded, and augmented the royal prerogative to a pitch of actual abso- lutism; having altered the sacoessioo, changed the system A.D. 1536.] of ecclesiastical government, abolished a great number of the ancient religious houses without thereby much bene- fiting the crown— was now dismissed, having done that for this worthless monarch which should cost some of his successors their thrones or their heads, and a braver and more honourable generation the blood of its best men to undo again. Whilst the cormorants of a sensual and greedy court were busy seizing upon and gorging the whole property thus reft from its ancient owners, and which, duly adminis- tered, might, at this day, have rendered taxation nearly unnecessary, the two queens of this English sultan died, but under very different circumstances. The treatment of Catherine, after her repudiation, was as rigorous and disgraceful as a heartless king and a servile set of courtiers could make it. She had been driven from her house at Bugden, and required to betake herself to Fotheringay Oastle, which she refused on account of its unhealthy situation. The duke of Suffolk, in endeavouring to force her into compliance, behaved to her with such rude insolence that she abruptly quitted his presence. In the commencement of 1535 she was removed to Kimbolton Oastle. Though she had a right to £5,000 per annum as the widow of Prince Arthur, she was kept so destitute of money, that Su: Edmund Bedingfield, the steward of her household, reported that she was suffering under a lingering malady, and had no means of obtaining the most ordinary comforts. Her servants were required to take an oath that they " would bear faith, troth, and obedience only to the king's grace, and to the heirs of his body by his most dear and entirely beloved lawful wife, queen Anne," or they were dismissed. Her confessor. Father Forrest, was thrown into Newgate, and the one who succeeded him in tliat office. Dr. Abell, was also incarcerated, because they would not reveal anything communicated in confession which might criminate the queen. These two conscientious men were treated with the grossest indignity, and finally put to death in a most horrid manner, for their constancy in resisting these diabolical designs. Catherine's only daughter, Mary, was kept from her, and was not only declared illegitimate, but was banished from court, and, like her royal mother, confined in different houses in the country. This rigour was made the more bitter, be- cause Mary, feeling for the unmerited treatment of her mother, would never renounce the title of Princess, or give that title to the infant Elizabeth, whom she only called sister. In her last illness Catherine earnestly implored that she might be permitted to see her daughter, but it was refused her. Death was about, however, to release this much- abused woman from the power of this ruthless tyrant, and, perceiving his .approach, she called one of her maids to her bed-side, and dictated the following letter to Henry : — " My lord and dear husband, "I commend me unto you. The hour of my death draweth fast on, and my case being such, the tender love I owe you forceth me with a few words to put you in r'membrance of the health and safeguard of your soul, which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters, and before the care and tendering of your own cares. For my part, I do pardon you all; yea, I do wish and devoutly pray God that he will also pardon you. " For the rest, I commend unto you Mary, our daughter, DEATH OF QUEEN CATHERINE. 231 beseeching you to be a good father to her, as I heretofore desired. I entreat you also on behalf of my maids to give them marriage portions, which is not much, they being but three. For all my other servants, I solicit a year's pay more than their due, lest they should be unprovided for. " Lastly, I do vow that mine eyes do desire you above all things." On the receipt of this letter, it is said that even the stony heart of Henry was touched, and that he shed a tear, and desired the ambassador of Spain, Eustace Capucius, to bear a kind message to her, but she died before receiving it, on the 8th of January, 1536, and was buried, by order of the king, in the cathedral of Peterborough, though she had expressly desired by her will to be buried in a convent of Observant Friars. Thus died Catherine of Arragon, a woman who had suffered more afflictions and indignities than any princess, or perhaps any woman of her time, and who had borne them with a dignity, a firmness, a wisdom, and a gentleness, which won her universal respect and admiration. Anne Boleyn, on hearing of Catherine's death, was so rejoiced that she could not help crying out, " Now I am in- deed a queen ! " She is said to have been in the act of washing her hands in a costly basin, when Sir Richard Southwell brought her the news ; and, in her joy, she pre- sented him with the basin and its cover. She bade her parents rejoice with her, her face radiant with pleasure, saying now she felt the crown firm on her head. The king had ordered his servants to wear mourning on the day of Catherine's funeral, for he did not forget that she was a princess of Spain ; but Anne refused to do so, and arrayed herself in bright yellow, and made her ladies do the same. The whole of Anne's conduct on this occasion speaks little either for her wisdom or her heart. She said she was grieved, not that Catherine was dead, but for the vaunting there was of the good end she made ; for numberless books and pamphlets were written in her praise, which were, therefore, so many severe oensoies on Henry and on Anne. Indeed, her open rejoicing on this occasion, and the haughty carriage which she now assumed, disgusted and offended every one. And yet, in truth, never had she less cause for triumph. Already the lecherous eye of her worthless husband had fallen on one of her maids, as it had formerly fallen on one of Catherine's in her own person. This was Jane Seymour, a daughter of a knight of Wiltshire, who was not only of great beauty, but was distinguished for a gentle and sportive manner, equally removed from the Spanish gravity of Catherine and the French levity of Anne Boleyn. Before the death of Catherine, this fresh amour of Henry's was well known in the palace to all but the reigning queen j and, according to Wyatt, Anne only became aware of it by entering a room one day, and beholding Jane Seymour seated on Henry's knee, in a manner the most familiar, and as if accustomed to that indulgence. She saw at once that not only was Henry ready to bestow his regards on another, but that other was still more willing to step into her place than she had been to usurp that of Catherine. Anne was far advanced in pregnancy, and was in great hopes of riveting the king's affections to her by tho birth of a prince ; but ^ the shock which she now received threw her into suoh agitation that she was prematurely delivered — of a boy, in- 222 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. li.D. 153ti. deed, but dead. Henry, the moment that he heard of this unlucky accident, rushed into the queen's chamber, and upbraided her savagely "with the loss of his boy." Anne, stung Ly this cruelty, replied that he had to thank himself .\nd "that wench, Jane Seymour," for it. The fell tyrant retired, muttering his vengeance, and ihe die was now cast irrevocably for Anne Boleyn, if it were not before. The unhappv queen recovered her health, but not her spirits. She now felt the hour of retribution, for her dis- lionourable conduct to her mistress Catherine, was come. Every step she took only the more forced upon her that conviction. She ordered the dismissal of her rival from the court ; a higher autliority countermanded it. It is im- poe.-ible to conceive a more awful and alarming situation than Anne's at this moment. From the hour that her cnr:iged husband had quitted her chamber in wrath, he had abandoned her society. Her little daughter, Elizabeth, was kept apart from her, as Catherine's daughter had been fwn- her. The gaieties of the court went on as if there been caught at by the court gossips, and now scandals wero whispered abroad, and, as soon as the way was open by the anger and fresh love-affair of the king, carried to him. Such accusations were precisely what he wanted, as :i means to rid himself of her. A plot was speedily con- cocted, in which she was to be charged with criminal con- duct towards not only three ofiBcers of the royal house- hold — Brereton, Weston, and Xorris — but also with Mark Smeaton, the king's musician, and, still more horrible, with her own brotlier, the viscount Eochford. Thus, from a woman caressed and loaded with honours, and certainly innocent of the crimes now brought against her, Anne Boleyn was suddenly converted into a monster, to Ratify the inconstant king. A court of inquiry was at once appointed, in whicli presided Cromwell, the lord chancellor, and the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, Anne's determined enemies. On the 28th of April they began with Brereton, and oommittcd him to the Tower. On Sunday, the 31st, they examined Smeaton, and sent him also to the same prison. The fol- Tomb of Catherine of Arragon, in Peterborongh Cathedral. were no tuc-n person as this formerly flattered and wor- shipped woman. She was left alone, with a few servants, .it the palace of Greenwich ; and is said to have sate, gloomy and spiritless, for hours in the quadrangle of Green- wich palace, or wandering solitary in the most secluded spots of the park. What an awful feeling of desertion — what a still more awful feeling of approaching fate— must liave lain on her in those days, knowing so well the man f-hc had to deal with her. Instead of having made friends, she had made enemies. Her uncle, the duke of Norfolk, was wholly alienated from her, and Brandon, Henry's chief favourite, was her mortal enemy. It was a great misfortune for Anne that she had never been able to lay aside that levity of manner which she had acquired by spending her juvenile years at the French court. Aftor hjt elevation to the tlirone, she was too apt to forget, with those about her, the sober dignity which be- longed to the queen, and to converse with the officers about her more in the familiar manner of the maid of honour wliich she had once been. This freedom and gaiety bad lowing day, being the Ist of May, the court was su.^pendtd to celebrate the gaieties usual on that day ; and these wen- used for the purpose of obtaining a public cause of accusa- tion against Sir Henry Norris. There was to be held a tournament at Greenwich that day, in which the viscount Rochford was to be opposed by Norris as the principal defendant. Thither it was concerted that Henry should go, and there he appeared in public with the queen, as if nothing were amiss betwixt them. Anne has been supposed to b- unaware of the immediate storca which was brewing again«i her, but this is more than improbable. Isolated as sh^ was at Greenwich from the court, and left in melancholy desertion by the courtier tribe, she gave evidence of being sensible of the menacing crisis, by holding a long private conference with her chaplain, Matthew Parker, and giving him a solemn charge concerning her infant daughter, Elizabeth. In the midst of the tournament, Henry, who no do^ibt was watching for some opportunity to entrap his victm;-. A.D. 1536.] REIGN OF HENRY Vin. 223 ARREST OF AMNE BOLSTN. (SEE PAOB 224). 224 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1536. eaddenly found one. The queen, leaning over the balcony, witnessing the tiurooiueat, accidentally let fall her hand- kerchief which Norris took up, and, as it was said, pre- sumptuously wiped his face with ic, and then handed it to the queen on his spear. The thing is wholly improbable, the true version most likely being that the courtly Norris kissed the handkerchief on taking it up — an ordinary knightly usage — and that this was seized upon as a pre- tended charge against him. Henry, however, suddenly frowned, rose abruptly from his seat, and, black as a thunder-cloud, marched out of the gallery, followed by his six attendants. Every one was amazed ; the queen ap- peared terror-stricken, and immediately retired. Norris, and not only Norris but Rochford, who had had nothing whatever to do with the handkerchief (showing, therefore, that the matter was preconcerted), was arrestel, at the barriers, on a charge of high treason. The diabolical treachery of Henry's character, and the utter insecurity in which every one about him stood, is strongly demonstrated by the fact that the whole of the six DOW accused of the most infamous crimes against him were his particular favourites, and so high did Norris stand, that he was the only person whom he had permitted to follow )iim into his bed-chamber. In a moment he was prepared to sacrifice them, just as ho would sweep away so many fiies, simply to accomplish a fresh act of his licentious life. Oii his way back to ^\'hitehall, he took Norris apart, and eartiestly entreated him to obtain his pardon by confessing hi; guilt. But Norris stoutly asserted his own innocence acd that of the queen, and on arriving at London was committed to the Tower. Queen Anne was struck with terror when the arrest of her brother and Norris was communicated to her, but the nature of the charge against them was yet a mystery. She sat down to dinner at the usual hour, but she was still more alarmed at pereeiving a portentous silence amongst her attendants. Her ladies stood with downcast looks and tearful eyes, denoting some cause of profound grief, and her consternation was brought to a climax when, immediately on the drawing of the cloth, the duke of Norfolk, Cromwell, the lord chancellor Audley, and other lords of the council, with solemn faces, and attended by Sir William Kingston, the lieutenant of the Tower, walked in. She then started up in terror, and demanded why they came. They replied, " By command of the king, to conduct you to the Tower, there to abide during his bighness's pleasure." Thereupon, she seemed to recover her composure, and replied, " If it be his majesty's pleasure, I am ready to obey." " And so," says Heywood, " without change of habit, or anything necessary for her removal, she committed herself to them, and was conducted by them to her barge." Scarcely were she and her attendants seated in the barge when Norfolk, who was a bigoted Catholic, and hated her for her leaning to the Hefurmers, with blunt rudeness, if not malice, told her tliat bar " paramours had confessed their guilt." On this, she declared that it was impossible for any paramour of hers to have confessed any guilt with her, for she had none, but was perfectly innocent of any sueli ofi'mce ; and passionately implored them to conduct her to the king, that she might plead her own cause to him. To all her protestations of innocence, the duke of Norfolk replied witli the most insulting expres.-iion3. On approaching the gate of the Tower, the terror of her ' situation came so vividly upon her, that she fell on her knees, as she had already done in the boat, and exclaimed, " O Lord! help me, as I am guiltless of that whereof I am charged !" Then, turning to the lieutenant of the Tower, she said " Mr. Kin<^ton, do I go into a dungeon P " Sir William replied, " No, madam, to your own lodging, where you lay at your coronation." On hearing this, the remem- brance of that time and the awful contrast of the present, overcame her ; she burst into a passion of tears, exclaiming, " It is too good for me ; Jesus have mercy on me !" When the lords had brought her to her chamber, again pro- testing her innocence, she said : '' I entreat you to beseech the king in my behalf, that he will be a good lord nnto me." The ministers then took their leave. On being left alone with Sir William Kingston, she said, " Why am I here, Mr. King'iton ? I am the king's true wedded wife, — do you know why I am here ? " Ho replied that he did not. Then she asked him when he saw the king, and he said not since he saw him in the tik-yard. She next asked where lord Rochford was, and Kingston evasively replied, he saw him last at Whitehall. " I dare say," continued the disconsolate woman, "that I shall be accused with these men, and I can say no more than nay, though you should open my body." " Oh, Norris I " she exclaimed, " hast thou accused me P Thou art in the Tower, and thou and I shall die together. And Slark, thou art here too ! Oh, my mother ! thou wilt die for sorrow." Then suddenly breaking off, she exclaimed, " Mr. Kingston, I shall die without justice I " " The poorest subjeot," replied Sir William, '■ the king hath, has that." At which poor Anne, knowing what sort of justice her royal husband administered where his will was concerned, burst into a bitter hysterical laugh. Left alone in her prison, her affliction seemed to actually disturb her intellect. She would sit for hours plunged in a stupor of melancholy, and shedding torrents of tears, and then she would abruptly burst into wild laughter. To her attendants she would say that she should be a saint in heaven ; that no rain would fall on the earth till she was delivered from prison ; and that the most grievous calami- ties would oppress the nation in punishment for her death. At other times she became calm and devotional, and re- quested that a consecrated host might be placed in her closet. But the unhappy queen was not suffered to enjoy much retirement. It was necessary for Henry to establish a charge against her sufficiently strong to turn the feeling of the nation against her, and from him ; and for this purpose, no means were neglected which tyranny and harshness of the intensestkind could suggest. Whilst the aocused gentlemen were interrogated, threatened, cajoled, and even put to the t-.D 1536.J REIGN OF HENRY VIII. 229 72 230 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED niSTOET OF ENGLAND. [A.r. 1536. me ? Alas '. 1 fear his soul will suff-^r from the false witness he hath borne. My brother and the rest are now. I dout.t not. before the face of the greater King, and I shall follow to-morrow." Like her brother, she endeavoured to Boolho her agitated spirit with poetry. The following staoias, composed by her after her condemnation, show 4bst she possessed tiUenti too good to hare been etifled in the court of a sensual despot like Henry VIIL : — OMth, rack me ula«r, BriOK on my qoiet r A; l.et pmsa my very cullttaM gboft Oat of my cmnrul breMt. Ring out ibe d Icful knell : Let its aoand my deAth tell, — For 1 mast dio, Tliere'« no remcOy, For now 1 die ! My piios who c*n expnnt Alas : lliey are w straas, Hjr dolour will not a^Br itreDgk Mr llfafartoimlMCl Alone, In |iili»n itnnse. I Ktfl ay tmlUmr. Woe voMk fttoOMl bip, that I SbonM tMM Ikia miiery : Farewell, my Weic 'ma, my 1 feel my tormeats so Increase, That life cannot remain. Sonnd now the pAasing-bell, Knng is my dulelul knell. For Its aoanJ my Ooath dotb toB. Death doth dr^iw nigh, Soonvl the knell dolefally. For now I die ! Two Stanzas, also said to have been written at the same time, express her sense of the infamy cast upon her, and her firm conviction that it would not eadure . — Defiled la my naa« full son, Tbroufih cnwl k|ate and false repoit. That I roiy aay, f jt evermore. Farewell to Joy ; adiam, cwnCoit. Far wrongfUly ye jadea of na, Ihito my fame a mortal Mpa an^ : Saj wbAt ye Ua^ It magr not In, Te s.-ek tor that shall sot ha Ibaad. With all the merits attributed to her as a dinrch re- former, Anne died a decided catholic. She nut ouly raad« full u^e of confession, but also reoeivvd the sacraments according to the doctrine of consubstantiation. One con- fession also she made, which showed that the memory of her rigorous treatment of the ill-used child of Catherine, the princess Mary, lay heavy upon her in that huur. This is Speed's account of the circumstance : — " The day before she suffered death, being attended by six ladies in the Tower, she took the Udy Kingston into her presence- chamber, and there locking the door upon them, willed her : to sit down in the chair of state. Lady Kingston answered, : that ' it was her duty to stand, and not to sit at all in her ! presence, much less upon the seat of state of her the queen.' ' Ah: madam,' replied Anne, ' that title is g-ine : I am a condemned person, and by luw hare no estate left me in this life, but for clearing of my conscience. I pray you sit down.' ' Well,' said lady Kingston, ■ I have often played the fool in my youth, and to fulfil your command. I will du it once more in mine age,' and thereupon sat down under the cloth of estate upon the throne. Then the queen most humbly fell on her knees before her, and, holding up her hands with tearful eyes, charged her, ' as in the presence of God and his angels, and as she would answer to her before them when all should appear to judgment, that she would so fall down before the lady Mary's grace, her daughter-in-law, and in like manner ask her forgiveness for the wrongs she had done her ; for till that was accom- plished,' she said, ' her conscience could not be quiet.' " Friday, the 19th of May, was the day fixed for her execution, and on that morning she rose at two o'clock and resiuned her devottftBS with her nlntouer. She sent for Sir William Kingt spiteful enemies, come to feast his eyes on her blood, with the duke of Richmond, Henry's niitural son, and Cromwell, who though be had risen chiefly by hor means, was one of the most willing instruments of her death. Probably the consciousness that the manner in which she met her death would be carried by those cour- tiers to the king, might give Anne additional power to go off the stage with the dignity becoming a queen. She had a rich colour in her cheeks, and a bright splendour of the eyes, which astonished the spectators. " Never, " said a foreign gentleman present, " had the queen looked so beauti- ful before." Her composure was equal to her beauty. She removed her hat and collar herself, and put a small linen cap upon her head, saying, ' Alas ! poor head, in a very brief space thou wilt roll in the dust on the scaff >ld ; and as in life thou didst not merit to wear a crown, so in death thou deserved not better doom than this.' " She thru took ft very affectionate farewell of her ladies. The speech which she is said to have addressed to the spectators is differently related, and probably was reported so as to suit the ears of the tyrant who was to hear it. In the shortest, she is made to say : — " Masters, I here humbly submit me to the law, a,ut in pledge for such a villain. The insurgents, quite aware that the government was only waiting to seize and crush the leaders, again took the field in the very midst of winter. On the 23rd of January, 1537, bills were stuck on the church doors l>y night, calling on the conim.mers to come forth and to be true to one another, for the gentlemen had deceived them, yet they should not want for captains. There w:i8 great distrust, lest the gt ntlemen had been won over by the pardon and by monev. The rebels, however, marched out under two leaders of the name of Musgrave and Tilby. and, eight thousand strong, they l-.iid siege to Carlisle, where they wore repulsed ; and, being encountered in their retreat by Norfolk, they were defeated and put to flight. All their officers, except Musgrave, were taken and put to death, to the number of seventy. Sir Francis Bigot and one llalam attempted to surprise Hull, but failed ; and other risings in the north proving equally abortive, the king now bade Norfolk spread his banner, march through the northern counties with martial law, and, regardless of the pardon he had issued, to punish the rebels without mercy. In his usual violence of passion, he was ready to destroy the innocent with the guilty. In his instructions to Norfolk he says : — " Our pleasure is, that before you shall close up our banner, you shall in any wise cause such dreadful execution to be done upon a good number of the inhabitants of every town, village, and hamlet as have offended in this rebellion, as well by the hanging them up in tens as by the quartering of them, and the setting of their heads and quarters in every town, great and small, and in all such other places, as they may be a fearful spectacle to all other hereafter that would practise any like matter ; which we require you to do without pity or respect." As the monks had obviously been greatly at the bottom of this commotion, Henry let loose his vengeance e.'pecially upon them. He ordered Norfolk to go to Sawley, Hexham, Newminster, Lannercost, St. Agatha, and all other places that had made resistance, and there seize certain priors and canons and send them up to him, and immediately to hang up " all monks and can<'ns that be in any wise faulty, without further delay or ceremony." He ordered the earl of Surrey and other officers in the north to diarge all the mocdcs there with grievous offences, to try their minds, and see whether they would not submit themselres gladly to his wdl. Under these sanguinary orders, the whole of England north of the Trent became a seene of horror, of butchery, and ghastly heads and mangled bo&s, or corpses swinging from the trees. Nor did this admirable reformer of religion negleet to look after the property of his victims. Their lands and goods were all to be forfeited and taken possession of; " for we are informed," he says, " that there were amongst them divers freeholders and rich men, whose lands and goods, well looked unto, will reward others that with their (ruth have deserved the same." Besides Aske, Sir Thomas Constable, Sir John Bulmer, Sir Thomas Percy, Sir Stephen Hamilton, Nicholas Tempest, William Lumley, and others, thoogh they had taken the benefit of the pardon, were found guilty, and most of them were executed. Lord Hussey was found guilty of being an accomplice in the Lincolnshire rising, and was executed at Lincoln. Lord Darcy, though he pleaded compubioD, .and a long life spent in the service of the crown, was executed on Tower-hill. Lady Bulmer, the wife of Sir John Bulmer. was burnt in Smithfield ; and Robert Aske was hung in chains on one of the towers of York. Having thus satiated his vengeance, and strnck a profound terror into all the disaffected, he once more published a general A.D^ 1537.] BIRTH OF A PRINCE, AND DEATH OP JANE SEYMOUR. 237 pardon, to which he adhered ; and even complied with one of the demands which the insurgents had made, that of erecting by patent a court of justice at York, for deciding law-suits in the northern counties. But thougli Henry could crush his enemies in England, and command silence there, the world abroad which ad- hered to the catholic faith did not fail to regard his sanguinary proceedings with horror, and to condemn him in no measured terms. There was one man, above all, whose stinging eloquence reached the ears and the heart of Henry, and made him writhe on his throne. This was cardinal Pole, his own relative, whom we have seen him endeavouring, by offers of the highest ecclesiastical pro- motion, to bind to his cause, but in vain. Pole, a decided catholic, could not bring Km conscience to accept wealth and honours in lieu of what he regarded as the most sacred and most momentous truths. Pole had quitted England and taken up his abode in Rome in 1536, and there received the cardinal's hat. He had spread the infamy of the treat- ment of queen Catherine, and the murder of the venerable Fisher and the illustrious More, over the whole of the civilised world. He had thrown all his great talents and learning into the composition of his work, " De Unione Ecclesiastica " — the Union of the Church — a work of sin- gular erudition and eloquence, in which he had poured out his sarcasm and contempt on Henry with a terrible force. Henry burned with a deadly spirit of vengeance against this undaunted enemy, but could not reach him ; yet Cromwell vowed that he would find means to make Pole eat his own heart with vexation. Paul III., the great patron of Reginald Pole, though he saw the insurrection of the north thus quelled by Henry, imagined that it had, however, opened up to Henry such a view of the internal discontent of his kingdom with his breach with Rome, that he might now not be indisposed to enter into negotiation for a return to it. For this purpose, the talents and country of Pole seemed to point him out as the proper agent ; though the slightest reflection might have shown that he had inflicted such severe wounds on the proud heart of Henry by his writings, that, of all men, he was the most exceptionable. To ap- point cardinal Pole to this office was inevitably to render it abortive. Yet the pope did appoint him, and Pole was imprudent enough to accept it. Henry watched the pro- ceedings with a sullen scowl of triumph, and Cromwell prepared to verify his promise that he would make the eloquent young Englishman " eat his own heart with vexation." Pole was made legate beyond the Alps. He was in- structed first to call on Charles and Francis to sheathe their swords, and to employ them no longer against each other, but in union against the Turks. He was to inform them that the pope proposed to summon a general council, and to inform the king of England also of this. He was then to fix his residence in Flanders, to have quick com- munication with England, unless the way appeared to open for proceeding thither. No sooner did the cardinal enter France, than the English ambassador there, by virtue of a clause in the treaty betwixt the two crowns, demanded that he should be delivered up to him, and sent prisoner to England. Francis rejected the propn.sition with scorn ; but he felt compelled to intimate to the cardinal that he had better pursue his iourney to the Netherlands without visiting the French court. Pole, therefore, went on and reached Cambray, where he found an order from the court at Brussels, prohibiting his crossing the frontiers, that no offence might be given to England. Pole, thus chased, as it were, from place to place by the ire of the British monarch, went under escort to Liege in June, and solicited his recall to Rome, which was granted him ; and in August he retraced his steps, pursued by the wrath of Henry, who proclaimed him a traitor, fixed a price of fifty thousand crowns on his head, and offered the emperor an auxiliary force, for his campaign against France, of four thousand men, for the delivery of his person. The cardinal had been most successfully driven from his mission by Henry and his minister Cromwell, and that was no trivinl achievement; for Pole's business was to keep near England, and e.^ipecially the northern counties, wliere he might encourage the ancient faith, and furnish its advocates with money, as well as to procure them, as much as possible, the countenance of the neighbouring continental princes. Henry could never forget either the lacerating writings of the English cardinal, nor his attempt to foment insurrection in his king- dom, and he would have made short work with him, had he fallen into his hands. We shall soon see that he did not overlook his relations whd were within his power. On the 12th of October, 1.537, Jane Seymour gave birth to the long-desired prince, BO well known afterwards a.s king Edward VI. This great event took place at the palace of Hampton Court, and the infant was immediately proclaimed prince of Wales, duke of Cornwall, and earl of Chester. The joy on so greatly desired an occurrence may be imagined, though it was somewhat dashed by the death of the queen, which took place only twelve days afterwards. During the accouchement there was some question whether the life of the mother or the child should be sacrificed, and on the question being put to the king, which should be spared, he replied, most characteristically, " Tiie child, by all means, for other wives can be easily found." The queen's death, however, was occasioned by the absurd ex- posure which thfi pompons christening necessitated. Henry pretended to be grieved when her death really took place, and put on mourning, which he had never done for his wives before, and never did again. He wore it three months. Queen Jane was laid in the royal vault, in the midst of the choir, in St. George's chapel, where her coffin was observed in 1813, close beside the gigantic skeleton of Henry VIII., which by some accident was exposed to view. Her reign, purchased by the destruction of her mistress, qu^en Anne, had extended to less than fifteen months. Little, therefore, is recorded of her character or acts, except that she seemed to have the fear of the executioner — by whose skill she had made her way to the throne — before her eyes, and was most submissive to her awful husband. Lord Herbert declared that " Jane Seymour was the fairest, the discreetest, and the most meritorious of all Henry VIII. 's wives." But the fair historian of our queens. Miss Strickland, with a woman's true feeling, has boldly called in question this verdict, which had been echoed mechanically by all sub- sequent historians. " Customs," she says truly, " may vary at various eras, but the laws of moral justice are un- alterable : difficult would it be to reconcile them with the first actions known of this discreet lady. It has been shown in the preceding biography, that Jano Seymour's shameless 233 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATHD HiSTOEY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1537. coaduot, in receiring the oourUhip of Ilenry VIII., was the commencement of the severe calamities that befell her mistrcs.^, Anne Boloyn. Scripture points out as an especial oJium, the circumstance of a handmaid taking the place of her mistress. Odious enough was the case when Anne Boleyn supplanted the right royal Catherine of Arragon : hut a sickening sensation of horror must pervade every right-feeling mind when the proceedings of the discreet .Tano Seymour arc considered. She received the addresses of her mistress's husband, knowing him to be such ; she passively beheld the mental anguish of Anne Boleyn, when that unhappy queen was in a state which pecu- liarly demanded feminine sympathy ; she knew the discovery of Henry's inconstancy had nearly destroyed her, whilst the shock actually destroyed her infant. She *aw a scries of murderous accusations got up against the queen, which finally brought her to the scaffold ; yet she gave her hand to the regal ruffian before his wife's corpse was cold. Yes, four-and-twenty hours had not elapsed since the sword was reddened with the blood of her mistress, when Jane Seymour became the wife of Henry VIII. And let it be remembered that a royal marriage could not have been celebrated without previous prepara- tion, which must have proceeded simultaneously with the heart-rending events of Anne Boleyn's last agonised hours. The wedding cakes must have been baking, the wedding dinner providing, the wedding clothes preparing, while the life-blood was yet running warm in the veins of the victim, whose place was to be rendered vacant by a violent death. The picture is repulsive enough, but it becomes tenfold more abhorrent when the woman who caused the whole tragedy is loaded with panegyric." Miss Strickland also points out the fact that the dis- pensation which Oranmer gave for this foul wedding was dated on the very day of Anne Boleyn's death, and ob- serves that " the abhorrent conduct of Henry, in wedding Jane so soon after the sacrifice of her hapless predecessor, has left its foul traces on a page where truly Christian reformers must have viewed it with grief and disgust ; " that is, in the dedication of Coverdale's Bible, which, being ; printed, but not published, before Anne died, had the letter " J," for Jane, printed over the letters which composed the name of the unfortunate Anne. But the horrors which attended the most festive occasions in this revolting reign are too numerous to record. The adulation on the birth of the prince w.as equally deplorable. Where there is a tyrant, .sycophants, as a matter of course, surround the throne ; and, on this occasion, we find the grave lord chancellor Audley, the venerable Hugh Latimer, the supple Cranraer, and the right reverend Tunstall, bishop of Durham, vieing with each other in enumerating to their royal master the beauty, graces, and princely virtues of a child just born. By the accession of queen Jane a new family, greedy and insatiable of advancement, was brought forward, whom we shall soon find figuring on the scene. The queen's brothers sisters, uncles, and cousins presently filled every great and lucrative oHice at court ; closely imitating the unpopular precedent of the relations of Elizabeth AVydville. Her eldest brother, Edward Seymour, was immediately made lord Bcauchamp and carl of Hertford i and, in the joy of having an heir, Henry created Sir William Paulet, lord St. John ; and Sir John BussoU, lord Russell. Sir William Fitrwilliam was made carl of Southampton, and ^ high-admiral. Russell and Paulet were sworn of the privj council ; and John Russell, now in high favour with the king, attended the wedding, flattered the bride, and became, in the next reign, earl of Bedford. Queen Jane received all the rights of the catholic church on her death-bed ; thus clearly denoting that neither she nor her husband were of the protestaut faith. Any grief which might affect Henry for the death of hia wife, without his having had the satisfaction of divorcin"' or killing her himself, did not prevent him prosecuting his other favourite pleasures of seizing rich monasteries and destroy- ing heretics. The great amount of property which Henry had obtained from the dissolution of monastic houses, only .stimulated him and his courtiers to invade the re- mainder. The insurrections laid the inmates of these houses open to a general charge that they had everywhere fomented, and in many places taken public part in, these attempts to resist government. Prosecutions for high treason, and menaces of martial law, induced many of the more timid abb)ts and priors to resign their trusts into the hands of the king and his heirs for ever. Others — like the prior of Henton, in Somersetshire — resisted, declaring that it did not become them " to be light and hasty in giving up those things which were not theirs to give, being dedicated to Almighty God, for service to bo done unto his honour continually, with many other good deeds of charity which be daily done in their houses to their Christian brethren." To grapple the more effectually with these sturdy re- monstrants, a new visitation was appointed of all the monasteries in England; and, as a pretence only was wanted for their suppression, it was not difficult to find one where so many great men were eager to share in the spoils. But, whilst the destruction of the monasteries found many advocates, there were not wanting those who recommended the retention of such convents for women who had maintained order and a good reputation. It was justly argued that for men it was much better that they should devote themselves to a life of industry, and of active service to the public ; but that the case was often very different with women, who, failing of suitable marriages, or having lost their husbands and relatives, especially women of condition, find these retreats both desirable and honourable ; being incapable of supporting themselves in the great struggle of the world, or being especially drawn to religious retirement and pious devotion. But the king would hear of nothing but that all should be swept away together ; and the better to prepare the public mind for so complete a revolution in social life, every means was employed to represent these establishments as abodes of infamy, and to expose the relics preserved in their shrines to ridicule, as impostures which deluded the ignorant people. There was much witty comment on the parings of St. Edward's toe-nails ; of the coals that roasted St. Lawrence ; the girdle of the Virgin, shown in eleven different places ; two or three heads of .St. Ursula j the felt of St. Thomas of Lancaster, an infallible cure for the hcad-aehc ; part of the shirt of St. Thomas of Canter- bury, said to possess singular virtues; some relics, powerful to prevent rain, and others equally potent in preventing weeds in corn. That there were plenty of these we are quite satisfied, because they still abound in catholic A.D. 1538.J CITATION AND CONDEMNATION OF THOMAS A BECKET. 239 countries at the present day, and especially such machinery as the following; which may still be witneBsed at Naples, in Austria, and in many other places. At Ilale.s, in the county of Gloucester, was shown what was asserted to be the blood of Christ, brought from Jeru- salem, and had been showed there for many generations. AVhat astonished the people most was, that it was invisible to any one still in mortal :^i!l, and only revealed it.-self to the absolved penitent. This was eagerly shown to the people at the dissolution, and the secret explained. The phial had a thick and opaque side, and a transparent one. Into this the fresh blood of a duck was introduced every week, and the dark side only shown to rich pilgrims till they had freely expended their money in masses and offerings, when the transparent side, showing the blood, was turned towards them, to their great joy and wonder. At Boxley, in Kent, a miraculous crucifix had long been the wonder of the people, and was called the Rood of Grace. The lips, eyes, and head of the image moved on the approach of votaries. This image was brought by Hilsey, the bishop of Rochester, to St. Paul's cross, and there broken before all the people, and the wheels and springs by which it was moved, exposed. A great wooden idol in Wales called Darvel Gathercn, had been held in great veneration by the populace. There was a legend connected with it, that one day it would fire a whole forest. It was thought very witty, therefore, that Friar Forrest, the confessor of queen Cathe- rine, being condemned to be burnt, for denying the king's supremacy — and still more, as we have already stated, for refusing to betray anything to the injury of bis royal mistress — this image should be brought to town, and em- ployed as fuel on the occasion, and the following rude verses were attached in large letters to the stake at which he was consumed : — David Darvel Gatheren, As saith the Welshmen, Fetched outla\v.-i out of hoU : Now is he come, with spear and shiold. In harness to burn in Smithfleld, For in Waits he may not dwelL And Forrfst, tiie friar. That obstinate liar, That wilfully shoU be dcttd. In his contumacy The gospel doth deny. The king to be suprexne head. A finger of St. Andrew, covered with a thin plate of silver, had been pawned by a convent for a debt of forty pounds ; but the king's commissioners refused to pay the debt, and the people were very merry over the pawnbroker and his worthless pledge. By such means Henry struck a blow at the catholic religion amongst the people which soon went further than ho intended, for his object was merely to got easy possession of the wealth of monasteries; but these expo-sures, showing the people that they had been so grossly deluded by their priests, threw them into the arms of the reformers, and created a momentum in that direction which was soon beyond all royal power to arrest. There was one shrine whicli Henry especially coveted, for its enormous riches — that of Thomas a Becket. Though he bad himself, in his youth, made pilgrimages to thisi'aiut, he now seemed to conceive a violent antipathy to him, as a shocking example of resistance to kingly power and dignity. He determined, therefore, to execute a signal punishment upon him, though his bones had been crumbling in the tomb for four hundred years. Perhaps no greater farce was ever solemnly acted in the public courts of law in any country than was performed on this occasion. The tomb of a Becket was broken open by the king's officers, and a regular process was served upon him, summoning him to appear in court, and answer to the charges of rebellion, treason, and contumacy a^iainst his sovereign lord the king. Thirty days were allowed him to prepare his defence, and answer to the charges in Westminster Hall. No Thomas, archbishop of Canterbury, appearing in person, Henry might have condemned him for contumacy, and confiscated his property ; but, to make the matter more notorious, he granted the defaulter counsel to plead for him, and a regular trial was gone through, which, of course, ended in the sturdy belligerent saint being convicted of the charges, condemned as an arrant traitor and rebel, and the whole of his riches forfeited to the crown. Cromwell, on this decision, sent down his commissioners^ in August to take possession of the property, who stripped the shrine of the gold and jewels which had been the wonder of people of all ranks, and from all parts of the world, who had visited it. They filled two immense chests with these precious spoils, so heavy that they required eight strong men each to lift them. The blood of this turbulent saint had been exhibited at hi.* tomb, as that of Christ and St. Januarlus at other shrines ; and Cranmer had particularly requested per- mission for his commissioner.'? to examine and expose the deception. So complete was the vengeance now taken on the so long glorified St. Thomas, that Henry put forth an express proclamation against him, declaring that it had been clearly proved on the trial that Becket had been killed in a riot occasioned by his own insolence and dis- loyal resistance to his sovereign ; and that the bishop of Rome, himself a foreign and usurping power, had canonised the disturber, because he was a champion and partisan of his ; and he bade all his subjects take notice, that Becket was no saint at all, but a rebel and traitor ; and that, therrfore, all images and pictures of him should be destroyed, and that his disgraceful name should be erased from all books and calendars, under penalty of his majesty's high displeasure, and imprisonment at his will. A jewel of remarkable beauty and value, which had been offered at the shrine by Louis VII. of France, Henry appropriated to his personal use, and wore upon his thumb. The work of dissolution of the monasteries and convents now went on briskly, for, says bishop Godwin, " the king continued much prone to reformation, especially if any- thing might be gotten by it." The earl of Sussex and a body of commissioners were sent into the north, to inquire into the conduct of the religious houses there, and great stress was laid on the participation of the monks in tlie insurrection of the Pilgrimage of Grace. The abbeys of Furness and Whalley were particularly rich ; and though little concern with the rebellion could be traced to the in- mates, yet the commissioners never rested till, by persu.isioD ;ind intimidation, they had induced the abbots to surrender their houses into the hands of the commissioners. The success of the earl of Sussex and his asacciates led to similar commissions in the south, and for four years the- process was going on without an act of parliament. The general system was this:— First, tera{»ting offers of 210 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED DISTORY OF ENGLAND [a.d. 1538 pensions were held out to the superiors and the monks or nun.", and in proportion to the obstinacy in complying was the smallnesi of the pension. The pensions to superiors raried according to the wealth and rank of their houses, from £266 to £6 per annum. The priors of cells received generally £13. A few, whose services merited the distinc- tion. £20. The monks received from £2 to £6 per annum, with a small sum in hand for immediate need. Nuns got about £i. That was the first and persuasive process ; but, if this failed, intimidation was resorted to. The superior your lordship to understand that the monks of the Charter- liouse here at London, committed to Newgate for their treacherous behaviour continued against the king's grace, be almost despatched by the hand of God, as it may appear to you by this bill inclosed. Wherefore, considering their behaviour, and the whole matter, I am not sorry, but would that all such as love not the king's highness, and his worldly honour, were in the like case. There be departed. Green- wood, Davye, Salte, Peerson, Greene. There be at the point of death. Scriven, Reading. There be sick, Jonson Home. One is whole, Bird." The abbots of Colchester, Miles Coverdale. and bis monks, tenants, servants, and neighbours, were subjected to a rigorous and vexatious exiimination. The accounts of the hou.ie were called for, and were scrutinised minutely, and all moneys, plate, and jewels ordered to be produced. There was a severe inquiry into the moral.4 of the members, and one was encouraged to accuse another. Obstinate and refractory members were thrown into prison, and many died there — amongst them, the monks of the Charter-house, London. One Bedyl, a commissioner, writing to Cromwell, speaks of these monks lying in Newgite in this heartless stylo :— " It shall please Reading, and Glastonbury were executed as felons or traitors. In 1539 a bill was brought into parliament, vesting in the crown all the property, movable and immovable, of the monastic establishments which were already, or which 1 should be hereafter, suppressed, abolished, or surrendered ; and, by 1510, the whole of this branch of the ecclesiastical property was in the hands of the king, or of the courtiers I and parasites who surrounded him, like vultures, gorging I themselves with the fallen carcass. The total amount of ' such establishments suppressed from first to last by Henry TO 1540.] DISSOLUTION OF MONASTERIES. 211 ■was, sis hundred and fifty-five monasteries, of which j twenty-eight had abbots enjoyjng a seat in parliament ; ' ninety colleges ; two thousand three hundred and seventy- I four chantrils and free chapels ; a hundred and ten hospi- | tals. The whole of the revenue of this property, as paid to , superiors of these houses, was a hundred and sixty-one thousand pounds. The whole income of the kingdom at Coventry and of St. John of Jerus^em, who had seats ia the house of lords, were so awed by the brow-beating and execution of such superiors as made any resistance, that they did not dare to open their mouths ; but there were not wanting great numbers amongst the people, who declared that priurd and monks were not the proprietors, but only trustees and tenants for life of this property, which had Henry VIII. and his Council ordaining the Translation of the Bible into English. that period was rated at four millions, so that the monastic property was apparently one-twentieth of tho national est.^te : but as the monastic lands were let on long leases, and at very low rents, in the hands of the new proprietors ' it would prove of vastly higher value. I It ia not to be supposed that so violent and wholesale a revolution could take place without much oppositi(m and murmuring. The twenty-eight abbots and two priors of 73 been bequeathed by pious people of substance for certain purposes, and that, therefore, they had no power to sur- Ecnder voluntarily this property to the king. To silence these complaints, it was proclaimed everywhere that this property, becoming national, would henceforth put an end to pauperism and taxation ; that the king would not have occasion to come to the people to demand any fresh supplies in case of war i that it would enable him to maintain e.irls. 343 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. [a i». 1540, burnre", and knights ; and to found nevr institutions for the promotwn of education, industry, and religion, more in k*ep- inp with the spirit of the age. Hut fo far wa* this from being the case, that Henry let the property go amongst liis greedy courtiers as fast as it came. And nercr was so magnificent a property so speedily .ind astonishingly dissipated amongst a host of adven- turers, who became, through this scandalous waste of taketh about the same, his majesty woaM that he ehoald lisTe one of Mr. Bedell's benefices, if there be any ungiven. And thus the bleseed Trinity have your good lordship in bis most blessed pre.serration I " Snoh was the disgraceful seizure, and snch the greedy grasp with which this fine public property w;is held by those who got it, that there was not left money enough to pay for the translation of Coverdale's Bible; Coverdiilo and public property, the foutiders of many of those great i his coadjutors in the translation were left in poverty and aristocratic houses which still sway to their own benefit the difficulty, and this grand work of the age, and the fountain government of England, and clog the wheels of popular of much of the knowledge of the reformation, was checked reform. What did not go amongst the Seymours, the . in its circulation by the high price which the printers were Essexes, the Howarda, the Russells, and the like, went in obliged to put upon it. the most lavish ramnner, on the king's pleasures and follies. Amongst the magnificent monastic buildings which were He is said to have given to a woman, who introduced a stripped and abandoned, were those of Canterbury, Battle pudding to his liking, the revenue of a whole convent. Pauperism, instead of being extinguished, was increased in | a manner whiA astonished every one. Such crowds had been supported by the monks and nuns, as the public had no competent idea of, till they were thrown destitute and desperate into the streets and the highways. They had learned to dispense with labour. Such were the daily liberal alms ©f the monasteries, that th^y were neither supplied with employment nor anxious for it; and we shall find that they became such a national burden and nuisance, as at length, in Edward VI.'s and Elizabeth's reigns, to cause the introduction of our present poor-law system. The aris- tocracy, in fact, osurped the fund for the support of the poor, and threw them on the nation at large. Education received an equal shock. The schools sup- Abbey, Merton in Surrey, Stratford in Essex, Lewes in Sussex, the Charter Ilou^e, the Black. Grey, and White Friars in London, Furness and Whalley in Lancashire. Fountaines and Biveanx in Yorkshire ; and many another noble pile, the ruins of which yet fill us with admiration. Many of the monastic houses had been the hospitals, dis- pensaries, and infirmaries of the poor, and not a penny of their proceeds was reserved by this strange royal reformer for the same purposes. Others, in wild and- solitary districts, had supplied the want of ions and plaoes of lodging, and their doors being now closed by the inhsspitable gentry who had been fortunate enough to get them from the improviden t king, made the contrast severely felt by both rich and poor in their journeys. The chancellor Andley, who was as ready as any of the rest of the royal servants to have his share of ported by the mtnasteries fell with them. The new race | this spoil, was so struck with the want of some such resorts of aristocrats who got the funds did nothing to continue I in lonely and unhealthy districts, that he endeavoured to them; and other schools, and even the universities, felt the persuade Cromwell to leave two in Essex — the abbey ot spirit of the times, which was one of spoliation, but of St. John's, near Colchester, and St. Osyth's. He says there little inquiry in those ranks which profited by the change, had been twenty houses, great and small, already dissolved Religion suffered likewise, for the wealth which might have in Essex, and that these stood in the end of the shire ; St- founded efficient incomes for good preachers, was gone into John's, where water was very much wanted, and St. Osyth's, private hands, and the most miserable stipends were paid where it was so marshy that few would care to keep houses to the working dergy, and none but poor and unlettered | of entertainment. " These houses, like others in desolate men would accept the miserable pittances. ' and uncultivated neighbourhoods," says Blunt. " had been Those who were become the patrons of country livings, put i inns for the way-faring man, who had heard from afar the into them their menials, gardeners, inn-keepers, ignorant ' sound of the vesper bell, at onoe inviting him to repose and monks or friars wba ikad been turned adrift, many of whom devotion, and who might sing his matins with the morning could not read a qrlliAile, who would take them for a trifle ^ or they let the glebes and parsonages, so that the inoombents had neither a roof over their heads, nor land to live on. So scandalous, according to Latimer, was the greedy em- bezzlement of the new aristocracy of the funds for the star, and go on his way rejoicing." But Cromwell had an eye to St. Osyth's for himself, and would not listen to it. But what every lover of literature and art must still lament over, was the ruthless destruction of so many superb specimens of the architecture and the paintings. parochial ministry, that the parish-priest was often obliged the libraries and oarved shrines, which were in them. No to keep an ale-house ; and we have ourselves seen such an care, whatever, seems to have distinguished the acquirers ale-house in D.Tbyshire, still remaining under the same ] of these noble fabrics, or their agente, but to gather as roof with the church, with a hole in the wall, through which i much spoil as possible. The most beautiful and sublime pots of beer could be served even into the church itself specimens of architecture wore stripped of their roofs, during service. The king himself set the example of this dioors, and windows, and left exposed to the elements, odious desecration of the ministry of the church. There is I Those glorious painted windows, of whose splendour and value we may form some idea by those of the same ages which remain on the continent, were dashed to atoms by gnorant and brutal hands. The paintings were torn from a letter in the " State Papers," from Fitzwilliam to secretary Cromwell, which gives a striking proof of it. " My lord, one thing there is, that the king's highness willed me to speak unto your lordship in • . His gr.iee hath a priest that yearly maketh his hawks, and this year hath made him two which fly and kill their game very well. U> his highness's singular pleasure and oontentation. And for the ptuns whiob the said priest the walls, or defaced where they could not be removed. The statues and carvings, many of them by great Italian masters, were demolished, thrown down, or mutilated. The mosaic pavements of the chapels were torn up. The bells were torn down, gambled for, and sold into Russia 1510.] THE STATUTE OF THE SIX ARTICLES. 213 and other countries. The churches of the moaasteries were turned into stables and cattle-stalls ; horsea were tethered to the high altar, and lewd vagabonds lodged in them as they tramped about the country. But most woful was it to see the noble libraries destroyed, those libraries in which the treasures of antiquity had been preserved through many ages. " Some books," says Spelman, in his History of Sacrilege, "were reserved to scour their candlesticks, some to rub their boots, some sold to grocers and soap-builers, and some sent over sea to bookbinders, not in small numbers, but at times whole ships full, to the wondering of foreign nations ; a single merchant purchasing at forty shillings a piece two noble libraries, to be used as gray paper, and such as having sufficed for ten years, were abundant enough for many years more." It is only justice to Cranmer to say, that he saw this miser- able waste of the public property with grief and concern, and would have had it appropriated to the promotion of educa- tion and religion, and a proper fund for the relief of the poor ; but he was far too timid to dare to put the matter plainly before the royal prodigal. Yet the murmurs of the publi« induced Henry to think of establishing a number of bishoprics, deaneries, and colleges, with a portion of the lands of the suppressed monasteries. He had an act passed through parliament for the establishment of eighteen bishoprics ; but it was found that the property intended for these was cleverly grasped by some of his courtiers, and only six out of the eighteen could be erected, namely, Westminster, Oxford, Peterborough, Bristol, Chester, and Gloucester ; and some of these were so meagrely endowed, that the new prelates had much ado for a consider- able time to live. At the same time, Henry converted fourteen abbeys and priories into cathedral and collegiate churches, attaching to each a deanery and a certain number of prebendaries. These were Canterbury, Ro- chester, Westminster, Winchester, Bristol, Gloucester, Worcester, Chester, Burton-upon-Tront, Carlisle, Durham, Thornton, Peterborough, and Ely. But he retained a good slice of the property belonging to them, and, at the same time, imposed on the chapters the obligations of paying a considerable sum to the repair of the highways, and another sum to the maintenance of the poor. Such was this woiiderful revolution, produced, not by the love of a real reformation of religion, but by the selfish greediness of the king and his courtiers ; yet most singularly, under the overruling hand of Providence, producing all the blessings for which these people took no care, establishing eventually the freedom of opinion, the diffusion of knowledge, and the recognition of the claims of the poor on the land. At the same time that Henry had thus been squandering the monastic property, and had so falsified all his promises of making the crown independent of taxation, that within twelve months he was obliged to come to parliament for a subsidy of two tenths and two fifteenths, ho had all along been riveting the doctrines of the church of Uomo faster on the nation, and persecuting all those who dared to call them in question. At one time he had wished to unite with the reformers of Germany, and so early as 1535 had sent over to the protestant princes at Smalcald, the bishop of Hereford, archdeacon Heath, and Dr. Barnes, to negotiate a league ; but the princes called upon him to subscribe their confession of faith, and to lend them two hundred tUousaud crowns, Gardiner, who was at heart as complete a catholic as any in Spain or Italy, very soon prevented any such union, though Henry was to be proclaimed its head. This might please his vanity, but Gardiner knew how to tickle that still more. " Why," he asked, " was Henry to subscribe to their confession of faith ? Was he not head of his own church ; authorised to make what alterations he pleased; and having emancipated himself from the thraldom of the pope, was he to put his neck under the yoke of the German divines ? At all events, even before he thought of such a thing, he should insist that they should first sanction his divorce and the doctrine of his supremacy." This was enough : Henry dismissed all idea of the German confederation. The lower house of convocation, as if to deter Henry still farther from any schemes of German union of faith, drew up a list of fifty-nine propositions, which it denounced as heresies, extracted from the publications of different reformers, and presented it to the upper house. On this Henry, who believed himself a greater theologian than any in either house of convocation, drew up, with the aid of some of the prelates, a book of " Articles," which was pre- sented by Cromwell to the convocation, and there sub- scribed. This was then passed through parliament, and became termed too justly the " Bloody Statute," for a more terrible engine of persecution never existed. To expound this still further, by his order, convocation issued a little book called " The Godly and Pious Institution of a Christiau Man." This was subscribed by the archbishops, bishops, archdeacons, and certain doctors of the canon and civil law, and pronounced by them " in all things the very true meaning of Scripture." This was the standard of Henry's orthodoxy, and any one daring to differ from this was to perish by fire or gallows. The Sis Articles asserted the real presence in the eucharist, the communlun in one kind, the perpetual obligation of vows of chastity, the utility of private masses, celibacy, and the necessity of auricular confes- sion. The " Institution of the Christiau Man " sternly refuses salvation to every one beyond the pale of the catholic church, yet denies the supremacy of the pontiff, and inculcates passive obedience to the king. It declares that no cause whatever can authorise a subject to take up arms against the sovereign : that kings are only account- able to God ; and that the only remedy against regal oppres- sion is prayer to God to change the heart of a despot, and lead him to use justly his power. Such were the doctrines, religious and political, which this great church reformer now established ; yet, at the same time, he inconsistently permitted bibles to be chained in churches, and soon after to be used in private houses — a measure which was certain to generate opponents to his favourite creed. Accordingly, betwixt the king's permission to read the bible, and thus to learn the truth, and his decree that they should only believe what he pleased to allow them, the fires of Smithfield were soon ablaze, and the most terrible scenes enacted. No sooner had the statute of the Six Articles passed, than Latimer and Shaxton, the bishops of Worcester and Salis- bury, resigned their sees ; and Cranmer, who had been living openly with his wife and children, seeing the king's determination to enforce the celibacy of the clergy, sent off his family to Germany, and made himself outwardly conformable to the law. At the end of the year 1539, the king put to death, in Smithfield, three yigtims of bia religious ifttolerance. The M4 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1540. two first were a in»n and a woman who were anabaptists. The third was John Lambert, formerly a priest, who had become a schoolmaster in London. He was a reformer, and denied the doctrine which Henry was now enforcing under the penalty of death, that the real presence eiisted in the bread and wine. An information was laid against him to Cranmer, who summoned the offender to appear before him in big archiepiscopal court. What a pitiable idea does it give us of the cowardice and duplicity of Cran- mer, knowing, as we do, that he held this rcry opinion himself; anl yet, rather than bring himself into danger, he compelled this far more honest man to stand upon his trial for it, at the crtain risk of his life. Henry, however, wh) never lost an opportunity of displaying his theology, deter- mined to preside at the trial himself. Sampson, the bishop of Chichester, opened the trial with a speech, in which he said that the king had cast off tiie yoke of the pope, had sent away those drones the monks, and permitted the reading of the bible, but he was determined that no other change should take place in religion in his reign. Then the king, who was now grown not only corpulent, but much diseased in body, and as coarse in his speech as he was violent in his temper, started up and cried, " Ho, good fellow ! what is thy name? " On being told that it was Nicholson, though he was commonly called Lambert, Henry exclaimed that he would not believe a man with two names, though he were his own brother ; and continued, " Fellow '. what sayest thou concerning the sacrament ? Wilt thou deny that the eucharist is the real body of Christ P " The prisoner stood firm to his denial, and when he had been severely questioned by Oranmcr and eight other bishops for five hours, he was conlemned to the flames. Not only did Cranmer concur in the sentence, but Crom- well, who professed so much zeal for the reformation, did the same, and with a vile adulation, writing to Wyatt, praised the brutal king for " the benign grace, excellent gravity, an«' inestimable majesty " with which he en- deavoured to convert the unhappy man '. It is impossible to read of this disgusting tyrant, and of the base slaves by whom he was surrounded, and believe that these things took place in England. Poor England! it was now reduced to the condition to which this Cromwell had vowed that he would bring it. " The lord Cromwell," says Gardiner, in his letters, "had once put it in the king's head to take upon him to have his will anl pleasure regarded for law ; and therefore I was called for at Hampton Court. And as he was very stout, ' Come in my lord of Winchester,' quoth he, ' answer the king here, but speak plainly and directly, and shrink not, man. Is not that,' quoth he, ' that plcaseth the king, a law ? Have you not that in the civil laws, quod principi placuit, Icc. f ' " Gardiner was con- founded ; but after a while said, " that for the king to make the law his will, was more sure and quiet," on which the king turned his back and left the matter. But in the statute of the Six Articles, it was boldly declared that '■ the king's proclamations had the authority of acts of parlia- 1 ment : In fact, England liad surrendered her charter to this fearful junta, and granted the monarch the absolute power, for aiming at which cost Charles I. his head, and the Stuart family the throne of England. During the whole of the years 1538 and 1539, Henry was, nevertheless, not only grown sn.opicious of his subjects, but greatly alarmed at the rumours of a combination betwixt the pope, the emperor, and the king of Prsnoo against him. It was rumoured that cardinal Pule was ussisiing in this scheme, and as Henrr could not reach him, he deurniined to take vengeance on his relatives and friends in En^Uiiid, A truce for ten years was concluded, under the papal mediation, betwixt Charles and Francis, at Nice, June. 1538. On the part of the two monarchs, they urged Pau! lo pub- lish his bull of excommunication against Henry, which had been reserved so long, and Henry, whose spico rcon con- veyed to him these tidings, immediately ordered his fleet to be put in a state of activity, his harbours of defence strengthened, and the whole population to be called under arras, in expectation uf a combined attack from these enemies. But at this conference, cardinal Pole had been present, and Henry directly attributed the scheme of invasion to him. At once, therefore, he let loose his fury on his relatives and friends in England. Becket, the usher, and Wrothe, server of the royal chamber, were despatched into Cornwall, to collect some colour of accusation against Henry Courtcnay, the marquis of Exeter, and his adherents and dependents. The marquis aud marchioness were soon arrested, as well as Sir Geoffrey Pole and lord Montagu, brothers of the cardinal, and Sir Edward Neville, a brother of lord Abergavenny. Two priests. Croft and Collins, and Holland, a mariner, were abo arrested, and lodged in the Tower. On the last day of the year, the marquis and lord Montagu were tried before some of the peers, but not bcfoK their peers in parliament, for parliament wns not sitting. The commoners were brought to trial before juries ; and all on a charge of having conspired to place Reginald Pole, late dean of Exeter, the king's enemy, on the throne. The king's ministers declared that the charge was well proved, but no such proofs were ever pnblishol, which, we may be sure, would have been, had they existed. It was said that they had sent the cardinal money, which, from bis own family, might have been the case, and yet with no treason. It was also charged on the marquis of Exeter that he had said : — " I like well the proceedings of cardinal Pole. 1 like not the proceedings of this realm. I trust to see a change in this world. I trust once to have a fair day on the knaves that rule about the king. I trust to give them a buffet one day." Now, had these words been fully proved, of whioh there is no evidence, where was the treason P Any honest man of the old persuasion might, and did, no doubt, say that he did not like the changes going, and might hope to see the ministers who recommended them removed. But tJie fact was, those noblemen were descended directly from the old royal line of England : Courtenay was grandson to Edward IV., by his daughter Catherine, and the Poles were grandsons to George, duke of Clarence, the brother of Edward. All had a better title to the throne than Henry, and that, combined with their connection with the cardinal, was the oanse of the tyrant's deadly enmity. If these prisoners had been inclined to treason, they had had the fairest opportunity of showing it during the northern insurrection, but they had token no part whatever. But Henry had determined to wretJc his vengeance, whioh could not reach the cardinal, on them ; and the servile peers and courts condemned them. It was said that Sir Geoffrey Pole, to save his own life, consented to give evidence against the rest, secretly it must have i>een. A.D. 1540.] EXECUTION OF THE COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. 245 for it was never produced. His life, therefore, waa spared, but the rest were executed. Lord Montagu, the marquis of Exeter, and Sir Edward Neville were beheaded on Tower- hill, on the 9th of January, 1.539, and Sir Nicholas Carew, master of the king's horse, was also beheaded on the 3rd of March, on a charge of being privy to the conspiracy. The two priests and the mariner were hanged and quartered at Tyburn. A commission was then sent down into Cornwall, which arraigned, condemned, and put to death two gentlemen of the names of Kendall and Quintrell, for having said, some years before, that Exeter was the heir apparent, and should be king, if Henry married Anne Boleyn, or it should cost a thousand lives. The whole of these were just so many judicial murders, to glut the spite of this bloody despot. Lord Herbert, one of the best possibly informed writers of the age, declares that he could never discover any real proofs of the charges against these noblemen, and their destruction excited uni- Tersal horror. Even at this advanced period of his tyranny and his crimes, Henry was not insensible to the odium occasioned, and ordered a book to be published containing the real proofs of their treason. The cardinal himself pro- claimed to the world, that if his relations had entertained any treasonable designs, they would have shown them during the insurrection, and that he had carefully examined the king's book for these proofs, but in vain. But the sanguinary fury of Henry was not yet sated The cardinal was sent by the pope to the Spanish and French courts to concert the carrying out of the scheme of policy against England agreed upon. Henry defeated this by means of his agents, and neither Charles nor Francis would move : but not the less did Henry determine further to punish the hostile cardinal. Judgment of treason was pronounced against him ; the continental sovereigns were called upon to deliver him up ; and he was constantly sur- rounded by spies, and, as he believed, ruflBaus hired to assassinate him. Meantime it was said that a French vessel had been driven by stress of weather into South Shields, and in it had been taken three emissaries — an English priest of the name of Moore, and two Irishmen, a monk and a friar, who were said to be carrying treasonable letters to the pope and to Pole. The Irish monks were sent up to London, and tortured in the Tower — a very unneces- sary measure, if they really possessed the treasonable letters alleged. On the 28th of April parliament was called upon to pass bills of attainder against Margaret, countess of Salisbury^ the mother of cardinal Pole ; Gertrude, the widow of the marquis of Exeter ; the son of lord Montague, a boy of tender years ; Sir Adam Fortescue, and Sir Thomas Dingley. If the evidence taken from the captive monks had any- thing to do with these attainders, it must have been very vague and meagre indeed, for it was found on trial that no sufficient charge could be established against any of the accused. The countess of Salisbury, the mother of the cardinal, was a lady seventy years of age, but of a power- ful and undaunted mind. She was first privately examined by the carl of Southampton, and Goodrich, bishop of Ely. But she conducted herself with so much spirit, that they wrote to Cromwell that she was more like a strong and determined man than a woman ; that she denied everything laid to her charge ; and it seemed to them that her sons could not have made her privy to their treasons. They, in fact, had no evidence. Cromwell next undertook her and the marchioness of Exeter, but with no better succesti. He had got hold of some of the countess's servants, yet he could extract nothing from them ; but as the king was resolved to put hiii victims to death, something must be done, and, there- fore, Cromwell demanded of the judges whether persons accused of treason might not be attainted and condemned by parliament without any trial! The judges, who, like every one else under this monster of a king, had lost all sense of honour and justice in the fears for their own safety, replied that it was a nice question, and one that no inferior tribunal could entertain, but that parliament was supreme, and that an attainder by parliament would be good in law ! Suoh a bill was accordingly passed through the servile parliament, condemning the whole party to death without any form of trial whatever. To such a pass was England come, — its whole constitution, its Magna Charta, its every right and privilege, thrown down before this bloated and sensual despot. The two knights were beheaded on the 10th of July ; the marchioness of Exeter was kept in prison for six months, and then dismissed ■, the son of lord Montagu, the grandson of the countess, was probably, too, allowed to escape, for no record of his death appears ; but the venerable old lady herself, the near relative of the king, and the last direct descendant of the Plantagenets, after having been kept in prison for nearly two years, was brought out, probably on some fresh act of the cardinal's, and on the 27th of May, 1541, was condemned to the scaffold. There she still showed the determination of her character. Unlike many who had fallen there before her, so far from making any ambiguous speech, or giving any hypocritical professions of reverence for the king, she refused to do anything which appeared consenting to her own death. When told to lay her head on the block, she replied, " No, my head never committed treason ; if you will have it, you must take it as vou can." The executioners tried to s«ize her, but she moved swiftly round the scaffold, tossing her head from side to side. At last, covered with blood, for the guards struck her with their weapons, she was seized, and forcibly held down; and whilst exclaiming, " Blessed are they who suffer persecution for righteousness' sake," the ase de- scended, and her head fell. A more revolting tragedy, in defiance of all law and justice, a more frightful murder committed in open day, by brutal force, on a venerable, meritorious, and innocent woman, never took place, whether the murderer were called king or assassin. It proclaimed to all the world that the king of England was now demoralised to the grade of the hardened despot, no longer sensible to any feeling of honour or humanity, and obedient only to his brutal passions. But the time of Cromwell himself was coming. The block was the pretty certain goal of Henry's ministers. The more he caressed and favoured them, the more certain was that result. As a oat plays with a mouse, so Henry played with his ministers and his wives. As a butcher fattens his hogs for the slaughter, so Henry pampered and indulged his ablest officials till they were ready for killing. Cromwell had gone on long advocating the utmost stretches of despotism. He had done his best to level all the safe- 246 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1540. gnarda of the constitution, and, therefore, of every man's life and safety. He had sprung from the lowest rank, and, therefore, was naturally beheld with hatred by the old nobility ; but this hatred he had infinitely augmented in a lari'C party by attacking their then most deeply rooted objects of veneration. He had destroyed tlie property of the church without being able to eradicate from the mind of the king its doctrines, and these had n«w recoiled upon him with a fatal force. Ho had failed to prevent the passing of the Six Articles, which made Catholicism still the France and Spain ; and a new alliance with the Protestant princes of Germany, if accomplished, would equally serve the purposes of the king and of Cromwell. Henry had now been a widower for more than two years, but by no means a willing one. Immediately after the death of Jane SeymMur, he had made an oftVr of his hand to the duchess dowager of Milan, the niece of the emperor ; but the duchess was not at all flattered by tlic proposal. It was too well known all over Europe that he had already di.'iposed of three wives ; Catherine of Arragon, it was said. Anne of Cleves. From the original Portrait by Holbein. unquestioned religion of the land ; and he saw the duke of Norfolk and bishop Gardiner, the staunch champions of the old faith, stoaiily gaining the ascendancy at court. Re- flecting anxiously on the critical nature of his position, the deep and unprincipled minister came to the conclusion that the only mode (if regaining his influence with the king was to promote a Protostant marriage. For a time at least Henry allowed himself to be governed by a new wife, and that time gamed might prove everything to Cromwell. Cir- cumstances seemed to favour him at this moment. The king was in constant alarm at the combination betwixt by poison, Anne Boleyn by the axe, and Jane Seymour by want of proper care in childbed. His fame for his butcheries of scores of other people, some of them of the highest rank and of near kindred to himself, made every one recoil from his alliance, especially as he was now become a huge and bloated mass of disease. The witty dowager of Milan, therefore, sent him word, that as she had but one head, and could not very well do without it, she declined the honour. He then addressed himself to the princess Marie of Guise, the duchess-dowager of Longue- ville, but she was already affianced to a younger and much A.D, 1540.] EEIGN OF HENRY Vlll. 247 IM OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOKT OF ENGLAND. more desirable husband, Jame^ \'., of Scotland. The acct^unts which he received of the beauty and uocon^iiiiih- menta of (Im duoheaa de Longueville, made him unwilling to tok* a refusal. Ohatillun, the French amba&iador at Londuo, wrote to Franoid that Henry would hear of nuthiag else but the duchess. The ambassador reiterated that ah* was betrotiied to his nephew James of Scotland ; but ileoTf said he would not believe it, and that he would do much greater things for her, and for the French king, too, tbao James could. In fact, Henry hated James, and this w^fg an additional stimulus : he would have been delighted to mortify the king of ScoU by snatching her away from him. Chatillon asked him if he would marry anotlier mans wife— a very pointed question, for both Catherine and Anne had been got rid of by the plea that they had been previously affianced to other men. This was lost, however, on the gross, callous mind of Henry, and Francis was obliged to tell him plainly it could not be. but offered him Mary of Bourbon, daughter of the duke of A'endome. Henry refused Mademoiselle Vendorae, because she had been formerly offared to James of Scotland, who preferred the LongueviUe, and Henry said he would not take the leavings of another king. la August, 1538. Madame de MontreuU, a hkly who had accompanied Magdalen of France, the first wife of James V., to Scot- land, was returning through England to France, and Henry thought that pernaps she might suit him , she i was, therefore, detained at Dover some time, that the I king might go and see her. but probably he soon learnt ' from others enough to withdraw him from the project, for ' he never went, but turned again to Francis I., who then i offered him either of the sisters of the queen of Scotland ! the princesses of Guise. Henry listened to this, and ; roposed that Francis should come to Calais on pretence oi a private conference, and bring these ladies with him inj others of the finest ladies of France, that he might ■ok at them, and make a choice amongst them. Francis ■spurned thU coarse proposal, saying he had too much regard for the fair sex, to trot them out like horses at a fair, to be taken or refused at the humour of the pur- chaser. -Vow was the time for Cromwell, while Henry was chagrmed by these difficulties. He informed him that Anne, daughter of John III., duke of Cleves, count of Mark, and lord of Ravenstein, was greatly eztoUed for her beauty and good sense; that her sister Sybilla, the wife of trederick. duke of Saxony, the head of the Protestant confederation of Germany, called the Smalcaldic lea-ue was famed for her beauty, talents, and virtues, and universally regarded as one of the most distinguished ladies of the time. He pointed out to Henry the advantages of thug, by this alliance, acquiring the firm friendship of the princes of Germanv, in counterpoise to the deeigns of France and Spain; and he assured him that he heard that the sisters of the electress of Saxony educated under the same wise mother, were equally attractive m person and in mind, and waited only a higher poMtmn to give them greater lustre, especially the princess Henry immediately caught at the idea, and desired to havo the p^rtraita of the two sisters sent over to him. Christo- pher Mount, who W.1.S employed to negotiate this matter and who was probably a creature of Cromweirs. urged the [a.d. 1540 Juke of Ckves to have the portraits done with all de.«patch; but the duke. who. probably, hiid no faith ia the result of the eiperimoot. was in no hurry. He replied to Mounts iraportunitiaB, that Lucas, his painter, was sick; but he would see to it, and find some occasion to send it. This lukewarraness argued little hope or inclination in the duke of Cleves ; and, singukrly enough, it appears that Anne, hifl daughter, was alreatfy engaged to the doke of Lorraine." Thasa pre-eBgagamanto, broken to oblige Henry, had al- ways been used by him afterwards to get rid of the wife, and the duke might weU pause upon it. Mount, however, who must have been no judge of beauty, or was destitute of judgment altogether, gave the business no rest. He reported that every man praised the beauty of the lady, as well for face as for the whole body, above all other ladies excellent, and that she as far excelled the duchess (of Milan ?) as the golden sun excelleth Uie silver moon. The duke of Cleves died on the 6th of February, 1539 and Henry despatched Hans Holbein to take the lady's , portrait. Nicholas Wotton, Henry's envoy at the court of j Cleves, in a letter dated August 11th of the same year I reported both of the progress of the portrait and of the j lady's character as foUows -" As for the education of my I said hdye, she hath from her chUdhood been lik- as the hidye SybiUe, till she was married, and the ladye Amelye I hath been, and now is, brou-ht up with the ladye duchess, I her mother, and in manner never from her elbow,— the I ladye duchess being a very wise ladye, and one that straitly looketh to her children. All the genUemen of the court and others that I have asked, report her to be of very lowly and gentle condition, by which she hath so much won her mother's favour, that she is very loth to suffer her to depart from her. She employe* her time much with her needle ; she can read and write her own but French aud Latin, or other language, she knoweth'not- nor yet can sing, or play on any instrument,— for they take it here in Germany for a rebuke and an occasion of lightness that great ladies should be learned, or have any knowledge of music. Her wit is so good that, no doubt she wiU m short space learn the English tongue, whenever she putteth her mind to it. I could never hear that she is inclined to the good cheer of this country ; and marvel it were if she should, seeing that her brother, in whom it were somewhat more tolerable, doth well abstain from it Your grace's servant, Hans Holbein, hath taken the effigies of my ladye Anne and the lady Amelye, and huth expressed their images very lively." This miniature of Anne of Cleves is still in existence, perfect as when it was executed, upwards of three hundred years ago. Horace Walpole describes the box which in- closed it, as in the form of a white rose, delicately carved in ivory, and says that he saw it in the cabinet of Mr Barrett, of Ue. I have myself seen it in the possession of my lute friend Sir Samuel Meyriok, of Goodrich Court where it yet remains, the properly of his nephew The box screws into three parts, and in each end is a miniature portrait, one of Anne of Cleves .ind the other of Henrv VIII The portrait of Anno certainly is t!iat of a very "comely lady, i: nf.,rtunately, it was more lively than the original ■ and this box becam« to Cromwell, who had thus succedcd in accomplishing the marriage, fetal as the box of Pandora herself. Henry, being delighted with the portrait-which agreed A.D. 1540.] ARRIVAL OF ANNE OF CLEVES. 249 go well with the many praises written of the lady by his agents — acceded to the match ; and, in the month of Sep- tember, the count palatine and ambassadors from Cleves arrived in London, where Cromwell received them with real delight, and the king bade them right welcome. The treaty was Boon concluded ; and Henry, impatient for the arrival of his wife, despatched the lord admiral Pitzwilliam, earl of Southampton, to receive her at Calais, and conduct her to England. Anne set out from her native city of Dusseldorf in the first week in October, 1539, attended by an escort of fsur hundred horse, and the chief personages of the house- hold of her brother, the duke of Cleves. She arrived, on the 11th of December, on the English frontiers of Calais, and was received by the lord Lisle, deputy of Calais, the lieutenant of the castle, the knight porter, and the marshal of Calais, and by the cavalry of the garrison, all freshly and gallantly appointed for the occasion, with the men-at-arms in velvet coats and chains of gold, and all the king's archers. About a mile from the town she was received by the lord admiral, the lord William Howard, and many other lords and gentlemen. In the train which conducted Anne of Cleves into Calais there were kinsmen of five out of the six queens of Henry VIII. Henry beguiled the tedium of his waiting for his expected bride by the executions of the venerable abbot of Glaston- bury, the abbot of Tending, and others. It was not enough that he suppressed the monasteries, and took possession of them, he must quench his blood-thirst in the lives of the superiors. The abbot of Glastonbury, Richard Whiting, old, sinking under divers ailments, was executed on the charge of endeavouring to conceal the plate of the abbey, with John Thome, his treasurer, and Roger James, his under-trcasurer. Lord John Russell declares that the iury which condemned the abbot and his monks showed a wonderful devotion to the king's will, and that ferocious will was certainly carried out in a truly savage style. The venerable abbot and his two officers were conducted to the top of Tor Hill, and here, in full view of the grand old abbey, and the noble parks and farms over which he had so long presided, they were hanged and quartered. The abbot's head was stuck upon the gates of the abbey, and his four quarters were sent to be exposed on the gates of Wells, Bath, Ilchester, and Bridgewater. About the same time, the abbot of Reading and the abbot of Colchester were executed, and exposed in the same barbarous manner. Whilst these horrible atrocities were every day spreading wider over Europe the terrible fame of Henry VIII., he was impatiently awaiting his new wife. On the 27th of December, 1539, Anne landed at Deal, having been escorted across the channel by a fleet of fifty ships. She was re- ceived with all the respect due to the queen of England, by Sir Thomas Cheyney, lord warden of the port, and con- ducted to a castle newly built, supposed to have been Walmer castle. There she was waited upon by the duke and duchess of SuflFolk, the bishop of Chichester, and a great number of the nobility, gentry, and ladies of Kent. By them she was conducted to Dover, where she remained till Monday, and then, on a very stormy day, set out on her progress to Canterbury. On Barham Downs she was met by the archbishop of Canterbury, the bishops of Ely, St. Asaph, St. David's, and Dover, and a great company of gentlemen, who attended her to St. Augustine's, outside of Canterbury. On reaching Sittingbourne, the duke of Nor- folk, the lord Dacre of the south, lord Mountjoy, and a great company of knights and gentlemen of Norfolk and Suffolk, with the barons of the exchequer, all clad in coats of velvet, waited upon her, and conducted her to Rochester. So far all was grand and imposing, but it is impossible to suppose that any woman, going to mcei with such a Bluebeard of a husband, must not have inwardly trembled. And, in truth, she had great cause. She was a woman of the plainest education, or scarcely of no educa- tion at all; totally destitute of those accomplisbments so necessary to take the fancy of Henry, and to preside in the English court ; where, amid all its blood and savagery, music, dancing, and many courtly sports and practices prevailed. She was a thorough protestant, going into the midst of as thoroughly catholic a faction, and to consort with a monarch the most fickle and dogmatic in the world. She could speak no language but German, and of that Henry did not understand a word. It would have required a world of charms to have reconciled all this to Henry, even for a time, and of these poor Anne of Cleves was destitute. That she was not ugly, many cotcmporaries testify, but she was at least plain in person, and still plainer in manners. Both she and her maidens, of whom she brought a great train, are said to have been as homely and as awkward a bevy as ever came to England in the cause of royal matrimony. The impatient though unwieldy lover, accompanied by eight gentlemen of his privy chamber, rode to Rochester to meet the bride. They were all clad alike, in coats '• of marble colour," whatever that was ; for Henry, with a spice of his old romance, was going incognito, to get a peep at his queen without her being aware which was he, as if that huge and remarkable figure, and that lion's face, could be passed for a moment as belonging to any one else. He told Cromwell that " he intended to visit her privily, to nourish love." On his arrival, he sent Sir Anthony Browne, his master of the horse, to inform Anne that he had brought her a new year's gift, if she would please to accept it. Sir Anthony, on being introdaoed to the lady who was to occupy the place of the two most celebrated beauties of the oge, the Boleyn and the Seymour, was, he afterwards confessed, " never so much dismayed in his life," but, of course, said nothing. Sonow the enamoured king, whoso eyes were dazzled with the recollection of what his queens had been, and what Holbein and his ambassadors had promised him should again be, entered the presence of Anne of Cleves, and was thun- derstruck at the first sight of the reality. Lord John Russell, who was present, declared " that he had never seen his highness so marvellously astonished and abashed as on that occasion." He had made it a point that his present queen should be of large and tall stature, as he was himself now become of ample proportions, and his bride was as tall and large as heart could wish, but her features, though not irregular, wanted softness, her bearing was ungraceful, and her figure ill proportioned. The wrathful monarch felt that he was taken in, and after a very cold reception, he hastened back to his lodgings, and, sending for the lords who had attended her, thus addressed Fitzwilliam, the lord admiral, who had received her at Calais : — " How like you this woman ? Do you find her so personable, fair, and beautiful, as report has been made unto me P I pray you tell me true." They dared not venture to praise her, now that he had seen her. 390 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOBY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1540. «od the chagrinod tyrant exclaimed, " Alns I whom shaU men trust ? I promise you I see no such thing as hath been thova me of her by pictures or report. 1 am ashamed that men have praised her as they have done ; and I love her not." Instead of presenting himself the new-year's gift which he had brought — a muff and tippet of rich sables — he sent them to her with a very cold message, and rode back to Greenwich in great dudgeon. There, the moment that he saw Oromwell. ■be burst out upon him for being the means of bringing him not a wife, but " a great Flanders mare." Oromwell excused himself by njt naving seen her, and threw the blame on Jitiwilliam, the lord admiral, who, he said, when he found the princess at Calais so different from the pictures and reports, should have detained her there till he knew the king's pleasure; but the admiral replied brusquely that he had not had the choosing of her, but had simply executed his commission ; and if he had in his despatches spoken of her beauty, it was because she was reckoned beautiful, and it was not for him to judge of his queen. This altercation did not tend to pacify the king by any means, and he abruptly broke into it by demanding that some plan should be hit upon to rid him of her. But this was a most formidable matter. They had now no simple subject to deal with, whose head might be lopped off with the same nonchalance as a clown would cut off the head of a poppy with his stick • but the lady had the whole of the princes of the Smalcaldic league, and the protestant interest of Germany at her back ; and to insult them as he had insulted the catholics and the emperor in the person of Catherine of Arragon was no indifferent matter. He called a council suddenly to devise the best mode of extri- cating him from this difficulty, and Anne was detained at Dartford till it was settled. Henry fell at once on his old stratagem. The pre-contract with the duke of Lorraine, at which he would not even look when it was pressed upon him while he was fascinated by Holbein's unlucky minia- ture, was nest pleaded as a sufficient obstacle to the mar- riage. But the German ambassadors who accompanied Anne treated the idea of the pre-contract with contempt, and offered to remain as hostages for th'g arrival of ample proofs of the revocation of that contract ; and Cranmer and the bishop of Durham, who trembled for the protestant interest, declared that there was no just impediment to the marriage. On hearing this he exclaimed fiercely, " Is there, then, no remedy, but I must needs put my neck into this yoke ? " None being found, orders were given for the lady to pro- ceed from Dartford, and at Greenwich she wa.** received outwardly with all the pomp and rejoicings the most wel- come beauty could have elicited. But still the mind of the mortified king revolted at the completion of the wedding, and once more he summoned his council, and declare,] himself unsatisfied about the contract, and required that Anne should make a solemn protestation that she was free from all pre-contracts. Probably Henry hoped that, seeing that she was far from pleasing him, she might be willing to give him up, but deeply wounded as her just pride as a woman must have been by his treatment, and her fe-irs excited by the recollection of the fates of Catherine and Anne Boleyn, the princess could be no free agent in the matter. Tho ambassadors would urge the impossi- bility of her going back, thiu insulting (til protestant Germany, and her own pride would second their arguments on that side too. The ignominy of being sent back, re- jected as unattractive and unwelcome, was not to be thought of. She made a most clear and positive declaration of her freedom from all pre-contracts. On hearing this, the surly monarch fell into such a humour, that Cromwell got away from his presence :is quickly as he could. Seeing no way out of it, the marriage was celebrated on the 6th of January, loiO, but nothing could reconcile Henry to his German queen. He loathed her person, he could not even talk with her without an interpreter ; and he soon fell in love with Catherine Howard, niece to the duke of Norfolk, ayoung lady who was much handsomer than Anne, as little educated, and more unprincipled. From the moment that Henry cost his eyes on this new favourite, the little remains of outward courtesy towards the queen vanished. He ceased to appear with her in public. Ho began to express scruples about having a Lutheran >\ifc. lie did not hesitate to propagate the most ehamcful cilumnies against her, declaring that she bad not been virtuous before her marriage. He openly avowed that ho had never meant to keep her, and he dismissed, as a pre- paratory step, her German attendants, and placed about her English ladies of his own selection, Wriotherley, whom the fair historian of our queens justly styles, " the mo9t unprincipled of the low-born parasites who rose to great- ness by truckling to the lawless passions of the sovereign," talked freely of the hardness of the king's case, bound to a woman that he could not lore, and recommended a divorce. The situation of Anne must now hare been intolerable to a woman of any feeling and spirit ; — in a foreign court and country, deprived of the solace of the society of her own countrywomen — in the hands of a tyrant steeped in the blood of his wives and subjects, and surrounded by his creatures, who well knew how to make her life bitter to her. These circumstances seem to have stung her, al length, to speak with spirit. She told him that, if she had not been compelled to marry him, she could have had a younger and more amiable prince, whom she should have much preferred. That was enough — he resolved to be rid of her without delay ; and he avenged himself on her freedom of speech, by encouraging the ladies of the bed- chamber to ridicule her, and to mimic her for their amuse- ment. Anne is said to have resented thi^ so much, that she ceased to behave with the submissive complaisance which she had hitherto maintained, and returned these unmanly outrages with so much independence, that Henry complained to Cromwell, ' th>.t she waxed wilful and stubborn with him." Anne, in need of counsel, could find none in those who ought to have stood by her. Cranmer, as the reformer, and Cromwell, the advocate of protestanti.^m, and who had, in fact, brought about the marriage, kept aloof from her. She sent expressly to Cromwell, and repeatedly, but in vain ; he refused to see her, for he knew that he stood on the edge of a precipice already ; that he had deeply offended the choleric monarch by promoting this match j and that he was surrounded by spies and enemies, who were watching for occasion for his ruin. There is no doubt whatever that his ruin was already determined, but Oromwell was ,iii unhesitating tool of the quality which Henry needed; fw it Wfts J4^t »t this time that Henry A.D. 1540.] DOWNFALL OF CROMWELL. 251 executed the relatives of cardinal Pole, and, probably, it was an object of his to load that minister with as much of the odium of that measure as he could, before he cast him down. Cromwell still, then, apparently retained the full favour of the king, notwithstanding this unfortunate mar- riage, but the conduct of his friends precipitated his fate. Bishop Gardiner, a bigoted papist, and one who saw the signs of the times as quickly as any man living, did not hear Henry's scruples about a Lutheran wife with unheed- ing ears. On the 14th of February, 1540, he preached a sermon at St. Paul's Cross, in which he unsparingly de- nounced as a damnable doctrine the Lutheran tenet of justi- fication by faith without works. Dr. Barnes, a dependent of Cromwell's, but clearly a most imprudent one, on the 28th of February, just a fortnight afterwards, mounted the same pulpit, and made a violent attack on Gardiner and his creed. Barnes could never have intimated to Cromwell his intention to make this assault on a creed which was as much the king's as Gardiner's, or he would have shown him the fatality of it. But Barnes, like a rash and anroflecting zealot, not only attacked Gardiner's sermon, but got quite excited, and declared that he himself was a fighting-cock, and Gar- diner was another fighting-cock, but that the garden-cock . lacked good spurs. As was inevitable, Henry, who never let slip an opportunity to champion his own religious views, summoned Barnes forthwith before a commission of divines, compelled him to recant his opinion, and ordered him to preach another sermon, in the same place, on the first Sunday after Easter, and there to read his re'oantation, and beg pardon of Gardiner. Barnes obeyed. He read his recan- tation, publicly asked pardon of Gardiner, and then, getting warm in his sermon, reiterated in stronger terms than ever the very doctrine he had recanted. The man must have made up his mind to punishment for his religious faith, for no such daring conduct was ever tolerated for a moment by Henry. He threw the offender into the Tower, together with Garret and Jerome, two preachers of the same belief, who followed his example. The enemies of Cromwell rejoiced in this event, believing that his connection with Barnes would not fail to influence the king. So confidently did they entertain this notion, that they already talked of the transfer of his two chief offices, those of vicar-general and keeper of the privy seal, to Tunstall, bishop of Durham, and Clarke, bi.shop of Bath. But the king had not yet come to his own point of action. Oromwell's opponents were, therefore, astonished to see him open parliament on the 12th of April, as usual, when he announced the king's sorrow and displea.=ure at the religious dissensions which appeared in the nation, his subjects branding each other with the opprobrious epithets of papists and heretics, and abusing the indulgence which the king had granted them of reading the Scriptures in their native tongue ; that, to remedy these evils, his majesty had appointed two committees of prelates and doctors — one to set forth a system of pure doctrine, and the other to decide what ceremonies and rites should be retained in the church or abandoned ; and, in the meantime, he called on both houses to assist him in enacting penalties against all those who treated with irreverence, or rashly and presumptuously explained, the Holy Si^riptures. Never did Cromwell appear so fully to possess the favour of his sovereign. He had obtained a grant of thirty manors belonging to suppressed monasteries ■, the title of earl of Essex was revived in his favour, and the office of lord ohambrrlain was added to his other appointments. He was the performer of all the great acts of the state. He brought in two bills, vesting the property of the knights hospitallers in the king, and settling a competent jointure on the queen. He obtained from the laity the enormous subsidy of four tenths and fifteenths, besides ten per cent, from their income from lands, and five per cent, on their goods ; and from the clergy two tenths, and twenty per cent, on their incomes for two years. So little did there appear any prospect of the fall of Cromwell, that his own conduct augured that he never felt himself stronger in his monarch's esteem. Ho dealt about his blows on all who offended himself or the king, however high. He com- mitted to the Tower the bishop of Chichester and Dr. Wilson, for relieving prisoners confined for refusing to take the oath of supremacy ; and menaced with the royal dis- pleasure his chief opponents, the duke of Norfolk, and the bishops of Durham, Winchester, and Bath. Yet all this time Henry had determined, and was pre- paring for his fall. He appointed Wriothesley and Ralph Sadler secretaries of state, and divided the business be- twixt them. The king had met Catherine Howard, it is said, at dinner at Gardiner's, who was bishop of Winchester. As she was a strict papist, and niece to Norfolk, it was believed that this had been concerted by the catbolic party ; and they were not mistaken. She at once caoght the fancy of Henry. Every opportunity was afforded the king of meeting her at Gardini-r's ; and no sooner did that worldly prelate perceive the impression she had made, than he in- formed Henry that Barnes, whom neither Gardiner nor Henry could forget, had been Cromwell's agent in bringing about the marriage of Anne of Cleves ; that Cromwell and Barnes had done this, without regard to the feelings of the king, merely to bring in a queen pledged to German pro- testantism, and, instead of submitting to the king's religious views, were bent on establishing in the country the detest- able heresies of Luther. Henry, whose jealousy was now excited, recollected that when he proposed to send Anne of Cleves back, Cromwell had f trongly dissuaded him, and as Anne had now changed her insubordinate behaviour to him, he immediately sus- pected that it was by the suggestion of Cromwell. No sooner had this idea taken full possession, than down came the thunderbolt on the head of the great minister. The time was come, all was prepared, and, without a single note of warning, without the change of look or manner in the king, Cromwell was arrested at the council-board on a charge of high treason. In the morning he was iu his place in the house of lords, with every evidence of power about him ; in the evening he was in the Tower. In his career, from the shop of the fuller to the supremo power in the state, next to the king, Cromwell Lad tot.illy forgotten the wise counsel of Wolsey. He bad not avoided, but cimrted, ambition. He had leaned to the reformed doc- trines secretly, but he had taken care to enrich himself with the spoils of the suppressed monasteries, and many suspected that these spoils were the true incentives to his system of reformation. The wealth he had accumulated was, no doubt, a strong temptation to Henry, as it was in all such cases, and thus Cromwell's avarice brought its own punishment. In his treatment of the unfortunate catholics whom he had to eject from their ancient houses MS OASSELL S ILLDSTRATEU UlSTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d 1540. and lands, his conduct had been harsh and unsparing; and b_T ihat party, now in power, he was consequently hatpd wiih intcnsest h.itred , and this was a second means of self-punishment. But above all, in the days of his power, he had been perfectly reckle.=s of the liberties and City 'Watchmen of the time of Henry Vlll. securities of the subject. He had broken down the bul- warks of the constitution, and advised the king to make his own will the sole law, carrying for him through parlia- ment the monstrous doctrine embodied in the enactment that the royal proclamation superseded parliamentary decrees, ami that the crown could put men to death without any form of trial. Under the monstrous despoti.'Jm which he had thus erected, he now fell himself, and had no right whatever to complain. Yet he did complain most lament- ably. The men who never feel for others concentrate all their commiseration on themselves ; and Cromwell, so ruth- legs and immovable to the pleadings of his own victims, now sent the most abject and imploring letters to Henry, crying "Mercy, mercy ; " His experience might have assured him that, when once Henry seized his victim, he never relented ; and there was no one, except Cranmer, who dared to raise a voice in his favour, and Cranmer's interference was so much in his own timid style, that it availed nothing. His papers were seized, his servants interrogated, and out of their state- ments, whatever they were, for they were never produced in any court, the accusations were framed (>g!>>ns( bint. These consist in the charges of his having, as minister, re- ceived bribes, encroached on the royal authority by issuing commissions, discharging jirisoncrs, pardoning convicts, and granting licences for the exportation of prohibited merchandise. As vicar- general, he was charged with having not only held heretical opinions himself, but also with protecting heretical preachers, and promoting the cir- culation of heretical books. I astly, there was added one of those absurd, gratuitous assertions, which Ucnry always threw in to make the charge amount to high treason, namely, that Cromwell had expressed his resolve to fight against the king himself, if necessary, in support of his religious opinions ; and Mount was instructed to inform the German princes that Cromwell bad threatened to strike j a dagger into the heart of the man who should oppose the reformation, which, he said, meant the king. He demanded ! a public trial, but was refused, being only allowed to (ace his accusers before the commissioners. Government then proceeded against him by bill of attainder, and thus, on the principle that he had himself established, he was condemned I without trial, even Cranmer voting in favour of the attainder. His fate was delayed for more than a month, during which time he continued to protest his inno- cence, with a violence which stood in strange contrast to his callousness to the protestations of others, wishing that God might confound him. that the vengeance of God might light upon him, that all the devils in hell might confront him, if he were guilty. He drew the most lamentable picture of bis forlorn and miserable condition, and offered to I make any disclosures demanded of him ; but though nothing would have saved him, unluckily for him, Henry discovered amongst his papers bis secret correspondence with the princes of Germany. He gave the royal assent to the bill of attainder, and in five days, being the 28th of July, he was led to the scaffold, where he confessed that he had been in error, but had now returned to the truth, and died a good The Block and Aze in tho Tower of Londoo. catholic. He fell detested by every man of his own party, exulted over by the catholic section of the community, and unregretted by the people, who were just then smarting under the enormous subsidy he had imposed. As if to render his execution the more degrading, lord Hungerford, a nobleman charged with revolting crimes, was beheaded with bim, A.D. 1540, DIVOEOE OF ANN OP OLEVES. 2o3 Two days after CromweH'a execution, a most singular proof was given of the way in which Henry exercised his dearly beloved prerogative of the supremacy of the church, in the execution of six individuals, three catholics and three reformers. The catholics were hanged as traitors, because, though they held all the catholic doctrines like Henry himself, they denied that he was head of the church ; and the protestants, because they denied his six articles. With him, to admit the papal supremacy was treason ; to deny the papal creed was heresy. Henry was as bigoted a catholic as any that ever existed, except in one little particular — he thought himself the only man who ought to possess power. The six victims of his arbitrary will were drawn to the scaffold on the same hurdles, a catholic and a protestant bound together. Barnes and his companions, Garret and Jerome, were the three seat to the chancellor, the archbishop of Canterbury, the dukes of Norfolk, and others of the king's ministers, procured a petition to be got up and presented to his Majesty, stating that the house had doubts of the validity of the king's marriage, and consequently were uneasy as to the succes- sion, and prayed the king to submit the question to convo- cation. Of course, Henry could refuse nothing to his faithful peers, and convocation, accordingly, took the matter into consideration. There the old stock arguments were again introduced, and the settlement of the question was referred by con- vocation to a committee of the two archbishops, four bishops, and eight divines. It is clear that all the topics were prepared for them ; for in the short space of two days they had decided the whole question on these grouods : — that there was no proof that the pre-contract between Anne (lid Richmond Palace. From a Print in the British Muscu-n. tiamcs ; Powell, Abel, and Featherstonc, were the deniers of the supremacy, and wore hanged and quartered. A Frenchman witnessing this monstrous _ sight, exclaimed, " Good Ood ! how do people manage to live here ! where papists are hanged, and anti-papists are burnt ! " The death of Cromwell was quickly followed by the divorce of Anne of'Clevos. The queen was ordered to retire to Richmond, on pretence that the plague was in London. Marillac, the French ambassador, writing to Francis I., said that the reason assigned was not the true one, for if there had been the slightest rumour of the plague, nothing would have induced Henry to remain; " for the king is the most timid person in the world in such eases." It was the preliminary step to the divorce, and a.<= soon as she was gone, Henry put in motion all his esta- blished machinery for getting rid of wives. The lord 74 and the duke of Lorraine had been legally revoked ; con- sequently, the marriage with Henry was null ; that Henry. before marriage, had dom inded the removal of this difficulty — not being removed, that was another evidence that the subsequent marriage was void ; that the king had been deceived bj' exaggerated representations of Anne's beauty, and, consequently, had only consented to the marriage from reasons of state ; therefore, as his inward mind did not go with it, it was no legal marriage. These were reasons which would not be listened to for a moment in any court of sane men, — except a court of tlie slaves of a despot. As to all the arguments abont tlio pre-contract, the ambassadors of Olevcs had offered to remain as hostages till the proofs of th>^ abrogation of that contract were brought ; but Henry did not avail himself of the offer, and, therefore, had no right to plead the non- 154 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1540. production of soofa proofs now Anne bad solemnly sworn, ks wrll an tlic ambamadoro. that the contract w.i3 annulled : and aa to the non>ensp of bis inward mind not going with it, and, therefore, its beins no marriage, once admit that precious logic, and it would annul ninety-nine hundredths of royal marriages, a formidable portion of aristocratic one(<, and no trivial amount of marriages in general. " But the conrocation," says Lingard, '• like the lords and commons, were the obsequious slaves of their master." The marriage was declared — like bis two former ones with Catherine and Anne Boleyn — to be utterly null and void ; and the same judgment of high treason was pronounced on any one who should say or write to the contrary. The queen, being a stranger to the English laws and customs, was no', called upon to appear personally, or even by her advocates, before convocation. All this being settled, the duke of Suffolk, the earl of Southampton, and Wriotbeeley proceeded to Richmond, to announce the decision to the queen. On the si^ht of these ministers, and on hearing their communication, that the marriage was annulled by parliament, the poor womani supposing that she was going to be treated like Anne Boleyn^ fainted, and fell on the floor. On ber return to conscious- ness, the messengers hastened to assure her that there was no cause of alarm ; that the king bad the kindest and best intentions towards her. that, if she would consent to resign the title of queen, he proposed to give her the title of his sister ; to give her precedence of every lady, except the future queen and his daughters, and to endow her with estates to the value of £3.000 per annum. On hearing all this, Anne's terrors vanished, and she con- sented with the utmost alacrity to all that the king wished ; nay, such was her evident pleasure in it, that the vain king was astonished, and a good deal piqued at it. The tenacity with which Catherine had held him fast — the only woman who had ever really loved him — had impressed his egotistic mind with such a notion of the supreme preciousness of his person, that he expected a great struggle now with Anne in giving him up ; and when he found that, so far from this, Anne surrendered him, not only freely, but with unmistak- able satisfaction, he could scarcely believe his own ears. He did not, however, neglect to take some revenge upon her, by compelling her to sign a declaration that the marriage had never been consummated, and to write a letter to her brother, expressing ber entire consent to, and satisfaction with the arrangement; and moreover,' in writing to the members of his privy council, who managed these matters betwixt himself and Anne, of her womanisb- ness, and being a mere woman, and the like language, which he was very fond of applying to ladies. He had talked of Anne Boleyn being "only a woman ; " and he now stated to these commissioners from the council that Anne's letter to her brother must be made stronger than she had first written it ; for, unless this was the ciise, " all shall rema'i uncertain upon a woman's promise ; " and care must be taken ' that she will be no woman, the accomplishment whereof on her behalf is as difficult in the refraining of a woman's will, upon occasion, as in changing her womanish nature, which is impossible." All this was but to soothe his own morti6ed vanity, for Anne showed them that she was only too glad to escape from him with^ t the loss of her head. On a present •f £500 being sent to her, she not only signed a paper pro- mising all this, but drew off her weddiBg-ring, and sent it back to him, with a complaisant letter in German, the substance of which the commissioners explained to him. Cranmer was then called upon to pronounce the divorce, the thtrd which he had to pronounce in less than seven years, so that well might the French ambassador write to Francis, •' the king is a marvellous man, and hath marvel- lous people about him. " All this being done, the commis- sioners proceeded to Richmond, on the nthof.luly, with the king's warrant, to break up Anne's household as queen and to introduce the establishment prepared for her as the lady Anne of Cleves. and the king's adopted sister. Anne went through the whole with the best possible grace. She took a kind leave of her old servants, and pleasantly welcomed the new ones. She repeated her great obligations to the king, and as if t« give him back his phrases about '• womanishness," she bade the commis- sioners assure him that " she would be found no woman by inconstancy and mutability, though all the world should move her to the contrary, neither her mother, brother, nor any other person living." There was, in fact, no fear of Anne changing, for she must have despised and loathed Henry's character as much as he could dislike her person, and her whole life after showed how entirely satisfied she was with the change. Anne's brother, however, the duke of Cleves, was exces- sively incensed at the divorce, and seemed resolved to create Henry trouble about it, but Anne wrote to induce him to take the matter calmly, saying she "was merry, and honourably treated, and had written him her mind in all things." But at the end of her letter, as if fearing that her brother might do something to raise the terrible ire of her amiable adopted brother, she added, " Only this I require of you, that you so conduct yourself as, for your untoward- ness in this matter, I fare not the worse, whereunto I trust you will have regard." That care was necessary, she had at once a striking example, for, within a fortnight of her divorce, she saw both Cromwell and Dr. Barnes, who had been the principal agents in her marriage, sent, one to the block, and the other to the flames. Her brother, though he kept quiet, never would admit the invalidity of the marriage. Anne received some of the spells of the fallen Cromwell in different estates which were made over to ber for life, including Denham Ilall, in Essex. She resided principally at her palace of Richmond, and at Ham House, but we find her living at different times at Bletchingley, Hever Castle, Penshurst, and Dartford. Though she was queen only about six months, she continued to live in England for seventeen years, seeing two queens after her, seeing Edward VI. and queen Mary on the throne, greatly honoured by all who knew her, and much beloved by both the princesses Mary and Elizabeth. Not in seventeen years, but in six- teen months, she saw the fall and tragedy of the queen who supplanted her, so that one of her maids of honour, Eliza- beth Bassett, could not help exclaiming at the news, "What a man the king is! How many wives tvi"« he have?'' For which very natural expression the poor girl was very near getting into trouble. As for Anne herself, she ap- peared quite a new woman when she had got clear of her terrible and coarse-minded tyrant, so that the French am- bassador, Marillac, wrote to his master that "Madame of Cleves has a more joyous countenance than ever. She wears a great variety of dresses, and passes all her time io 1541.] MAKRIAUE OF CATHERINE HOWARD. 255 sports and recreations." No sooner was she divorced than Henry paid her a visit, and was so delighted by her pleasant and respectful reception of him, that he supped with her merrily, and not only went often again to see her, but in- vited her to Hampton, whither she went, not at all troubling herself that another was acting the queen. Anne's marriage was annulled by parliament on the 9th of July, and on the 8th of August Catherine Howard ap- jieared at court as the acknowledged queen. For twelve months all went on well, and the king repeatedly declared that ho had never been happy in love or matrimony till now ; that the queen was the most perfect of women, and the most affectionate of wives. To gratify his new queen, and to accomplish some objects of importance, Henrj' this summer made a progress into the north, and took Catherine with him. One object was to judge for himself of the state of the northern countries, where the late insurrections in behalfofthe old religion had broken out. He promised him- self that his presence would intimidate the disaffected ; that he should be able to punish those who remained troublesome, and make all quiet ; but still more w.as he anxious for an interview with his nephew, James V. of Scotland. The principles of the reformation had been making rapid pro- gress in that country, and the fires of persecution had been lit up by the clergy. Patrick Hamilton, a young man fif noble family, who had imbibed the now doctrines abroad, and Friar Forrest, a zealous preacher of the same, had suffered at the stake. But far more dangerous to the stability of the catholic church there was the fact that the S-iottish nobility, poor and ambitious, had learned a signifi- ciiiit lesson from what had been goipg on in England. The seizure of the monastic estates there by the king, and their liberal distribution amongst the nobility, excited their eu|iidity, and they strongly urged James to follow the tsample of his royal uncle. In this counsel they found a stanch coadjutor in Henry, who never ceased exciting James to follow his example, and, to make sure of his doing so, invited him to an interview at York, to which he consented. Henry set forward, with a splendid retinue, in July, and accompanied by the queen. They passed a short time at (Jvafton, and so travelled through Northampton and Lincolnshire to York. The approach of the ferocious king was beheld with terror by the people. They considered that money was the likeliest thing to appease Ills wrath, and at every town in Lincolnshire they offered him a heavy sum of money. On entering York- shire they were met by two hundred gentlemen in coats of velvet, with four thousand tall yeomen and serving-men, who on their knees offered their humble submission, Sir Itobert Bowes being their speaker, who also presented a peace-offering of nine hundred pounds. At Barnesdale, the archbishop of York appeared also at the head of three hun- dred of the clergy, with their attendants, who made a like submission — for the archbishop himself had been one of the chief leaders of the insurrection, and he offered six hundred pounds. At York, Newcastle, and Hull, the mayors and corporations made similar submissions, and presented each one hundred pounds. The young queen enjoyed during this progress all the pomp and pageantry of royalty. At her dower-manor of Shire she held a court , and everywhere tlcnry, who was in tlie heyday of his intoxication with his young queen, took care to display her to the people, and showed himself a most doting husband. Their pleasure received a considerable check at York, for. notwithstanding great preparations had been made, the king of Scots excused his coming. The very first announce- ment of such a project had struck the clergy of Scotland with consternation. They hastened to point out to James the dangers of innovation — the certain mischief of aggran- dising the nobility, already too powerful, by the spoils of the church — the jeopardy of putting himself into the hands of Henry and the English, and the loss of the friendship of all foreign powers, if he was induced by Henry to attack the church, which would render him almost wholly depend- ent on England. They added force to these arguments by presenting him with a gratuity of fifty thousand pounds; promised him a continuance of their liberality, and pointed out to him a certain source of income of at least one hundred thousand pounds per annum in the confiscations of heretics. These representations and gifts had the desired effecv. James sent an excuse to Henry for not being able to meet him at York ; and the disappointed king turned homeward in great disgust. The fascinations of the young queen, however, soon restored his good humour, and they arrived at Windsor, on the 26th of October, in high spirits. So complete was the satisfaction of Henry, that at Hampton Court, on the 30th, in the quaint language of the letter of council, still preserved, at the feast of All Saints there, "the king received his Maker," that is, the sacrament, "and gave Him most hearty thanks for the good life he led, and trusted to lead, with his wife." The pious Henry, kneeling at the altar, raised his eyes to heaven, and ex- claimed aloud, " I render thanks to thee, O Lord ! that, after so many strange accidents that have befallen my marriages, thou hast been pleased to give me a wife so entirely conformed to my inclinations as her 1 now have." He then requested Longland, the bishop of Lincoln, to pre- pare a public form of thanksgiving to Almighty God for having blessed him with so dutiful and virtuous a queen. Little did the uxorious monarch dream that he was, at this moment, standing on a mine, that would blow all his imagined happiness into the air. and send his idolised wife to the block. But at the very time that he and Catherine had been showing themselves as so beautifully conjugal a couple to the good people of the north, the mine had been preparing. It was the misfortune of all the queens of Henry VIII., that they had not only to deal with one of the most vindictive and capricious tyrants that ever existed, but that they were invariably, and necessarily, the objects of the hatred of a powerful and merciless party, which was ready to destroy its antagonist, and, as the first and telling stroke in that progress, to pull down the queen. The catholic and the protestant parties were now nearly balanced in England, and though the heads of eacli trembled before the sanguinary dictator on the throne, and temporised and concealed their true views and sentiments, they not the less watched every opportunity to damage each other, and to turn, by art or flattery, the thunderbolts of Henry's easily excited wrath against their opponents. From the moment that Henry endeavoured to remove Catherine of Arragon, and to substitute Anne Boleyn, the contest became not merely a contest betwixt two women for the crown, but betwixt the catholic church and the reformers ; and every queen was regarded as the head of one party, and became tlic deadly object of the anta- gonism, the stratagems, and the murderous intentions of 25< OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HLSTORT OF ENGLAND. Ia.d. lall. tli« other. The reformers had enjoyed a series of tem- porary triamphi", in the elevation of Anne Boleyn, Jane Sevmour. and still more of Anne of Cloves, and the catholic party had moved heaven and earth, and with fatal effect, for the destruction of the first Anne, and the divorce of the second. Catherine Howard was now the hope of the catholics. She was the niece of the duke of Norfolk, the most resolute lay c.nthnlio in the kingdom, and the political head of that party. The public evidences of the growing influence of Catherine with the king on the northern progress, had been attentively marked by the catholics with exultation, and by the protestant* with proportionate alarm. Both Rapin and Burnet assert, that Oranmer felt convinced, from what he saw passing, that unless some means were found to lessen the influence of the queen, and thus dash the hopes of the catholics, he must soon follow Cromwell to the block. A most ominous circumstance which reached him was, that the royal party took up their quarters for a night at the house of Sir John Gorstwick, who, but in the preceding spring, had denounced Oranmer in open parliament, as "the root of all heresies," and that at Gorstwick'g there had been held a select meeting of the privy council, at which Gardiner, the unhesitating leader of the catholics, presided. It was the signal for the protestants to bring means of counteraction into play, and such means, unfortunately for the queen, were already stored up and at hand. The early life of Catherine Howard had been exposed to the worst and most malevolent influences. She was the daughter of lord Eimund Howard, the brother of the present duke of Norfolk, and son of the conqueror of Flodden. At that battle, though but a young man, lord Edmund won great distinction, but afterwards fell into pecuniary difficulties and neglect till Anne Boleyn, his niece, became queen, when he was appointed comptroller of Calais and the surrounding marches. Meantime, his wife, the mother of Catherine, was dead, and he had married again. Catherine, at a very early age. therefore, was received into the house of the grandmother of Agnes, dowager duchess of Norfolk, widow of the hero of Flodden. In the house of this old lady she was not only compelled to associate with the waiting-women, but to occupy the same common sleeping apartment. In this improper com- pany she was subjected to the most corrupting influences, and had been led, when she had scarcely entered her teens, into degrading engagements with a musician belonging to the household, of the name of Henry Manx ; and after- wards with a relative, of the name of Francis Derham. Of these amours there were plenty of witnesses among the women of the household, especially Mary Lassells, and three women of the names of Wilks, Baskerville, and Bulmer ; and as soon as Catherine was raised to the throne, these creatures, knowing their power, did not fail to hcset her with applications for favours and appointments. Catherine was compelled to concede their demands, and place than about her own person. Joan Bulmer and Catherine Tylney, who were familiar with these secrets, were received as bed-chamber women; the profligate Manx was made one of the royal musicians ; and in the journey to York, Derham, who had disappeared some time, and wa."* believed to be loading the life of a pirate, presented him- self and was admitted to the dangerous post of her private secretary. Her cousin, Thomas Onlpepper, with whom she had spent a good deal of her girlhood, was already a gentle- man of the privy-chamber of Henry VIIL Surrounded by these acquaintances of a time whicli she would now fain forget, the queen mn^t have suffered many fears and anxieties, even in her most proud days of elev.i- tion and of her husband's favour. Any moment the keen eyes of her enemies, or the indiscretion of these confidants, might precifiitate her to destruction. She had not the courage to refuse to admit them to her presence, or drive them to a distance from the court ; and her grandmother, the duchess-dowager, seems to have been a most foolish or malicious old woman, and was continually making indiscreet allusions to the past. Within three weeks of her marriage with the king, reports were abroad to her discredit. A priest at Windsor, with some of his associates, was arrested for speaking scandalously of the queen. He was put into the custody of Wriothesley. the king's secretary, and his companion^ confined in the keep of Windsor Castle. Henry was con- tented — being then in the honeymoon of his fifth marriage — to menace the priest, and let him go ; but such a clue could not have been put into the hands of the ruthless Wriothesley, who was attached to the protestant party, without leaving serious results. From that moment, there is every reason to believe that that party worked un- ceasingly, till they had sufficient evidence to effect their purpose. Accordingly, on the day following the king's remarkable public testimony of his joy in so good a.wife, and before the form of public thanksgiving could be announced, Cranmer took the opportunity, whilst the king was at mass, and the queen was not present, of putting a paper into his hand, requesting him to peruse it when in entire privacy. This paper contained the story of Catherine's early failings by one John Lassells, the brother of the Mary Lassells already mentioned, from whom he had received it. At first Henry was inclined to believe it a calumny, got up for the ruin of the queen ; but on Lassells and his sister being closely interrogated, and standing firm to their story, Henry appeared completely con- founded, and burst into a passion of tears. He waited the result of the first examination, and then quitted Hampton Court, without taking any leave of Catherine, retiring to the neighbouring palace of Oatlands. whither the news of further proceedings could soon reach him. Derham, his friend Damport, and Thomas Culpepper, were forthwith arrested. Derham confessed to the freedom of his intercourse with Catherine when they lived together in the house of the dowager-duchess of Norfolk, and pleaded that they were engaged to be married, and were looked upon, and called each other husband and wife. He solemnly protested that no familiarity of any kind had ever passed between them since Catherine's marriage with the king. To this evidence he adhered, in spite of excruciating torture em- ployed to wring more from him. But this was not enough for the king, or his ministers ; they were now resolved to convict the queen of adultery, so as to bring her to the block. Had she pleaded a pre-contract with Derham, it would suffice to annul the marriage, but Henry would never consent to let his late model of perfection off so lightly. Finding that they could not fix that crime upon her with Derham, they looked about for some other person A.D. 1541.] CHARGE AGAINST CATHERINE HOWARD. 257 to accuse ; but so oiroumspect had the conduct of Catherine been, not only since her marriage, but for some years before, that they could only find one person, her cousin, Thomas Culpepper, to whom she had shown the smallest condescension. To obtain evidence on this point, the queen's female attend- ants were strictly examined. There is strong suspicion that these women were also subjected to the torture to extract the requisite evidence, for Wriothesley and Rich were the chief agents in this examination, and they were notoriously men without feeling and without principle. Wo shall find them afterwards flinging off their coats and working the rack themselves, when they could not compel the beautiful and admirable martyr, Anne Askew, to criminate herself and friends. Catherine Tylney and Margaret Morton, attend- ants of the queen, were closely examined, but related only vague and gossiping facts, which proved nothing at all ; though the brutal Wriothesley exults to Sadler on the pro- spect of " pyking out something that is likely to secure the purpose of our business " — that is, their business of con- demning the queen, if possible. They talked of the queen having gone twice by night into lady Rochford's chamber, and of her sending strange messages to lady Rochford, and the like ; but these were no crimes. The old dowager-duchess of Norfolk was next brought ii'to trouble. On hearing of the arrest of the queen, Derham, and Culpepper, the old lady taking alarm lest some boxes of Derham 's remaining in her house, should contain any papers which might implicate herself or the queen, instantly broke them open, carried off and destroyed the contents. The duke of Norfolk was despatched by the king to the house of his step-mother, at Lambeth, to search for papers and effects belonging to Derham ; and on arriving, and finding what the old duchess-dowager had done, he arrested her and all her siervants, and brought them before the council. The evidence thus obtained, amounted to this : — That the duchess had sent her confidential servant, Pewson, to Hampton Court, to learn what had taken place, — who returned, bringing word that the queen had played the king false with Derham, and that Catherine Tylney was privy to her guilt ; that on hearing this the old lady said she could not believe it, but if it were true, they ought all to be hanged. She had also questioned Damport, the friend of Derham, expressing great alarm lest some mis- chief should befall the queen in consequence of evil reports, and gave him ten pounds, as if to purchase his discretion. The old lady confessed to having broken open the coffers, and taken away the papers in the presence of Ashby, her comptroller, and Dunn, the yeoman of her cellar ; and Ashby said, that she had remarked " That if there were no offence since the marriage, the queen ought not to die for what was done before;" and had asked whether the pardon — but what pardon is not explained — would not secure other persons who knew of her conduct before mar- riage. On the Slst of November, Culpepper and Derham were arraigned for high treason in Guildhall, contrary to all previous form or usage of law. Probably the case was taken out of the boundaries of the court, and tried before the city magistrate, to give it an air of impartiality ; but vith the lord mayor sate, as judges, the lord chancellor, the duko of Suffolk, the lord privy-seal, the earls of Sussex and Hertford, and others of the council. Some of these great officers of state had already examined the prisoners by torture, and they now condemned them, as guilty of high treason, to die with all the cruelties attached to the punish- ment of that crime. Instead of immediattdy suffering however, they were reserved for fresh examinations by torture, in order, if possible, to criminate the queen. But no tortures, however diabolical, could draw from these men any confession criminating the queen since her marriage. Damport, the friend of Derham, was also put to the torture, and had his teeth forced out by the brakes, an instrument supposed to be the same as " the duke of Exeter's daughter." All that they could force from him was that a lady in the queen's chamber once, pointing to Derham, bad said, ''That is he who fled away to Ireland for the queen's sake." On such pretence of evidence these two gentlemen were exe- cuted at Tyburn, oa the 10th of December; Culpepper being beheaded, and Derham hanged and quartered. Their heads were placed on London Bridge. But Henry and his ministers were not satisfied with the death and confiscation of the property of the principals in this affair ; they carried their intentions of confiscation and crimination as far as possible amongst the queen's relations. Not only the aged duchess of Norfolk, but her son the lord William Howard, his wife, and lady Bridgewater, lord William's sister, were arrested on the charge of being aware of the amours of Derham and the queen. The Howard family had cause, indeed, to rue their too near proximity to this modern Nero of a king ; for, besides all these arrested and imprisoned members of it, whose property was seized upon with infamous avidity, lord Thomas Howard, another brother of lord William, and uncle of the queen, was thrown into the Tower, and punished for the grievous offence of having dared to make love to Margaret Douglas, the king's niece, daughter of Margaret of Scotland ; and before the king's death, he completed the tragedy by dip- ping his hands in the blood of the carl of Surrey, the eldest brother of this nobleman, and a man whoso poetic talents have made him one of the great names of England. It is most revolting to contemplato the eager greed with which Henry and his bloodhounds, Wriothesley and Rich — whom a modern historian truly describes as "the two most unprincipled and sanguinary of the whole swarm of parvenus of whom Henry's cabinet was composed" — fell on the property of these noble victims ; for Henry always had an eye to making his butchery profitable. The king's council expressed their fears, in a letter to the king, that, " as the duchess of Norfolk is old and testy, she may die out of perversity, to defraud the king's highness of the confiscation of her goods ; therefore, it will be most ad- visable that she, and all the other parties named in a former letter, may bo indicted forthwith of misprision of treason, whereby the parliament should have better grounds to confiske their goods, than if any of them chanced to die before the bill of attainder past." Southampton, Wriothesley, and S.adler were scut to search the house of the old duchess ; and, on the lUh of December, they wrote triumphantly to say iliac they had discovered two thousand marks in money, and plate ot the value of six or seven hundred marks. On the 21st they wrote again, to announce that the old ducliesa, who was very ill, had voluntarily confessed where she had hidden eight hundred marks more. Thinking now that they had discovered all they could, they told the old lady that tho 236 0AS8BLLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1541. king hud graciuusly consented to spare her life ; for all this money these inquisitors had squeezed out of her under the fear of death. The poor tortured invalid, on hearing that, fell on her knees with uplifted hands, and fell into such a poxoiysm of hysterical weeping, that these tender-hearted j commissioners were •' sorely troubled to raise her up again." [ Meantime, Sir John Gorstwick and John Skinner were hcnt off to Ryegate, to the house of lord William Howard, | to make an inventory of all the money, jewels, goods, and i ibatiels they could tind there, and bring the same to the I her eyes, like Anne, endeavoured to get to the presence ot the king and plead her own cause, but care was taken to prevent this. She was as effectually a prisoner in her own rooms at Hampton Court, as if she were already in the Tower. She is said to have called frantically and inces- santly on Henry, and demanded to be allowed to go to him ; and she made two desperate attempts to break away and reach him. The first time was at the hour when she knew that he was in the royal closet in the chapel. She rushed from her bed-room into the queen's entrance to the Queen Catherine Howard. From the oricioal picture by Ilolliein. conncil. Wriothcsloy, Mr. Poll.ard, and Mr. Attorney wore dei^patched to the duchess of Norfolk's and lord Willi.im's house in Lambeth, for the like purpose ; Sir Rich.ird Long and Sir Thomas I'ope to the lady Bridgcwator's houses in Kent and Southwark, and the countess of Rocliford's house lit Blickling. in Norfolk : the duchess of Norfolk's house ut Horsham had been already ransacked. Hut how had it fared with the queen herself, whilst so many were undergoing imprisonment, torture, and loss of property on her account ? When first informed of the change, Catherine, who hod the fate of Anne Boleyn before royal closet in the chapel, and was but just seized in tmio, .ind prevented bursting in and throwing herself at her husband's feet. .She was forced, and even carried back, struggling violently, and screaming so wildly that her cries were heard all over the chapel. Another time she escaped through a low door in an alcove at the bod's-head, and reached the foot of the private stairs, c:illod " the maid of honour's stairs," before she was overtaken and secured. Though these demonstrations of excitement almost to mad- ness did not move the king to see her, they probably ocoii- sioned him to make his precipitate retreat to Oatlaods. A.D. 1541.] REIGN OP HENRY VIII. 259 KiDg Henry and his Parliament. From an engraving of the period. No Booner was lie gone, than the council waited upon her Jnabody, and laid the charge against her specifically before her. She denied the truth of it with such ■vehemence, that no sooner were they gone than she foil into fits so terrible. that her reason and her life were deemed to be in jeopardy. On hearing this, the king sent Oranmer to her in the SM CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED IIISTOEY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1541. morning. pr«iiiii>ing her that if she would confess her guilt he would spare her life, though it w.i8 forfeited by law. Thia was a favourite inoJo of proceeding with Henry — to promise his Tictims pardon if tliey would criminate them- selres ; the certain consequence of which, the unhappy parties must have felt. woulJj on the contrary, at once send them to death. He who did not spare the innocent, though they protested their innocence, was not likely to do it if thi-y admitted that they wore guilty. We have Cranmer's letter to the king in the" State Papers," detailing the mode which he pursued with the wretched queen on this occa- sion, and verily his management was that of a wily inqui- sitor. He .states that he found her " in such lamentation and heaviness that he never saw no creature, so that it would have pitied any man's heart in the world to have looked upon her." On his second visit, the rage of her grief had been such, that he found her, "aa ha supposed, far entered towards a/ranzy," that is, she was on the verge of madness ; and, therefore, before attempting to draw any confession from her, he was obliged first to give her, he says, the assurance of the king's mercy, whereupon she held up her hands and gave most humble thanks. But she soon relapsed into what Cranmer calls " a new rage much worse than before;" and he adds — "Now I do use her thus: when I do see her in any such extreme braids, I do travel with her to know the cause, and then, as much as I can, I do I.ibour to take away, or at least to mitigate the cause, and so I did at that time. I told her there was some new fantasy come into her head, which I desired her to open unto me ; and after a certain time, when she had recovered herself that she might speak, she cried and said, ' Alas ! my lord, that I am alive ! The fear of death did not grieve me so much as doth now the remembrance of the king's goodness," " &o. It must not be forgotten that it was this same Cranmer who had made this very charge against her ; who had brought her, to save himself and party, into this awful predicament, and who was now wilily seeking to draw from lier what should condemn her. In this softened state, therefore, she confessed her frailty before marriage — years before— with Derham, but .protested her entire innocence since the marriage It was — and that Cranmer full well knew — resolved to have the queen's life. The report of the privy council is express on that he.id. If a pre-contract of marriage betwixt Catherine and Derham were pleaded, then there could be no adultery — no high treason, the marriage would be null, and the queen could be properly divorced ; but there could be no just ground to take her life. To avoid this, it was determined to steer clear of this pre-contract, though, according to the custom of the times, such contract, though a verbal one, clearly existed, and was provable by various witnesses. Knowing this, the privy council report states : — " It is the king's resolution to lay before the parliament and judges the abominable behaviour of the queen, iut with- out any mention of pre-contract to Derham which might serve for her dtfence, but only to open and make manifcHt the king's highncss's just cause of indignation and displeasure. Therefore the king's majesty willetli, that whosoever among you know not only the whole matter, but how it was fir«t detected, by whom, and by what means it came to the king's majesty's knowledge, with the whole of tlie king's majesty's sorrowful behaviour and careful proceeding in it, should upon the Sunday coming assemble nil the ladies and gentlewomen and gentlemen being in the queen's household, and declare unto them the whole process of the matter, except that ye make no mention of the pre-contract, but omitting that, set forth such matter as might con- found their misdemeanour." This was the system now pursued ; there was to be obtained every point to prove adultery with Derham, and all mention of a pre-contract was to be carefully suppressed. It was alleged as a crime, as it certainly was a gross imprudence, that Catherine had allowed Derham to return from Ireland, and enter the king's household ; but as nothing could be brought to bear against Derham, the charge was shifted to Thomas Cul- pepper, the queen's cousin. It was alleged that an intrigue was going on betwixt the queen and Culpepper, on the northern progress, at Lincoln and York, and that, one nigh', Culpepper was in the same room with the queen and lady Rochford for three hours. But when it was attempted to establish this fact on the evidence of women in attendance, Catherine Tylney and Margaret Morton, this evidence dwindled to mere surmise. Tylney deposed that on two nights at Lincoln, the queen went to the room of lady Rochford, and stayed late, but affirmed " on her peril that she never saw who came unto the queen and my lady Rochford, nor heard what was said between them." Morton's evidence amounted only to this, that, at Pontefract, lady Rochford conveyed letters betwixt the queen and Culpepper, as was supposed, and one night when the king went to the queen's chamber, the door was bolted, and it was some time before he could be admitted. This circumstance must have been satisfactorily accounted for to Henry at the time, jealous person as he was, yet on such paltry grounds was it necessary to build the charge of criminal conduct in the queen. In the midst of the proceedings against the queen, an extraordinary circumstance took place. The duke of Cleves, thinking C.itherine certain to be executed, made haste to propose the restoration of his s'lster Anne. He sent over an ambissador, giving him letters from Oslynger, his vice-chanocUor, to Cranmer and the earl of South- ampton, entreating them to lay the matter before the king. But this was a hopeless business ; Henry had never liked Anne from the first, and would never consent to take a woman who was disagreeable to him a second time. Cranmer, with his timid nature, fought shy of the affair, telling the ambassador curtly, that it was a matter of great importance, and that he must pardon him, but he would have nothing further to do with it but to lay it before the king, and give him bis answer. Of course, the attempt came to nothing. The condemnation of Catherine now made rapid pro- gress. No man was more her enemy than her own uncle, the duke of Norfolk. This nobleman displayed au espe- cially mean and dastardly nature on this as on oihir occasions. lie had assisted in dethroning and destroying his other niece, ;Vnne Boleyn, insulting her m the midst of her misery, and presiding at her trial with a callous and revolting arrogance. Ho now turned with the same vile readiness against the whole oi his immediate family who were involved in the queen's disgrace. His step-mother, the old duchess, his brother, lord William, his sister, Uie lady Bridgewater, and the queen, his niece, were all giveu up to destruction by him with a trembling auxiety to flatter A.D. 1542.] EXECUTION OF CATHERINE HOWARD. 2GI the bloody and rapacious king, and save himself, which no honest mind can read without indignation and the pro- foundest contempt. The day after his immediate blood relations were com- mitted to the Tower, he wrote to the king, telling him that he had learned that " his ungracious mother-in-law, his unhappy brother and wife, and his kind sister of Bridge- water," were in the Tower ; which, he said, from his long experience of his majesty's equity and justice, made him certain that it was not done but for false and traitorous proceedings. He expresses his deep grief and shame at " the most abominable deeds done by his two nieces against his highness ; " and he went on to say that his majesty, having so often, and by so many of his kin, been thus falsely and traitorously handled, he feared that his heart would be turned against the whole Howard family, so that he should abhor to hear any member of it spoken of; and ho then crawls in the dust before the despot in this lan- guage, demonstrating that he had himself been the very means of doing much of the mischief against the queen : "Wherefore, my most gracious sovereign lord, prostrate at your feet, most humbly I beseech your majesty to call to your remembrance that a great part of this matter is come to light by my declaration to your majesty, according to my bounden duty, of the words spoken to me by my mother- in-law, when your highness sent me to Lambeth to search Derham's coffers, without the which, I think, she had not been further examined, nor consequently her ungracious children. ' It is impossible to read the proceedings of these times without an awful sense of the deplorable degradation of character which the monster's tyranny had produced all around him. And still the councils went on endeavouring to find evidence against the queen from the prisoners in the Tower. It must be understood that there were now two councils — one that sat in London, and one that went with the king wherever he went. We have seen how they wheedled and menaced the sick old duchess- dowager till they discovered her money, and brought her to say that it was very sinful of her not to have told his majesty before his marriage of the connection of Catherine with Derham. The treatment of lord William Howard and his fellow-prisoners was equally infamous. They tried him, his wife, Malin Tilney, Elizabeth Tilney, and three other women, his servants, amongst whom was Margaret Burnet, a butter-woman, separately, as they did Bulmer, Ashby, and Damport, men-servants of the duchess, on a charge of misprision of treason, before juries submis- sive out of terror. In these trials all forms of law were set at defiance, and instead of real witnesses, the master of the roll.", the attorney. general, and solicitor-general, with three of the king's council, presented against them the forced matter they had obtained in the examinations. The result of it was, that the prisoners were all condemned to per- petual imprisonment, forfeiture of their goods, and seques- tration of their estates during life. All that was proved, or pretended to be proved against them was, that they had been cognizant of the love affairs of Catherine Howard and Derham, previous to her marriage. Of course lord William and his family were quite overwhelmed by this severe sentence for no real crime whatever, so that the council re- ported to the king their opinion, that unless they were allowed some liberty within the Tower, and some inter- course with their friends, they could not live long , to which "this royal savage," as he has justly been styled, replied by a letter under the hands of lord John Russell and Ralph Sadler, that "he thinketh it not meet that they should so hastily put the prisoners to any such comfort, or so soon restore them to any liberty within the Tower, for sundry great respects and considerations. ' On the 21st of January, 1542, a bill of attainder of Cath- erine Howard, late queen of England, and of Jane, lady Rochford, for high treason ; of Agnes, duchess of Norfolk, lord William Howard, the lady Bridgcwater, and four men and five women, including Derham and Culpepper, already executed, was read in the lords. On the 28th, the lord chancellor, impressed with a laudable sense of justice, pro- posed that a deputation of lords and commons should be allowed to wait on the queen to hear what she had to say for herself. He said it was but just that a queeo, who was no mean or private person, but a public and illustrious one, should be tried by equal laws like themselves, and thought it would be acceptable to the king himself, if his consort could thus clear herself. But that did not suit Henry ; he was resolved to be rid of his lately beloved model queen, and as there was no evidence whatever of any crime on her part against him, he did not mean that she should have any opportunity of being heard in her defence. The bill was, therefore, passed through parliament, passing the lords in three, and the commons in two days. Oa the lOtb of February the queen was conveyed by water to the Tower, and the next day Henry gave his assent to the bill of at tainder. The persons sent to receive the queen's confession were Suffolk, Cranmer, Southampton, Audley, andThirlby. "How much she confessed to them," Burnet says, "is not very clear, neither by the journal nor the act of parliament, which only say she confessed." If she had confessed the crime alleged after marriage, that would have been made fully and officially known. In two days afterwards. Feb- ruary 13th, she was brought to the block. Thus fell Catherine Howard in the bloom of her youth and beauty, being declared by an eye-witness to be the handsomest woman of her time, paying for youthful indis- cretions the forfeit of her life to the king, whom she certainly had not sinned against. So conscious was Henry of this, that he made it high treason, in the act of attainder for any one to conceal any such previous peccadilloes in a woman that the sovereign was about to marry. With Catherine fell the odious lady Rochford, who had long deserved her fate, for her false and murderous evidence against her own husband and Anne Boleyn. On the scaffold conscience forced from her these words ; "That she supposed God had permitted her to suffer this shameful doom, as a punishment for having contributed to her hus- band's death by her false accusation of queen Anne Boleyn, but that she was guilty of no other crime." Commenting on these atrocities of Henry VIII., Sir Walter Raleigh says, " If all the patterns of a merciless tyrant had been lost to the world, they might have beeu found in this prince;" and Miss Strickland adds, that "Henry VIII. was the first king of England who brought ladies to the block, and who caused the tender female form to be distorted with tortures, and committed, a living prey, to the flames. He was the only king who sought con- solation for the imagined offences of his wives against his honour, by plundering their relatives of their plate and money. Shame, not humanity, prevented him from stain- CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED UISTOBi' OF ENGLAND. [a.u. 1S4J. ins "'0 scaffold with the blood of the aged duchess of Norfolk ; he released her after long imprisonment." Hiiving thus destroyed his fifth wife, Ilenrj now turned his attention to the regulation of religious uffnirs and opiiiiuns. Wc have seen that he had attempted to set up a ttiiudard of orthodoxy by the publication of " the Institu- tion of a Christian Man," or " the Bishops' Book," as it w.is called, because compiled by the bishops under his direction. After that ho published his " Necessary Doc- trine and Erudition for any Christian Man," which was called "the King's Book." In this it was observable, thai iustral of approaching nearer to the protestnnt creed, he was going fast back iuto the strictest principles of Catholi- cism, lie had albwcd the people to read the bible, but ha now declared that though the reading of it was necessary to the teachers of religion, it was not so necessary for the learners ; and ho decreed, by act of parliament, that the bible ehouH not be read in public, or seen in any private farailics, but such as were of noble or gentle birth. It was that, consequently, there was no need of king, judge, magistrate, of civil law, or war, or capital punishment; there were Antiuomiuns who contended that all things were free and allowable to the saints without sin; there- were Fifth-Monarchy men ; members of ihe Family of Love, or Daridians, from one David George, their leader; Arians, Unitarians, Prcdestinarians, Libertines, and other denomi- nations, whom we shall find abundant in the time of th? Commonwealth. What was strangest of a'l was, to seo king Henry, who would allow no man's opluion to be right but his own, and who burnt men for daring to differ from him, lecturing these contending sects on their animosities in his speech in parliament, and bidding them " behold what love and charity there was amongst them, when one called another heretic and anabaptist, and he called him again papist, hypocrite, and pharisco ; " and the royal peace- maker threatened to put an end to their quarrellings by punishing them all. During the four remaining years of his reign, he burnt or hanged twenty-four persons for IUnr>' VIII delivering the translated Bible to bis Lords. From the engraved title-page to Cranmer'a Bible. not to lie read privattly by any but householders, or by women who were well -born. If any woman of the ordi- nary class, any artificer, apprentice, journeyman, servant, or labourer dared to read the bible, he or she was to be_ imprisoned for one month. Gardiner and the catholic party were more and more in the ascendant, and the timid Craumer and the more liberal bishops were compelled not only to wink at these bigoted rules, but to order the " King's Book," containing all the dogmas which they held to be false and pernicious, to be published in every diocese, and to be the guide of every preacher. By this means it was hoped to quash the numerous new sects which wire springing from the reading of the bible, and the earnest discussions consequent upon it. Such a floodof new light poured suddenly into the human mind, that it was da/.zled and intoxicated by it. Opinion becoming in some degree free, ran into strango forms, and there were Anabaptists who held that every man ought to be puided by the direct intipiration of the Holy Ghost, and religion, that is six annually, fourteen of them being pro- testants. During these years, the "King's Book " was the only authorised standard of English orthodoxy. It is now necessary to take a brief glance at the pro- ceedings of Henry's government in Ireland and Wales, and towards Scotland. In the principality of Walc.n the measures of the government were marked by a far wiser spirit than those which predominated in religion. Being descended from the natives of that country, it was natural that it should claim his particular attention. AVales at this time might be divided into two parts, one of which had been subjected by the English monarchs, and divided into shires, the other which had been conquered by different knights and barons, thence called the lords marchers. The shires were under tlie royal will, but the hundred and forty- one small districts or lordships which had been granted to the petty conquerors, excluded the officers and writs of the king altogether. The lords, like so many counts palatine, ezero'ised all sovereign rights within their own districts, 1543.] STATE OF AFFAIRS IN IRELAND. 263 had their own courts, appointed their own judges, and punislied or pardoned offenderB at pleasure. This opened up a source of the grosseat confusion and impunity from justice ; fur criminals perpetrating offences in one district, had only to move into another, and set the law at defiance. Henry, by enacting, in 1536, that the whole of Wales should thenceforth be incorporated with England, should obey the same laws and enjoy the same rights and privileges, did a great work. The Welsh shires, with one borough in each, ■were empowered to send members to parliament, the judges were appointed solely by the crown, and no lord was any longer allowed to pardon any treason, murder, or felony in his lordship, or to protect the perpetrators of such crimes. The same regulations were extended to the county palatine of Chester. The proceedings of Henry in Ireland were equally energetic, if they were not always as just ; and in the end they produced an equally improved condition of things there. Quiet and law came to prevail, though they pre- vailed with severity. On the accession of Henry to the throne, the portion of the island over which the English authority really extended was very limited indeed. It included merely the chief sea-ports, with the five counties of Louth, Westmeath, Dublin, Kildare, and Wexford. The rest of the country was almost independent of Eng- land, being in the hands of no less than ninety chieftains — thirty of English origin, and the rest native — who exercised a wild and lawless kind of sway, and made war on each other at will. Wolsey, in the height of his power, deter- mined to reduce this Irish chaos to order. He saw that the main causes of the decay of the English authority lay in the perpetual feuds and jealousies of the families of Fitzgerald and Butler, at the head of which were the earls of Kildare and ef Ormond, or Ossory. The young earl of Kildare, the chief of the Fitzgeralds, who succeeded his father in 1520, was replaced by the earl of Surrey, after- wards the duke of Norfolk whom we have seen so disgrace- fully figuring in the affairs of Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, his nieces. During the two years that he held the Irish government, he did himself great credit by the vigour of his administration, repressing the turbulence of the chiefs, and winning the esteem of the people by his hospitality and munificence. Unfortunately for Ireland, Surrey had acquired great renown by his conduct under his father at Flodden, and when Henry, in 1522. declared war against France, he was deemed the only man fitted to take the command of the army. The government of Ireland, on his departure, was placed in the hands of Butler, earl of Ossory. In tlie course of ten years it passed successively from Ossory again to Kildare, from Kildare to William Sl^ffington, and back for the third time to Kildare. Kildare, relieved from the foar of Wolsey, who had now fallen, gave way to the exercise of such acts of extra- vagance, that his own friends attributed them to insanity. At the earnest recommendations, therefore, of his here- ditary rivals, the Butlers, he was called to London in 1534, and sent to the Tower. Still, he had left his Irish govern- ment in the hands of his son, lord Thomas Fitzgerald— a young man of only one-and-twenty, brave, generous, but with all the impetuosity of Irish blood. Hearing a false report that his father was beheaded in the Tower, the young Fitzgerald flew to arms. He appeared at the head of a hundred and forty followers before the council, ^p^igned the sword of state, and demanded war against Henry of England. Cromer, the archbishop of Armagh, earnestly entreated him not to plunge himself into a quarrel so hopeless as that with ICiigland ; but in vain. The strains of an Irish minstrel, uttered in his native tongue, had more influence with him, for they called on him to revenge his father, to free Ireland ; and the incensed youth flew to arms. For a time success attended him. He overran the rich district of Fingal ; the natives flocked to his standard ; the Irish minstrels, in wild strains, stirred the people to frenzy ; and surprising Allen, the archbishop of Dublin, on the very point of escaping to England, and supposed to be one of the accusers of the earl of Kildare, thny murdered him in presence of the young chief and his brothers. He then sent a deputation to Rome, offering, on condition that the pope should give him tlie support of his sanction, to defend Ireland against an apostate prince, and to pay a hand- some annual tribute to the holy see. He sent ambassadors also to the emperor, demanding assistance against the prince who had so grossly insulted him by divorcing his aunt, queen Catherine. Five of his uncles joined him, but he was repulsed from the walls of Dublin. The strong castle of Maynooth was carried by assault by the new deputy. Sir William SkeflSngton ; and in the month of October lord Leonard Gray, the son of the marquis of Dorset, arriving from England, at the head of fresh forces, chased him into the fastnesses of Munster and Connaught. On hearing of this ill-advised rebellion, the poor earl of Kildare, already stricken with palsy, sickened and died in the Tower. Lord Gray did not trust simply to his arms in the difficult country info which the Fitzgeralds had retired ; he em- ployed money freely to bribe the natives, who led him through the defiles of the mountains, and the passable tracks of the morasses, into the retreats of the enemy. He found the county of Kildare almost entirely desolated. Six out of the eight baronies were burnt ; and where this wa« not the case, the people bad fled, leaving the corn in the fields. Meath was equally ravaged ; and the towns through- out the south of Ireland, added to the horrors of civil war, found the ravages of fever and pestilence prevailing; Dublin itself being more frightfully decimated than the provincial cities. The English government sent very little money to the troops, and left them to subsist by plunder ; and they first seized all the cattle, corn, and provisions, and then laid waste the country by fire. By March, 1 535, lord Thomas Fitzgerald was reduced to such extremity that he wrote to lord Gray, begging him to become inter- cessor betwixt the king and himself. Lord Gray, there can be little doubt, promised Fitzgerald a full pardon, on which he surrendered. But Skeffington wrote to the king that Fitzgerald, finding that O'Connor, his principal supporter, had come in and yielded, "the young traitor, Thomas Fitzgerald, had done the same, without condition of pardon of life, lands, and goods." . But this assertion is clearly contradicted by the council in Dublin, who wrote entreating the king to be merciful to the said Thomas, to whom they had given comfortable promises. O'Connor had been too wise to put himself into the power of Henry on the strength of any promises ; he dalivercd only certain hostages as security for his good 20 i CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND, [a.d. 1511. behaviour ; but lord Thomas was carried over to England by lord (Jray, where he was committed to the Tower. Gray was immediately .«ent back to Ireland, with the full com- mand of the army there, and ho was instructed above all things to secure the persons of the five uncles of lord Fitigerald. Accordingly, on the llth of February, 1530, the council of Ireland sent to Cromwell, then minister, an exulting message, that lord Gray, the chief justice, and others, had captured the five brethren, which they pro- nounced to be "the first deed that ever was done for the weal of the king's poor subjects of that land.'' Thoy added, "We assure your mastership that the said lord justice, the treasurer of the king's wars, and such others as his grace put in trust in this behalf, have highly deserred his most 1541, ending bis life, according to Godwin, very quietly and godlily. Gray certainly deserved better treatment of Henry ; for, though his conduct was infamous to the Fit?;- geralds, it was most u?eful to the English king. The rival factions of Fitzgoralds and Butlers continuing to resist the Englisli power, Gray contended against them till, by his brilliant victory at Bellahoe, he broke the power of O'Xeil, the northern chieftain, and confirmed the power of Eng- land. Yet, being uncle, by hia sister, to the last surviving male heir of the Fitzgeralds— Gerald, the youngest brother of the unfortunate lord Thomas, a boy of only twelve years of ag'i — he was accused of favouring his escape, and all hU services were forgotten by his ungrateful sovereign. The young Gerald Fitzgerald escaped to the continent by the Ch.iined Bibles, set up fn liie Churclics, bv the order of Henry VIII. gracious thanks for the politic and secret conveying of the matter." But the truth was, that this politic and secret ' managnnent was one of the most disgraceful pieces of I treachiry which ever was tran.^acted — the Fit/.geralds ' being scizid at a banquet to which both parties had pro- I OJedcd under the most solemn i-ledges of mutual faith. ■ They were conveyed at once to London, and, in February, 1537, the young earl and his five uncles were beheaded, after a long and duel imprisonment in the Tower. Their unprincipled betrayer, however, did not long enjoy the fruits of his treaciiery. He was made lord lieutenant of i Ireland as a reward for his dishonourable ttrvico, but was ! Boon removed on charges of misconduct, committed to one I of the very cells which his victims had occupied, and was | beheaded on Tower-hill as a traitor, on thj 26th of June, | Instruments of Torture used in the Ri;ign of Hcnn- VIII., and siill preserved in the Tow'er of London. aid of a Eea-captain of St. Malo, and ultimately to Italy, where he lived u?dcr the patronage and protection of his kinsman, cardinal Pole, till he eventually recovered the honours and estates of his ancestors, in the reign of queen Mary, at the suggestion of the cardinal. After the recall of lord Gray, O'Connor, O'Scil, M'Mordo, and the O'Tholes excited fre.sh insurrections, but they were speedily put down, and in 1541 Anthony St. Leger found both the Irish chiefs and the lords of the pale eagerly outstripping each other in professions of loyalty. In 1541 Henry raised Ireland from the rank of a lordship to that of a kingdom, and granted letters patent to the Irish chiefs, by the advice of Sir Thomas Ousake, though unwillingly. Thus, by securing tl'.em in possession of their lauds, and raising them to new honours, he secured their devoted attachment. Henry gave them houses in Dublin, which they were to inhabit when summoned ns peers of the Irish parliament. UUiac de Burg was made earl of Clanricarde Murroch O'Brien, earl of Thomond, and the great O'Ncil became henceforth known by hi> new title of earl gf Tvtone. The Irish council was An. 1542] STATE OF AFFAIES IN SCOTLAND. 265 instructed to proceed with the suppression of the monasteries, though cautiously, not urging the monks too rigorously, lest they stirred up opposition, but desir- ably persuading them that " the lands of the church were his proper inheritance." These matters were so well carried out, that the ascendancy of England had never appeared so firmly established since the first invasion of the island by Henry II. Our last glance at Scotland was when Henry, having suddenly lost Jane Seymour, was endeavouring to per- suade Francis I. to prevail upon Mary of Guise, the widow of the duke de Longueville, to become his wife. Both !'!-ancis and Mary of Guise replied that the thing was ! to France in 1537, when he traversed the country from Dieppe to Provence, everywhere heard the bitter tcrm.- of execration in which the cruelty and rapacity of his uncle, Henry of England, were spoken of. The Pilgrimage of Grace, which liadjust preceded his journey, had given him a warning of what he might expect from attacking the property of the church. In England, the power of the aristocracy had been broken down before Henry VIIl. came to the throne, and there was little to be feared from some increase of wealth amongst them ; but in Scotland tlie case was different. There the aristocracy was stil' intact and strong, though many of them were poor, and still mure would have gladly laid a greedy hand on the ecck- Domestlc Architeciure in the reign of Uenrv VIII. : Old Houses at Shrewsbury. impossible, the lady being already engaged to his nephew, James ®f Scotland. Henry in vain endeavoured to pluck the prize from his nephew. Mary of Guise proCDeded to Scotland, and the marriage was celebrated in the cutiiedral of St. Andrews, in 1538. This marriage was undoubtedly intended by the catholic party in Scotland to strengthen the attachment of the government in tliat country to the old faith. Tlio negotiation for a French princess had been intrusted to David Ueaton, aljbot of Arbniatli, afterwards bishop of Mirepoix, and next cardinal of St. Andrews, accompanied by lord Maxwell and the master of Glencairn. The princess was of a house stanchly att.iched to the catholic religion, and other circumstances tended to throw the weight into that scale. James of Scotland, on his visit 75 siastical property. But to increase the power of the nobles by destroying that of the church, tlio only counterbalanc- ing power, would have been an impolitic measure in James, and these reasons kept him back from listening to the invitations from Henry to follow his example. On the other hand, the emperor and Fnvncis I. endeavoured to maintain his friendship as a chock upon Henry, and the pope naturally united with the clergy in giving all their influence to the church in Scotland which was possible. In 1539 David Beaton succeeded his uncle, James Beaton, in the primacy, and the pope, to add additional honours to so devoted a servant, presented him with a cardinal's hat. It was at tliis crisis tliat the pope, acting in concert with France and Spain, sent cardinal Pole to M» OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1513. oo-operato with the Scotoh in annoving Qenry, and James being applied to by the pontiff Paul, declared himself willing to unite with Francis I. and the emperor in the endoarour to convert or punish the heretical English king. Ab if to show Honry that there was no prospect of any co- operation of Jiimes with him, the fires of persecution were kindled by Beaton and his coadjutors against the protestant^ in that kingdom, and this again drove the reformers to make common cause with the earl of Angus and other Scottish exiles in England. Henry, to encourage the protcstanta, and to warn James if possible, sent to him his rising diplomatist. Sir Rilph Sadler, who repre- sented to James that Henry was much nearer related to him than any of the continental sovereigns, and who endeavoured to prevent there the publication of the bill of excommunication. But it became necessarily a pitched battle betwixt the catholic party in Scotland and Henry. They beheld with natural alarm his destruction of the papal church in England, an example of the most terrible kind to all other national churches of the same creed ; and Henry, on the other hand, knew that so long as that faith was in the ascendant in Scotland, there would be no assured quiet in his own kingdom. It was the one proximate and exposed quarter through which the pope and his abettors on the continent could perpetually a.«sail him. From this moment, therefore, Henry spared no money, no negr>tia- tion, no pains to break down the catholic ascendancy in Scotland. In 1540 he again sent Sir Ralph Sadler to James, who took him a present of a dozen fine stallions. At the private interview which Sadler Folicited, he read to James an in- tercepted letter of Beaton's to the pope, from which the ambassador endeavoured to make it appear that the cardi- nal was aiming at subjecting the royal authority to that of the pope. James rather disconcerted the minister by laughing when he had heard the letter, and telling him that the cardinal had long ago given him a copy of it. Sadler, who was too practised a statesman to ho foiled by euch a circumstance, returned to the charge, and added that Henry was a.shamed of the meanness of his nephew, who kept large flocks of sheep, as if he were a husband- man and not a king. If he wanted money, be conld enrich himself by shearing the ecclesiastical sheep ; he need only make the experiment, and he would find that the dissolute lives of the monks would justify his sequestration of their property, as much as had been the case in England. But James was alike impas^lblo to arguments founded either on horses or sheep. He replied that he had sufficient property of his own, without coveting that of others ; and that the church need not be destroyed to supply his wants ; it was ready to aid him freely. That undoubtedly there were monks and clergymen who disgraced their profession, but it was not in aocordanoe with his notions of justice to punish the innooent with the {guilty. Failing again, Sadler tried to awaken the ambition of James by representing how near he was to the English throne, and intimated that hie uncle waa seriously disposed t > name him as his heir and successor in case of anything happening to bis only son, prince Edward. Ho invited James to meet his loving uncle at York, where they might discuss and settle these matters. James parried this pro- posal by making it an absolute condition that their mutual ally, Francis I., should be present; and Sadler was com- pelled to return, ascribing his failure to the firm hold that the clergy hod on the Scottish monarch. And, indeed, these solicitations on the side of England only drove the Scottish hierarchy to severer measures, and led James to sanction it in cruelty and persecution. It was enacted in the next parliament that it was a capital offence to question the supreme authority of the pop"? ; that no private meet- ings, conventicles, or societies for the discussion of religious questions should be allowed ; informers were tempted by high rewards to betray them ; and no good catholic was to have intercourse with any one who had, at any time, been heretical in his or her opinions, however nearly allied in blood. It was declared a damnable offence to deface or throw down images of the Virgin and the saints; and, finally, all clergymen.of all ranks and kinds, were called upon to reform their lives, so as to give no ground of reproach or argument to the enemy. In the spring of 1541 the cardinal Beaton, and Panter, the royal secretary, were despatched to Rome with secret instructions. This alarmed Henry, and yet afforded him a hope of making an impression on his nephew whilst the cardinal wxs away. Ocico more, therefore, he invited James to meet him at York. Lord William Howard, who was his envoy on the occasion, induced James to promise to meet Henry there, and we have seen him on his way accompanied by his bride, Catherine Howard, to the place of rendezvous. But James came not ; and Henry, enraged, vowed that he would compel James by force to do that which he would not concede to persuasion. The catholic party in Scotland were better pleased with a hostile than a pacific position, for they greatly dreaded that Henry might at length w.irp the king's mind towards his own views. The leaders on both sides were, in fact, never at peace. On the one side, the exiled Dougliises were alw.ays on the watch to recover their estates by their swords, and the fugitives in Scotland on account of the Pilgrimage of Grace, were equ.ally ready to fight their way back to their homes and fortunes. In the August of 1 542, ace >rdingly, there were sharp forays, first from one side of the borders, and then from the other. Sir James Bowes, the warden of the east marches, accumpaniedby Sir George Douglas, the earl of Angus, and other Scottish exiles, and thrse thousand horsemen, rushed into Teviotdale, when they were mot at Haddenrig by the carl of Huntly and lord Home, who defeated them, and took six hundred prisoners. Henry, having issued a proclamation declaring the Scots the aggressors, ordered a levy of forty thousand men, ond appointed the duke ot Norfolk the commander of this array. He was attended by the earls of Shrewsbury, Derby, Cum- berland, Surr.'y. Hertford, Rutland, with many others of the nobility. This imposing force was joined by the earl of Angus and the rest of the banished Douglases who had escaped the t^laughter at Haddenrig. After some delay at York the royal army, issuing a fresh proclamation, in which Henry claimed the crown of Scotland, advanced tu Berwick, wlicro it crossed into Scotland, and, advancing along the northern bank of the Tweed as far as Kelso, burned two towns and twenty villages. Norfolk did not venture to advanc" farther into the country, a'' he heard that James had assembled a powerful fore?, whilst Huntly, Home, and SeatuD, wer« hovering on bis flanks. He theretoio con- AD. 1543.] DEATH OP JAMES V. OF SCOTLAND. ^67 tented himself with ravaging the neighbourhood, and then crossed again at Kelso into England. James, indignant at the invasion and tlie injuries inflicted on his subjects, and encamped on th? Burrow Muir, at the head of thirty thousand men marched thence in pursuit of the English. But he soon found that diflercnt causes para- lysed his intended chastisement. Many of the nobles were in favour of the reformation, and held this martial move- ment as a direct attempt to maintain the catholic power and the influence of Beaton and his party. Others were in secret league with the banished Douglases, who were on the English side, and there were not wanting those who smcerely advised a merely defensive warfare, and pointed out the evils which had always followed the pursuit of the I'lnglieh into their own country. They represented the truth, tliat Norfolk and his army, destitute of provisions, and suf- fering from the inclemency of the weather, were already in full retreat homewards. But James would not listen to these arguments, he burned to take vengeance on the En- glish, and after halting on Fala Muir, and reviewing his troops, he gave the order to march in pursuit of Norfolk. But, to his great consternation, he found that nearly every nobleman refused to cross the borders. They pleaded the lateness of the season, the want of provisions for the army, :md the rashness of following the English into the midst of tlieir own country, where another Flodden Field might :iwait them. James was highly exasperated at this defection, and denounced the leaders as traitors and cowards, pointing out to them their unpatriotic conduct, when they saw all around them the towns .and villages burnt, the farms ravaged, and the people expelled or exterminated along tlie line of Norfolk's march. It w.as in vain that he exhorted or reproved them, they stole aw.ay from his standard, and the indignant king found himself abandoned by the chief lx>dy of his army. For himself, however, he disdained to give up tlie enterprise. He de.spatohod a force of ten thou- .>iand men under lord Maxwell, to burst into the western marches, ordering him to remain in England laying waste the country as long as Norfolk had remained in Scotland- James himself awaited the event at Caerlaverock castle, fiut discontented with the movements of lord Maxwell, whom ho suspected of being infected by the spirit of the other insubordinate nobles, he despatched his favourite, Oliver Sinclair, to supersede lord Maxwell in the command. This was an imprudent measure, calculated to excite fresh discontent, and it did do it cfl^ectually. The proud nobles who surrounded Masw.dl threw down their arms, swearing that they would not serve under any such royal minion ; the troops broke out into open mutiny, and in the midst of this confusion a body of fiv^e hundred I'lnglish horse riding up under the lords Daore and Mus- grove, the Scots believed it to be the vanguard of Norfolk's army, and fled in precipitate confusion. Tlie English, charging furiously at this unexpected advantage, sur- rounded great numbers of the fugitives, and took a tliousand of them prisoners. Amongst them were the greater portion of the nobles. Maxwell himself was one of the number ; the earls of Cassilis and Glenoairn ; the lords Somervillc, Fleming, Oliphant, and (3ray ; tlie masters of P'rekine and Rothes, and Home of Ayton. All these were sent prisoners to London, ami given into the custody of (lift'orcnt English noblemen. Many of the prisoners were believed to give themselves up willingly, as disaffected men who were ready to sell their country to England, and others are said to have been seized by border freebooters, and sold to the enemy. Tlie king was so overwhelmed with grief and resentment at this disgraceful defeat, through the disloyalty of hi.' nobility, that he returned to Edinburgh in deep dejection. From Edinburgh he proceeded to the palace of Falkirk, where he shut himself up, brooding on his misfortunes . and such hold did this take upon him, that be began to sink rapidly in health. He was in the prime of his life, being only in his thirty-first year; of a constitution hitherto vigorous, and having s-oarcely known any sickness ; but hi? agonised mind producing fever of body, he seemed hasten- ing rapidly to the grave. At this crisis his wife was con- fined. She had already born liim two sons, who had died in their infancy, and an heir might now have given a check to his melancholy, but it proved a daughter, the afterwards celebrated and unfortunate rjucen of Scots. On hearing that it was a daughter, he turned himself in his bed saying. " The crown came with a woman, and it will go with one. Many miseries await this poor kingdom ; Hcnrv will make it his own either by force of arms or by mar- riage." On the seventh d.ay after the birth of Mary, he expired, December 11th, l.')12. James \. of Scotland may be said to have died the victim of Henry's machinations. He was a monarch of many virtues and much talent. His courage wag lofty, and his sense of justice eminent ; but he was led to support the church against the nobility by what he saw going on in England, and from his suspicions of Henry's designs on his kingdom. In this persuasion he was led to support the catholic party even to persecution, and his death natu- rally hastened the very catastrophe which he feared. The relentless king of England, who might now be said to have destroyed by his ambition two successive Scottish kings, his brother-in-law and his nephew, so far from feeling any compunction, only set himself immediately to profit by the latter event. He called together the large body of captive nobles of Scotland, as well as Angus and Sir George Douglas, who had long been in his interest and service, and pretending to upbraid those who had been taken at the rout of Solway Fritli with their breach of treaty, he then altered his tone, and intimated that it was in their power to make up for the past, and to render the most essential service to both countries, by promoting a marriage betwixt his son, the heir of England, and Mary, the infant queen of Scotland. The Scottish nobles had, no doubt, been previously schooled for the purpose. They professed themselves anxious to assist in putting an end to the troubles of their native country, and entered into a treaty, not merely to promote this desirable marriage, but what was most traitorous and inexcusable, to acknowledge Henry as the sovereign lurd of Scotland, and do all in their power to deliver the kingdom, with all its fortresses and the infant queen, into his hand. Sir Oeorgc Douglas, the brother of Angus, was made the chief agent in this notable scheme, and all the lords bound themselves to return to their captivity if they failed to effect this great object, leaving hostages for their good faith. The union of the kingdoms was now within the range of a fair pos- sibility, but the impetuous and overbearing disposition of Henry was certaiu to ruin the project. No sooner did cardinal Beaton and the catholic party 2efl OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1543. learn that the king had expired than, guessing all that lUnrv and his party in Scotland woqM attempt, thoy took measures to secure the young queen and the sovereign p.)wer. Ronton produced a will as that of James, appointing him regent, and guardian of the young queen, assi'tod by c council of the carls of Arj;yll, Huntliy, and Murray. The earl of Arran, James Hamilton, on the other hand, declared this will to bo a forgery, and being himself the next heir to the throne, after the infant queen, he assumed the right to make himself her guardian, and to order the kingdom for her. By means of the protestant nobles, as well as the vassals of his own house, and the prevailing opinion that Beaton had forged the will, Arran succeeded in establishing himself as regent on the 22iid of December, 1512, and the protestant influence was in the ascendant. It was now conceded that Angus and the D >uglase8 should be recalled from their exile, and they quitted En;:land in the following January, the earl of Arran giving them a safe conduct. It was a deadly warfare betwixt the protestant and catholic parties. A list of three hundred and sixty of the nobles and gentry was produced by Arran, which was said to have been found on the person of the king, all of whom were proscribed as heretics, and doomed to conSsca- tion of their estates and other punishments. This list, which the catholics in their turn denounced as forged, was vehemently charged on Beaton, who was said to have drawn it up when the heads of the army refused to march into' England. The earl of Arran himself stood at the head of the list. The cardinal, who saw the immi- nent danger of his cause and party, despatc'ied trusty agents to France to solicit mstant aid in money and troops, tn defend the interests and guard the persons of the queen- dowager, Mary ot Quise, and the royal infant. To hasten the movements of the house of Quise, he represented the certain depondenoe of Scotland on England if the king of England succeeded in accomplishing the marriage of the infant queen with his son. To silence the cardinal, he was seized and incarcerated in the castle of Blackness, under the care of lord Seatnn ; an 1 a negotiation was actively carried on through Sir Ralph Sadler for the marriage of the infant queen and the prince of Wales. It was agreed that Mary thoald remain in Scotland till she was ten years of age ; that she should then be sent to England to be educated ; that six Scottish noblemen should be at once delivered to Henry as hostages for the fulfilment of the contract ; and when the union of the two kingdoms should take place, Scotland should retain all its own laws and privileges. Bnt though Beaten was in prison, his spirit was abroad. The clergy had the highest faith in the talents and influence of the cardinal. They considered his liberation as neces- sary to avert the ruin of their party, and they put in motion all their machinery for rousing the people. Th y shut up the churches, and refused to administer the sacra- ments or bury the dead ; and the priests and monks were thus set at liberty from all other duties to harangue and influence the passions of the people. Evcrywlicic it was declared that Arran, the regent, had formed a league with An^^us and the Doa;»lases, who had been so long in England, to sell the country and the queen to England under the pretence of a marria^ie ; that thiswaswhat the English monarchs had Ion;; . bcbn seeking ; and that not only tho DougIa»eb but Arran himself were pensioned by Henry for tho purpose. 'I'hat this was liut too true, the •' State Papers," which have now been published by government, relative to Scotland, amply prove. Henry and his successors spared no money for this end ; and the traitorous bargaining of a great number of the Soottish nobles with the English monarchs. stands too well evidenced under their own hands. Henry, with his characteristic impatienoe, insisted that cardinal Beaton should be delivered at once into his own hands, and that the Soottish fortresses should be made over to English garrisons. The traitor nobles entreated him to be patient, or he would ruin all ; that if ho waited awhile all would succeed to his wishes ; but that if he pre- cipitated such important measures, the spirit of the Scotch would bo roused by their ancient jcalouty of England, and the whole plan would be defeated. But they might just as well have talked to the winds as to Henry. He had long ceased to be politic, to use caution, or to regard anything but the immediate gratification of his pampered will. He insisted on immediate fulfilment of their pledges : would only grant till June for the accomplishment of these start- ling measures, and to enforce them he began to collect great numbers of troops in the northern counties. What the earl of Angus and his associates bad assured Henry directly took place. The alarm of the Scottish people at the threatened betrayal of their country became universaL The catholic noblemen anl clergy at once fanned the flame of apprehension, and used it to their advantage. The carls of Huntly, Bothwell, and Murray demanded the release of tho cardinal, offering to give bail for him in their own persons, and to answer the charges advanced against him. The earl of Argyll joined them — an example quickly fol- lowed by a great concourse of bishops and abbots, barons and knights, who proceeded to Perth, where they drew up certain articles, demanding the liberation of the cardinal, and the prohibition of the circulation of the New Testament in the national tongue. These they sent to Arran and the council by the bishop of Orkney and Sir John Campbell of Oaldi>ur, uncle to the earl of Argyll. There were other articles, demanding a share in the council, and that the ambassadors selected to proceed to England should be changed, and men of more certain patriotism should be substituted. Arran and the council refused to comply with these demands ; and, on the return of the emissaries, the regent despatched his herald- at-arms to the assembly at Perth, commanding them, under pain of treason, to break up their meeting, and proceed to Edinburgh to attend in parliament. The assembled pre- lates, lords, and gentlemen obeyed without opposition, and went almost wholly to take their places in parliomeat, which was summoned for the 12th of March, 1543. They felt their strength, for they had had an opportunity of coming to a perfect understanding with each other, and such was the state of the popular mind that they had little fear of any dangerous concessions from parliament; in fact, such was the ferment of the people everywhere, that Sir George Douglas told S.idler. the English agent, that, for Henry to obtain the government of Scotland in the summary way that he %onght to, and at this crisis, was utterly impossible : " For," said he, " there is not so little a boy but he will hurl stones against it ; and the wivi will handle their dislafis ; and the commons ""JM'""'' " '^^^ rather die in it; yea, and uauy nuUenun, and all the A.D. 1543 ] DESIGNS OF HiENBT ON SCOTLAND. 269 olergy, be fully a:;ainst it." Sadler added in his despatch : 'vTlic whole realm murmureth that they would rather die than break their old league with France." Under these circumstances the parliament assembled, and the traitors Angus and Sir George Douglas informed the English court that it was " the most substantial parlia- ment that ever was seen in Scotland in any man's remem- brance, and best furnished with all the three estates." When the archbishop of Glasgow, as chancellor, introduced the English proposals of peace and marriage, not a voice was raised against the alliance ; and could Henry have exercised ordinary patience and tact, never was there a fairer prospect of the union of the nations. But at the same time that the Scottish parliament acceded to the marriage, it proposed that on no account should the young queen be allowed to go mto England, and not a man dared to mention the additional demands which Henry made as indispensable to the contract. On learning these facts Henry became transported with rage at the idea of any body of men presuming to bave a will of their own. He upbraided Angus, Glencairn, and the rest of his late captives with the breach of their pro- mises — as if they could work impossibilities, or work possibilities with so self-willed and impossible a person as himself destroying all their efforts. He assured them that hfi had no intention of waiving a single particle of his demands ; that if the Scotch would not grant them freely he would force them from them by arms ; and he told these nobles that if they did not accomplish bis wishes fur him, they must return to their imprisonment according to their contract. It was in vain that his experienced agent, Ralph Sadler, assured him, " In myn opinion, they had lever suffre extremytee than com to the obidiens and sub- jection of England. They wool have their own realm free, and live within themselves after their own laws and cus- tumes." At this juncture cardinal Beaton managed to escape from his prison, from which he had never ceased to correspond with ahd inspirit his party. How he came to escape has been considered a mystery ; but perhaps that mystery is not very deep when we reflect that the lord Seaton, in whose custody he was, was a man, though related to the Hamiltons, yet of a most loyal temper, and a decided catholic. Seaton negotiated with Beaton to give up his castle of St. Andrews ; and, as if this could not be accom- plished without the cardinal's presence on the spot, Seaton allowed him to accompany him, but with so small a foree, that the moment the cardinal stood in his own castle, he declared himself at liberty, and Seaton had no power to say nay, had he wish»d it. As no punishment or even censure befell lord Seaton on this account, it is most probable that Arran himself was cognisant of the scheme. What makes this more likely is that Hamilton, the abbot of Paisley, the naj^ural brother of Arran, the regent, had returned just before from France ; and that he was at the bottom of the plot it may not unreasonably be supposed, from the fact that lie very soon exercised a powerful influence over the weaker mind of the regent. Through the means of the abbot, Beaton even attempted to accommodate matters with Henry. He declared that he was sincerely desirous of the union of the young queen and the prince of Wales, so that thero should be peace betwixt the countries, yet a peace preserving the indcpeudence of each. But this iudc- pemlencc of Scotland was the very thing which Henry waa determined to annihilate, and hi: t ressed his desires for it with such violence, that all hopes of an amicable arrange- ment vanished. The Scottish ambassadors — who, meantime, had arrived in London — found the king so impoliticly and overbearingly determined on having his own way, regardless of the ex- pressed sentiments of the Scotch, that the breach was only widened. Henry insisted on the immediate delivery of th« infant queen ; when he could not obtain that, he demanded that she should be given up to hitu on reaching two years of age, and told the ambassadors in a high and pompous strain that the realm of Scotland belonged of right to him, and that it ought to be resigned into his hands without question or delay. This absurd conduct excited a universal bur>t of indignation throughout Scotland, and coniplerely levelled all the careful approaches tt) the same end which tlie Douglas faction had raised. Even Arran, whom Sir George Douglas represented to Sadler as a very gentle creature, resented the indignity with which his ambas- sadors and his proposals had been treated, and Beaton gained from the folly and violence of Henry a new accession of popularity. This popularity the cardinal did not neglect to exercise. The earl of Lennox, who had been engaged in the Italian wars of Francis L, was invited by the cardinal to return to >cotland, and was set up by him as a rival to Arran, Lennox was nearly related to the royal family ; and whilst Beaton and his party propagated a rumour that Arran, through some informality in the divorce of his father and his second wife — Arran being issue of the third marriage — had no legitimate right to the title or the paternal pro- perty which he held, and none, therefore, to the office of regent, based upon them, it was circulated with equal assiduity that the late king, in the event of bis dying without children, bad selected Lennox for his successor. Lennox did not at once faH into the cardinal's plans, but that bold and able churchman did not on that account pause in them. He held him up as the true opponent of Arran, proposed to marry him to the queen-dowager, and entered into successful negotiations with Francis L, who sent over Lennox, as requested, and empowered him to furnish assistance to the catholic party, both of arms and money, to check the designs of Henry. Arran, alienated hum^ the English government by the imperious demands of Henry, and alarmed at the progress of the catholic faction, took care to proclaim his resolute resolve to oppose the aims of Henry, even to the extremity of war, and he dismissed his protestant chaplains, friar Williams and John Rough • f»nd such was the spirit of the people that GleucVirn and Cassilis, the moft devoted partisans of England, declared that they would sooner die than agree to the surrender of the French alliance. Such, in fact, was the popular exacerbation, that Sadler dared not appear in the streets ; and the peers in the interest of Henry were equally the objects of the public resentment. To induce Henry to pause in his fatal career, Sir George Douglas hiistened to London, and prevailed on him to abate ' the extravagance of his demands. The immediate delivery of the inf.int queen, the surrender of the fortresses and of the government into the hands of Henry, were waived, and Douglas returned to Scotland, bearing proposals of mnrriai^e of a wore reasonable kind, Henry, however, did not 270 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. A.O. 1543. abandon his eohcmes in secret. In the etate-paper office there is a memorandum in the hand of Wriothesloy, saying that " the article.s be so reasonable, that if the ambassadors of .Scotland will not agree to them, then it shall be mete the ' king's majesty follow outhU purpose by force." Sir George Douglas renewed the offer f.rmerly made by Henry to Arran, of marrying the princess Elizabeth and bis eldest son, and Sir ticorgc and Gk-ncairn were sent to London to assist the ambassadors in bringing the negotiation to a close. But Arran was assailed a^ vehemently on the other side custles, whilst Grimani, the pope's legate, was entreated to hasten to Scotland with a formidable store of anathemas and excommunications. The clergy assembled in convention at St. Andrews, and so ardent were they in the cause which they believed to be that of the very existence of the church, that they pledged tliemselvea to raise the sum necessary for the war against England, and, if necessary, not only to melt down the church plate, and to sacrifice their private fortunes, but to 6ght in person. Whilst these belligerent proceedings, which were ze.'U- Qaecn Catherine Parr. From the oiiginal Picture by Holbein. by the cardinal, and tlic queen -dowager, who waa the real head of the party. They sent Lennox to endeavour to win him over to their side, so that all Scotland might unite against Ilcnry. Lennox delivered a very flattering message from Francis I. to the regent, offering him both men and money to resist any attempt of invasion by the English, but this failing, the queen-dowager and Beaton prosecuted the negotiation with France, and it was agreed that two thou- sand men, under Montgomorie, Sieur do Lorges, .'■hould be sent to Scotland. The queen and cardinal called on their partisans to osscmblo their followers and garrison their '■ ously supported by the people, and by a large majority ul ' the nobility, justified the warning vrice of Sir George ' Douglas, that skilful diplomatist returned from England I with the more rational resolutions of Henry. They were I accepted by the governor and a majority of the nobles in a i convention held in Edinbiirj;li in the beginning of June, and I the treaties of pe.ico and marriage were finally r.itified at Greenwich on the Ut of July. By these treaties the young qaeen was to remain in Scotland till the commencement of her eleventh year ; but an English nobleman, his wife, and attendants were to form a part of her establishment, and A.D. 1543.] REIGN OP HENRY VIII. 271 mi ■~ -i " ' ' ENOAaFMENT BETWEEN THE EN8LISB ASD SCOTCH FORCES. iT2 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [iL.D. 1543. two carls and four barons were to be sent forthwith to Eng- land as ho.-tages for tlio fulfilment of this condition. Care was taken to stipulate on the part of Scotland, that even should the queen have issue by the prince Edward, that country should still retain its own name and laws. Once more ail was secured that a wise and just monarch could desire, and had Henry VIII. been such a monarch the union of England and Scotland might have been eflfected ages before it was, and much troub.c and bloodshed 'pre- vented. But nothing could prevail on llenry to yield his arbitrary and selfish temper to sound and moderate coun- sels. Whilst he outwardly conceded the obnoxious articles of the negotiations, he bound the Douglas faction — Augus, Maxwell, Glencairn, and the rest — 1*> assist him on the first opportunity in obtaining " all the things thus granted and covenanted, or at the least the dominion on this side the Forth." This appears from a paper in the state-paper office dated July Ist, 1513, entitled "Copy of the Secret Devise." The " Secret Devise," however, does not appear to have remained undiscovered by Beaton and the qui'en-dowager's party, and on the return of the commissioners to Scotland, they found that party in arms against the treaty, which they asserted was to hand over Scotland to the domination of England, and the church to destruction at the hands of llenry. Filled with uncontrollable rage on receiving the news of this, Henry demanded through his ambassador, .Sadler, that Arran should seize the person of cardinal Beatun, as the iiuthor of all the oppo^ition to the English alliance. Beati^n, howev<.r, tooltcaro to place this out of the regent's power. lu conjunction with the earl of Uuntty, he concentrated his forces in the north, Argyll and Lenooz showed themselree in the west, and Home, Bothwell, and Buccleuch, drew forth their feudal array upon the borders. They announced that they were compelled to this demon- etratiOD by the treaohery of Arran, who, they declared, had Slid the indepondeooe of the realm and the faith of holy church to Uenry. They stigmatised Arran not only as a traitor but as an Englishman, and in this they had some ground of justice. Arran, according to the assertion of Sadler, boasted of his English descent, and it is certain that he eagerly received Henry's money. He listened to, though he did not acquiesce in Henry's scheme of becoming king of Scotland as far as the Forth ; and he proposed, in case the cardinal should become too powerful for him, that Uenry should send to assist him and his friends. During these proceedings the young queon was living under the care of her mother, the ion on the public mind. l*rotestantism had grown and flourished on the ground fertilised by the nshes of martyrdom, and Beaton having now the power in his hands, and the opposition of Arran being remored by his conversion, tho cardinal made a progress to Perth, to strike terror into the heretics. Four men, Lamb, Anderson, Ranivld, and Hunter, were accused of heresy, one of them having interrupted a friar in his sermon, and others of having broken and ridiculed an image of St. [•'ranois. They were hanged, Lamb at the gallows denounc- ing in strong terms not only the errors of popery, but the well-known profligate life of tho cardinal. Hut the fate of a poor woman, tho wife of one of these martyrs, excited the deepest commiseration. She was charged with the heinous offence of refusing to pray to the Virgin during her confine- ment, declaring that she should direct her prayers to Ood atone. For this she was refused the poor satisfaction of hanging with her husband, but was drowned — the death of a witch. Taking the infant undaunteJly from her breast, the cried out to her husband, " It matters not, dear partner ; we have lived together many happy days, but this ought to be the most jcyful of all, when we are about to have joy for over. Therefore, I will not bid you good night, for ere the night shall close, we shall be united iu the kingdom of heaven." The year 104 1 found Henry bent on war both with Scot- land and France. Francis had deeply offended Henry by disapproving of his divorce and murder of Anne Boleyn, and by his refusal to follow his advice in repudiating his allegiance to the pope. Francis bad declared that he was Henry's friend, but only as far as the altar. Charles V., aggravated as had been the conduct of Henry towards him, by his divorce of his aunt Catherine, and the stigma of illegitimacy which he had cast on her daughter, the princess Mary, was yet by no means displeased to observe the growing differences betwixt Henry and his rival Francis. JIo therefore, like a genuine politician, dropped his resent- ment on account of Catherine, and professed to believe that it was time to bury these remembrances in oblivion. The only obstacle to pence betwixt them was the declared illegitimacy, and exclusion from the succession, of Mary. Henry lost no time in getting over this point. He had no need to confess himself wrong ; he had a stanch parliament who would cat any amount of dirt for him. Parliament, therefore, passed an net restoring both Mary and Elizabeth to their political rights. Nothing was said of their illegitimacy, but they were restored to their place in tho succession. Thus the parliament had gone back- ward and forward, at Henry's bidding, to such an ex- tent, that now It was tienson to assert the legitimacy of the [irincesses, and it was treason tj deny it ; for if they were illegitimate, they could not claim the throne. It was treason to be silent, according to the former act on this head, and it was now treason to refuse to take nu oath upon it when required. To such infamy did honourable members of parliament stoop under this unparalleled despoL This sorry amende being made, and accepted by the neces- sities rather than the will of tho emperor, Henry and he now made a treaty on these terms : 1st, That they should jointly require the French king to renounce his alliance with the Turks, and to make reparation to the Christians for all the losses which they had sustained in consequence of that alliance. 2nd, That Francis should be compelled to pay up to the king of England the arrears of his pension, and give security for a more punctual payment in future. .3rd, That if Francis did not comply with these terms within forty days, the emperor should seize tho duchy of Burgundy, Henry all the territories of France that had belonged to his ancestors, and that both monarchs should be ready to enforce these claims at the head of a competent army. As Francis refused to listen to these terms, and would not even permit tho messengers of the newly allied sovereigns to cross his frontiers, the emperor, who was now desirous of recovering the towns which ho had lost in Flanders, obtained from Henry a reinforcement of six thousand men under Sir John Wallop, and laid siege to Landreci ; whilst Charles himself, with a still greater force, overran tho duchy of Clcves, and compelled the duke, tho devoted partisan of France, to acknowledge the imperial allegiance. Charles then marched to the siege of Landreci, and Francis approached at the head of a large army. A great battle now appeared inevitable : but Francis, manoeuvring as for a tight, contrived to throw provisions into the town, and withdrew. Imperialists and English pursued the retiring army ; and the English, by too much impetuosity, suffered considerable loss. Henry promised himself more decided advantage in tho next cam- paign, which he intended to conduct in person. This he had not been able to make illustrious by his victorious pre- sence ; for he had been busy marrying, and boiog given in marriage, to a sixth wife. The lady who had this time been elevated to this perilous eminence, was the lady Catherine Latimer, tho widow of lord Latimer, already mentioned for hia concern in the Pilgrimage of Grace. She was born Catherine Parr, a daughter of Sir Thomas Parr, who claimed a long and honourable descent from Ivo de Tallebois, the Norman, of the time of the conquest ; and still more so from the Saxon wife of Talicbois, the sister of the renowned earls Morcar and Edwin. His ancestors in after times included the great Nevilles, earls of Westmoreland, the Beauforts, and, through the lords de Roos, Alexander II., of Scotland. She was fourth cousin to Henry himself, but had been twice married previous to his wedding her. She was tho widow of lord Borough of Gainsborough at fifteen, and was about thirty when Henry married her, only a few months after the death of her second husband, lord Latimer. Catherine Parr, as she still continues to bo called, was educated under tho care of her mother at Kcndoll Castle, and received a very learned education for a woman of those times. She read and wrote Latin fluently, had some knowledge of Greek, and was mistress of several modern languages. S1)C is said to have been handsome, but of very small and delicate features. At all times she appears to have been of remark- able thoughtfulness and prudence, extremely amiable, and became throu;{hly devoted to protestantism ; and i-ho may. indeed, justly be styled the first protestant queen of England, for Anne of Clevcs, though educated in tbo protestant faith, became a dvoided catholic in this country. It was not till 4,D. 1544.J MAEEIAGE OP CATHERINE PARR. 275 after the death of lord Latimer that her protestant tenden- cies, however, became known ; yet then, she appoars to have made no secret of them, for her house became tlie resort of Oovcrdale, Latimer, Packhurst, and other eminent re- formers, and sermons were frequently preached in her chamber of state, which it is surprising did not attract the attention of the king. But it seems that his senses were loo much fascinated by the charms of the handsome wealthy widow, to perceive the atmosphere of heresy which sur- rounded her. The fair historian of our queens has happily compared the elevation of the protestant Catherine Parr to the throne of the persecuting Henry, to that of queen Esther by Ahasuerus ; protestantism in the one case, as the Jews in the other, was destined to receive its ultimate ascendency by this event ; for Catherine Parr became the step-mother of Edward VI. and queen Elizabeth, and their active instructress, and thoroughly imbued their minds with her new opinions and the knowledge of the bible, though she could not effect the same result in the older and more fixed bosom of Mary. This circumstance is joyfully alluded to in the metrical chronicle of her cousin. Sir Thomas Throckmorton : — But when the king's fifth wlfo had lost her head, Yet he mi&likes tlie life to live alone ; And once resolved the sixth time for to wed, He sought outright to make his choice of one : Tkat choice was chance right hiippy for us all — It brewed oar bliss, and rid us quite from thrall. ■ When Henry opened to Catherine Parr his intention to make her his wife, she is said to have been struck with consternation ; and, though a matron of the highest virtue, she frankly told him that " it was better to be his mistress than his wife." Henry, however, was a suitor who listened to no scruples or objections ; and even with the most pru- dent woman, a crown being concerned, these scruples soon vanished. Catherine was scarcely a widow when her hand had been sought by Sir Thomas Seymour, brother of the late queen Jane, and uncle to the heir-apparent, who was considered the handsomest man of the court. She is said to have listened willingly to his suit; but on the appearance of the great and terrible lover, who took off the heads of queens and rivals with as little ceremony as a cook would cut off the head of a goose, S(>ymour shrunk in affiight aside, and Catherine became a queen. The mnrriage took place on the 12th of July, 1543, in the qticpn's closet at Hampton Court. The ceremony was performed by Gar- diner, bishop of Winchester. The two princesses, Mary and Elizabeth, and the king's niece, Margaret Douglas, were present ; and the queen was attended by her sister, Mrs. Herbert, afterwards countess of Pembroke, the duchess of Suffolk, Anne, countess of Hertfortl, and lady Jane Dudley. Soon after the marriage, her uncle, lord Parr of Horton, was made lord chamberlain, nnd her brother was created carl of E.'isex. Yet circumstances almost imme- diately showed the danger which surrounded her. Gardiner, the bigoted bishop of Winchester, who had married her, saw, nevertheless, her elevation with the deepest inward hatred ; and within a fortnight after her marriage, he was plotting her destruction, and commenced by an attack on those about the court and its vicinity, who were known as holders of her views. A tool of his, one Dr. London, who had been amongst the busiest of Cromwell's agents in the spoliation of the abbeys, but who had now become as busy an agent of the catholic party, which was in the ascendant, com- menced by giving information of a society of reformers in Windsor, who were believed to receive countenance from members of the royal household. London made a list of these persons, and stated the charges against them, which Gardiner laid before the king, praying that a search might be made for books of theinew heresy. Henry granted the search so far as it regarded the town, but excepted the castle, being pretty well aware that the queen's closets Would not bear too close a scrutiny. Marbeck, a chorister, was speedily arrested for having in his possession a bible and a Latin concordance in progress. With him wore arrested as his accomplices, Anthony Pason, a priest, Robert Testwood, and Henry Filmer. Marbeck was saved by some influential interference, but the three otliers were burnt, after having been pressed closely, and with added assurances of pardon, to criminate personages within tho palace, but in vain. This preliminary step having suc- ceeded, higher game was aimed at. Dr. Haines, dean of Exeter, and prebendary of Windsor, Sir Philip Hoby and his lady. Sir Thomas Garden, and other members of the royal household, were denounced by London and his coadjutor Symonda. Tliis evident approach towards her own person, seems to have roused Catherine Parr, who sent a bold and trusty servant into court, who exposed the collusion of Ockham, clerk of the court, and London. Ookham was arrested, and his papers seized, which at once revealed the foul plot betwixt himself, London, and Symonds. These miscreants were sent for and examined, and not knowing that their letters to Ockham were seized, they speedily proved their own villainy, and were con- demned to rid'', with their faces to the horses' tails, to the pillory in Windsor. iSuch were the critical circuin.stances of queen Catherine Parr, even in her honeymoon. In these plots the destruction of Cranmer was not lost sight of, hut his time was not come; the favour of the king still defended him. The spring of 1541 opened with active preparations for Henry's campaign in France. During the vrinter, Goa- zaga, the viceroy of Sicily, was despatched to London by Charles, to arrange the plan of operations. An admirable one was devised, had Henry been the man to assist in carry- ing it out. The emperor was to enter France by Cham- piigiie, and Henry by Picardy, and instead of staying to besiege the towns on the route, they were to da^h on to Paris, where their forces uniting, they might consider them- selves master of the French capital, or in a position to dic- tate terms to Francis. In May the imperialists were in the field, ai.d Henry landed at Calais in June, and by the middle of July he was within the bounds of France at the head of 20,000 English and 15,000 imperialists. But neither of the invaders k' pt to their original plan. Charles stopped by the way to reduce Luxemburg, Ligne, and St. Didier. Had Henry, however, pushed on with his imposing army to Paris, Francis would have been at the mercy of the allies. But Henry, ambitious to rival the military successes of Charles, and take towns too, instead of making the capital his object, turned aside to besiege Boulogne and Montreuil. The imperial ambassador, sensi- ble of the fatality of this proceeding, urged Uenry with all his c'oqucnco during eleven days to push on ; and Charles to take from him any further excuse for delay, hastened forward along the right bank of the Marne, avoiding all the fortified towns. But when once Henry had undertaken an 276 CASSELLS ILUSTKATED HISTOBY OF ENGLAND. [a^d. 1644. object, i.ppositum moved his English buII-dogi?m, and he lost all c •n8ciou! terms with Charles. He sent to him a Spanisli monk of the name of (luzman, and a near relative of Charles's confessor, proposing offers of accommodation. Charles readily listened to them, and sent to Henry to learn his demands. These demands were something enormous, and whilst Francis demurred, Charles continued his march, and arrived at Chateau Thierri, almost in the vicinity of Paris. The circumstances of both Francis and Charles now mutually inclined them to open separate negotiations. Francis saw a foreign army menacing his capital, hut Charles, on the other hand, saw the French army constantly increasing betwixt him and his strange ally, whom nothing could induce to move from the walls of Boulogne. Under these circumstances, Charles consented to offer Francis the terras which he had de- manded before the war, and which he had refuset^ '/ut now came the news that the English had taken Boulogne, and the French king at once accepted them. The treaty of Crespi, as this was called, bound the two sovereigns to unite for the defence of Christendom against the Turks, and to unite their families by the marriage of the second son of Francis with a daughter of Charles. Henry, on his part, having placed a strong garrison in Boulogne, raised the siege of Montreuil, and returned to England like a great conqueror, as he always did, from his distant campaigns. If Henry's campaign in France did him little honour, that which had been going on in Scotland under bis com- manders and allies, did him still less. His trusty friends Angus, Lennox. Cassilis, and Glencairn, who had sworn in their bond to remain faithful to him till they had reduced Scotland to his yoke, in January, 1514, to escape a for- feiture of their estates for their repeated treasons, entered into the same compact with Arran. solemnly l/mding " them- selves, and all other their complices and partakers, to remain true, faithful, and obedient to their sovereign lady and her authority -, to assist the lord-governor for defence of the realms against their old enemies of England, to support the liberties of holy church, and to maintain the true Christian faith." As hostages for the faithful observance of this agreement. Sir George Douglas, the brother of Angus, and the eldest son of Glencairn, the master of Kilmaurs, were surrendered to Arran. Yet within less than two months did these infamous and doubly perjured traitors send an earnest entreaty to the king of England to hasten his pre- parations for the invasion of the country, and accompanied it by a plan of operations. These -were, that a strong army should proceed by land, a numerous fleet, carryin" an additional force, should go by sea, and it was added, that it would act as a most useful diversion, if ten or twelve ships were sent to the western coast to act on the earl of Argyll's country— a suggestion, no doubt, thrown in by Glencairn. Argyll's bitter enemy. A stratagem of the fame kind had been succe-sfully employed before by Glen- c;\irn'8 advice ; and the Highland chiefs imprisoned in the castles of Edinburgh and Dunbar were liberated on con- dition that they should harry the lands of Argyll. The disaffected barons urged Henry to put these plane in execution before the arrival of the French army, but this advice was followed in such a loose and desultor manner, that it failed of the overwhelming effect which i' .a - 1 Lave had, if ably executed. Henry, fuming with rage against the cardinal and the Scotch generally, exerted himself, as fast as an empty exchequer would allow, to muster the necessary army ot invasion ; and during the time which this occupied, he busied himself with concerting a plot of the most diabolical kind — the seizure or assassination of Beaton. Such dark transactions as this, which were only too frequent in the reigns of both Henry and Elizabeth, would not now be believed if they did not stand in the abundant hand-writing of the parties engaged in them in the state-paper office. On the 17th of April, Crighton of Brunston, a spy of Sad- ler's, despatched to the earl of Hertford, then at N'ewcastle, an emissary of the name of Wishart, who made him aware of a plot for this purpose. Kirkaldy of Grange, the moster of Rothes — eldest son to the earl of Rothes— and one John Charteris, were, he said, prepared to capture or kill the cardinal, if assured of the necessary support from England. Hertford immediately despatched Wishart to London ex- press, where the king, having in a private interview heard the particulars from Wishart, entered into the scheme most heartily, promising the conspirators every protection in his power if they were successful. The cardinal, how- ever, at this time became aware of the base design, and took precautions for his safety ; only, however, to defer for a time the execution of this atrocious deed by the same hands, urged on by this detestable monarch. By the end of April, Henry was prepared to pour on Scotland the vial of his murderous wrath. A fleet of a hundred sail appeared, under the command of lord Lisle, the high admiral of England, suddenly in the Forth. The Scotch seem to have by no means been dreaming of such a visitant, and its apparition threw the capital into the greatest consternation. In four days, such was the absence of preparation, such the public paralysis, that Hertford was permitted to land his troops and his artillery without the sight of a single soldier. He had advanced from Granton to Leith when Arran and the cardinal threw themselves in his way with a miserable handful of fol- lowers, who were instantly dispersed, and Leith given up to plunder. The citizens of Edinburgh, finding themselves deserted by the governor, flew to arms, under the command of Otterburn of Rcidhall, the provost of the city. Otterburn proceeded to the English camp, and, obtaining an inter- view with lord Hertford, complained of this unlooked-for invasion, and off-.'red to accommodate all differences. But Hertford returned a haughty answer, that he was not come to negotiate, for which he had no power, but to lay waste town and country with fire and sword unless the young queen were delivered to him. The people of Kdinburgh, on hearing this insolent message, vowed to perish to a man rather than coadescend to such baseness. Tli'y set about to defend their walls and sustain the attack of the enemy ; but they found that Otterburn, who had tampered secretly with the English before this, had stolen unobserved aw.ay. They appointed a new provost, and manned their walls so stoutly that they compelled Hertford to fetch up his battering ordnance from Leith. Seeing very soon that it was impossible to defend their gates from this heavy A.D. 1544.] DEVASTATION OF THE SCOTTISH LANDS. 277 ordnance, they silently collected as much of their property as they could carry, and abandoned the town. Hertford took possession of it ; and then sought to reduce the castle. But finding this useless, he set fire to the city ; and, rein- forced by four thousand horse, under lord Bure, he em- ployed himself in laying waste the surrounding country with a savage ferocity, which no doubt had been com- manded by the fiendish malice of the English king. On the 15th of May, Arran having assembled a con- siderable force, and liberated Angus and his brother. Sir George Douglas, in the hope of winning them over by such clemency marched rapidly towards Edinburgh. The Eng- lish, however, did not wait for his arrival. Lord Lisle embarked a portion ot the troops at Leith again, and lord punctual agent of this monster, confessed to those around him, that Henry had done too little for a conqueror, and far too much for a suitor. As if totally lost to sense and reason, as well as goodness, he had ordered an indiscrimi- natlng devastation of the Scottish lands. He expressly refused to allow any sparing of the estates of his Scottish confederates, and this impolitic frenzy soon produced its natural fruits in the desertion and bitter hostility of many of them. Angus, Sir George Douglas, and their numerous and powerful adherents, whose demesnes lay near the bor- ders, and who had so long laboured with a most renegade zeal and ability for his advantage, abandoned his cause in di.sgust, and went over to the cardinal. The only nobles left to Henry were Lennox and Glencairn — Lennox, a man View of Portsmouth Harbour, as it appears at tho present time. Hertford led the remainder away by land. Both by land and water the English commanders continued their buc- caneering outrages, doing all the mischief and inflicting all j the misery they could. Lord Lisle seized the two largest Scottish vesssls in the harbour of Leith, and burnt the rest; he then sailed along the coast, plundering and des- troying all the villages and country within reach. Lord Hertford, on his part, laid Seaton, Haddington, Renton, and Dunbar in ashes, and returned into England leaving behind him a trail of desolation worthy of a devil. Such was the insane .ind demoniac manner in which Henry VIII. wooed the little queen of Scotland for his son. Such was the madness of his honour-deserted mind, by which he destroyed for ever all hope of such a union. Lord Hertford, who conducted himself solely as the 76 weak, treacherous, and vacillating ; Glencairn, a host in himself, a man of great ability and extensive influeuce, but of no patriotism. So little did the cruel ravages of his country by Henry affect him, that we find him and Lennox, on the 17th of May, entering into a most extraordinary treaty with the English king at Carlisle. Dy this Henry promised Glencairn and his son, the master of Kilmaurs, ample pensions, and to Lennox, the government of Scot- land, and the hand of lady Margaret Douglas, the daughter of Margaret, the sister of Henry. For this these traitor barons promised to acknowledge Henry as the Protector of Scotland— sad irony!— to exert themselves to the utmost of their power to deliver over to him the young queen, and the chief fortresses of the country, the town and castle of Dumbarton, the isle and castle of Bute. A more infamous ne CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED niSTOBT OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 154i. IwrguD is not to be found in hi-torr, and most Btrange of •U. these men pledged themselves to cause the word of God to be truly taught in their tcrritjries, styling tho bible the only foundation of all truth and honour !— tho very qualities they were thus treading under foot. Ko sooner vras the evil compact sealed, than the two renegade barons hastened to assemble their forces and earn their disijraceful pay. But the only fortune which they deserved attended them. Arran, acting under the counsel of the cardinal, met Qlencaim near Glasgow, and after an obstinate battle defeated him. Glencaira escaped to Dum- barton, where Lennox livv, and that unprincipled nobleman resigned the castle into his handi>. and set sail for England, where he received the promised hand of the lady Margaret Douglas. Francis I. was so disgusted at this unnatural conduct of Lennox, that, suspecting his brother, lord Aubigny, of some countenance of these proceedings, he deprived him of the high offices which he held in France, and threw him into prison. In Scotland the cruel raid of Henry, and the traitorous league of Lennox and Glencairn with him, produced re- markable changes. A general council of the nobles met at Stirling on the 3rd of June, where Lennox and Glencairn alone were absent. The conduct of Henry seemed to have united all hearts against him. There took place a coali- tion of the catholic and protestant parties ; but Angus, who was now bound up with the Scottish policy, had the in- fluence to obtain the removal of the feeble Arran from the regency, and the queen-mother, Mary of Guise, elected in his stead ; AnguR, the mover, being made lieutenant- general of the kingdom. But the cardinal was too clear-sighted to lend himself to any such heterogeneous coalition. He still adhered to Arran, and the country became torn by desperate factions, which exposed it the more to the attacks of the English king. In August. Lennox sailed from Bristol with a squadron of ten ships, and n. number of soldiery, for tho ooast of Scot- land, to fulfil his promiec of putting the castles of Dum- barton and Bate into Henry's hand. He soon plundered the isle of Arran, and sailing to Bute, made himself master of it. and of its oastle of Bothsay, and delivered them, according to agreement, to Sir Richard Mansell and Richard Broke, to hold for Henry. The castle of Dumbarton, the key of the west of Scotland, Lennox felt sure of, having left it in the hands of Glencairn. But Glencairn had in the meantime gone over to tho opposite party, and the officer in command, Stirling of Glorat, scorning such treason, not only refused to yield it up, but made it neces- sary fur Lennox and his associates to escape with all speed to their ships. Scarcely had Lennox quitted Dumbarton, when Sir George Douglas entered it with four thousand troops, and the earl of Argyll, occupying the castle of Dunoon, fired on Lennox as he fell down the Olyde. Lennox, returning the fire, landed to avenge the attack, and speedily dispersed the bighlan'Iers drawn out against him. Ho next ravaged the coasts of Kiotyre, Kyle, and Carrick, and then returned laden with spoil to Bristol, whence he despatched Sir Peter Mowtas to inform tiio king at Boulogne of the issue of the enterprise, who rcceiv d the account of the conduct of Glen- cairn with his most hearty cholcr. Meantime, Henry's officers, Sir Ralph Eure, Sir Brian Layton, and Sir Richard Bowes, were ravaging the borders as mercilessly as Lennox did the shores of Clyde. They were enabled to do almo$ensions betwixt the parties of the governor Arran and the queen- dowager. The story of their burninj^s and spoliations has been preserved in an account called the Bloody Ledger, in which are enumerated one hundred and ninety-two towns, villages, farm-offices, towers, and churches as destroyed ; ten thousand three hundred and eighty-six cattle driven o6f ; twelve thousand fou' hundred and ninety.two sheep ; one thousand four hundred and ninety-six horses, besides the enumeration of other plunder and horrors. In November this miserable warfare eeems to have slackened, but not so the fends betwixt the difi°erent factions. In the beginning of that month the regent called a parliament, in which he denounced Angus and his brother as traitors ; and on the other band, Angus summoned the three estates to Stirling, in the queen's name, and there issued a proclamation discharging all people from their allegiance to .\rran as the pretended regent. Once more the cardinal attempted to unite the clashing factions — peace appeared restored, and Arran marched to the borders to avenge the late injuries of the English, and laid siege to Coldingham, then in their possession. Suspicion and disunion, however, speedily broke out again ; and the English, becoming aware of it, msbed out upon them and put them to flight, though the Scotch were three times their number, Angus, who had the command of the vanguard on this occasion, Glencairn, Oaasilis, lords Somerville and Bothwell, were all involved in tho disgrace- ful rout. The defeat was universally attributed to the treason of the Douglas es, yet in the parliament which was summoned in December at Edinburgh , they managed to clear themselves of the charge, but not from the belief of it in the minds of the people, which was soon suf- ficiently shown by both barons and commonalty refusing to serve under Ajigns when a muster was called in the Lothians. The greater part of tho south of Scotland now lay ex- posed to the inroads and devastations of the English. The border clans, ready to fight on that side where there was the best prospect of booty, entered into the service o( England ; others who were more patriotic were compelled t') purchase protection ; and the English wardens became so confident that all Scotland to the Forth might be subdued almost without a struggle, that Sir Ralph Eure and Sir Brian Layton hastened to court and laid their views before the king. Henry was only too ready to pnnbh still further the stubborn Scots, and, as an incentive to Eure,- he granted him all the lands he should conquer in the Merse. Teviotdale, and Lauderdale— districts which were the old hereditary property of the Douglases, Angus heard oi this free grant of his patrimony with such indignation that he vowed he would write his sasinc, or instrument of possession, on his skin with sharp pens and bloody ink, if he dared to touch it. Sir Ralph Eure, however, recked little of his threat. He straightway crossed the borders with five thousand men, consisting of foreign mercenaries, English archers, and six hundred border Scot*, who wore the red cross of England over their armour. They tracked their way in barbarities still more savage than before. They burnt the tower of Broomhouse, and in it a noble and aged matron, it-s mistress, with her whole family. They wrecked and desolated tiie celebrated abbey of 3Ielrosc, plundering A.D. 1545.] it, and reducing it to ruins, raasacking and defacing the tombs of the Douglases. An^ug rushed on in the spirit of his vow to meet these maraudei-a, and came up with them in the midst of their de'.truction of the tombs of his ancestors ; but so far from writing Euro's sasine on his bacls, he was repulsed with great slaughter ; and with Arran, the governor, who accom- fanicd him, saw the ruthless foe complete their sacrilegious havoc, and commence their march to Jedburgh, without any forces to prevent them. Angus and Arran, however, hung on the rear of the retreating army, heavy with plunder, and saw Eure, confident of hi.'* superior strength, encamp on a moor above the village of Ancram, on the Teviot. The Scotch posted themselves on a neighbouring eminenct, and to their great joy beheld Norman Leslie, the master of Rothes, arrive at the head of twelve hundred I:ince8, and directly after, Sir Walter Scott, the old laird of Buccleuch, gallop up, announcing his followers to be within an hour'.s march. Thus strengthened, they resolved to give battle ; but, to deceive the enemy, Buccleuch advised Arran to quit the height where he was posted, and retire to a level plain in its rear, called Peniel Heugh, as if they were about to retreat. They then dismounted, and sent their horses in the care of the camp-boys to a hill beyond the plain. The English commanders fell into the snare laid for them. Their successes had made them careless, and they gallopod forward to pursue the flying enemy. On reaching the brow of the hill, however, they .saw with abionishraent, not an army in retreat, but drawn up for battle, almost face to face with them. They were thrown into some disorder by their rapid advance up the hill, and their horsea were blown ; but, relying on their superiority, they dashed forward, and charged the foe. The Scots, who had the sun and wind on their backs, and burned with the sense of a thousand injuries unavenged, stood the shock bravely, and the battle became furious. The superior •length of the Scottish spears gave them a decided advan- tage. Bowes and Layton were pushed back on the main body, and threw it into confusion, and that again disordered the rear. The setting sun blinded the English, and the smoke from the harquebusses of their enemies was blown id their faces. They gave way ; and, on the very first symptom of flight, the six hundred Scottish borderers tore off their red-crosses, joined their countrymen, and made a terrible carnage amongst their late comrades. The neigh, bouring peasantry soon joined in the chase, animated by -the spirit of a natural revenge, and the cry of " Remember Broomhouse ! " rang over the field, the women being the most frantic in the exclamation. Eure and Layton, who for six months had kept the whole border country in terror, and had perpetrated the most merciless atrocities, were, to the great exultation of the people, founxl dead upon the Held. Many knights and gentlemen were taken prisoners ; and Arran, eeiring the camp equipage and the enormous booty, marched on Coldingham and Jedburgh, which surrendered ; and he soon saw the Wbole southern district freed of the enemy. The anger of Henry VIII. may be imagined on the receipt of this news. He vowed especial vengeance on Angus, who had so long been his obsequioua tool ; but that chief having now executed his vovs not only on Eure but on tjayton, exclaimed proudly, " What : does my royal brother- BATTLE OF ANCRAM MOOR. 279 in-law feel ofiended, because, like a good Scotsman, I have avenged upon Ralph Eure the defaced tombs of my ancestors ? They were better men than he, and I ought to have done no less ; and will he take my life for that ? Little knows king Henry the skirts of Kernctable ; lean keep myself there against all his English host." Francis I. could not rest satisfied so long as Boulogne was in the hands of the English, and he resolved, in 1545. to make a grand effort, to recover not only that town but Calais, which had been for conturics in the pcsscssion oi England. Large galleys were built at Rouen, and as many vessels were collected as possible from Marseilles and other ports in the Mediterranean for this enterprise. He hired from the Venetians and other Italian states, and he deter- mined to send a body of troops to Scotland to assist in making a diversion in that country. But he was not con- tented with endeavouring to regain his own towns, bis coasts had often been harassed by the English vessels, and he now ventured to carry the war to Henry's owa shores. Henry, aware of his intentions, raised fortifications on the banks of the Thames, and along the shores of Kent, Sussex, and Hampshire. The French fleet, consisting of one hundred and thirty sail, under the command of Anno- baut, set sail on the 16th of July, and fell down tho Channel. Francis flattered himself that he could seize the Isle of Wight, and perhaps maintain garrisons there, if he should not be able to get possession of Portsmouth. Henry had himself proceeded to Portsmouth, where he had sixty ships lying, under the command of lord Lisle. The Freooli fleet sailed into the Solent, and anchored at St. Helen's. The sea being very calm, the French admiral put out hi.^ flat-bottomed boats and galleys that drew little water, and sailed into the very mouth of Portsmouth harbour, daring the English admiral to come out. But Henry commanded lord Lisle to lie still, and Annebaut, firing into the port, sunk the Mary Rose with her commander. Sir George Carew, and seven hundred men. On the turn of the tide lord Lisle bore down on the enemy and sunk a galley with its men, and the French vessels then bore away to the main fleet. As the French could not provoke the English to come out of harl)Our, though they burned the villages and farm- houses along the coast, they held a council of war, and resolved to attempt the conquest of the Isle of Wight. Tlio invasion of the island was assayed in three places, but the inhabitants repulsed the soldiers as they landed, with grt.it spirit, and, after committing some ravages, the French thought it best to retire. They then sailed along the coast of Sussex, making occasional descents, and finally anchored before Boulogne, to prevent the entrance of supplies for the array there. Another object was to prevent reinlorccmenU< of ships from the Thames reaching Portsmouth, but in both these endeavours the suptrior vigilance ot the Eoghsh prevailed : provisions were conveyed into Boulogne, and thirty sail of ships arrived at Poitsmouth. At length lord Lish received orders from Henry to put to sea and attack the enemy ; he expressed himself highly delighted, but nothing came of it, for the two fleets manoeuvred for some time in the face of each other, exchanged a few shots, and then retired to their respective ports. And thus ended the boastful enterprise of Francis. If Francis had done little. Henry was still apprehensive tha', he might do more, and bo was in uo condition to raba aeo CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OF EN'GLAXD. [a.d. 1545. adequate forces for defence. After all that his father had left him, and after the enormous receipts from the church property, never was monarch in greater straits for money. Wriothesloy, writing to the council in September of this year, draws a woful picture of the tinnncea. " As concerning the preparation of money, I shall do what is possible to bo done ; but, my lords, I tru^t your wisdouis do consider what is done and paid already. You see the king's majesty hath this year and the last spent £1,300,000, or thereabouts ; and his subsidy and benevolence ministering scant £300,000 therooff, I muse sometime where the rest, being so great a sum, hath been gotten ; so the lands being consumed, the plate of the realm molten and coined, whereof much hath risen. I sorrow and lament the danger of the time to come, wherein is also to be remembered the money that is to be paid in Flanders ; and that is as much and more than all the rest, the great scarcity that wo have of corn, wheat being in all places in manner, Norfolk excepted, at twenty shillings the quarter, and a marvellous small quantity to be gotten of it. And though the king's majesty should have a greater grant than the realm could bear at one time, it could do little to the continuance of these charges, which be so importable, that I see not almost how it is possible to bear the charges this winter till more may be gotten. Therefore, good my lords, though you write to rae still, ' Pay ! pay ! prepare for this and that : ' consider, it is your part to remember the state of things with me, and by your wisdom to ponder what may be done, and how things may be continued." Henry was a striking example of the uselessness of any amount of wealth to a reckless and extravagant man. The vast treasures which his father had scraped together through long years, and by every mode of oppression and meanness ; the still vaster treasures of which he had plundered the monasteries, had all evaporated like a morn- ing dew, and he was now overwhelmed with necessities, and had not a particle of patience to enable him to bear them, or of prudence to regulate his expenditure and restrain him from ruinous wars of the most unjust character. He could bribe the subjects of the child-queen of Scotland to traitorous deeds against their sovereign, but he had first to extort the money from his own people by the most oppressive and unconstitutional measures. He had melted down the last plate, sold the last jewels of the suppressed monasteries, and he now called upon his ministers incessantly to furnish money, which they were obliged to obtain by a violation of all the laws of the country, the rights of the subject, .and the respect due to age and station. In 1.043 he obtainoi a most unexampled subsidy; but by returns which he had ordered, he had learned the value of every man's property ; and though the clergy had granted him six per cent, on their incomes, and the laity still more, he now demanded from every person rated at fifty pounds per annum a sura of money as a loan. Having obtained it— for no one dared to refuse — he then obtained an act from his slavish parliament, granting him all the sums that he had borrowed from his subjects since the thirty-first year of his reign. This was a sufficient warning, that whatever the insatiate monaroh obtained, under any pretence whatever, would not be refunded ; and so conscious was he himself of this that he varied his next attempt, and called it a bene- [ VOl«Dce. This was a name which bad become most odious ' of all under firmer monarchs ; and during Wolsey's administration in liis own reign the people had dared to refuse it. Since then, however, he had broken the spirit of the people more completely. They now paid it, though not without murmuring. In London the most reluctance was shown to comply wiih the illegal demand, and Henry hastened to give the public a specimen of wliat they had to expect. He seized two of the aldermen who did not feel 80 benevolently disposed as to fleece themselves voluntarily for this sponge of a king. Alderman Reed was sent ofi" to the Scottish wars, a life totally opposed to all his habits. He was made prisoner in the first engagement, and had to pay a heavy ransom. Alderman Sir William Roach was cast into prison, on the charge that he had used disrespect- ful and seditious language to his majesty's commissioners, and had to purchase his freedom by a heavy sum of money. Such was become the liberty of the subject under this most atrocious of tyrants. But having trampled on every right and every personal feeling of his people, a.id exhausted every direct appeal to their pockets, however extortionate or arbitrary, he proceeded to rob them indirectly by adulterating the ooin. At the commence- ment of his reign the ounce of gold and the pound of silver were each worth forty shillings : by repeated pro- clamations he raieed them to forty-four, forty-fice, and finally to forty-eight shillings. He then issued a new coinage with a plentiful alloy, and obtained possession of the old coinage by offering a premium for it at the Mint. This succeeded, and he then debaaed that, and so on, by successive acts in the same process, he went, until, before the end of the war, he had equalised the silver and the alloy in his coinage ; and in the following year he brought the alloy to double the quantity of the silver. To such a despicable condition had he reduced the coinage of the realm, that the shilling fell in value to ninepence, then sixpence ; and finally his successors were compelled to withdraw it entirely from circulation. He had, in fact, cheated the nation out uf nine-tenths of the whole circu- lating medium, and had inflicted on the trade of the country the most serious embarrassments. But whilst he was proceeding in this abandoned course with the coin, the three years for which his supplies had been granted had expired, and he called his most compliant parliament together in November to grant him fresh aid. The clergy in convocation voted him fifteen per cent, on their incomes for two years, and parliament two tenths and fifteenths. But that did not satisfy him, and the vile par- liament forthwith granted him all the charities, hospitals, and colleges in the kingdom, accompanied by the most creeping and fulsome language, averring that they had always acknowledged him, by the word of God, supreme bead of the church, &c.,&c. This was the last grant made to this insatiate monarch, the last mass of the public property thrown, during this reign, into this royal mael- strom. Had he lived a few years longer, he would have shut up and wasted away all the noble charities of this country for the education of the young and the comfort of the old. There would not have remained a hospital for the sick, or a school for education in the country. Even so early as the 2is. of numerous attendants. The constant irritation of his festering legs made his terrible tamper still more terrible. The long exercise of a lawless and arbitrary will, the indulgence of every sensual and tyrannous tendency, had Jise.vsed both body "and mind, till he wm one of tha most fearful spectacles which the abodes of luxury and des- potism have ever produced. His presence was offensive to every sense, and dangerous at every moment. The Fmallest circumstance threw him into a paroxysm of un- controllable fury; and all around him trembled at the ferocious tvrant, who, while sitting on a throne, was aiming his deadly malice at the noblest and fairest objects around him. The one who had the most miraculous escape was his queen Catherine Parr. With wonderful patience she had borne his whims, his rages, and his offensive person. She had shown an affectionate regard for his children, and had mical powers. The defender of the faith was not likely to 1 bear the slightest contradiction in such matters, least of all I from a mere woman, as he designated his wife. It was, not long before he burst forth upon the astounded queen- who no donbt had by far the best of the argument : for Catherine had gone thoroughly into the study of the scrip- lures, and had had about her all those most conversant with them. She had made Miles OoverJule] her almoner, and rendered him every assistance in his translation of the Bible. She employed the learned Nicholas Udall, master of Eton, to edit the translations of Erasmus's "Paraphrases, on the Four Gospels," which, according to Strype, she published at her own cost. Stimulated by her example, many ladies of rank pursued the study of the learned lan- guages and of scriptural knowledge. " It was a common thing," Udall observes, " to see young virgins so nouzlcd and trained in the study of letters that they willingly set "^*:A. Conduit in London Streets, with Stocks, Pillory, and Whipping Post. assisted with great wisdom in the progress of their educa- tion, living all the time as with a sword suspended over her head by a hair. She was devotedly attached to the reformed principles, and loved to converse with sincere prote.stants. But two of the most bloody and relentless persecutors that the annals of the church exhibit — Gardiner and Bonner, with their unprincipled confederate Wriothesley — were always keeping strict watch over her with murderous eyes ; and Oranmer. the head of the opposite party, was too timid for a moment's reliance upon him in the hour of danger. AH the gaieties and frtes which in earlier days enlivened the court were now suspended, and a silence, as gloomy as the spirit of the tyrant who created it, lay over the palace. Catherine spent her days in a hopeless yet patient endeavour to soothe her irascible consort, and even ventured to enter with him upon the discussion of religious topics. This was a most ticklish subject ; far Henry, vain in every region of his mind, was vainest of all of bis pole- all other pastimes at nought for learning's sake. It wai now no news at all to see quoens and ladies of most high estate and progeny, instead of courtly dalliance, t» embrace virtuous exercises, reading, and writing, with most earnest study, early and late, to apply themselves to the acquire- ment of knowledge." Of this school, and one of Catherine's own pupils, w.u- lady Jane Gray; and another lovely and noble victim, Anne Askew, whose turn it was to fiiU under the de- destroying hand of llcnry VIII. at this moment, washighly esteemed and encour.iged Ky her. Anno Askew was the second daughter of Sir William Askew, of Uclsey, in Lin- colnshire. She was married at an early age, and, as it is said, .igainst her will, to a Mr. Kyme, a wealthy neighbour, who had been cng.agcd to her elder sister, but was pre- vented marrying her by her larly death. After having two children by Kyme, she left him, or. as other accounts have it, was driven cut of his bouse by him, on account of her A.D. 1546.] ANNE ASKEW SENTENCED TO DEATH. Protestant opinions, went to London, resumed her maiden name and devoted herself zealously to the diffusion of the scripture doctrines. She soon became acquainted with the most distinguished ladies of the court. Lady Herbert, the queen's sister, the duchess of SaffollJ, and other ladies were .rreatly interested in her. She had given books to the queen fn the presence of lady Herbert, lady Tyrwhitt, and the exertions for the spread of protestant ideas, and spoke boldly against transubstantiation and other popish dogmas. This soon brought her into custody again. She was ex- amined before tlie privy council, when slie defended herself so stoutly, and quoted scripture so ably, that they committed her to Newgate, and soon after, she and some others were sentenced to death at Guildhall. Ptm§^^MM>^ Henry VIII. and Catharine Parr. youthful lady Jane Gray. These circumstances marked her out to Gardiner and Bonner as just the person to impli- cate the queen, if they laid hands on her. Anne Askew was, therefore, soon summoned before Bonner, bishop of London, who terrified her into a recant- ation, and an acknowledgment of her faith in the doctrines of the catholic church; but no sooner was she discharged than, despising herself for her weakness, she resumed her 77 Whilst lying under sentence of death they sent Shaxton, formerly bishop of Salisbury, to her to persuade her to renounce her faith and save her life. Shaxton, who had manfully resisted the passing of the Six Articles, called the Bloody Statute, and had resigned his see on their being passed, had endured many years' imprisonment, and at length was condemned to the flames. This reduced his courage— probably his spirit being enfeebled by long con- MO OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENQLAXD. [a.D. 1546. finement and suffering— and he recanted. But his argu- ment, r.nd far Icsi his example, could not influence Anne. She toM him to spare his labour, and that it had been better for him if ho had never been bom. Finding this attempt useless, her tormentors removed her to the Tower, and there she was questioned by Gardiner and Wriothesley as to her connection with the ladies of the court. She refused to implicate them. They then told her that the king was aware of her intercourse with several of of the court ladies, and she had better confess ; adding, that if she had not powerful friends, how had she lived in prison ? She replied that her maid had lamented her case to the appren- tices in the streets, and they had sent her money. She had also received money in the name of ladies of the court, but she had no means of learning whether it really came from them. They then put her to the torture, and when Sir Anthony Kncvet, the lieutenant of the Tower, endeavoured to check the ferocious cruelty of Wriothesley, that base man, and the equally base Rich, threw off their coa's, and applied their hands to the rack, till, as Anne herself declared, they well nigh plucked her j lints asander. When Sir Anthony Knevet saw this infernal work going on, he got into his boat, and hastened to inform the king of the shameful scene he had just witnessed. Henry pretended to be incensed at it ; but so far firom taking any steps to prevent this dastardly treatment of a noble and beautiful young woman, he is asserted, on contemporary authority, to have ordered the racking himself, in punishment of her bringing heretical books amongst the ladies of his court. Whilst Anne AskewlB dislocated frame was one universal agony, and totally disaUed, she was carried to the flames in Smitbfield. With her were burnt John Lasoellcs, a gentleman of a good family of ^?ottingham3hi^e, and belonging to the royal household ; Nicholas Belenian, a Ghropshire clergyman ; and John Adams, a poor tiulor of London. Shaxton, the fallen ei - bishop of Salisbury, preached a sermon on the occasion, and Wriothedey, John Bussell, and others of the council, came to witness the execution, and offered Anne the king's pardon if she would recant. She treated their proposals with scorn, and bore, says a spectator, " an angel's cionteoaQce, and a smiling face." Sir George Blagge, and a lady named Joan Bonchier, were also condemned to die. But Joan Bouchier escaped till the next reign ; and Blagge, who was a great favourite of the king, and called by him, in his jocose moments, Us pig, was rescued by Henry learning his situation in time, and sending an angry message to Wriothesley for his release. On Blagge hastening into the king's presence to thank him, Henry exclaimed, " Ah ! my pig ; are you here safe again ? " "Yes, sire," replied Blagge ; " but if your Majesty had not been better than your bishops, your pig had been roasted ere this time." Poor Anne Askew, not being able to act the pig. perished ; and the sanguinary ministers of this sanguinary monarch now looked closer to the king's person for a fre.-uM cha-se away. With all their pparrin;^3, fi;hting8, and jealousies, Francis appears to have felt a considerable regard for his brother of England, and seemed to feel an affection for his heir. Proposals for the renewal of a!li:mce and friendship betwixt the two monarchs had been made and accepted, .-uid mesfengers already appointed to receive their oaths, when Francis died. His fucces-sor, his son Henry, pursued a very different policy. He was greatly guided by the counsels of the duke of Guise and the cardinal of Lorraine, the brothers of the queen-dowager of Scotland. The Guises were bigoted catholics, and of course the queen-dowager was a resolute opponent of the English plans. To her they wore the most fearful heretics, and she not only educated her daughter in opinions diametrically opposed to those of Edward VI., and which made her the least fitted fur bis wife as the queen of protestant England, but she naturally clung to a closer alliance with France. Henry II., who sympathised with her in her religious views, saw also the vast advantages cffered to France by espousing the cause of the infant queen of Scotland. Still he preserved the appearance of concord with England. The castle of St. Andrews, which the marderers of cardinal Beaton held out against Arran, bad in the course of this summer been surrendered to a French force, and the conspirators, including John Knox, who had joined them, were conveyed to France, and some of them confined in fortresses on the coast of Brittany, or sent to work in the galleys, of whom Knos was one, whence they were not released till 1550. By the month of August, Somerset was once more prepared to invade Scotland, and to force, if possible, the young queen from the hands of Arran and the queen-mother. Under the name of Hertford he was already too well known as the scourge which Henry VIII. had repeatedly sent thither, and whe had executed the remorseless vengeance of the tyrant on that unhappy country in the same spirit as that in which it had been dictated; what that was we may learn from these literal orders with which Henry furnished him for bis expedition in ld43-i. Ho commands him, through ti despatch of the privy council, to make an inroad into Scotland, " there to put all to firo and sword ; to bum Edinburgh town ; and to raze and deface it, when you have sacked it, and gotten what ye can out of it, as that it may r«main for ever a perpetual memory of the vengeance of God lighted upon it for its falsehood and dis- loyalty. Do what you oan out of hand, and without Isng tarrying, to beat down and overthrow the castle, sack Holyrood House, and as many towns and villages about Edinburgh as ye conveniently can ; sack Leith, and burn and subvert it and ail the rest, putting man, woman, anj child to fire and sword, without exception, when any resist- ance shall be made against you ; and this done, pass over to the Fife land, and extend like extremities and destructions in all towns and villages whereunta ye may reach con- veniently, not forgetting, amongst all the rest, to spoil and turn upside-down the cardinal's town of St. Andrews, as the upper stone may be the nether, and not (me stick stand by another, sparing ho creature alive within the same, specially such as, either in friendship or blood, be allied to the cardinal." If the arch-fiend himself had dictated that inhuman despatch, he could not have worded it more devilishly ; and Hertford, so far as he was able, had carried it out to the letter. And now he set out to make a campai;;n in Scot- land on his own account ; and the manner in which he con- ducted himself, showed how well he had studied Henry's savage system of Christian warfare. The army collected at Newcastle, and there Somerset himself arrived, on the 27th of August. Warwick, the second in command, and Sir Ralph Sadler, deep in the mysteries of feeing Scot- land's sons against herself, or of directing his own country- 4..D. 1547.] THE BATTLE OF PINKIE. 303 men how best they might most completely harry the devoted land, were already there. The forces were reviewed, and on the 29th they commenced their march. On the 2nd of September they were at Berwick, where they found lord Clinton with the fleet, and from that point the army marched along the shore, supported by the ships at sea. Somerset took Douglas castle, the property of Sir George Douglas, without resistance. The castle being rifled, was then blown up with gunpowder, as were also the peels of Thornton and Anderwick. Passing by Dunbar and the castle of Tantallan, the army, on Friday the 8th of September, sate down near Preston-pans, the fleet being stationed opposite the town of Musselburgh. To meet this invasion, Arran had sent the fire-cross from clan to clan through the Highlands, and had ordered every Scot capable of bearing arms to assemble at Musselburgh. The two armies now lay not much more than a couple of miles from each other. On the 9th the Scottish horse were seen parading themselves boldly on the eminence which lay betwixt the hosts, called Falside, or Fawside Brae. The two armies had the sea to the north, whilst Falside rose facing the west, betwixt them, and having on its summit a castellated keep, and a few huts. In the afternoon of that day, a body of English cavalry pricked forwards to dis- lodge the enemy, and succeeded, after a sharp skirmish, in which lord Hume was severely injured by a fall from his horse, and his son and heir fell into the hands of the English. The field being cleared of the skirmishers, Somerset, Warwick, and other of the ofiBcers, rode forward with a strong body of horse to take a view of the position of the Scottish army. On reaching the eminence, they saw it lying, its white tents gleaming in the setting sun, on a very advantageous ground, betwixt the river Esk and the sea, their right flank strongly defended by a deep, swampy ground. The bridge over the Esk was strongly guarded with cannon, and again, in front of the bridge, they had posted an advanced guard of musketeers, or hackbutters, furnished with a couple of pieces of ordnance. Betwixt Fawside, on which the reconnoitrers were, and the front of the Scottish army, rose a small insulated eminence, crowned with the parish church of St. Michael's, of Inveresk. Somerset and his attendants rode on to that spot, though it was not more than a couple of arrow-shots from the Scottish lines, from which they were saluted by many shots, and one of the soldiers had his horse killed under him. On their return they were overtaken by a herald and a trumpeter. The herald brought from Arran a profl'er of fair conditions of peace, and the trumpeter a challenge from lord Huntly to Somerset. Somerset replied that he desired no peace but such as his sword should win, and as to the challenge, he bade the herald tell his master, that he was intrusted with too pre- cious a charge, the person of a king, to risk a personal con- flict ; but that if the Scots would meet them in the field, they should have fighting enough. Warwick was not so cautious, but begged earnestly, but in vain, to be permitted to accept the defiance. Somerset and Warwick resolved to occupy the height on which stood St. Michael's Church, and for this purpose, early on the following morning, long called " Black Saturday " in Scotland, they advanced upon it about eight o'clock. But the Scots bad also concluded to advance, and on the English approaching the first height, they were astonished to find that the Scots had quitted their strong position beyond the river, and were occupying the ground they had intended for themselves. It seems that the Scots had some- how got the idea that the English meant to retreat and escape them, and to prevent this, they determined t> surprise them in their camp, and were on the way for thi.n purpose. At the sight of the English the Scotch pushed forw.ard impetuously, hoping to get possession of Fawaide Brae, but they were checked by a sharp discharge of artillery from the admiral's galley, which mowed down about thirty of them, as they defiled over the bridge near the sea. Seeing the English posted on the height with several pieces of artillery, the Scotch halted in a fallow field, having in their front a deep ditch. The English, however, reckless of this obstacle, dashed on, and with lord Gray at their head, made their way up to them. But here they encountered one of those serried phalanxes, which Patten, an eye-witness, describes very graphically: — "In their array towards the joining with the enemy, they cling and thrust to war in the fore-rank, shoulder to shoulder together, with their pikes in both hands straight before them, and their followers in that order to hand at their backs, laying their pikes over their foregoers' shoulders, that if they do assail undissevered, no force can well withstand them. Standing at defence, the fore-ranks, well nigh to kneeling, stoop low before their fellows behind, the one end of the pike against their right foot, the other against the enemy, head high, their followers crossing their pike- points with their foreward, and thus each other so nigh a-< time and place will suffer, that as easily shall a bare finger pierce the skin of an angry hedgehog, as any encounter tho point of their pikes." Standing in such an almost impenetrable mass, the Scot:i kept crying, " Come here, louns ! come here, tykes ! comu here, heretics ! " and the like, and the English charging upon them, seemed for a moment to have disconcerted them, but some were fain to turn and retreat. The flight became general, and the Scots rushing on, expected to reap an easy victory. Lord Gray himself was severely wounded in the mouth, and the Scottish soldiers pressing on seized the royal standard, when a desperate struggle ensued, and the staff of the standard being broken, part of it remained in the hands of the enemy, but the standard it< mise of quarter. The battle became named the battle of Pinkie, from Pinkie, or Pinkencleugh, an eminence near it. The army rested in its camp the next day, and on the following morning, Sunday, September the 11th, it advanced to Leith. From that point the fleet sailed up the Forth, destroying all the vessels in it, and ravaging and laying waste the towns and country en its banks. The isle of Inohcolm, the town of Kinghorn, and numbers of villages were plundered and burnt. Leith was set on fire by Somerset, and the gentry, subdued by their terrors, came in from all the country round and made their submission. Now, then, was the time to push the object for which this expedition was undertaken — the securing the young queen for the king. Somerset had attained a commanding position. He held the capital, as it were, under bis hand, and fresh forces brought up and judiciously employed, must have put the country so far into his power us to enable him to treat on the most adrantageous terms for the accomplishment of this great national object ; or if he could not obtain it by treaty, he might make himself master of her person by arms. But all this demonstratioD, this signal victory, this sanguinary butchery, which mu£t add finally to the antipathy uf the Scottish people, if no great good followed it, was abandoned with a strange recklessness which showed that though Somerset could conquer in the field, he was totally destitute of tlie qualities of a statesman. Instead of making his success the platform of wise negotiation, and of a great national union, he con- verted it into a fresh aggravation of the ill-will of the Scotch, by depriving it of all rational result. Bting, it is supposed, apprised of some machinations uf his brother, the admiral, in his absence, he commenced an instant maioh homeward, like a man that was beaten rather than a victor. On the 1 7th of September, only a week and one day from the battle of Pinkie, he took his departure. The Scotch were amaied at a flight as sudden as the onslaught had been deadly. As he marched from Leith, whose flames were mounting redly into the sky behind him, the commander of Edinburgh castle fired twenty-four pieces of ordnance at him, but too far off to reach him. He had despatched Clinton with a part of the fleet to awe the coasts of Scotland, and to reduce the castle uf Brougbty at the mouth of the Tay, which was the key to that river and to the towns of Perth and Dundee, which he soon effected. But whilst victory was disposed to settle on the banners of Somerset wherever displayed, he himself wa."* making all speed homewards. On the 19(h he reached Hume Oiuttle, which lady Hume consented to surrender on being allowed to retire with the garrison and whatever they could carry with them. He halted also a few days at Roxburgh, where he threw up some fuitificatioos amid tho A.n. 1547.] NEW BOYAL INJUNCTIONS IN RELIGIOUS MATTERS. 305 rains of the old ca.stle, and having received the submission o" the neighbouring country, on the 29th he crossed the Tweed. All this time he was followed by Arran with a body of horse, whom he did not attempt to check or chastise, and on entering England, he made the best of his way to London, the whole term of his absence having been only about six weeks. Somerset entered the capital like a great conqueror. The mayor and corporation met him in their robes in Fins- bury, and accompanied him as far as the Pound in Smith- field, where they parted, and he went on that night to his house at Sheen, and the next day to the king at Hampton Court. Edward received him joyfully, and made him an additional grant of lands to the value of £.500 a-yearj in other words, Somerset awarded these to himself. A parlia- ment was then summoned, and the protector proceeded to carry forward the contemplated reform in the church, now that he was covered with useless and, worse, most mis- chievous military honours, as the country was soon to learn. If Henry VIII. could now have seen the proceedings of his son and his ministers, the astonishment of his soul must have been great. Those very men, at least the majority of them, who had been the obsequious creatures of his will, had already cut away the whole plan of civil government as fixed by himself, and they now proceeded to sweep off those religious rites and ceremonies, of which he had been still more tenacious, and for the slightest contempt of whioh he had put numbers to death. During his lifetime, and under his own eyes, they had deceived him by educating his heir in a deep and conscientious persuasion that the system of worship which he so rigorously upheld, was utterly idolatrous. Cranmer, the prelate, in whom he had most faith, who trembled and dissembled before him, now, as B-urnet says, " being delivered from that too awful sub- jection that he had been held under by king Henry, re- solved to go on more vigorously in purging out abuses." But though both the young king and the protector went fully along with him, there was a powerful party still, both amongst the peers and the prelates and the people, who were strongly attached to the old religion. The princess Mary was a resolute catholic, and she was the heir-apparent to the throne. Her religion, derived from her mother, and her Spanish blood and predilections, had been deeply ingrained into her nature, by the ill-usage of her motlier, and the rude attempts to compel her to abandon her first faith. Tunstall, bishop of Durham, Gardiner of Winchester, Bonner of London, and several of the other prelates were stanch supporters of the Roman church. The people, as had already been seen in the Pilgrimage of Faith, remained in vast masses rooted in attachment to their old rites, usages, and authorities. It required, there- fore, not only resolution, but caution mixed with it, to in- troduce the new plans. To prepare the way for these changes,. a great step was already taken in the removal of Wriothesley from the council, and Tunstall was next ordered to his own diocese, on pica of business there which demanded his immediate attention. Cranmer then, in order to remind the bishops that the retention of their sees might depend on their acquiescence in the proposed alterations, asserted that his authority as primate expired with the king who had con- ferred it ; and he therefore petitioned to be continued in it, and accepted a new commission to execute the functions of an arclibishop till it should please the sovereign to revoke it. This was literally laying episcopacy at the foot of the throne ; not admitting simply that such oifioes were derivable from it, but terminated at its pleasure. The example set by the primate became, as it were, a law to the whole episcopal bench. The next movement was to adopt the late king's plan of a visitation of dioceses. For tliis purpose the kingdom was divided into six circuits, to each of which was appointed a certain number of visitors, partly laymen partly clergy- men, who, the moment they arrived in a diocese, became the only ecclesiastical authority there. They were em- powered to call before them the bishop, the clergy, and five, six, or eight of the principal inhabitants of each parish, and put into their hands a body of royal injunctions, seven- and-thirty in number. These injunctions regarded reli- gious doctrines and practice, and the visitors required an answer upon oath to every question which they chose to put concerning them. The injunctions were similar to those which had been framed and used by Cromwell, but the pre- sent practice of joining the laity with the clergy was an innovation of a more sweeping char.icter. The visitors also carried with them and introduced into every parish a book of homilies, which every clergyman was required to read in his church on Sundays and holidays, and also to provide for himself, and each parish for the con- gregation, a copy of the paraphrase of Erasmus on the New Testament. This was an immense chan»e in the public wor.ship of the nation, and that it might be effectually obeyed, no person was allowed to preach, not even the bishop of the diocese, who had not a license from the metro- politan. To prevent any lack of preaching, through the refusal of any of the clergy to obey the injunctions, the most popular preachers of the reformed faith were sent down into the country, and these gradually superseded those who refused to comply with the new ordinances. C overdale was so delighted with these regulations, that he declared the young king to be " the high and chief admiral of the great navy of the Lord of Hosts ; principal captain and governor of us all under him ; the most noble ruler of his ships, even our most comfortable Noah, whom the eter- nal God hath chosen to be the bringcr of us unto rest and quietness." The visitors set out to their respective districts about the same time that the protector dep.arted for his campaign in Scotland, and he had the satisfaction, on his return, to find that they had completed their work with great success. One of the injunctions was that all objects of idolatry should be removed out of all the walls and windows of the churches ; and under this particular order there was as much mis- chief done to art as there was good to religion; and bishop Burnet tolls us that "those who expounded the secret pro- vidences of God with an eye to their own opinions, t lok great notice of this, that on the same day in which the visitors removed and destroyed most of the images in Lon- don, their armies were so successful in Scotland in Pinkie Field." Of all the prelates who resisted the new injunctions, none were so prominent as Bonner and Gardiner. Bonner made at first a great show of opposition, then attempted to escape by saying that he would obey the injunctions as far as they were not contrary to the law of God and the ordinances of 30« OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1547. the church, and finally acquiesced in them, at least out- wardly. Gardiner tooli a more honest and honourable i>;anJ, and had he been as willing to concede liberty of conscience to others as he was to claim it for himself, would have proved himself more of a genuine Christian than he did in the next reign. Gardiner, who had both great abil- ity and learning, did not wait for the arriv.al of the visitors in his diocese of Winchester to ascertain the nature of the irjunctions and the paraphrase. He procured copies of tl.em, and then wrote to the protector and the primate, warning them of the danger, and, as he conceived, sin of " It is a dangerous thing," he said, " to use too much free- dom in researches of this kind. If you cut the old canal, the. water is apt to run farther than you have a raind to. " And aa regarded himself, he added, with a dignity worthy of re- spect, " My sole concern is to manage tlie third and last act of my life with decency, and to make a handsome exit off the stage. Provided this point is secured, I am not solicitouR about the rest. I am already by nature condemned to death. No man c.in give me a pardon from this sentence ; nor so much as procure me a reprieve. To speak ray mind, and to act as my conscience dictate*, are two branches of The Dkke of Somerset. From a Painting bv Holbein. forcing these on the public. He contended that the two books contradicted each other, and to the protector he said that the king was too young to understand those matters, and Somerset himself too much occupied to examine them properly. That it was imprudent to unsettle the general mind with the theological crotchets of Cranmer, and that, as they were in direct violation of acts of parliament, any clergyman who t,iught from thehomilies and paraphrase, would incur the penalties attached to the statute of the Six Articles. That the royal covenant did not shield Wolsey from the penalty of a premunire, nor could it hereafter defend the present clergy from the reactions of the law. liberty which I can never part with. Sincerity in specclv and integrity in action are entertaining qualities ; they will stick by a man when everything else takes its leave ; and I must not resign them upon any consideration. The best on it is, if I do not throw them away myself, no man can force them from me ; but if I give them up, then I am ruined by myself, and deserve to lose all my preferments." There wanted nothing to a man with such sentiments, to make him great, but the heart to cede this liberty to others, but in this he wofuUy failed when his turn came. Now his sturdy independence condemned him to the Fleet, where Bonner had gone before him, for the council did not wait A.D. 1517.] REIGN OF EDWARD VI. 307 THE HERALD DELlVKRINa A CHALLENGE TO SINGLE COMBAT FKOM LORD BCXTLT 10 IHE DURE OP SOMEIUBT. (BliE PAOE 303.) 3M CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOET OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1547. for the visitors sammoning bim in liis own diocese, but called him before them, and committed him. Parliament assembled on the 4th of November. In anti- cipation of it the protector had procured a patent under the great seal cmpowcrinjr him to sit in parliament on the right hand of the throne, and toenj'iyall the honours and privileges that any king's uncle, whether by the father's or the mother's sidi", evor enjoyed. This was noted as the beginning of that vainglorious arrogance, which in the end proved so ruinous to him. The parliament in its proceedings 6r8t took care of the interests of the king and his ministers ; but that done, it passed some very useful and constitutional acts. The subsidy of tonnage and poundage had become so much 1 regular aid of the crown, that Henry VIII. had received it for many years before any act of parliament whatever had granted it fci him. It was now voted to Edward for life, but parliament treated it not as a matter of right but of option ; a freedom wl}ich would have brought down stem reproof in the last reign. The next act was more exclusively for the benefit of the king's ministers. It went to make over to the crown all the lands of the chari- ties, colleges, and free chapels, which had been granted to Henry, but had not yet been appropriated. It was pro- posed to add these to the funds for the support of obits, anniversaries, and church-lights, and all guild lands pos- ses.«ed by fraternities for the same purpose, so that the king might employ them in providing for the poor, augmenting the income of vicarages, paying the salaries of preachers, and endowing free-schools for the advancement of learning. Cranmer, however, .iware of what was the real object of the measure, opposed it in the house of lords, and was warmly supported by the bishops ; but there were too many interested in the passing of the act for their oppo- sition to avail. The late king's executors had already divided these amongst them, as we hare seen, by anticipa- tion, and " they saw," says Burnet, " that they conld not pay his debts nor satisfy themselves in their own preten- sions, f«jrmerly mentioned, out of the king's revenue, and so intended to have these divided amongst them." All who hoped to share in the booty eagerly supported them, and the bill passed by an overwhelming majority, Cranmer and six bishops constituting the whole minority. In the com- mons the members of the boroughs resisted'it stoutly, on account of the guild lands which it gave to the king, ami they would not suffer it to pa.«8 till they were assured that the.«p should be excepted. All snch lands as had been granted by the late or present king were to be confirmed to their possessors. These interested grants being made, parliament proceeded to mitigate some of the severities of the l:ist reign. It repealed those monstrons act? nf Ilcnry ^'III. which gave to royal proclamations all the force of acts of parliament ; likewi.se all the penal statutes against the Lollards, and uU the new feleiiiee created in the last reign, including the statute of the Six Articles. It admitted the laity as well as the clergy to receive the sacrament of the rA>rd's Supper in both kinds. It determined that the old fiction of eWt- ing bishops by eongi tTelire shoruld oease, and that all fmeti appointments should proceed directly by nomination of the crown. That all processes in the episcopal courts should lie carried on in the king's name, and nil documents issuing thenop should be sealed, not with the bishop's seal, but with that of the crown. The claim of spiritual supremacy was placed on the same level as the other rights of the crown, and it was made a capital offence to deny that the king was supreme head of the church ; but with this dis- tinction, that what was printed of that nature was direct high treason — what was merely spoken only became so by repcti.ion. A bill for legalising the marriages of the clergy was brought into the commons and carried bv a larwe majority ; but, from some cause, was not carried to the lords during the present session. The attention of the legislature was drawn forcibly to a great and growing evil, that of mendicancy. Those who had received daily relief at the doors of the monasteries and convents, were now thrown on the country in crowds, without homes and resources. They speedily grew in this life into the worst type of vagabondism ; swarmed on the highways, and in the villages and solitary country dwel- lings became a terror and a nuisance. The boldest and worst soon associated in the shape of footpads and robbers, and travelling became highly dangerous. An act was, therefore, passed for the punishment of these vagabonds, and for the relief of the poor. The relief was of a very inefficient and fallacious kind. It was ordered that the impotent, the maimed, and the aged, who were not vaga- bonds, should be relieved " by the willing and charitable dispositions of the parishioners," where they were born or had lived for the last three years. Relief by the charitable disposition of parishioners where no specific fund for the purpose was erected, was not likely to be very great ; but j the punishments awarded to the vagabond class were of i the most savage and brutal character, and said very liitle for the better understanding of the gospel in those re- formers of religion. Well might the young king in his jonmal term it "an extreme law." Any person brought I before two justices of the peace on the charge of " living idly ) and loitering for the space of three days," was to be branded with a hot iron on the breast with the letter V, as a vagabond, and adjudged to serve the informer for two * years as his slave. The master thus acquiring his services, was to give him bread, water, or small drink, but to refuse j meat, and might compel him to work by beating, chaining, I or otherwise, at any kind of labour, however vile. He j might put an iron ring round his neck, arm, or leg. and if he absented himself for a fortnight, might brand the letter I S into his cheek or forehead, as a sign that he was become j a slave for life. If he ran away a second time, he was to : strffer death as a felon. Clerks, that is clergymen, con- victed of felony, if they were entitled to purgation in the bishop's court, were to be slaves for two years ; if not 80 entitled, for five years. The masters of this new class of slavee could sell them, let them out for hire, or give them without hire, in any manner or for any term that they thought proper, as they had a right to do wiih any other of their movable goods and chattels. If no one presented them to the magistrates, they might hunt them up themselves, brand them as slaves, and dispose of them I as they thought best, by selling Uiem, letting them out I to work in chains on the roads or other pnUic works. I Tfios, Mnple powers were given for establishing an extensive slave-trade, and slavery in England and in Englishmen in the sixteenth century. Still worse, any one might seize the children of beggars, and use or dispose of them as slaves ; the boys till they were twenty- four years of age, and the girls till they were twenty. If they ran away they were empowered a.D. 1548.] FRESH HOSTILITIES WITH SCOTLAND. 300 to put them in chains, and otherwise to punish them. And though these unfortunates would nominally acquire their freedom on arriving at the prescribed age, yet that was perfectly nominal, for being found begging or loitering, as they must do, they were liable to be immediately seized again. This act was so atrocious, and liable to such hideous abuses, that it was repealed after two years' trial, and the statute of 28 Henry VIII., c. 12, was revived, allowing persons to beg with license of the magistrates, and punish- ing beggars without license with whipping, or the stocks for three days and three nights. Parliament terminated its sitting on the 24th of December, and the council carrying forward its measures for the advancement of the reformation, issued an order prohibiting the bearing of candles on Candlemas-day, of ashes on Ash Wednesday, and of Palms on Palm Sunday. The order against images was repeated, the clothes covering which, were directed to be given to the poor. The people, how- ever, who delighted in religious ceremonies, processions, and spectacles, and thought the sermons very dull, were by no means pleased with these innovations. There was to be no elevation of the host, and the whole service was to be in English. Cranmer employed himself in composing a catechism, which was published " for the singular profit and instruc- tion of children and young people ; " and a committee of bishops and divines sat to compile a new liturgy for the use of the English church. They took the Latin missals and breviaries for the groundwork, omitting whatever they deemed superfluous or superstitious, and adding fresh matter. Before Christmas they had compiled a book of common prayer, differing in various particulars from the one now in use, and all ministers were ordered to make use of that book, under penalty, on refusal, of forfeiture of a year's income' and six months' imprisonment for the first ofi'ence ; for the second, loss of all his preferments with twelvemonths' imprisonment; and for a third, imprisonment for life. Any one taking upon him to preach, except in his own house, without license from the king's visitors, the archbishop of Canterbury, or the bishop of the diocese, was liable to imprisonment. Latimer, who had resigned his bishopric in 1539, was now called forward again, and appointed to preach at St. Paul's Cross, and also in the king's privy garden, where Edward, attended by his court, used to listen to his bold and quaint eloquence for an hour together. Gardiner, on the contrary, continued to give his decided opposition to the progress of reform. The act of general pardon at the close of the session, gave him his liberty ; on the 5th of January, 1548, he was called into the presence of the council, admonished, and discharged. He retired to his diocese, but there he continued to exert lumself with such effect in resistance to the new doctrines and institu- tions, that he was again summoned before the council in June, and ordered to preach at St. Paul's Cross, on the feast of St. Peter, in presence of the king. He conducted his sermon with such adroitness, that it was only in the third part of it, where he had treated of the mass and the eucharist, which had been prohibited to him by the protector in writing, that they could find occasion against him. The next day, June 30th, he was committed to the Tower, and detained in coutiuemeut during the remainder of the reign. Towards the close of the year 1547, a bill passed tlio commons authorising the marriage of the clergy, and . 1518] MARRIAGE OP SEYMOUR AND CATHERINE PARR. 311 eincerely so. We have no cause to deem diat he feigned this attachment to protestant principles, though he neither understood the humility nor the humanity required by the gospel which he contributed largely to make known. TVe have seen the unchrifctian cruelty of his campaigns; and, in his whole bearing, after his achievement of the supreme power, he displayed the most inflated arrogance, and even violence and insolence of temper. Shrinking at the faintest murmurs of the people, stooping to the domestic yoke of a coarse, proud, and imperious wife, he treated not only his inferiors, but even his equals at the council board, with all the offensive airs of an upstart. That these traits have not been bestowed upon him by his enemies, we have the clearest proofs in the honest ex- postulations of his intimate friend Paget, who wrote thus to him: — "If Ilovcd not your grace so deeply in my heart that it cannot be taken out, I could hold my peace as some others do, and say little or nothing. But my love to your grace, and good hope that you take my meaning well, hath enforced me to signify unto your grace, that unless your grace do more quietly show your pleasure in things wherein you will debate with other men, and hear them again graciously say their opinions, when you do require it; that will ensue whereof I would be right sorry, and your grace shall have just cause to repent, that is, that no man shall dare speak to you what ha thinks, though it were never so necessary." And he adds : — " However it cometh to pass I cannot tell, but of late your grace is grown great in choleric fashions whensoever you are contraried in that which you have conceived in your head : " and he entreats him to avoid this, or mischief might grow out of it. The admiral, on the contrary, cared little for popular opinion. He was a handsome, gay man, free in his prin- ciples, by no means nice in his life or his morals, extremely fascinating to ladies, and as ambitious as any man that ever lived. As he did not seem to succeed in his desire of rising to a station as lofty as that of his brother, the protector, through the council and political alliance, he sought to achieve this by means of marriage. There were several ladies on whom he oast his eyes for this purpose. The princesses Mary and Bliiabeth were the next in suc- cession, and he did not hesitate to aim at securing the hand of one of them, which would have realised his soaring wishes or plunged him down at once to destruction. He seems then to have weighed the chances which a union with lady Jane Grey might give him, but, as if not satisfied with the prospect, he suddenly determined on the queen- dowager. He had, indeed, paid his addresses to Catherine Parr before her marriage with Henry Vlll., and Catherine was so much attached to him that she at first listened with obvious reluctance to Henry's proposal. No sooner was Henry dead than Seymour seems to have renewed his addresses to Catherine, and with all her piety and prudence the queen-dowager seems to have listened to him as promptly and readily. Though Henry only died at the end of January, 1547, in a single month, according to Leti, she had consented to a private contract of marriage, and she and Seymour had exchanged rings of betrothal. Accord- ing to'King Edward's journal, their marriage took place in May, but the courtship had been going on long before, and was only revealed to him when it was become dangerous to conceal it any longer, and they were privately married long before that ; the marriage was publicly announoed in June, a rapidity for such a transaction as hasty as it was in- decorous. On the king's death Catherine went to live at her fine jointure house at Chelsea, on the banks of the Thames, which, with its gardens and extensive grounds, occupied Cheyne Pier. There Seymour used to visit her, and so cautiously and in the night that Catherine, in one of her letters, discloses the fact that she herself waited at the park-gate, when all others had retired to rest, to let him in. " When it shall be your pleasure to repair hither, you must take some pain to come early in the morning, that you may be gone again by seven o'clock, and so I suppose you may come without suspect. I pray you let me have knowledge over-night at what hour you will come, that your portress may wait at the gate to the fields for you." But such an affair could not long escape attention, and though they were married, Seymour began to take steps for soli- citing the king's consent to the alliance. First he wrote to the princess Mary, entreating her to break it to her brother Edward, and to plead for it, but Mary declined bo delicate a eoramission, saying, " Wherefore I shall most earnestly require you, the premises considered, to think none unkind- ness in me, though I refuse to be a meddler any ways in this matter ; assuring you that, wooing matters set apart, wherein, being a maid, I am nothing cunning, I shall most willingly aid you, if otherwise it shall lie in my power." Failing here, a plan was laid for inducing Edward, nut merely to consent to the marriage of his step-mother with his uncle Seymour, but for his own asking her to accept Seymour, which he did ; and was made to believe that the match actually proceeded from his own suggestion. Catherine Parr played a part in this scheme — as appears by king Edward's own letters and journal — which shows that with all her piety and reputation for discreetness, and even wisdom, she was not averse on occasion to practise all the art of the diplomatist. She went on professing her deep love and devotion to the memory of his father long after she was secretly the wife of Seymour, till the young unsuspecting king was completely wrought over to her wishes. Yet that he did not interfere in this affair without a good deal of repugnance, or without good advice against; it, appears from his own statement : — " Lord Seymour came to me in the last parliament at Westminster, and deaired me to write a thing for him. I asked him what. He said, ' It is no ill thing ; it is for the queen's majesty.' I said, ' If it were good, the lords would allow it ; if it were ill, I would not write it.' Then he said, ' They would take it in better part if I would write.' I desired him to let me alone in that matter. Cheke (his tutor) said to me after- wards, ' Ye were best not to write.' " When the marriage became known Somerset was highly incensed at Seymour's audacity in contracting a marriage of this lofty and important kind without consulting the council, or without the authority of the crown. He was stimulated to strong expression of bis indignation by his haughty duchess, who had been accus- tomed to regard her husband and herself as the chief people in the realm, next to the king and liis sister.--. The proud duchess had long borne an ill-concealed dislike to Catherine, thinking it scorn that the wife of the great Somerset should bear the train, as was her office, of a queen who had formerly been a subject like herself. Now she openly rebelled against the fulfilment of this 312 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED U [STORY OP ENGLAND, [i.D. 1518. office, alleging that •it was unsuitable for her to submit to perform that service for the wife of her husband's youngest lirother." It was, in fact, more tolerable to bear the train of Catherine as queen than to have her as her superior in the family. The feuds on this subject became warm. Catherine, with all her prudence, was roused by the pro- tector's language regarding the marriage, and declared that she would call him to account for it before the king ; but not the less did Somerset's proud duchess struggle auda- ciously with the qucen-dowager for precedence, "so that," says Lloyd, " what between the traiu of the queen and the ' dowager, first for light causes and women's quarrels, and especially because she (the quecn-dowagcr) had prece- dency over her, being the wife of the greatest peer in the land." lie also says that she was accustomed to abuse queen Catherine in the grossest terms, and in this strain : — "Did not Henry VIII. marry Catherine Parr in his dijting days, when he had brought himself so low by Lis lust and cruelty that no lady that stood on her honour would venture on him ? And shall I now give place to her who in her former estate was but Latimer's widow, and is now fain to cast herself for support on a younger brother ? If Latimer preaching btfore Edward VI. I'ro^n sa old Print in thj British Museum. (S;c page 3 j9.) long gown of the duchess, they raised so much dust at court as at last put out the eyes of both their husbands, and caused their executions." The duchess declared that, as wife of the lord protector, she had the right to take precedence of everybody in England, in her proud mind not even excepting tlie prin- cesses; but as she was soon compelled to submit, she cher- ished a hatred against both Catherine and lord Seymour, ivhieh. no doubt, had its full effect in urging her husband to imbrue his hands in liis brother's blood. According to Hayward, in his life of Edward VI., Anne Stanhope, duchess of Somerset, was " a woman for many imperfections intolerable, but for pride monstrous. She was both exceed- ingly violent and subtle in accomplishing her ends, for which she spurned all respects of conscience or shame. Thia woman did bear suoU inrincible hato to the queen- master admiral teach his wife no better manners, I am sho that will." The immediate consequence of this ill-will in Somerset and his termagant wife towards Catherine was, that she was refused all the jewels which had been presented to her by the late king, her husband, on the plea that they were crown property. The protector nest called upon her to give up the use of her favourite manor of Pausterne for a creature of his of the name of Long, and though Catherine indignantly refused to do it, by his power he compelled her to give way, and receive Long as tenant. On the other hand, Seymour used every means to ingra- tiate himself with the young king, both through the moans of liis wife, for whom Edward had a great regard, and through the princess Elizabeth and lady Jane Grey, who had been pupils of Catherine Parr's, Edward A.D. 1540.] DEATH OF CATHERINE PARR. 313 appears to have really liked Seymour much bettor than he did Somerset, who was not in a position to dictate to him, and who, having objects to gain from him, did all in his power to render himself agreeable to him. He furnished him with money, of which Somerset seems to have kept him very scant ; and though the duchess of Somerset was pleased to say that Catherine Parr " was fain to cast herself for support on a younger brother," this could not mean pecuniary support, for the match with Catherine was a very desirable one, independent of her elevated position. She was amply dowered by parliament and the king's patents ; sho liad two dowers besides, as widow of the lords Borough and Latimer,' and was supposed to have saved a very large sum whilst she was queen-consort. Seymour, therefore, with her property and his own grants, was extremely rich. Both the brothers Seymour intrigued actively to get their royal nt>phe\v married, so as to serve their own ambition. The plan of Somerset was to marry the king to his own daughter, Jane Seymour, a lady of much learning, but the admiral plotted against that by endeavouring to place the still more learned lady jane Grey continually in his way, who was strongly recommended to Edward by Catherine Parr, who had a real affection for both of them. The marquis of Dorset, the father of lady Jane Grey, was induced to allow his daughter to reside in the admiral's family on a distinct proposition of this kind. King Edward was very fond of stealing away from his courtiers into the apartments of Catherine Piirr, who had always been the only person like a mother that he had ever known, and intercourse, and so to surround him with his spies that ho could rarely find himself alone. The royal boy, however, had too much of his father's self- will, however weak he might seem, to be led into either of Pillory at the Gateway of Old London Bridge. going there by a private entrance without any attendants, he could converse freely with her, her ladies, and tho admiral. This excited the deepest jealousy on the part of the protector, who exerted every means to prevent this 79 Traitors' Heads over the Gateway of London Bridge. these alliances. He expressed much indignation at the protector's attempt, and wrote in his journal that he would choose for himself; and not a subject, but "a foreign princess well stuffed and jewelled." That is, having not only a princely dower, but also a princely wardrobe and royal ornaments. Whilst these intrigues were going on around her, Catherine Parr gave birth to a daughter, on the 30th of August, 1518, and on the 7th of September, only eight days after, she died of puerperal fever. Rumours of her husband having poisoned her, t9 enable him to aspire to the hand of the princess Elizabeth, were spread by his enemies, for which there does not appear the slightest foundation. Ths cause of her death was palpable enough without the aid of any murderous means ; but in the irrita- tion of her complaint, and probably in a delirious state, she said to lady Tyrwhitt, as she .and the ad- miral, with several other persons, stood by the bed- side, " My lady Tyrwhitt, I am not well handled, for those that be about me care not for me, but stand lauo-hing at my grief, and the more good I will to them, the less good they will to me." To which her husband replied, " Why, sweetheart, I would you no hurt," and she said again to him aloud, "No, my lord, I think so," and immediately she said to him in his ear, " But, my lord, you have given me many shrewd taunts." The .admiral tried to soothe her but in vain, and it may, perhaps, h.ave been that the stories which had been carried to her of the admir.al's gallantries, and of his aspiring to the hand of Eliza- beth, had lain in her mind in health .and now came out. The l(u-d admiral, who had found it difficult to keep out of danger during the life of his wife, partly through his o^vn rash ambition, and partly through the malice of his owa near relatives, soon fell into it after her death. In July of 314 CASSELL'8 ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1549. 15 J8. ho had been called before the council on the charge of having endeavoured to prevail on the king to write a lett->r, coaiplaiuingof the arbitrary conduct of the protector, and of the restraint in which he was kept by hiui. He was seekin". in fiict. to supersede the protector, and was threatened with imprisonment in the Tower ; but the matter for that tiiHe wits made up, and tiie protector added £800 per annum to his income, by way of conciliating him. But with Catherine departed his good genius. He gave a free play to his ambitious desires, and renewed his en- deavours to compass a clandestine marriage with the princess Elizabeth, as he had done with Catherine. Find- ing, however, that gjch a marriage would annul the claims of Elizabeth to the throne, he next devised means to extort from the council a consent, which he was well aware it would never yield voluntirily. For this purpose he is said to have courted the friendship of the discontented portion of the nobility, and made such a display of his wealth and retainers as was calculated to alarm the pro- tector and his party. The protector was now resolved to get rid of so dangerous an enemy, though his own brother. Sharington. master of the mint at Bristol, being accused of gross peculation by clipping the coin, issuing teetoons, or shilling pieces, of a false value, and for making fraudulent entries in his books, was boldly defended by the admiral, who owed him three thousand pounds. But Sharington ungratefully, to save his life, betrayed that of his advocate. He confessed that he had promised to coin money for the admiral, who could reckon on the services of ten thousand men, with whose aid he meant to carry off the king and change the government. This charge, made, no doubt, solely to save his own life, was enough for Somerset ; Seymour was arrested on the 16th of January, 1549, on a charge of high treason, and committed to the Tower. There was no lack of charges ajainst him, true or false. It was stated that he had resolved to sei«e the king's per- son, and carry him to his castle of Holt, in Denbighshire, which had come to him in one of the royal grants ; that he had confederated for this purpose with various noblemen and others, and had laid in great store of provisions, and a great mass of money at that castle. He wis also charged with having abused his authority as lord admiral, and en- couraged piracy and smuggling, and with having circulated reports against the lord protector and council too vile to be repeated. But the most remarkable were the charges against him for endeavouring, both before and after his niarriagj with the queen -dowager, to compass a marriage with the king's sister, the lady Elizabeth, second inheritor to the crown, to the peril of the king's person and danger to the throne. Mr.s. Oa'hcrine Ashly, the governess of Elizabeth, who was brought before the council, and made what are called her confessions, certiinly opened up a curious course of con- duct which had been going on in the household and life- time of the prudent Catherine Parr, in which she figured remarkably herself. She stated that at Chelsea, where the princess was living under the care of the queen -dowager, being then about sixteen years of age. the admiral used to go into Elizabeth's chamber before she was dressed, and sometimes before she was out of bed. If she were up he would slap her familiarly on the bn.ck. or on the hips ; and if she were in bed, he would pull open the curtains, aLd bid her good morrow, and make as though he would come at her. " Antl one morning he strove to kiss her in her bed." At this Mrs. Ashly said she bade him go aw.iy for shame. At Hanworth, for two mornings, fie queen, Cathe- rine Parr, joined him m tickling the princess in bed. At another time he romped with her in the gar a at Han- worth, and cut her gown, being black cloth, into a hundred pieces, and when Mrs. Ashly chid her, she said bhe could not help it, for the queen held her. Another time, lady Elizabeth heard the master-key unlock, and knowing my lord admiral would come in, ran out of her bed to her maidens, and then went behind the curtains of her bed j and my lord tarried a long time, in hope that she would come out. "When Mrs. Ashly remonstrated with the admiral on this behaviour, which caused the princess to be evil spoken of, he swore that he would complain to the lord protector how he was slandered, and would not leave off saying he meant no harm. "At Seymour Place, when the queen slept there, he did use awhile to come up every morning in his nightgown and slippers. When he found my lady Elizabeth up, and at her book, then he would look in at the gallery door, and bid her good morrow, and go on his way ; and the depo- nent told my lord it was an unseemly sight to see a mau so little dressed in a maiden's chamber, with which he was angry, but left it. At Hanworth, the queen told Mrs. Ashly that my lord admiral looked in at the gallery window, and saw my lady Elizabeth with her arms about a man's neck. Upon which Mrs. Ashly questioned her regarding it, and the lady Elizabeth denied it, weeping, and bade them ax all her women if there were any man who came to her except GiindaU, her schoolmaster. Howbeit, Mrs. Ashly thought the queen, being jealous, did feign this story, to the intent that Mrs. Ashly might take more heed to the proceedings of lady Elizabeth and the lord admiral. She added, that her husband, Mr. Ai-hly, a relative of Anne Boleyn, did often give warning that he feared the princess did bear some affection to the lord admiral, as she would eometimes blush when she heard him ppoken of." This highly imprudent and discreditable romping at length proceeded to such an extreme, that Catherine Parr had cause to repent having encouraged it. Elizabeth herself told Thomas Parry, the cofferer of her household, that she feared the admiral loved her too well, and had done so a long while ; that the queen was jealous of them both, insomuch that, coming suddenly upon them when they were all alone, he having her in hie arms, the queen severely reprimanded both the admiral and the princess. t>he also scolded Mrs. Ashly for her neglect of her charge, and took instant measures fur having Elizabeth removed to her own household establishment. Elizabeth herself was subjected to inquiry, and as to whether Mrs. Ashly had encouraged her to marry the admiral, which she declared she had never done, except by the consent of the protector and the council. Elisal eth wrote to the lord protector from Hatfield, stating that the vilest rumours regarding her were in circulation, namely, th^t she was confined in the Tower, being enceinte by the lord admiral ; which she protested were shameful slanders, and demanded that, to put them down, the should be allowed to proceed alone to court, that she might show herself as £be was. A.D. 1319.] SEYMOUR ATTAINTED OP TREASON 31S It may be supposed what consternation and mortification those scandals and examinations gave to a giid of sixteen; but Elizabeth displayed no small portion of that leonine and sngacious spirit on the occasion which so greatly cha-» i-acterised her afterwards. Sir Robert Tyrwhitt, the husband of lady Tyrwhitt, already mentioned, was sent by the protector to Hatfield to interrogate her. He informed Somerset that when lady Browne communicated to her that Mrs. Ashly and Parry were sent to the Tower, she was greatly confounded and abashed, and wept bitterly for a long time, and demanded whether they had confessed any- thing or not. That on his arrival, he assured her what sort of characters Ashly and the others were, said that if she would open all things herself, she should wholly ba excused on account of her youth, and all the blame should be laid on them. But Elizabeth replied that she had nothing to confess ; " and yet," asserts Tyrwhitt, " I see it in her face that she is guilty." Presuming on this consciousness of guilt, Tyrwhitt the next day asked her if she would have married the lord admiral if the council had given their consent. She fired up, and astonished him by telling him that she wai not going to make him her confessor ; demanded what he meant by such a question to her, and who bade him ask it. Tyrwhitt was soon made aware that " she hath a very good wit, and nothing is gotten of her but by great policy." A few days after, however, the politic agent had the opportunity of trying both her wit and her fortitude, by putting into her hand the confessions of Parry and Ashly. The exposures of the flirtations with the admiral which we have just related, must have startled and shamed her to the extreme. " At the reading of Mrs. Ashly's letter," Tyrwhitt wrote to Somerset, " she was much abashed, and half breathless or she could read it to the end, and perused all their names perfectly, and knew both Mrs. Ashly's hand and the cofferer's hand with half a sight : so that fully she thinketh they have confessed all they know." It is a significant fact that Elizabeth, so strong in her feelings and resentments, never seems to have retained any ill-will towards Mrs. Ashly for these awkward disclosures, but, on the other hand, interested herself zealously on her behalf. There can be no doubt that her far-seeing and politic mind immediately'penceived the necessity of getting that woman in her own hands, and out of those of others, as soon as possible. Aecordingly, we find her in the follow- ing March writing to Somerset, entreating him to give her freedom to Mrs. Ashly, on the grounds that she had been in her service many years, and had exerted herself dili- gently for her "bringing up in learning and honesty;" that whatever she had done in the matter of the lord admiral was because he was one of the council, and there- fore she thought he would undertake nothing without the consent of the council ; and that she had heard her say ref.catedly that she would never have her marry any one without the approbation of the lord protector and the council. She finally added, that people seeing one she loved so well in such a place, would think that she herself was not clear of guilt, though it might have been pardoned in her. This was an episode in Elizabeth's life which might have made her rather more lenient, in after days, in judging of the love affairs of the young people about her. The unfortunate admiral now found all the world against him, if we may except his wife'a brother, the marquis of Northampton, his brother-in-law, Herbert, earl of Pem- broke, his cousin. Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, and Sir Thomas Throckmorton, the poet. The latter, in his homely verse, says of Seymour : " Thu3 KuiUlesa he throagti malice went lo pot, ^ Not answering for bimsei/ nor knowing caiue." That these noblemen and gentlemen, the near kinsmen of Catherine Parr, should remain his firm and almost only friends, is ample proof that they, who had the best means of knowing, held him perfectly guiltless of any ill-usage, much less of poisoning his wife. For the rest, all combined to destroy him, and to curry favour with the all-powerful protector. Even \yriothesley, the new earl of Southamp- ton, who had been dismissed from office, came forward and joined in the proceedings against him. Ho was again and again examined privately and searchingly, by deputations from the privy council, who endeavoured to persuade him to confess and submit himself to the grace of the protector and council. But Seymour stood boldly on his innocence of any treasonable design, and demanded a fair and open trial. But the fact was, that the council had no evidence of any treasonable design, or of anything but to take the place, as a matter of political ambition, in the govern- ment which his brother now held — a perfectly legitimate object ; and to have given him a fair trial would not serve the purpose of the protector, which was to be riJ of him and his rivalry together. Finding that he would not move an iota from his just demands of a trial by his peers, the right of every Eng- lishman, the whole council adjourned to the Tower on the 23rd of February, and read to him a list of thirty-three articles, which they had drawn out against him. They then again used strenuous endeavours to persuade him to submit ; but he stood firm, and demanded an open trial, and to be brought face to face with his accusers. Finding that ho could make no impression upon the council, he at length said that if they would leave the articles with him, he would consider them ; but even this they refused, and the next day they proceeded to report to the king, and to request him to leave the matter to parliament. The poor boy had, no doubt, been well laboured with, and worried into his consent to the sacrifice of his favourite uncle, to the ambition of the uncle who lorded it over him. After listening to the arguments of the different members of the council, and to the hypocritical pretence of the protector, that " it was a most sorrowful business to him, but, were it a son or brother, he must prefer his majesty's safety to them, for he weighed his allegiance more than his blood," he then said, "Wo perceive that there are great things objected and laid to my lord admiral, my uncle, and they tend to treason ; and we perceive that you require but justice to be done. We think it reasonable, and wo will that you proceed according to your request." This lesson, which, without doubt, had been well drilled into him, was repeated with such gravity, that the council professed to go into raptures over the royal precocity of wisdom ; hearty thanks were returned to this boy-Solomon ; and the next day a bill of attainder was introduced into the house of lords. It was almost unanimously declared that the articles amounted to treason, and the bill passed without a division. In the commons there was more spirit : it was opposed by many, who objected to proceed- ing by attainder instead of fair trial, as most unconstitu- 316 CASSELL'S ILLT7STRATED HISTOBY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1510. tional and dangerous. They commented severely on the peers, who, after listening to gome mere hearsay slander, should proceed on such gix)u"nds to attaint their fellows. They demanded that the accused should be brought to the bar and allowed to plead for himself. In reply to this a message came down from the lords, purporting that the lords who. had taken the evidence should, if the house required it, come to the bar and detail that evidence ; but the house declining this, and calling for the admiral him- self, on the 4th of March a message was sent from the king, that " he thought it not necessary to send for the admiral." The spirit of the commons had reached its heiglit : at the royal command it sank at once, and out of four hundred members, only about a dozen ventured to vote against the bill. On the 14 th the royal assent was given to the bill ; the parliament was prorogued; and on the 17th the warrant was issued for the admiral's execution. To this warrant Cranmer, contrary to the canon law, put his signature ; but it was not less contrary to the higher laws of nature that Somerset should set his hand to this shedding of his brother's blood. The bishop of Ely was commissioned to inform Seymour of the solemn fact; and the admiral re- quested that Latimer should be sent to him, and also that some of his servants should be allowed to attend him. He petitioned, moreover, that his infant daughter should be confided to the duchess of Suffolk to be brought up. His execution took place on the 20th of March, on Tower-hill ; and Seymour — far from imitating the compliant examples of most former state victims, and making a complaisant and even flattering speech in favour of his destroyers — declared loudly that he had been condemned without law or justice. Before laying his head on the block, he was overheard ti) tell an attendant of the lieutenant of the Tower to " bid his man speed the thing he wot of." The servant was arrested immediately, and threatened till he confessed that his master had made some ink in the Tower by gome means, and, plucking an aiglet from his dress, had, with its point, written a letter to each of the princesses Mary and Elizabeth, which he had placed between the leathers of a velvet shoe-sole. The shoe was opened, and the letters found, filled with the bitterest complaints against his brother and all who had conspired for his destruction. The servant, notwithstanding his confession, was executed. In the whole of this unrighteous business, scarcely any one shows to more disadvantage than the zealous reformer, and generally honest Hugh Latimer. He preached a ser- mon on the death of the admiral, which is, perhaps, unrivalled as a specimen of all uncharitableness. It may be supposed that the admiral had not received the recom- mendations of Latimer to confess himself guilty ; for he left him wit'ii an ebullition of spleen which swallowed all commiseration for his fate. To the assumption that Seymour must have been innocent, or he would not have died so boldly, Latimer replied that that was a very "deceivable argument." "This I say," he added, "if they ask me what I think of his death, That he died very dangerously, irksomely, horribly." Latimer was lost in wonder at the ingenuity of Seymour in furnishing himself so cleverly with pen and ink. " I was a prisoner in the Tower myself," he cried, "and I could never invent to make ink so. AVhat would he have done, if he had lived still, that invented thiB gear when he laid his head on the block at the end of his life." He concluded a most vitu- perative harangue by declaring that Seymour " was a man farthest from the fear of God that ever I knew or heard ol »a England ;" adding, that he had heard say that ho believed not in the immortality of the soul ; that when the good queen Catherine Parr had prayers in her house both fore- noon and afternoon, he would get away like a mole digging in the earth. " He shall be to me," he exclaimed, " Lot's wife as long as I live. He was a covetous man — an hor- rible covetous man : 1 would there were no mo in England. He was an ambitious man : I would there were no mo in England. He was a seditious man — a contemner of the Common Prayer : I would there were no mo in England. He is gone : I would he had left none behind him." But he certainly had left a much more horrible and mope covetous man in the protector, whose dirty work poor Latimer was thus doing ; for Somerset not only slew his brother, but took possession of his estates. Seymour's only child, the infant daughter of Catherine Parr, not only lost her father's ample patrimony by his attainder, but by an act of parliament entitled " an act for disinheriting Mary Seymour, daughter and heir of the late lord Sudley, admiral of England, and of the late queen," lost also her mother's noble estates. A subsequent act restored her to her rights, but only nominally, for her uncles held her property fast in their selfish gripe. Catherine's brother, Thomas Parr, marquis of Northampton, was as uimaturally cruel to his sister's orphan as Somei'set himself. Sudley was granted to him on Seymour's attainder, and he not only held it fast, but maintained a heartless indifference to the fate of his niece, whose champion he ought to have been, having owed his fortune in the world to her mother's influence. This unhappy child, the daughter of Seymour and Catherine, was consigned, as Seymour wished, to the care of the countess of Suffolk, but we find her writing the most urgent letters to Cecil, the secretary of Somerset, afterwards the famous minister of Elizabeth, complaining that she can obtain no allowance for her support, nor even her linen and plate, which were rigorously detained by Somerset and his heartless and revolting wife. The poor girl is stated by Lodge, but without giving any authority, to have died in her thirteenth year, but it has been satisfactorily shown by Miss Strickland that she lived and was married to Sir Edward Bushell, and has still descendants in the family of the Lawsons, of Herefordshire and Kent, a branch of the ancient family of the Lawsons of Yorkshire and Westmore- land, who stUl retain several heirlooms onoe the property of Catherine Parr. The protector no sooner had put his brother out of his path into a bloody grave, than he was called upon to contend with a whole host of enemies. A variety of causes had reduced the common people to a condition of deep distress and discontent. The depreciation of the coinage by Henry VIII., had produced its certain consequence, the proportionate advance of the price of all purchasable articles. But with the rise of price in food and clothing, there had been no rise in the price of labour. The dissolution of the monasteries had thrown a vast number of people on the public without any resource. Besides the vast number of monks and nuns who, instead of affording alms, were now obliged to seek a subsistence of some kind, the hundreds of thousands who hadxeceived daily assistance A.D. 1549] INSURRECTIONS IN VARIOTTS COUNTIES. 317 at the doors of convents and monasteries, were obliged to beg, work, or starve. Bat the new proprietors who had obtained the abbey and chantry lands, found wool so much in demand, that instead of cultivating the land, and thus at once employing the people and growing corn for them, they threw their fields out of tillage, and made great inolosures where their profitable flocks could range without even the necessity of a shepherd. The people thus driven to starvation were still more exasperated by the change in the religion of the country, in the destruction of their images, and the desecration of the shrines of their saints. Their whole public life had been changed by the change of their religion. Their oldest and most sacred associations were broken. Their pageants, their processions, their pilgrimages were all rudely swept away as superstitious rubbish ; their gay holidays had become a gloomy blank. What their fathers and their pastors had taught them aa peculiarly holy and essential to their spiritual well-being, their rulers had now pronounced to be damnable doctrines and the delusions of priestcraft ; and whilst smarting under this abrupt privation of their bodily and spiritual support, they beheld the new lords of the ancient church lands greedily cutting off not only the old streams of benevolence, but the menns of livelihood by hibour, and showing not the slightest regard for their sufferings. The priests, the monks, the remaining heads of the papist party did not fail to point assiduously to all these things, and to fan the fires of the popular discontent. The timidity of the protector roused the ferment to its climax by the very means which he resorted to in order to mitigate it. He ordered all the new inclosnres to be thrown open by a certain day. The people rejoiced at this, believing that now they had the government on their side. But they waited in vain to see the protector's order obeyed. The royal proclamation fully bore out the complaints of the populace. It declared that many villages in which from one hundred to two hundred people had lived were entirely destroyed ; that one shepherd now dwelt where numerous industrious families dwelt before ; and that the realm was wasted by turning ar,\ble land into pasture, and letting houses and families fall, decay, and lie waste. Hales, the commissioner, stated that the laws which had forbade any one to keep more than two thousand sheep, and commanded the owners of church lands to keep household on the same, being disobeyed, the numbers of the king's subjects had wonderfully diminished. But though the government admitted all this, it took no measures to make its procla- mation effective ; the land-owners disregarded it, and the people, believing that they were only seconding the law, assembled in great numbers, chose their captains or leaders, broke down the inclosures, killed the deer in the parks, and began to spoil and waste, according to Holinghed, after the manner of an open rebellion. The day ap- proached when the use of the old liturgy was to cease, and instead of the music, the spectacle, and all the imposing cwemonies of high mass, they would be called on to listen to a plain sermon. Goaded to desperation by these com- bined grievances, the people rose in almost every part of the country. According to king Edward's journal, the rising took place first in Wiltshire, whence it spread into Sussex, Hampshire, Kent, Gloucestershire, Suffolk, Warwickshire, Essex, Hert- fordshire, Leicestershire, Worcestershire, and Rutlandshire. Holinshed and Strype give different accounts of the first outbreak and progress of the insurrection through the country ; but all agree that it was spread over the greater part of the kingdom. In Wiltshire, Sir William Herbert raised a body of troops and dispersed the insurgents, killing some and executing others according to martial law. The same was done in other quarters by the resident gentry. The protector, alarmed, sent out commissioners into all parts to hear and decide all causes about inolosures, high- ways, and cottages. These commissioners were armed with great powers, the exercise of which produced as much dissatisfaction amongst the nobility and gentry as the inclosures had done amongst the people. The spirit of remonstrance entered into the very council, and the pro- tector was checked in his proceedings : whereu^jon tho people, not finding the redress they expected, again rose in rebellion. In Devonshire the religious phase of the movement appeared first, and rapidly assumed a very formidable air. The new liturgy was read for the first time in the church of Samford Oourtenay, on Whit Sunday, and the next day the people compelled the clergyman to perform the ancient service. Having once resisted the law, the insurgents r.apidly spread. Humphrey Arundel, the governor of St. Michael's Mount, took the lead, and a few days brought ton thousand men to his standard. As the other risings had been readily dispersed, the government were rather dilatory at first in dealing with this ; but, finding that it grew instead of terminated, lord John Russell was despatched, with a small force, against them, accompanied by three preachers, Gregory, Reynolds, and Coverdale, who were licensed to preach in such public places as lord Russell should .appoint. What they hoped for by sending the reformed preachers is not very clear, as it was against this preaching that the rebellion partly directed itself; and Parker, who was sent for the like purpose to Norfolk, owed the preservation of his life to the liberality of the mob. The rebels had sate down bafore Exeter when Russell came up with them ; but conscious of the great inferiority of his force, and expecting no miracles from the eloquence of his preachers, he adopted the plan of the duke of Norfolk in the late reign, and offered to negotiate. Upon this, Arundel and his adherents drew up and presented fifteen articles, which went, indeed, to restore everything of the old faith and ritu il that had been taken away. The Sta- tute of the Six Articles was to be put in force, the mass to be in Latin, the sacrament to be again hung up and wor- shipped, all such as refused it homage to be treated as here- tics, souls should be prayed for in purgatory, images again be set up, the Bible be called in, and cardinal Pole to be one of the king's council. Half of the church lands were to be restored to two of the chief abbeys in each county ; in a word, popery was to be fully restored and protestantism abolished. In these articles the hand of the priest was more visible than that of the people ; they were sent up to the council, and Cranmer, at its command, replied to them, granting, of course, nothing. The insurgents then reduced their de- mands to eight, but with like success. A long reply was this time vouchsafed them in the king's name, and his father's letter to the men of Lincolnshire appears to have been the model on which it was composed. First, the little 316 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1549. klrg was made to announce to them the burden of care th;<.t laj upon his juvenile shoulders on their behalf. " We nro." he wrote, "your most natural sovereign lord and king, Edward VI., to rule you, to preserve you, to save you from all your outvrard enemies, to see our laws well ministered, every man to have his own, to suppress discontented people, to correct traitors, thieves, pir.ites, robbers, and such like ; yea, to keep our realms from other princes, from the malice of the Scots, of Frenchmen, of the bishop of Rome." Yet the king repudiated the idea as extremely ridiculous, that his youth made him incapable of settling the most abstruse questions. Though as a natural man, he told them, he had youth, and by his sufferance should have age, yet as a king he had no difference of years. Having thus reasoned with them, he then assumed the menacing tone of his father, and his swelling language can scarcely be read witliout a smile, when we image to us the puny, sickly stripling who was uttering it. " And now we let you know that as you see our mercy abundantly, so, if ye pro- voke us further, we swear by the living God ye shall feel chose to take them ; by a third, punishment of death by martial law was ordered for all taken in arms ; and by a fourth, the commissioners were commanded to break down all illegal iuolosures. None of these produced the least effect. Lord Russell had sent to court Sir Peter Carcw to urge the protector and council to expedite reinforcements ; but the protector and Rich charged .Sir Peter with having been the original cause of the outbreak. The bold baronet resented this imputation so stoutly, and charged home the protector in a style so unaccustomed in courts, with his own neglect, that men and money were promised. Nothing, however, but the proclamations just mentioned arrived, and at length the rebels despatched a force to dislodge Russell from his position at Honiton. To prevent this he advanced to Pennington Bridge, where he encountered the rebel detachment and defeated it. Soon after lord Gray arrived with three hundred German and Italian infantry, wity which assistance he marched on Exeter and again defeated the rebels. They rallied on Clifton Downs, and lord Gray, coming suddenly upon them, and fearing they might over- OIJ Somerset House, the Resideuce of the Protector duriog the Reiga of Edw.ird VI. the power of the same God in our sword, which how rjighty it is no subject knoweth -. how puissant it is, no private man can judge : how mortal, no Englishman dare think." He concluded by threatening to come out against them in person, in all his royal state and power, rather than not puuish them. The rebels, seeing that no good came of the paper war, turned their force more actively against the city. They had no cannon to destroy the walls, so they burnt down one of the gates and endeavoured to force an entrance there ; but the citizens threw abundant fuel into the fire, and whilst it burnt, threw up fresh defences inside of the flames. Foiled in this attempt, they endeavoured to sap the walls ; but the citizens discovered the mine and filled it with water. Still, however, they kept close siege on the town, and prevented the ingress of provisions, so that the iuhabitants for a fortnight suffered the severe^t famine. All this time lord Russell lay at Honiton, not venturing to attack them, the government sending him instead of troops only proclamations, by one of which a free pardon was offered to all who would submit ; by another the lands, goods, and chattels of the inBurgenta were given to any who pawcr him, he ordered his men to despatch all the prisonci-s in their hands, and a sanguinary slaughter took place. A third and last encounter at Bridgewater completed the reduction of the rising of the west. Once broken up, no mercy was shown to the rebels ; and with them perished or suffered numbers of the innocent. The whole country was given up to slaughter and pillage. A body of a thousand Welshmen, who were brought by Sir William Herbert, afterwards earl of Pembroke, did immense damage. Gibbets were erected, and the ringleaders were hanged upon them in various places. Arundel, the chief captain, and some others were taken to London and there executed. The provost of the western army. Sir Anthony Kingstone, made quite an amusement of hanging rebels, and did it with much pleasantry. Having dined with the mayor of Bodmin, he asked him if he tliouglit the gallows were strong enough. The mayor said he thought bo. "Then," said Sir Anthony, "go up and try;" and he hanged him by way of experiment. It was calculated tliat four thousand men perished in that part of the country iu the field or by the executioner. A.D. 1549.] REIGN OP EDWARD VI. 319 KET inE TAMNER UABAHflOlHO HIS FOLLOWERS TJNLER THE OAK Of REFORMATION. (SEE PAGE 320.) la Oxfordshire the insurrection was put down by lord , rumours of what liad been done in Kent, where tne new Gray, who had fifteen hundred eoldiers, including Italians I inclosures had been broken down, gradually infected the under Spinola, and routed them with ease. But the most formidable demnnstr.ation was made by the rebels in Norfolk. It commenced at Aldborough, and appeared at first too insignificant for notice. But the people far and wide. They did not trouble themselves about the religious questions, but they expressed a par- ticular rancour against gentlemen, for tlieir insatiable avarice, and their grasping at all land, their extortionate 320 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED mSTOET OF ENGLAND, [a.d. 1549. rent-, iinii oppressions of tho people. They declared ttiut it was high time, that only the inoloaure mania should be put a stop to, but abundance of other evils should be re- formed. On the 6th of July, at \Vymondham, or Windham, a few milcB from Norwich, on occasion of a public play which was annually perforuied there, the people, fetiinuluted by what had been done in Kent, began to throw down the dykes, as they were called, or fences round inclosures, and ac- cording to Strype, one John Flowerdew of Iletherset, gentleman, finding himself aggrieved by the casting down of some of his dykes, went and offered the people forty pence to throw down the fences of an inclosure belonging to Robert Ket, or Knight, a tanner of Wymondham, whioI\ they did. There was prob ibly some private feud betwixt these individuals, or Plowerdow miglit have reason to believe that Ket had promoted tho attack on his fences. Be that as it may, Kot was not, as it soon proved, a man to take such a proceeding patiently. Although a tanner by trade, he was a wealthy- man, lord of three manors in the county, and he found no difficulty, the next morning, in inducing the same mob that had torn down his fences, to accompany him to tho grounds of Flowerdew, and repay the compliment by a further onslaught on his hedgi^s and ditches. Flowerdew came out and earnestly entreated them to go away and do him no mischief, but the choleric Ket incited them to proccoJ, and became so heated in the affiir, that he declared himself the people's captain, and offered to lead them to settle these grievances not for the parish simply but for the kingdom. The news of such a leader flew far and wide, thousands flocked to his banner, and they marched into the neighbourhood of Norwich. "There were," says Holinshed, " assembled together in Ket's camp, to the number of sixteen thousand ungracious unthriffs, who by the advice of their captains, fortified themselves, and made provisions of artillery, powder, and other afciliments, which they fetched out of shops, gentle- men's houses, and other places where any was to be found; and withal spoiled tho country of all the cattle, riches, and coin, on which they might lay hands. But because many, as in saoh case is ever seen, did provide for themselves, and hid that which they got, laying it up for their own store, and brought it not forth to further the common cause, Ket and the other governors, for so they would be called, thought to provide a remedy, and by common con- sent it was decreed, that a place should bo appointed where judgment might, be exercised, as in a judicial hall. Where- upon they found out a great old oak, where the said Ket and the other governors or deputies might git and place themselves, to hear and determine siieh quarrelling matters ascamein question ; afore whom sometimes would assemble a great number of the rebels, and exhibit complaints of such disorders as now and then were practised anion i; them ; and there they would take order for tho redressing of such wrongs and injuries as were appointed ; so that euch greedy vagabonds as were ready to spoil more than seemed to stand with tho pleasure of the said governors, and furthc than their commissions could bear, were com- mitted to prison. This oak they named the Tree of Refor- mation." Under this tree, which stood on Moushill, near Norwich, Ket erected his throne, and established courts of chancery, king's bench, and common pleas, as in Westminster hall ; and, with a liberality which shamed not only tho govern- ment of that but of must succeeding times, he allowed not only the orators of his own but of the opposite party to harangue them from this tree. Ket, it is clear, was a man far beyond his times, and one who was sincerely seek- ing tho reform of abuses, and not destruction of tho con- stituted government. The tree was used as a rostrum, and all who had anything to say mounted into it, as we may suppose, with some convenient standing-place betwixt its first branches, and whence they could be seen and heard by the multitude. Into the tree mounted frequently Master Aldrioh, the mayor of Norwich, and others, who would use all possible persuasions to the insurgents to desist from their spoliations and disorderly courses. Clergymen of both persuasions preached to them from the oak, and Miitthew Parker, afterwards archbishop of Canterbury, one day ascended it, and addressed them in the plainest possible terras on the folly of their attempt, and the ruin it was certain to bring upon them. He carried his plain speaking so far, that there arose loud murmurs, and a clashing of arms around him, and he began to think that they meant to kill him. But not a man touched him, and the next day in St. Clement's church, Norwich, he repeated his serious admonitions, there being many of the rebels present; but though they made signs of great dissatisfaction, no ono interrupted him. He had been sent by the government, and having discharged his commission, he got away in safety. Perhaps the reported moderation of Ket and his coadju- tors led the government to expect that the mob would in a while disperse without further mischief, for for nearly a month they permitted this to go on. The consequence was, that the mob grew so lawless that neither Ket nor big subordinate captains could any longer restrain tho disorders of their followers. They ranged over tho whole country round, plundering and destroying. They are said to have drawn off twenty thousand sheep, besides a proportionate namber of cattle ; killed and borne away multitudes of swana, geese, hens, capons, ducks, ftc. ; with all kinds of garden-stuff and provisions that they oould lay hands on. These they brought into their camp and consumed in the grossest riot and waste. They broke down the fences of fields and parks, slew the deer, felled the woods and groves, and had such abundauce that they sold fat wethers at a groat a-piece. At length, on the 31st of July, a royal herald appeared in the cfamp, " and, standing before the Tree of Reforma- tion, apparelled in his coat of arms, pronounced there, before all the muUitude, with loud voice, a free pardon to all that would depart to their houses, and, laying aside their armour, give over their traitorous enterprise." Some of tho insurgents, who were already weary of the affair, and only wanted a good excuse for drawing off safely, took the offered pardon and disappeared ; but Ket and the chief part of the people kept their ground, saying they wanted no pardon, for they had done nothing but what was incumbent on true subjects. Expecting that now some attack would soon bo made upon them, they marched into Norwich to seize on all tho artillery and ammunition they could, and carry it to their oamp. The herald made another proclamation to them in the market place, repeating the offer of piirdim ; but threatening death to all who did not immediately aooept it. A.D. 1549.] SUPPRESSION OF THE INSUEREOTIONS. 321 They bade him begone, for they wanted no such manner of mercy. From that day the number of Ket's followers grew asain rapidly, for he seemed above the government ; and the herald returning to town, dissipated at court any hope of the rebels dispersing of themselves. A troop of fifteen liundred liorse, under the marquis of Northampton, accom- panied bya small force of mounted Italians, under Malatesta, were therefore sent down to Norwich, of which they took possession. But the cext day Ket and his host descended from their hill, found their way into the city, engaged, defeated, and drove out tlie king's troops, killing lord Sheffield and many gentlemen, and their blood being up, set fire to the town, and plundered ic as it burnt. Northampton i-etreated ignominously to town, where the protector now saw that the affair was of a character that demanded vigorous suppression. An army of eight thou- sand men, two thousand of whom were Germans, under the earl of Warwick, about to proceed against Scotland, was directed to march to Norwich and disperse the rebels. Warwick arriving, made au entrance, after some resistance, into the city. But there he was assailed on all sides with such impetuosity, that he found it all that he could do to defend himself, being greatly deficient in ammunition. On the 26th of August, however, arrived a reinforcement of fourteen hundred lansquenets, with store of powder and ball, and the next day he marched out, and the enemy having imprudently left their strong position on the hill, he attacked them in the valley of Dussingdale, and at the first charge broke their ranks,. They fled, their leader, Ket, galloping off before them. They were pursued for three or four miles, and the troopers cut them down all the way with such ruthless vengeance that three thousand five hundred of them were said to have perished. The rest, however, managed to surround themselves by a line of wagons, and, hastily forming a rampart of a trench and a bank fortified with stakes, resolved to stand their ground. Warwick, perceiving the strength of the place, and apprehensive of a great slaughter of his men, offered them a pardon ; but they replied that they did not trust to the offer ; they knew the fate that awaited them, and they preferred to die with arms in their hands than on the gal- lows. Warwick renewed his offer, and went himself to assure them of his sincerity, on which they laid down their arms, or retired with them in their hands. Ket alone was hung on the walls of Norwich Oastle, his brother on the steeple of Wymondham Church, and nine of the ringleaders on tlie Oak of Reformation. Thus was this dangerous and widely-spread insurrection put down. On the part of tlie government there never was more forbearance shown on such occasion, and on the part of the people, nothing was more demonstrable than the fact that however deep are the grievances of the multitude, how- ever widely spread — for this penetrated from south to north, being equally existent, and with considerable trouble quelled in Yorkshire too — and multitudinously supported; not one such rising in ten thousand succeeds. In this case, the greater part of the clergy, and no few of the gentry and aristocracy went along with them on account of religion, yet the rebellion would, with the ordinary fcverity and appliance of force, have been quelled in a few days. A mob, however brave, must have some thoroughly and universally national cause of excitement, and some peculiarly strong country, to compete with the power of regular soldiery. The dang Ts of this time, however, led to the introduction of the system which now exists, by which lords lieutenants of isted on being crowned with her, which she did not think it advisable at once to accede to. A very warm altercation ensued, and she then thought she could gire him the crown by act of parliament. On reflection, however, she felt it best to waive this question, which so much incensed her huiiband, that be refused to go near her. His mother then upbraided her so 8eTerelybmont, and to this Mary would by no means consent. She replied that " she could not find in her heart or conscience to put her unfortu- nate kinswoman to death ; who bad Lot been an accomplice of Northumberland, but merely an unresisting instrument in his hands. If there were any crime iu being his daugh- ter-in-law, even of that her cousin Jane was not guilty, for she had been legally contracted to another, and, therefore, her marriage with lord Guildford Dudley was not valid. As to the danger existing from her pretensions, it was but imaginary, and every requisite precaution should be taken before she was set at liberty." Mary's selection of prisoners was remark.ibly small con- sidering the number in her hands, and the character of their offence agaiust her. .She contented herself with putting only seven of them on their trial, namely, Northum- berland, his son the carl of Warwick, the marquis of Nor- thampton, Sir John Gates, Sir Henry Gates, Sir Andrew Dudley, and Sir Thomas Palmer — his chief councillors, and his as30ci.ites, Northumberland submitted to the court whether a man couli be guilty of treason who acted on the authority of council, and under warrant of the great seal ; or could they who had been his chief advisers and accomplices during the whole time, sit as his judges ? The duke of Norfolk, who presided at the trial as high-steward, replied that the council and great seal which he spoke off, were those of a usurper, and, therefore, so far from avail- ing him, only aggravated the offence, and that the lords in question could sit as his judges, because they were under no attainder. The lords thus pointed at, pleaded at once that they had acted under restraint and peril of their lives, having been coerced by the duke: and finding that his appeal had done him no service, Northumberland and his fellow prisoners pleaded guilty. The duke prayed that his sentence might be commuted into decapitation, as became a peer of the realm, and he prayed the queen that she would be merciful to his children on account of their youth. He desired also that an able divine might be sent to him for the settling of of his conscience, thereby intimating that he was at bottom a catholic in hopes no doubt, of winning upon the mini of the queoo, for he was abjectly anxious to pave his life. He professed, too, that he was in possession of certain state secrets of vital importance to her m.ijesty, and entreated that two members of the council might be sent to him to receive these matters from him. What his object was became manifest from the result, for Gardiner and another member of the council being sent to liini in consequence, he implored Gardiner pas.«ionately to intercede for bis life. Gardiner gave hira little hope, but promised to do what he could, and on returning to the queen so much moved her. that she was inclined to grant the request ; but others of the council wrote to the emperor through Rcnard, who strenuously warned her, if she valued her safety, or the peace of her reign, not to listen to such an arch traitor. Yet a letter of Northumberlond's to lord Arundel, the night before his execution, preserved in Ticrney's History of the Castle and Town of Arundel, shows that to the last he clung convulsively to the hope of life. He there asks for life, "yea, the life of a dogge, that he may but lyve and kiss the queen's feet." We shall see that this bold, bad man actually did profess himself a catholic on the scaffold. What ahorror docs this throw over his re.il chnracter, when we recollect the manner in which he had punished and persecuted the catholics whilst ho was in power, consenting to the im- prisonment of Gardmcr, Bonner, and others, and cutting A.D. 1553.] EXECUTION OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 351 dowQ the Korfulk catholic insurgents like reeds. The fact was that Ilia only religion was his ambition, and this was pretty well known durin<; Edward's life ; for on one occasion, ac- cording to Strype, ho spoke so contemptuously of the new religion, that (Jranmer, in a moment of excitement, actually challoiif^ed him to fight a duel ; and on another occasion he is made to say, in the old Peerage of England, to Sir Anthony iJrowne, that '' he certainly thought best of the old religion, but tliat seeing a new one begin, ruu dog, run devil, he would go forward." Northumberland's eldest son, the earl of Warwick, who was tried with him, behaved with much more dignity. He wasted no endeavours on vain and transparent excuses, he craved no forgiveness, but merely begged that his debts might be discharged out of his confiscated property. The marquis of Northampton pleaded that he was not in office during this conspiracy, and had had no concern in it, being eng.aged in hunting and other field sports ; whereas it was notorious that he was mixed up with the whole of it, and had been one of the noblemen who went to present the crown to lady Jane at Sion House. His plea did not pre- vent his receiving sentence. The commoners were tried the next day in the same court, and were also sentenced as traitors. The ncit dny being Sunday another catholic priest was ordered to preaoii at St. Paul's Cross, and in order to protect him, several lords of the council, as the lord privy seal, the earl of Bedford, the earl of Pembroke, the lords Rich and Wentworth, accompanied by two hun- dred of the guard, with their captain. Sir Henry Jerning- ham, went thither, and the preacher was surrounded by halberdiers. The mayor and aldermen in their liveries also attended. This was an indication of what was coming, and in accordance with a past proclamation of tlie queen, in which she had declared that she did not mean to compel and constrain other men's consciences, but that the lord mayor must not suffer the reading of the Scriptures in the churches of the city, or the preaching of curates who were not licensed by her. The Sunday on which the riot took place at the Cross was, therefore, the last in which the form of religion established by Edward VI. was tolerated. It was now to give w.ay to the anti-papal formula of Henry VIII., and the Six Articles, so long as the queen retained the supremacy in the church. On Tuesday, the 22nd of August, Northumberland, Gates, and Palmer were brought from the Tower to execution on Tower Hill. Of the eleven condemned, only these three were executed— an instance of clemency, in so gross a conspiracy to deprive a sovereign of a throne, which is without a parallel. When the duke of Northumberland and Gates met on the scaffold, Ihcy each accused the other of being the author of the treason. Northumberland charged the whole design on Gates and the council ; Gates charged it more truly on Northumberland and his high authority. They protested, however, that they entirely forgave each other, and Northumberland, stopping to the rail, made a long speech, praying for a long and happy reign to the queen ; calling on the people to bear witness that he died in the true catholic faith. Ambition, he said, liad led him to conform to the new faith, though he con- demned it in his heart, and tlie adoption of which had filled both England and Germany with constant dissensions, troubles, and civil wars. After repeating the Miserere, l)e I'rofundis, and the Paternoster, with some portion of another psalm concluding with the words, "Into thy hands, Lord, I commend my spirit," he laid his head on the block, saying that he deserved a thousand deaths, and it was severed at a stroke. Gates and Palmer died pro- fessing great penitence. The Lancaster herald, an old servant of the duke's, ob- tained an audience of the queen after the execution, and, no doubt, impressed with the idea that the head of North- umberland would be impaled in some public spot, as that of a traitor, prayed that it might be given to him for burial. Mary bade him, in God's name, see that both head and body received proper interment ; and, accordingly, the gory remains of the duke were deposited in the chapel of St. Peter, in the Tower, by the side of his victim, Somerset, so that, says Stowe, there now lay before the high altar two headless dukes betwixt two headless queens : the dukes of Somerset and Northumberland betwixt queen Anne Boleyn and queen Catherine Howard. During these transactions Mary was residing at Richmond palace, having quitted the Tower on the 12th of the month. It would soon be necessary to return thither, preparatory to her coronation ; but there was one person whom she sent thither as a prisoner, previous to her revisiting the awful old fortress herself, and that was Cranmer. With all Mary's natural goodness and kindness of heart, with all the proofs which she had lately given of her forgiveness of her enemies, there was one subject which, above all others, she deemed lay as a sacred duty upon her, and from which neither her own life nor that of others, would turn her aside. Though she had pledged herself not to alter the form of religion which had been established by her late brother, there is no doubt that she had vowed ia her own innermost heart to remove it, notwithstanding, and to restore that only worship which she believed to be the true one. Her proclamation was but the voice of expediency : the voice of a more imperative and sacred duty drove her to re-establish the religion of her mother, of her own childhood, and of her immediate relations of the Spanish royal family. From her earliest years the fate of her mother and of her religion had been strangely blended together, and stamped into her heart by sad and solemn memories. Her mother had been compelled to give place to another queen, who had the reputation of favouring the reformers. With her mother's persecutions her own com- menced. When her mother was declared not to be the lawful wife of Henry, she was declared to be illegitimate. Anno Boleyn, her mother's successful rival, had been her harsh stepmother, her bitter enemy, sowing hatred against her in her father's mind, conduct which she deeply rued in the hour of her own death. Her father and her father's ministers had banished her from court, shut her up in country-houses surrounded by spies, and pursued her with constant harassments to compel her to renounce her mother'.s faith. She had been forced to sign humiliating deeds, acknowledging her birth illegitimate, and her religion a vile superstition. This treatment had been continued through the reign of her brother, and by his last act she was again branded as a heretic and a bastard ; and both ou the plea of her birth and her religion excluded from the throne. It would have been a wonder if she had not been stiffened into a bigot by a long course of outrage ; and still more, if leaning with a kindly feeling on her mother's family, as those who alone had shown any regard for her. 3 -.2 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1553. any diepofition to defend her intereste. she had not Iwen encouraged by their cuunsels to rebuild the religious fabric which her enemies had thrown down. Crunmcr was the rao*t prominent figure in the ranlcs of the hoftile religionists. He was, and had been, the grand leader of the movement. It w:is he who had first advised the abandonment of the papal authority, and the procedure to her mother's divorce on the authority of unirersities and of learned jurists. It was he who declared Catherine's marria:;e null, and that of Anne Boleyn legal. He who bad sanctioned the assumption of the supremacy of the church by her father, Henry ; and who had framed and establklied the reformed creed under her brother. In 3ilary°s eyes Cranmer must bare appeared an arch -heretic, and the main designi'r and executor of the mischief that had taken place. It was not to be expected that she would long leave him in the continuance of a career which she regarded as equ.illy illegal and unholy. One of her first act« was to order bim tu confine himself to his palace at Lambeth, thus interdicting the exercise of bis archiepisoopa! functions. Whilst thus confined to his house, word was brought him that the catholic service had been performed 'in his cathedral at Canterbury ; and what mortified him still more, was to learn that it was commonly reported that this was by his own consent, if noc direction. He had during the reign of Henry VIII. been so timid in the assertion of his real opinions, — bad, out of terror of death, so long sacrificed his conscience to his safety, swearing to the Sis Articles of the tyrant, and even submitting to sit in judgment on protestants, and to sentence them to death for the courageous avowal of opinions which he held himself, yet dared not disclose, — that the public now were ready enou:;h to believe that he would again conform to the commands of a catholic queen, rather than renounce his lofty station, and run the risk of the stake. But Cranmer now displayed a courage more worthy of himself and the cause which he had so long cherished in h'ls heart, when he dared not become its martyr. Assisted by his friend, Peter Martyr, he put forth a declaration of his opinions, boldly designating Catholicism as the invention of the devil, and the doctrines and ritual established by Edward VI. as those held and practised by the primitive church. He vindicated himself from the charge of apostacy, and declared that the mass had not been performed in his church at Canterbury by any order or permission of his, but was the act of a false, time-serving monk. He offered to show to the queen the many false doctrines and terrible blasphemies contained in the catholic misf^al. Copies of this manifesto having found their way into the streets, the arciibishop was arrested and brought before the council on the 13th of September, and after a long hearing was committed to the Tower for treason against the queen, and for aggravating the same by spread- ing abroad seditious bill.4, and moving tumults amongst the people. A few days after, Latimer was also arrested on a similar charge, and sent to the Tower for " hia seditious demeanour." The royal advisers, increasing in boldness, counselled the same rigorons treatment of the heretic princess Elizabeth. They declared that the reformers were looking to her as their hope for the restoration of their church, and that Mary could only be safe by placing her in custody. Mary would not listen to these suggestions. She rather hoped to win over the mind of Elizabeth by persuasion than by attempts of coercion, which had succeeded so ill in her own case. Elizabeth, however, showed no signs of chang- ing her religion, till it was suggested that her firmness resulted not from any conscientious views, but from the prospects of superseding her sister on account of her faith, which was held out to her by the reformers. Elizabeth is said then to have expressed a willingness to inquire into the grounds of the catholic faith, to have finally professed herself a convert, and to have established a chapel in her own bouse. Such are the statements of the French and Spanish ambassadors, and Mary showed the utmo.'-t regard for Elizabeth, taking her by the hand on all great occasions, and never dining in public without her. The accession of Mary was a joyful event to the papal court. Julius III. appointed cardinal Pole his legale to the queen ; but Pole was by no means in haste to fill this office in a country where the people, whose sturdy character he well knew, had to so great an extent imbibed the doc- trines of the reformation. Dandino, the papal legate at Brussels, therefore despatched a gentleman of his suite to proceed to London and cautiously spy out the land. Before making himself known, this emissary, Gianfran- cesco Commendone, went about London for some days gathering up all evidences uf the public feeling on the question of the church. He then procured a private interview with Mary, and was delighted to hear from her own lips that she was fully resolved on reconciling her kingdom to the papal see, and meant to obtain the repeal of all laws restricting the doctrines or discipline of the catholic church ; but that it required caution, and that no trace of any correspondence with Rome must come to light. Mary was, however, inclined to go faster and farther than some of her advisers, and Gardiner, though so stanch a catholic, was too much of an Englishman to wish to see the supremacy restored to the pontiff. But others were not so patriotic. Throughout the kingdom the protestant preachers were silenced ; the catholic ones were in high elation, and full freedom of the pulpit. The great bell at Curistchurch, Oxford, was just recast, and the first use of it was to call the people to mass. " That bell then rung," says Fuller, " the kaell of gospel truth in the city of Oxford, afterwards filled with Protestant tears." Such was the state of affairs when the queen's coronation took place on the 1st of October. Three days previous to this she proceeded from Whitehall to the Tower attended by a splendid retinue in barges, and was met by the lord mayor and the officers of the corporation in their b.irge8, and with music. She had borrowed £20,000 from the city to defray the expenses of this ceremony till parliament met, and granted her supplies. The next day she knighted fifteen Knights of the Bath, amongst whom were her cousin Ciiurtenay, earl ot Devon, and the earl of Surrey. The following day Mary rode through the city in procession. She was borne in a magnificent litter betwixt six white horses ; the princess Elizabetli rode next in a rich opea chariot, and by her side Anne of Cloves. They were pre- ceded by a procession of five hundred noblemen and gentle- men on horseback, including the foreign arabassadori aud prelates ; and after the chariot of Elizabeth, Sir Edw.ird Hastings, the queen's master of the horse, led her palfrey. Then came a train of seventy ladies riding oa A.V. 1553.] CORONATION OF MABV. 353 horseback and in chariots, in alternate succession. The queen was attired in blue velvet furred with ermine, bear- ing on her head a caul of gold network, set willi pearLs and jewels, so heavy that she wa.s obliged to support it with one hand. The ladies were chiefly dressed in kirtles of gold and silver cloths and robes of crimson velvet, the gentle- men in equally j^orgeous costume. The city presented a variety of pao;eant3. In Fenchurch street four giants addressed her majesty in orations, and in Graceohurch Street a stupendous angel, with a stupendous trumpet, sate upon a triumphal arch, and played a solo, to the astonishment of the people. In Cornhill and Cheapside the conduits ran with wine : and in the latter street the corporation presented the queen with a purse containing a thousand marks of gold. Stowe says that '• in Paul's Churchyard, against the school, one Master Heywood sat in a pageant under a vine, and made to her an oration in Latin and English. Then there was one Peter, a Dutch- man, stood on the weathercock of St. Paul's steeple, hold- ing a streamer in his hand of five yards long ; and waving thereof, stood some time on one foot, and some time on the other, and then kneeled on his knees, to the great marvel of all people. He had made two scaifolds under him above the cross, having torches and streamers set on it, and one over the ball of the cross, likewise set with streamers and torches, which could not burn, the wind was so great." The lord mayor attended the queen to her palace of White- hall. The nest day, the 1st of October, the coronation was conducted with equal splendour, the walls of the choir of Westminster Abbey being hung with rich arras, and blue cloth being laid from the marble chair in Westmiaster Ilall to the pulpit in Westminster Abbey, for the queen to walk on. Directly after the queen walked Elizabeth, followed by Anne of Oleves, Mary showing an amiable desire to give every distinction to these near connections. Gardiner, in the absence of the imprisoned primate, placed the crown upon her head, or rather three crowns — first, the crown of St. Edward, then the imperial crown of England, and, lastly, a very rich diadem made expressly for her. Every ceremony or point of state etiquette was carefully observed. After the coronation, Heywood, the court dramatist, per- formed some plays, and the whole was concluded with great festivity. Pour days later, Mary opened her first parliament ; and she opened it in a manner which showed plainly what was to come. Both paers and commoners were called upon to attend her majesty at a solemn mass of the Holy Ghost. This was an immediate test of what degree of compliance Mary and her high catholic mmisters were to expect in the attempt to return to the ancient order of things; and the success of the experiment was most encouraging. With only the exception of Taylor, bishop of Lincoln, and Hurley, bishop of Hereford, the whole parliament- peers, prelates, and commoners — fell on their knees at the elevation of the host, and participated with an air of devotion in that which in the last reign they had declared an abomination. But such was the zeal now fur the lately abhorred mass that the two uncomplying bishops were rudely thrust out of the queen's presence, and out of the abbey altogether. The sudden and unabashed profligacy with which the whole parliament, with these two excep- tions, had wheeled round to the wishes of the court, Jed many to accuse the queen of having bribed the eenatc. But whence came the funds ? Mary came to an empty exchequer ; and so far from imposing new taxes, she had voluntarily resigned two-tenth.s and two-fifteenths granted by the last parliament to Edward VI., declaring that, though she did not mean to touch any of the church lands still in the hands of the crown, she could manage to sustain the government out of her own resources. There were those who insinuated that the emperor furnished the funds to bribe her parliament ; but, besides that Charles was nut so lavish of his money, events soon showed that the parliament, though so exceedingly pliant in the matter of religion, was stubborn enough regarding the estates obtained from the church, and by no means gracious in regard to Mary's scheme of a Spanish marriage. The first act of legislation was to restore the securities to life and property which had been granted in the twenty- fifth year of Edward III., and which had been so completely prostrated by the acts of Henry VIII. Such an act had been passed at the commencement of the last reign, but had been apain violated in the cases of the two Seymours. The defiance of all the safeguards of the constitution by Henry VIII. had been such, that it has been calcul.ated that no less than 72,000 persons perished on the gibbet in his reign. The parliament, looking back on the sanguinary lawlessness of that monarch, did not think the country sufficiently safe from charges of constructive treason and felony without a fresh enactment. It next passed an act annulling the divorce of queen Catherine of Arragon, by Cianmer, and declaring the present queen legitimate. This act indeed tacitly declared Elizabeth illegitimate, but there was no getting altogether out of the difliculties which the licentious proceedings of Henry VIII. had created, and it was deemed best to pass that point over in silence, leaving the queen to treat her sister as if born in genuine wedlock. The next bill went to restore the catholic church in Eng- land, stopping short, however, of the supremacy. This received no opposition in the house of lords, but occasioned a debate of two days in the commons. It passed, however, eventually without a division, and by it was swept away at once the whole system of protestantism established by Cran- mer during the reign of Edward VI. The reformed liturgy, which the parliament of that monarch had declared was framed by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, was now pronounced to be " a new thing, imagined and devised by a few of singular opinions." This abolished the marriages of priests and illegitimated their children. From the twentieth day of the next month divine worship was to be performed, and the sacraments administered, as in the last year of Henry VIII. 's reign. Thus were the tyrannic Six Articles re- stored, and all but the papal supremacy. That was a difi"crent matter ; which even Gardiner was afraid of after its abolition for thirty years. Even the discussion of the abolition of the ritual and doctrines of Edward VI. became so warm, that the queen prorogued parliament for three days. On calling the house of commons together again, and proceeding with the bill, no jiiention was made of the restoration of the church property, thou;;h the queen was anxious to restore all that was in the liands of the crown ; for the lords, and gentlemen even of the house of commons, who were in possession of those lands, would have raised a far difierent opposition to that which was manifested re- garding the state religion. 354 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAXD. [i.D. 1553. Xa aooner were these bills passed than the clergy met in coDTOcatioD, and passed decrees for the speedy cnfurcement of all the catholic regulations. Gardiner had taken caro to dismiss all such bishops as he knew would not readily com- ply. The sentiments expressed in this convocation were those if the most unchecked exultation in the restoration of popery, even from those who had professed to be zealous protestants before the accession of Mary, and the adula- tion of the queen was something almoet unparalleled in the lung-worship of courts. The bishop of London's chaplain, chism. It was a curious fact that amongst tlie pernicious books which had been used in the reformed worship, was the queen's own translation of the Paraphrases of Erasmus, which, being completed hy Udal and Cox, had been ordered to be placed in all the churches along with the Bible as its best exposition. Thus the queen was made to condemn her own literary labour to the flames as heretical. The persecution of the reformed clergy who had stood firm became veiicment. The married clergy were called upon to abandon their wives, and there was a rush of the Philip of Spain. From the original Picturi by Titian. ■who opened the convocation with a sermon, compared Mary to all the most extraordinary women who ever appeared. She was equal to Miri.im, Deborah, Esther, and Judith of the Old Testament, and nearly so to the Virgin Mary. He was now succeeded by Weston the prolocutor, who dwelt, moreover, at great length on the persecution of the catholic prelates and clergy during the last reign, as a proper reminder of what ought now to be the treatment of their cncmie.a. The convocation was not slow to learn. It declared the Book of Common Prayer an abomination, and ordered the immediate suppression of the reformed cate- cxpelled prio&ts again to fill their pulpits. In the cities there was considerable opposition, for there the people had read and reflected, but generally throughout the agricul- tural districts the change took place with the case and rapidity of the scene-shifting at a theatre. Many of the married priest^i, however, would not abandon their wives and children, and were turned adrift into the highways, or were thrust into prison. Many fled abroad, hoping for more Christian treatment from the reformed churches there, but found quite as ill, for their doctrines did not accord with those of the foreign reformers, who deemed them heretical. A.D. 1553.] DIPRISOXMEXT OF THR PROTESTANT BISHOPS. 355 Allington Castle, the Residence of Sir Thomaa Wyatt Forfeited to the Crown, 155i. a^'V^-Dei.- About half the English biahopg conformed, the rest were ejected from t*ieir sees, and several of them were im- prisoned. Soon after Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley were sent to the Tower, Holgate, archbishop of Yorli, was sent thither also. Poynet, who was bishop of Winchester durina; Gardiner's expulsion, was imprisoned for having married. Taylor, of Lincoln, and Harley, of Hereford, for refusing to kneel on the elevation of the host at the queen's coronation, and for other heresies, were committed to prison. Ferrar, of St. David's, Bird, of Exeter, and Coverdale, the trans- lator of the Bible, were all imprisoned for iiiariiage or other oifences. Yet as long as the queen maintained the supremacy of the church, and was not closely connected with the Spanish court, her native goodness of heart withheld her from the commission of any such cruelties as disgraced the after years of her reign. On the contrary, she often mani- fested much sympathy with the sufferings of the ejected clergy, and a fact recorded by Fox, who had to narrate her 356 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1333. sabM>quent seTeritie*. shows ihat she waa capable of real magnanimitv. Dr. E Iward Sandys had been thrown into prison f the throne. and on her religion ; yet at the intercession of one of the ladies of tht bed-chamber, she ordiTcd him to be set at liberty. Sht was not, however, disposed to pass over the offences of Cranmer so lightly, who had been so terrible an enemv to her moth'^r. On the 13th of October he was brought to trial in Guildhall, on a charge of treason, together with ladv .Tane Gray, her husband, lord Guilford Dudley, and lorii Ambros-e Dudley, his brother. They were all condemned to death as traitors, and a bill of attainder was pas-'cd through parliament against them. Lady Jane's sentence was to be beheaded or burnt at the queen's plea- sure, which was then the law of England in all cases where women committed high treason, or petty treason by the murder of their husbands. The fate of lady Jane, who pleaded guilty, and exhibited the mo.oc mild and amiable demeanour on the occasion, excited deep sympathy, and crowds followed her as she was reconducted to the Tower, weepin; and lamenting her hard fate. It was well under- stood, however, that the queen had no intention of carrying the sentence into effect against any of the prisoners ; but she deemed it a means of keeping quiet her partisans to hold them in prison under sentence of death, and she gave orders that they should receive every indulgence consistent with their security, and lady Jane was permitted to walk in the queen's garden at the Tower, and even on Tower-hill. The subject which created the greatest difficulty to ttiis parliament was that of the queen's marriage. At the commencement of the session the commons had voted an address to the queen, praying her to marry, to secure the succe,ssion to the throne, but imploring her to select her husband from amongst her subjects, and not from any foreign princely family. Thi^ was snggested by a very prevalent fear that her partiality, from connections of affinity and religion, for the Spanish family, might lead her to favour the ambitioas views of the emperor, and take a husband from his house. The whole nation, whether pro- testant or catholic, appeared united in the repu.;aance to a Spani.'-h match, believin<; that it would make this country a province of Spain, and introdac; here the despotic and persecuting spirit which prevailed there. Mary had, indeed, shown a decided preference for Courtenay. the young earl of D.^von. lie was a remarkably handsome man, but having been a prisoner in the Tower from the time of the execution of his father, the marquis of Exeter — in the tenth year of his own age — till the accession of Mary, when he was above thirty, he had naturally remained ill instructed, and acquired low habits in his Tower life. Mary had taken great pains to form his manners, and kept him noar her own person, electing his mother as her most confidential friend. But Courtenay was incorrigible. He gave a loose rein to his love of vulgar pkasuies. frequented the most debased society, and soon thoroughly disgusted the queen. The French and Venetian ambassadors, who ' were anxious by all means to prevent a Sp.inish alliance, , used every endeavour to induce Courtenay to conduct him- self so as to secure the hii;h honour of such a match, but it was in vain, and Mary soon began to give out that it was not befitting her to marry a subject, though to her intimate friends she candidly avowed that the dissolute character of Courtenay was the real cause of her looking abroad. When Courtenay had lost all chance of securing the qu'>en's hand, the indefatigable Noailles, the French am- ba.ssador, endeavoured to turn the scale in favour of the queen's celebrated kinsman. Cardinal Pole. Mary had sent Pole an earnest and immediate invitation to come over to England, and the public, ready to catch at any straw which afforded the least hope of escaping the Spanish match, fell readily into the anticipation that he was the man. Pole had not taken priest's orders, or if he had, dispensation might have been obtained ; he was already fifty-three years of age, and become irrevocably addicted to the love of study and seclusion. Xo idea of marrying the queen of England ever seems to have entered his head. He was living in a beautiful minastery at Magguzzano, on the lake of Guarda, and all worldly ambition appea,rcd to have quitted him. But on the news of his cousin's elevation to the throne, the daughter of that C.uherine whose most zealous and eloquent champion ho had b'^en. and of that faith which he clung to at the expense of the hi;;hest pro- motion in England, he showed. himself ready to abandon his repose, and to devote himself to the re-establishment of his beloved church in his native land, lie gladly accepted the office of papal legate in England and set out on his journey. But there wass another and more powerful person watch- ing every highway in Europe which pointed towards England, who had designs of his own which ho was already labouring diligently to accompli>h in that quarter — and who was no other than the emperor Charles V. Greatly alarmed at the journey of cardinal Pole towards England Charles lost no time in prc% enting his arrival there, lie dreaded lest Mary had some old attachment fur the cardinal, as she had been chiefly educated by his mother the countess of Salisbury, whom Henry VI 11. so barbarously beheaded. Charles used his influence with the pope to obtain his recall. He despatched Mendoia to stop him in Germany, and alarm him with the representation of the danger of a papal legate appearing in England till the religions changes were completely effected. Pole halted in his progress, and returned to I'illinghen on the Danube, where he awaited further instructions from the pope. These were to suspend his journey for the present. Meantime, Noailles, the French ambassador, was equ.ally active in preventing the designs of Charles. He did all in his power to stimulate Courtenay to receive the band of the queen ; he intrigued with the leaders of the protestant party, holding midnight conferences with them in his own house, and now advised them to defend themselves from the menaced Spanish despotism by force of arms, promising them the aid of France. Pole, on the other hand, though he could not reach England, gave the queen the soundest advice by letter, namely, not to marry at all ; and his advice was earnestly seconded by his friend, friar Peyto, the same plain-speaker who had so startled Henry from the pulpit at Greenwich by denouncing his seizure of the monastic church, and whom Cromwell hod, therefore, threatened to sew up in a sack and fling ii^o the Thames. Peyto had retired to the continent and resided in the cardinal's house. He now wrote to Miry with as much honest plainness as he had spoken to her father. '' Do not marry," he said, "or you will be the slave of a young husband. Besides, at your age the chance of bringing heirs to the throne is doubtful, and, moreover, must be dangerous to your life." A.D. 1553.] MARY PROPOSES TO MARRY PHILIP OF SPAIN. 357 Notliing, however, could move Mary from her project of matrimODj. Giving up Courtenay, who was the slave of low vices, she now consulted her great relative, the emperor, her invariable counsellor in all serious matters. The advice from such a quarter could only be of one character. Mary, as a child, had been betrothed to Charles himself, but she then appeared so distant from the throne tljat he had cavalierly given her up. He now wrote in a strain of the most delicate flattery, which, without saying that he repented of his conduct, expressed it. He fully approved, he said, of the reasons which induced her to relinquish all idea of Courtenay, and only regretted that Pole, so worthy of her, declined all worldly distinctions for the sacred duties of the church. Were he of fitting age he would himself aspire to the honour of her hand, but that not being suitable, whom could he oft'er her more dear to him than his own son. The advantages of such an alliance, he said, were too prominent to need pointing out, but he would not say a word to bias her judgment ; on the contrary, he entreated her -to reflect seriously, but without any restraint, on the proposition, and then inform him of the result. But though Charles put on such a paternal and disin- terested air, his ambassador, Renard, was at the queen's elbow to give all the colouring of his rhetoric to the scheme, to expatiate on the beauty and accomplishments of Philip, and on tlie splendour of the position which such a union of crowns would confer on them above all the world. Mary listened to the proposal with unconcealed pleasure, a pleasure far from reciprocated on the part of Philip, who was only twenty-sis years of age, and earnestly entreated his father not to marry him to a woman eleven years older than himself. Arguments founded on mere inclination have no weight with princes, they had none whatever with Charles V., and the union was privately and quickly agreed upon. The wary emperor, however, advised Mary to keep the contact secret for the present, as some of her ministers were desirous that the queen should wed the archduke, his nephew, and all, ho was well aware, were decidedly op- posed to the Spanish alliance. Such secrets, however, soon transpire at courts, and rumours of this proposed alliance soon spread abroad, creating great alarm and anxiety. The first to remonstrate with Mary on the subject was Gardiner, her chancellor, who boldly pointed out to her the repugnance of the nation to a Spanish marriage. That she would be the paramount authority if she married a subject, but that it would be difficult to maintain that rank with a Spanish king. That the arrogance of the Spanish had made them odious to all nations, and this quality had already shown itself con- spicuously in Philip. He was greatly disliked by his own people, and it was not likely that he would be tolerated by the English. That alliance with Spain meant perpetual war with France, which would never suffer the Netherlands to be annexed to the crown of England. The rest of Mary's council took up the same strain, with the exception of the old duke o( Norfolk and the lords Arundel and Paget. The protestant party out of doors were furious against the match, declaring that it was meant to bring the inquisition into the country, to rivet popery upon it, and to make England the tlave of taxation to the Spaniards. The parliament took up the subject with equal hostility, and the commons sent their speaker to her, attended by a deputa- tion of twenty members, praying her majesty not to marry a foreigner. Noailles, the French ambassador, was delighted with this movement, and took much credit to himself for incitin' influential parties to it ; but Mary believed it to originate with Gardiner, and the lion spirit of her father coming over her, she vowed that she would prove a match for the cunning of the chancellor. That very night she sent for the Spanish ambassador, and bidding him follow her into her private oratory, hhe theie knelt down before the altar, and after chanting the hymn, I'cni Creator Spintus, the made a vow to God that she would marry Philip of Spain, and whilst she lived, no other man but him. Thus she put it out of her power, if she kept her vow, to marry any other person should she outlive Philip, showing the force of the paroxysm of determination which was upon her. The effort would seem to have been very violent, for im- mediately after she was taken ill and continued so for some days. It was on the last day of October that this curious cir- cumstance took place, and on the 17th of Novemb -r she sent for the House of Commons, when the speaker read the address giving her their advice regarding her marriage ; and, instead of the chancellor returning the answer as was the custom, Mary answered herself, thanking them for their care that she should have a succession in her own children, but rebuking them for presuming to dictate to her the choice of a husband. She declared that the marriages of her predecessors had always been free, a privilege which, she assured them, she was resolved to maintain. At the same time, she added, she should be careful to make such a selection as should contribute both to her own happiness and to that of her people. The plain declaration of the queen to her parliament was not necessary to inform those about her who were interested in the question ; they had speedy information of her having favoured the Spanish suit, and Noailles was certainly mixed up in conspiracies to defeat it. It was proposed to place Courtenay at the head of the reformed party, and if Mary would not consent to marry him, to assassinate Arundel and Paget, the advocates of the Spanish match ; to marry Elizabeth to Courtenay, and raise the standard of rebellion in Devonshire. It appears from the despatches of Noailles that the duke of Su2"olk, the father of lady Jane Gray, was in this conspiracy. But the folly and the unstable character of their hero, Courtenay, was fatal to their design, and of that Noailles very soon became sensible. It was proposed by some of the parties that Courtenay should steal away from court, get across to France, and thence join the conspirators in Devonshire ; but Noailles opposed this plan, declaring that the moment Ct urtenay quitted the coast of England hia chance was utterly lost ; and he wrote to his own government, saying, that the scheme would full to nothing, for although Courtenay and Elizabeth were fitting persons to cause a rising, that such was the want of decision of Courtenay, that he would let himself be taken before he would act — the thing which actually came to pass. On the 0th (jf December the queen dissolved parliament, and took an affectionate leave of Elizabeth, who went to her seat at Ashridge. There had not been wanting whisperers to sow dissension betwixt the sisters, by repre- senting Elizabeth as cognisant of the conspiracies with CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTOBY OF ENGLAND. 358 Oourtenay, ond of hnring received nocturn:il visits from Noailles. The queen questioned the princess on these j heads, professed herself quite satisfied of Elizabeth not having received any such visits from the French ambas- sador, and closin;; her ears against all attempts to make her sister suspected by her, she presented her on her departure with two sets of large pearls, and several rosaries splendidly studded with jewels. On the 2nd of January, 1554, a splendid embassy, sent by the emperor, hea led by the counts Egmont and Lalain, the lord of Courrieres, and the sicur de Nigry, landed in Kent, to arrange the marriage betwixt Mary and Philip. The unpopularity of this measure was immediately mani- fested, for the men of Kent, taking Egmont for Pliilip, rose in fury, and would have torn him to pieces if they could have got bold of him. Uaving, however, reached West- [a.d. 155i. had it taken eft'ect, would undoubtedly have proved a most disastrous one, involving us perpetually in the wars and struggles of the continent, and draining these isl.inds to defend those foreign territories. Providence protected this nation from the alluring mischief. Another condition of the treaty was that Mary was not to bo carried out of tho kingdom, except at her own request, nor any of her children, except by tho consent of the peers. The commons wero totally ignored in the matter. Philip was not to entanglo England in the continental wars of his father, nor to appro- priate any of tho naval or military resources of this country, the property or jewels of the crown to any foreign purposes. If there was no issue of the marriage, all the conditions of the treaty at once became void, and Philip ceased to ba king oven in name. If he died first, which was not very probable, Mai-y was to enjoy a dower of sixty thousand \ Great Seal of Queen Jlsrv. minster in safety, on the 11th of January, a numerous assembly of nobles, prelates, and courtiers was summoned to the queen's presence-chamber, where Gardiner, who had found it necessary to relinquish his opposition, stated to them the proposed conditions of the treaty. The greatest care was evidently taken to disarm the fears of tlie English, and nothing could appear more moderate than tho terms of this alliance. Philip and llary were to confer on each Autograph of Queen Mary. other the titles of their respective kingdoms, but each king- dom was still to be governed by its own laws and constitu- tion. None but English suVyects were to hold office in this country, not even in tho king's private service. If the queen had an heir it was to be her successor in her own dominions, and also in all Philip's dominions of Burgundy. Holland, and Flanders, which were for ever to become part and parcel of England. This certainly, on the face of it, was a most advantageous condition for England, but which, ducats per annum, secured on lands in Spain and Flanders. No mention was made of any payment to Phdip if he were the survivor. The whole treaty was a wonderful example of political prudence, and the cloven foot only peeped out from beneath this decent and flowing raiment in one little clause, which stipulated that Philip should aid JIary in governing hi?r kingdom, an ominous word which might bo made to imply a vast deal, of which, no doubt, advantage was meant to be taken if opportunity presented itself. By this treaty tho interests of Don Carlos, tho son of Philip by a former m.irriiige, were strangely overlooked, and to his intense indignation. In case of children by this marriage. Burgundy and Flanders wero to pass away from him, and in case of his having no issue, Spain, Sicily, Milan, and the rest of the Spanish territories were to fall to Mary's offspring. Notwithstanding all these promises of aggrandisement to England, the match acquired no fiivour in the eyes of tho people. The next day, the lord mayor, aldermen, and forty of the most eminent citizens of London were summoned to court, and Gardiner there made known to them what had taken place, and detailed all the conditions, amplifying and making them as imposing as possible, and bidding these v.D. 1554.] INSURRECTION OP SIR THOMAS WYATT. 350 city authorities rejoice in so auspicious an event. But the affair by tliis means becoming; known to tlie public, there was such a ferment that the Spanish embassy was glad to get away in safety. Many years after, Elizabeth, reminded of it by the opposition to a proposed marriage of her own just as unpopular, wrote to Stafford, her ambassador in Prance, her reminiscences of it : — " It happened," she said, " in queen Mary's days, that, when a solemn embas- sade of five or six at least were sent from the emperor and king of Spain, even after her marriage articles were signed and sealed, and the matter divulged, the danger was so near the queen's chamber door, that it was high time for those messengers to depart without leave taking, and bequeath themselves to the speed of the river stream, and by water pass by with all possible haste to Gravesend." Within five days came the startling news that three insurrections had broken out in different quarters of the kingdom. One was a- foot in the midland counties, where the duke of Suffolk and the Gray family had property and influence. There the cry was for the iady Jane. Mary had been so completely deceived by the duke of Suffolk, whom she had pardoned and liberated from the Tower, and in return for which he affected so hearty an approval of her marriage, that she instantly thought of him aa the man to put down the other rebellions, and sending for him, found that he and his brothers, lord Thomas and lord John Gray, had ridden off with a strong body of horse down to Leicea- tershire, proclaiming lady Jane in every town through which they passed. They found no response to their cry, a fact which any but the most rash specul.ators might have been certain of, for the pretensions of lady Jane's party had been from the first received with freezing coldness. The earl of Huntingdon, a relative of the queen's, took the field against those foolish Grays, who by their folly brought certain death to lady Jane, and defeated them near Coven- try, upon which they fled for their lives. The second insurrection was in the west, under Sir Peter Carew, whose project was to place Elizabeth and Courtenay, earl of Devon, on the throne, and restore tlie protestant religion. These parties, as well as the third under Sir Thomas Wyatt, had consented to act together, and t^is paralyse the efforts of Mary, by the simultaneous outbreak in so many quarters. But the miserable folly of their plans became evident at once. They did not even unite in the choice of the same person as their future monarch, and had they put down M try, must then have come to blows amongst themselves. Carew found Devonshire as indifferent to his call as the Grays had found Leicestershire. Courtenay was to have put himself at their head, but never went ; and Carew, Gibbs, and Oliampernham cilled on the people of Exeter to sign an address to the queen, stating that they would have no Spanish despot. That the Spanish intended nothing less than to live at free quarters in England, to oppress the nation, and violate the honour of the women ; and that, therefore, they would resist the attempt of any Spaniard to set foot in the kingdom. The people of Devon g.ave no support to the movement. The earl of Bedford appeared at the head of the queen's troops. A number of the conspirators were seized, and Carew with others fled to Prance. But the most formidable section of this tripartite rebellion was that under Sir Thomas Wyatt. Wyatt was the son of Sir Thomas Wyatt the poet, the friend of Surrey and of Anne Boleyn. He had accompanied his father on an embassy to Spain, where his father fell intc danger of the inquisition, and he had conceived sucli a dreadful idea of the bigotry and cruelty of the Spaniards, that, though he was a catholic, and had been one of t'ne foremost to support Mary, and to oppose Northumberland, though a relative of his, he now determined to risk hia very life to prevent the establishment of a Spanish prince and Spanish notions in England. He had, therefore, readily entered into the conspi- racy with Suffolk and Carew, and undertook to attempt the seizure of the Tower, where lady Jaae and her husband lay, and the possession of London, whilst the other insurgent chiefs raised the country. He unfurled the standard of revolt in Kent, and fifteen hundred men immediately ranged them- selves round it, and five thousand more declared themselves ready at the first call to march out and join him. He fixed his headquarters at Rochester, having a fleet of five sail, under his associate, Winter, which brought him ordnance and ammunition. Wyatt was only a youth of twenty- three, but he was full of both courage and enthusiasm, and endeavoured to rouse the people of Canterbury to follow him. There, however, ho was not successful, and this ca-st a damp upon his adherents. Sir Robert South- well defeated a party of the insurgents under Knevet, and the lord Abergavenny another party under Isley, and the spirits of his troops began to sink rapidly. Many of his supporters sent to the council, offering to surrender on promise of full pardon, and a little delay would probably have witnessed the total dispersion of his force. But on the 29th of January, the duke of Norfolk marched from London witli a detachment of the guards under Sir Henry Jerningham. On reaching Rochester, they found Wyatt encamped in the ruins of the old castle, and the bridge bristling with cannon, and with well armed Kentishmen. Norfolk endeavoured to dissolve the hostile force by sending a herald to proclaim a pardon to all who would lay down their arms, but Wyatt would not permit him to read the paper. Norfolk then ordered liis tri>ops to force the bridge ; but this duty falling to a detachment of five hundred of the train-bands of the city under captain Brett, the moment they reached the bridge Brett turned round, and addressed his followers thus : — •" Masters, we go about to fight against our native countrymen of Eng- land, and our friends, in a quarrel unrightful and wicked ; for they, considering the great miseries that are like to fall upon us, if we shall be under the rule of the proud Spaniards, or strangers, are here assembled to make resistance to their coming, for the avoiding the great mischiefs likely to alight not only upon themselves, but upon every of us and the whole realm ; wherefore I think no English heart ought to say against them. I and others will spend our blood in their quarrel." On hearing this, his men shouted one and all '• a Wyatt ! a Wyatt ! " and turned their guns not against the bridge, but against Norfolk's forces. At this sight Norfolk and his officers, imagining a universal treason, turned their horses and fled at full speed, leaving behind them their cannon and ammunition. The train bands crossed the bridge and joined Wyatt's soldiers; followed by three fourths of the queen's troops, and some companies of the guard. Norfolk and his fugitive officers galloping into London carried with them the direst consternation. In city and court alike, the most 360 CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF E^^GLAXD. [a.d. 1534 terrible panic prevailed. The lawyers in Westminster Hall pleaded in fuitsof armour hidden under their robes, and Dr. Weston preached before the queen in Whitehall chapel, on C'andlem:is-day, in armour under his clerical vestments. Miry al«nc sfemod caUn and self-possessed. She mounted her horse, and, attended by her ladies and her council, rode into the city, where summoning Sir Thomas White, lord person, and direct her government as they pleased. But her father bad found them of the city loving subjects, and she trusted to do the same in spita of this Wyatt or any other rebel. She then went on : — " Now concerning my intended marriage. I am neither 80 desirous of wedding, nor so precisely wedded to my will. that I needs must have a husband. Hitherto I have lived ' -» ■ mAT-iX- Queen Mary in her private Oratory. mayor and tailor, and the aldermen to meet, who all came clad in armour under their civic hvery, she ascended a chair of state, and with her sceptre in hand addressed them. She informed them that the pretence of the rebels was to prevent the marriage between her and the prince of Spain, but that their demands showed that the marriage was the least of all their objects. That those wanted to control her a virgin, and I doubt not. with God's grace, so to lire still. But if, as my ancestors have done, it might please God that I should leave you a successor, to be your governor, I trust you would rejoice thereat ; also I know it would bo to your comfort. Yet if I thought this marriage would endanger any of you, my loving subjects, or the royal estate of this English realm, I would never consent thereto, nor A.D. 1554.] EEIGX OF QUEEN MARY. 301 WrATT, ON niS WAT TO EXBCUTION, S 'lEMNLY EXOXEBiTIMO THK PKINCES3 BLIZABKin AND CODRTKNAV FROM PAEH0IPAT1OH IK HIS REBELUOH. (.SEE PAOK 364.) 83 362 OASSELL-S ILLrSTRATED niSTORY OP EXGLAXD. [a.d. loii. marry while I lived. On the word of a queen I a.«sure you, time if thin marriiigo appear not l.cfi're the high court of parliament, nohility, and cominons, for the singular benefit of the whole realm, then I will abstain, not only from thia, liut from any other. •• \Vhcrefoj«. good suhjects, pluck up your hearts ! Like true men stand fa-st with your lawful sovereign against these rebels and fear them not ; for I do not, I assure you. I leave with vou my lord lloward and my lord treasurer, to »*sL-.t mv lord mayor in tlio safe guard of the city from cp'ul and sack, which is tho only aim of the rebellious crew." Ilaving made this short speech, to which the people shouted " God save queen Mary and tho prince of Spain : " she mounted and rode with her train aoross Cheapside to the wiiter-staira of tho Three Crones in the Vintry. As she aligh: I and was about to step into her barge, a hosier stepped out of the crowd and .■'aid to her. " Your grace will do well to make your forew.ird of b.iitle of your bishops and priests, f^ir they be trusty and will not deceive you." Her ironic adviser was instantly seizad and sent to Xewg ite. She bade her rowers take her as near as passible to London Bridge, where the attack of Wyatt was expected, and then was rowed to Whitehall, where she appoint d the earl of Pembroke the general of her forces, which were mustering for the tlefence of the palace and St. James's. Scarcely ha ! 'i- h*use when she received tho welcome tiui. .: u ttie doors, and destroying his noble l.ljrury, ly tearing;, burning, and cutting to pieces bis bo.iks; "so that," says Stowo, " you might have waded to the knees iu the leaves of books cut, and thrown under foot." Coming to the end of London Bridge, Wyatt foond the draw-briilgc raised, the gates clised, and the citizens, headed by tho lord mayor and aldermen in armour, in strong force ready to resist his entrance. He was surpiised to tind the Londoners d'terniined not to admit him, for be bad been led to believe that they were us bostilo to the marriage as himself. He planted two pieces of artil- lery at the foot of tho briJg.-, but this was evidently with the view of defending his own position, and not of forcing the gates, for he cut a deep dilch betwixt the bridge and the fort which he occupied, and then protected his tl-inks from attack by other guns, one pointing down Bermondscy- strcet, one by St. George'.s church, and the third towards the bishop of Winchester's bouse. Uc must still have hoped for a demonstration in the city in his favour, for be remained stationary two whole days, without making an attack on the bridge. On the third morning this inaction was broken by the garrison in the Tower opening a brisk cannonade against him with all their heavy ordnance, doing immense damage to the houses in the vicinity of the bridge fort, and to the towers of St. Olave's and St. Mary Overy's. The people of South^vark, seeing the inaction of Wyatt and the mischief doing to their property, now cried out amain, and desired him to take himself away, which he did. He told the people that he would not have them hurt on his acoouut, and forthwilii commenced a march towards Kingston, hoping to be able to cross the bridge there, which be supposed would be unguarded, ood that so he might fall on Westminster and London, on that side where they were but indifferently fortified. On his way he met a A5r. Uorell. a merchant of London, and said to him, " Ah, cousin Dorell, I pray you commend me unto your citizens, and say unto them, from me. that when liberty was offered to-them, they would not receive it, neither would they admit me within their gates, who for their freedom, and for relieving them from tho oppression of foreigners, would frankly spend my blood in this cause and quarrel." These words arc clear proof that Wjatt bad been led confidently to expect the Londoners to oo-opcrats with him, and it is equally clear from his subsequent ooniuct, that he still clung to this hope. He reached Kingston about four o'clock in tho afternoon of the 6th of February, where ho found a part of the bridge broken down, and an armed force ready to Ofpose his passage. His objeot being to cross hero, and not, as at London Bridge, to expect a voluntary admission, ho brought up his artillery, swept the enemy from the opposite bank, and by the help of some sailor.", who brought up boats and barges, he had the bridge made passable, and passed over his troops. By this time it was eleven o'clock at night ; his troops were e.ttremely fatigued by their march and their labours here, but he now deemed it absolutely necessary to push on, and allow the government no more time than he could help to collect forces into his path, and strengthen their po^itioo. He marched on, therefore, through a miserable winter night, and staying most imprudently to remount a heary gun which bad broken down, it was broad i!ny when he arrived at Hyde Park, and the carl of Pembroke was posted with the royal forces to receive him. The alarm in the palace that night bad lieen inoonceiva- ble. 'J he women were weeping and bewailing their danger, the councillors and ministers of the queen were crowding round her, and imploring her to take refuge in the Tower. Gardiner on bis knees besougiit her to comply and to enter a boat which awaited her at Whitehall stairs. But Mary, with the spirit of the Todor, was, amid all the terror and beari-fiiiling around, calm and residute, and replied that "she would set no example of cowardice. If Pembroke A.D. 155i.] DEFEAT OF WYATT. 3S3 and CliQton were true to their posts, she would not desert I to obstruct him he divided his own into three parts. One ligrg_>' of those, led by Captain Cobhani, took the way through St. Lord Clinton headed the cavalry, and took his station James's Park at the back of the palace, which was barricaded with a battery of cannon on the rising ground opposite to the palace of St. James's, at the top of the present St. James's-street, and his cavalry extended from that at all points, and guards stationed at all the windows, even those of the queen's bed-chamber and withdrawing-rooms. Cobham's division fired on the palace as it passed, whilst spot to the present Jermyn-street. All that quarter of j another division under Captain Knevet, holding more to Lady Jane Gray. dense building, including Piccadilly, Pali-Mall, and St. Jamcs's-square, was then open and called St. James's Fields. About nine o'clock appeared the advanced guard of Wy.atfs army. The morning was dismal, gloomy, and rainy, and his troops, who had been wading through muddy roads all night, were in no condition to face a fresh nrmy. Many had deserted at Kingston, many more had dropped off since, and seeing the strength of the force placed the right, assaulted the palaces of Westminster and White- hall. But Wyatt, at the head of the main division chargjJ Clinton's cavalry; the cannon were brought up, and a general engagement took place betwixt the rebel army and the troops both under Clinton and the infantry under Pembroke. Wyatfs charge seemed to make the cavalry give way, but it was only a stratagem on the part of 301 CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND, [a.d. 1551. Clinton, ttIio opened his ranks to let Wyntt nnd about four hanJrvd of liis followers pass, when he closed nnd cut off the tnnin body from thi-ir conamandcr. In all Wyatt's pro- cc<-Jin^ he displayed great bravery, but littlo military cipTience or caatinn. His main forces, now deprived of their leader, wavered and pive way, but instead of breaking took another course to re.icli the city. Wya;t. as if unconscious that he had left the great body of his army behind him. and had now tiic enemy betwixt it and himself, rushed along past Oharing Cross and through the Strand to Ludgato, in the fond hope still that the citizens would admit him and join him. In the p.%ssages of the Strand were posted bodies of soldiers under the earl of Worcester and the contemptible Courtenay, who on the sight of Wyatt fled. It was supposed to be cowardice on his part, but was most probably treason, for he had engaged to unito with Wyatt, but had not the honesty to do one thing or another. He was at onco traitor to the queen oad to Wyatt, a miserable coward and poltroon. On reaching Ludgate, Wyatt found the gates closed, and instead of the citizens who had promised to receive liim, lord William Ilo'.rard appeared over the gito, crying sternly, " Avaunt ! traitor, avaunt ! you enter not here ! " Finding no access there, the unhappy man turned to rejoin and assist his troops, but he wivs met by those of Pembroke who had poured after him like a flood. In the desperation of despair he fought his way back as far as the Temple, where he found only about fifty of his followers surviving. Then Norroy king-at-arms rode up to him and called upon him to yield, and not madly to sacrifice the lives of his brave asso- ciates. Wyatt continued fighting like a maniac, but was forced back by the overwlielming bo ly of opponents down Ficet-street. till sitting completely exhausted on a fish stall opposite to the Belle Suuvage, he threw away his sword, which was broken, and surrendered himself to Sir Maurice Berkeley, who immediately mounted him behind Mm and carried him off' to court. Meantime the battle raged around the palaces of West- minster and Whitehall. Enevet's forces attacked the rear of these two palaces, whilst the troops of Cobham had pushed their way past St. James's Pal.ice to Charing Cross, and were stoutly fighting with tho soldiers of Pem- broke and Clinton. Had Wyatt been able to cut his way back to Cobham at Charing Cross, the issue might have been doubtful. But he was missing, and tho brave Kentish men were obliged to contend under every disadvantage. They were covered with mud and soaked with rain from their wretched night-march, and the queen's troops cried, "Down with the draggletails I " Still the fight continued : the hottest work was about the rear of Westminster palace, which w.is chiefly protected by the gate-house, an old castellated portal leading to the abbey. The queen is said to have Ftood on the gallery of the gatc-houso in the fiercest crisis of the battle, and saw her guards under Sir John Gage give way before the insurgents led on by Kncvet. Sir John himself, an old man, w.ts knocked down in the mud, but was recovered, and conveyed into the palaco court. The guards rushed into the court after him and ran to hide themselves in the offices. The porter miinagi'd to clap to the gates, and exclude tho enemy, .ind with iliem a considerable number of the guards. Their oase being reported to the queen, she ordered the gates to be flung open, but had it announced to them that she expected them to stand to their arms and defend ihep;ilace. Tho lawyers who hai baen pleading in Westminster Hall in full armour, came to their aid and greatly encouraged them. It would seem that by this time the queen had retreated to Wliitohall, for we are told that Courtemy, having fled from Wyatt, rushed into her presence there, crying that " her battle was br.)ka, that all w.is lost and surrendf-rcd to Wyatt." Mary replied with infinite scorn. " that such might bo the opinion of those who dared not to go near enough to see the truth of the trial, but that for herself, she would abide tha upshot of her rightful quarrel, or die with the brave men then fighting for her." The palaco at that moment w;i3 surrounded by tho forces of Cobham, and the contest w.as raging at Charing Cross, from which they could hear the firing and shouting. The gentlemen-at- arms had hard work to beat back the assailants, with their battle-axes, from both the front and the rear of the palace. They were continually discouraged by fugitives from the battle running thither and crying "Away! away! all is lost! a biirge! a barge!" But the queen would not move a step, nor did she change colour, but asking where lord Pembroke was, .and being told in the battle, '• Well, then," she replied, " all that dare not fight may fall to prayers, and I warrant wo shall hear better news anon. Gud will not deceive me, in whom ray chief trust is." Pembroke's detachment had now fought its way to the vicinity of the ptilace, and the queen being made aware of it, ^ve^t out to the front and stood Mbtwixt two gentlemen- at-arms within arqiiebusc shot of the enemy to witness the last struggle. Pembroke routed tho enemy, and the band of gentlemen-at-arms, all of them men of family and many of them of high rank, being then admitted to the queen's presence, she thanked them most cordially for their gallant Jefenoc of her pal.nce and person. It is difficult to say whether they or their queen had shown the more undaunted spirit. Mary had displayed the most extraordinary clemency on the termination of the former conspiracy, for which, not only the emperor but her own ministers had blamed her. Her council now urged her to make a more salutary example of these offenders, to prevent a repetition of rebellion. On the previous occasion she had permitted only three of the ring-leaders to be put to death. On this occasion five of the chief conspirators were condemned, and four of tlicm were executed, Croft being pardoned. Suffolk fell without any commiseration. It was difficult to decide whether his folly or his ingratitude had been the greater. He had twice been a traitor to the queen, tho second time after being most mercifully pardoned. He had twice put his amiable and excellent daughter's life in jeopardy ; the second time after seeing how hopeless was the attempt to place her on the throne, and therefore, to a certainty, by the second rcvilt, involving her death ; and to add to his infamy, he endeavoured to win escape for himself, by betraying others. He \\:\s beheaded on the 23rd of February. Wyatt was kept in the Tower till the 11th of April, when he was executed. Unlike Suffolk, ho tried to exculpate others, declaring in his last moments that neither the princess Elizabeth nor Courtenay, who were suspected of being privy to his designs, knew anything of them. Wyatt seems tu have been a bravo and honest man, who believed himself 1554.] EXECUTION OF THE EEBELS. 365 nctinn; tlie part of a patriot in cnjeavouring to preserve the country from tlie Spanish yoke, and who in the sincerity of his own heart had too confidently trusted to the assur- ances of more faithless men. Had he succeeded, and placed the protestant princess Elizabeth on the throne, his name, instead of remaining that of a traitor, would have stood side by side with that of Hampden. His body was quartered and exposed in different places. His head was stuck on a poleatllay Hill near Ilyde Park, whence it was stolen by some of his friends. yOW T »! sr THFSC Et Win aOR'>ERS IKE W _ _ a EROTHCRSNAMES V(HOU%Tro SEARCHTE Cflf-VMO J c i Carving ascribed to John Dudley, in the Beauchamp Tower. On the 17th of the same month lord Thomas Gray, tlie brother of Suffolk, was executed on Tower Hill, and William Tliomas, who was clerk of the council in the last rei";". and who wrote a very apologetic account of Henry VIII.'s defids, was hanged on the 18th of IV'ay at Tyburn, alter having .attempted suicide in prison. Sir Nicholas Throckmorton was the sixth, who was tried at Gnlidliali on the IVtli of April, the very day of lord Gray's execution. His condemnation and death were regarded as certain ; but on being brought to the bar he adroitly pleaded that the recent statute abolishing all treasons since the reign of Edward HI., covered anything which he could possibly have done, and that his offences being only words, were by the same statute declared to be no overt act at all. He stated this with so much skill and eloquence, at the same time contending that there was not a particle of evidence of his having been an activo accomplice of the i-cbels, that the jury acquitted him. The judges were con- founded at such a result. " How ! " cried Sir Thomas Bromley, the lord chief justice, " remember yourselves better. This business concerns the queen's highness. Take hi>cd what ye do." The jury, one and all respectable London merchants, stood to their verdict, and no brow-beating on the part of the attorney-general, or menaces on the part of the judges, could intimidate them to surrender it. Sir Nicholas claimed to bo liberated on the plain verdict of thr; jury, and the lord chief justice, having no other alternative, admitted that he must discharge him on the payment of fees, but, added he, with a lawyer's ready sophistry, " Take him back, Master Lieutenant, to the Tower, never- theless, for there are other things to be laid to his charge." Sir Nicholas was remanded and kept prisoner still for some time, but finally escaped with less punishment than his independent jury. It was so strange a novelty for a jury to exercise its most undoubted right, that the attorney- general suggested that they should each be bound in a recognizance of five hundred pounds, to answer to such charges as the queen might present against them for their conduct ; they were, therefore, notwithstanding their re- monstrances, committed to prison. Four of them in a while made their submission, implored pardon, and were dis- charged: the other and nobler eight were detained in prison for more than six months, wlien they were brought into the abominable and illegal court of Star Chamber, where they as boldly declared that they had given tlieir verdict according to their consciences, and demanded to be set at liberty. ThejuJges, astonished and most indignant at such daring, decreed that the foreman and the other members of the jury who had spoken so undauntedly in court should pay two thousand pounds each, as a fine, and the rest one thousand marks each. They refused, and were recom- mitted to prison, whence they did not escape till they had been there altogether eight months, and paid five of ihem two hundred and twenty pounds a-piece, and the other three, who were much poorer men, sixty pounds each. This was one of the first of those cases in which brave and honest men had, down to a very late period of our history, to suffer martyrdom, and every indignity which insolent and despotic judges could heap upon them, for the assertion of the independence of juries, the grandest bulwark of our personal freedom and security ; and in no case did it demand more courage and conscience than in this, when the terrible tyranny of Henry VIII. had so long trodden out, as it were, the life of patriotism and self- respect. Of the humbler victims Brett, the captain of the train- bands, and about twenty of his common soldiers, who had gone over io Wyatt at llochester Bridge, were sent down ffA^ mmtl Inscription cut by the Ilu&tiand of Lady Jane Gray, on the wall of his prison. there and executed as traitors, and gibbeted. A procla- mation was issued, forbidding any one on pain of dtath to harbour any of Wyatt's faction, and comraandirg all men to bring them forth and deliver them forthwith to the lord mayor and the queen's justices. " By reason of this proclamiition," says Holinshed, " a great multitude of these poor caitiffs were brought forth, being so many in number that all the pri-ons in number sufficed not to receive them ; so that for lack of place they were fain to bestow them in divers churclies of the said city. And shortly after there were set up in London, for a terror to the common sort — because the White-Coats (train-bands) being sent out of the city, as before ye have heard, revolted from the queen's part to the aid of Wyatt— twenty pair of gallows, on the wliich were hanged in several places to the number of fifty persons." These gibbets and their revolting burdens were not removed till July, when Philip was about to enter London. 366 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1554. Four hundred other prisoners were conducted to the palace with halters about tlieir necks, where the queen appeared at a balcuny, pronounced their pardon, and dismissed them to their homes. Mary has been accused of great cruelty in the punishment of these insurgents, but her really cruel deeds had not commenced yet. To us there appears a wonderful clemency and moderation in her treatment of them. When we consider that this was a second attempt to dethrone her within sis months, and remember the surprising vengeance which her father and even her brother took on like occasions, and still more the bloody recom- pence of rebellion in 1715 and 1745, wo must pronounce the conduct of Mary mild in the extreme. Tlie execution which caused and still causes the deepest interest, and which always appears as a shadow on the character of queen Mary, was that of her cousin lady Jane now the most remorseless advocates for lady Jane's death. Accordingly the day after the full of Wyatt Mary signed the warrant for the execution of " Guildford Dudley and his wife," to take place within three days. On the morninn- of the execution the queen sent lady Jane permission to have an interview with her husband, but she declined the favour as too trying, saying she should meet him within a few hours in heaven. The queen also sent to her her o^vn chaplain. Dr. Feckenham, the dean of St. Paul's, to offer her religious consolation, but lady Jane, knowing that there could be neither consolation nor use in discussing their differing creeds, told him her time was too short for con- troversy. She added that she was prepared to receive patiently her death in any manner it would please the queen to appoint. That it was true her flesh shuddered. The Princess Elizabeth at Traitor's Gate. (See page 368 ) Gray. Till this second unfortunate insurrection, Mary fctcadily refused to listen to any persuasions to shed the blood of lady Jane. She had had her tried and condemned to death, but she still permitted her to live, gave her a con- siderable degree of liberty and unusual indulgences, and it was generally understood that she meant eventually to pardon her. The ambassadors of Charles V. had stren- uously urged her to prevent future danger by executing her rival, but she had replied that she could not find in her conscience to put her unfortunate kinswoman to death, who had not been an accomplice of Northumberland, but merely an unresisting instrument in his hands ; but now that the very mischief had taken place which the emperor and her own council had prognosticated, she was importuned on all sides to take what they described as the only prudent course. Poynet, the bishop of Winchester, says that those lords of the council who had been the most instrumental at the death of Edward VI. in thrusting royalty on lady Jane, namely Pembroke and Winchester, and who had been amongst the first to denounce Mary as illegitimate, were as was natural to frail mortality, but lier spirit would spring rejoicing into the eternal light, where she hoped the angels of God would receive it. She saw her husband go to execution from the window of the lodging in Master Partridge's house, and beheld the headless trunk borne back to be buried in the chapel. Lord Guildford Dudley was executed on Tower Hill in sight of a vast concourse, but a scaffold was erected for her in the Tower green. Immediately after his corpse had passed she was led forth by the lieutenant of the Tower, and appeared to go to her fate without any discomposing fear, but in a serious frame, not a tear dimming her eye, though her gentlewomen, Elizabeth Tilney and Jlistress Helen, were weeping greatly. She continued engaged in prayer, which she read from a book, till she came to the scaffold ; there she made a short speech to the spectators, diclaring that she deserved her punishment for allowing herself to be made the instrument of the ambition of others. " That device, however," she said, "was never of my seeking, but by the counsel of those who appeared to have better understanding of such things A.D, 1554. J REIGN OF QUEEN MARY. 367 REOBPTIOH OF IHB F1R3I RCSSIAN BMBASSX IN SHaLAHD. (sEE rAOK 372.) 368 CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1554. than L As for the proourement or desire of such dignity by me, I w . is thcreuf before GoJ and all you ChriMianp-' 'y" She caused her gontlowomen to disrobe tier, b . " own eyes with a handkerchief, and Uyin" her i ■ ' ' b.ock, at one stroke it was scTered from the body. - Such," says bishop Goodrtin, •• w«8 the end of J»nc Gray, u lady renowned for the grcat- BMs of her birth, but far more for her virtues and excel- lency of art. who, swayed by the ambition of her father-in- law and iirperious mother, took on hef that fatal titlo of qii ■ ■ hurried from u kingdom to a (0 , . ;s of others, having overcome •I! the t'rowiiB of udvciisu fortune, by constancy and inno- cence." It should not be forgotten that this amiable young woman, the victim of hard and ruthless politicians, was only sixteen years of age. But this conspiracy h.td approached the queen much more nearly th.an in the pcrcon of Wyatt or the friends of lady Jans Gray. It was discovered by intercepted letters of Wyatt, of Noailles, thu French ambassador, and of one supposed to have been written by Elizabeth herself to the French king, tha" she was deeply implicated, and that the design of marrying her and Courtenay and placing them on the throne, was well known, and apparently quite agree- able to her. The refusal of Elizabeth to join her sister at the out- break cf the insurrection, and the flight of Courtenay at the moment of Wyatt's entry of London, excited suspicion, and this suspicion wa.s soon converted into something Ti?ry like fact hy the three despatches of XoailLs, written in cipher, and dated January 2Uth, 2dth, and 30th. These despatches detailed the steps taken in her favour. Besides these there were two notes sent by Wyatt to Elizabeth, the first advising her to remove to Donnington, the next inform- ing her of his successful entry into Snuthwark. Then come what appeared clearly a letter of Elizabeth to the king of France. The duke of Sufiolk's confession was again cor- roborative of these details, namely, that the object of the insurrection was to depjse Mary and place Elizabeth on the throne. Wihiam Thomas .'supported this, aduing that it was intended to put the queen immedi.itcly to death. Croft oonfessed that he had solicited Elizabctli to return to Donnington ; lord Russell said he had conveyed letters from Wyatt to Elizabeth, and another witness deposed to his knowledge of a correspondence betwixt Courtenay and Carew respecting Courtcnav's marriage with the princess. With all tliesse startling facts in her posses.^iou. Mary wrote to Elizabeth with an air of unsuspicious kindness, rcquej-;iu^' her to come to her from Ashridgc, informing her that malicious and ill-disposed persons accused her of favouring the late insurrection; but appearing not to believe it, and giving as a reason for her wishing her to be nearer, that the times were so unsctlkd tliatslic would be in greater aeoarity with her. Elizabeth pleaded illners for not com- plying ; but the queen sent Hastings, Southwell, and Corn- wallis, members of council, whom she received in her bed, and complained of being afflicted with a sevfro and dangerous malady. Mary, well acquainted with the deep dissimulation of her sister's character, then sent three of her own physicians, accompanied by lord William Howard ; and the physicians having given their opinion that sho was quite able to tr.-ivel, she was obliged to accompany them hy short stages, borno in a httcr. She appeared pale aud bloated. It was said that she was irrecoverably poisoned ; but in a week she was quite well, and demanded an audience of the queen ; but Mary had so much evidence in hands of Elizabeth's proceedings, that she sent her word tliat it was necessary first to prove her innocence. Courtenay had been arrested on the 12th of February, at the house of the earl of Essex, and committed to the Tower. Mary was averse to send her sister there, and tv-kcd each of the lords of the council in rotation to admit Elizabeth to their houses, and to take charge of her. All witliout exception declined the dangerous office, she was, therefore, compelled to sign the warrant for her committal, and she was conducted to the Tower by the carl of Sussex and another nobleman o:i the ISth of March. Even whilst per- forming this duty, it appears that Elizabeth had influence enough with these nobieincn to make them dilatory in the execution of their office, to the great anger of the queen, who upbraided them with their remissness, telling them they_ dared not have done such a thing in her father's time, and wishing that "he were alive for a month." Elizabeth on entering the Tower was dreadfully afraid that sho was doomed to leave it as so many princes and nobles had done, without ahead. She inquired whether lady Jane's scaffold were removed, and was greatly relieved to heir that it was. But what alarmed Ellz.\bcth still more, was that the con- stable of the Tower was discharged from his office, and Sir Henry Bedingfield, a zealous catholic, appointed in his place. The fact of Sir Robert Brackcnbury having been seventy years before, in like manner, removed, and Sir James Tyrrell put in, when the princes were n;urdcred, appeared an ominous precedent, but there was no real cause for apprehension ; Mary Lad no wi.-ih to shed her sister's blood. Elizabeth, spito of the evidence against her, pro- tested vehemently her innocence, and wishod "that God might confound her eternally, if she was in any manner implicated with Wy.itt."' The court of Spain, through Rcnard the ambassador, urged perseveringly the execution of K' .vl Cour- tenay. Renard represented from his so , at there could be no security for her throne so long as Kiiiabeth and Courtenay were suffered to live. But Mary replied that though they had both of them, no doubt, li»t«ned willingly to the conspirators, and would have been ready bad they succeeded to step into her throne, yet they hud bean guilty of no overt act, and therefore b}' the constitutional law of England, which had been enacted in her first parlia- ment, they could not be put to death, but could only be imprisoned, or suffer forfeiture of their goods. Sonic outhorities accuse Girdiner of joining in the plan for tho execution of Elizabeth, at the same lime that he was ear- nest to save Cuurtena)-, but others exonerate him of this charge, and make him more consistent. In tho C'luncil it was, moreover, mooted to send Elizabeth abroad, either to be kept at Brussels, or j i :lie care of the qneen of Hungary, or — the favoui . . ■ of Philip — to marry her to Phiiibert Emanuel oi' :>i\oy, the disinherited prince of Piedmont. But Mary woulii consent to none of these pl.ins contrary to Elizabeth's free will and consent ; shu therefore removed her sister from the Tower, first to Richmond, and thence, under the cire of lord Williams of Tame and Sir Henry Beddingfield, to Wood- stock. Beddingficid, who was keeper, does not seem, with all his vigilance, to have been an unkind one, for he was in AD. 1554.] PREPARATIONS FOR THE ARRIVAL OF PHILIP. .".r,9 favour with Elizabeth after she became queen, and frequently repaired to court to pay his respects to her. Courtcnay, in the week fuUowing Elizabeth's removal from the Tower, was also Mnt thence to Fotheringay Castle. Mary had dismissed her parliament on the 5th of May Bcforo this dissolution the peers had unanimously enacted that the ancient penalties against heretics sliould be enforced. These heretics were the members of the church v.hich these same peers, only four years before, had, with every appearance of enthusiasm, established ; and, to add to the infamy of their character, Eenard, the emperor's ambassador, openly boasted of having bribed them to this work of evil. Dark days were now coming. Previous to the dissolution of parliament, the queen had taken every opportunity of parading her religion before the people. On the 3rd of May, that is, in Rogation week, she had made a procession wilh five bi.shop. mitred, and her heralds and ser.reants-at-arma, to St. Gilos's-in-the-Field. St. Martm's- in-thc-Field. and to Westminster, where they had a sermon and song-mass, and made good cheer, and after- wards went about the park, and home to St. James's court These displays, and the approachin- arrival of the prince of Spain, gave the greatest disgust to a large body of her subjects, and there were various conspiracies against her life and reputation. The court and clergy were greatly incensed at finding a cat with shorn crown, and in the costume of a catholic priest, hanging on a gallows in Cheapsido. As Dr. Pendleton was preaching Catholicism at St. Paul's Cross, he was shot at, and narr .wly escaped with his life. A strange piece of mummery was also at this time played off in the city against tl-.c queen's religion. Crowds of people, said to amount to seventeen thousand at one time, were daily assembled about an empty house in Aldersgate-street. from the wall of which there came a voice, which many declared was that of an angel denouncing the queen's marriage. When the crowd shouted " God save the queen," it preserved silence. When they shouted " God save the lady Elizabeth." it answered, " So be it." When they asked what the mass was. it answered, " Idolatry." To examine into the ch.aracter of this seditious oracle, the council deputed lord admiral Howard and lord Paget. They ordered the wall to ba pulled down where the voice came from, and soon laid bare the spirit in the shape of a young woman of the name of Elizabeth Crofts, who con- fessed that she was hired for the purpose by one Drakes, a servant to Sir Anthony Neville. " She had lain whistling," says Stowe, " in a strange whistb made for the purpose ; and there were other companions— one named Miles, clerk of St. Botoiph's without Alder.^^gate. a player, a weaver. Hill, clerk of St. Leonard's, in Forbes-lane, and other confederates with her, which putting themselves amongst the press, took upon them to interpret what the spirit, said, expressing certain seditious words against the queen, the prince of Spain, the mass, confession, &c." Some said it was an angel and a voice from heaven, some the Holy Ghost, &o. The young woman was made to stand upon a scaffold at St. Paul's Cross during the sermon, .and there before all the people to confess the trick. The punish- ment w.as certainly lenient. Henry VHI. would have burned her, and hanged all her accomplices. This cle- mency was even confessed by the queen's protcstant enemies, as in some doggrel verses laid on the desk of her chapel. ,, , And yet jrno do seem merciful In midst of ivraniiy, Aoil Iioly, whtreis you mslntain Most vile idololry. But Tcrv different were the atrocious attacks npon her character which were scattered about, bi)th written and printed, and many of them of a very gross character, indus- triously thrown in her way. Of all the strange con- spiracies, however, against her, the strangest was that related by Lord Bacon :— " I have heard that there was a conspiracy to kill queen Mary as she walked in St. James's Park, by means of a burning-glass, fixed on the leads of a neighbouring house." Spite, however, of all wamings and the most universal expression of dislike to the match, Mary persisted in her engagement of marriage with Philip of Spain, though ho him- self sliowed no unequivocal reluctance to the completion of it ; never writing to her, but submitting to his Hite, as it were. in' obedience to the parental command. At the end of May the unwilling bridegroom resigned his government of Castile —which beheld for hisinsane grandmother, Juana— into the hands of his sister, the princess dowager of Portugal, and bade adieu to his family. He embarked at Corunna on the 13th of July for England, and landed at Southampton on the 20th, after a week's voyage. Mary had discussed on his arriv.al the position and title which Philip was to bear in England. She appeared disposed to give him all the power and dignity that she could, but in much of this she was very properly opposed by her council, and especially by Gardiner, her chancellor, who, though he was a positive bigot and a fierce persecutor on account of religion, had many of the qualities of a sterling patriot. On the other hand. Renard was on the watch to claim for his master all the concessions possible. The first point mooted was whether the name of the king or the queen should stand first. Gardiner contended that as Mary was queen-regnant of her own kingdom, and Philip mere king-consort, the queen's name must take precedence. This Renard stoutly opposed, and as the queen was too ready to concede, it was decided that Philip's name should stand first. Mary next prcposed that Philip should receive the honour of a corona- tion, but on this head Gardiner would not yield, and there- fore the coronation was set aside. The queen next pro- posed, with as little success, that Philip should be crowned with the diadem of the queens-consort of England, and she was obliged to content herself with the arrangement that he should be invested with the c-.llar and mantle of the Garter the moment he set foot on English ground. These matters being settled, she retired with her court to the palace of Guildford, to be near Southampton, where the prince was expected to land. When the fleet was ex- pected in July she sent lord Russell, privy-seal, to await his arrival, with the injunction to obey his commands in all things. This was the one weakness which ruined Mary's happiness, involved her in the horrors of persecution, and blackened her character to all futurity— the fond idea that she must in all things be subject to her husband. Her courtiers were far from participating in this feeling. The lord-admir^U Howard had been despatched by Mary to meet and escort the prince to En:;land. Howard was fur- nished with a fine fleet, and the emperor's ambassador, Renard, offered him a pension in token of the prince's sense 370 CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 15il. of this Bcrrice, but Iloirard declined accepting it, onlj re- ferring him to the queen. Marj Rave her coDsent for the grant : it in no degree subdued the Munt John Bullion! of the admiral. The same nmliassndor was very soon exces- fixely indignant at the admiral, on the joining of the fleets, irreverently calling tlie Spanish and Flemish vessels mussel- shells. Howard conceited a great contempt for the Spanish admiral, and quarrelled with him. The sailors wore just as rough and uncomplimentary as their commander. They pushed and elbowed the Spanish sailors whenever they met, and the Spanish admiral forbade his men going on shore, during the month they lay off Corunna waiting i'or Philip, to prevent downright bloodshed. When they came into the narrow seas the Engli.^h ndrair.il insisted on the Spanish commander lowering topsails out of respect for the British fleet, and when he refused, How.ird fired a gun over the admiral's ship, DOtwitbst.onding the prince being aboard, to compel him. When the news arrived of Philip having landed at South- ampton, the queen, who happened then to bo at Windsor, set ofi" the ne.'it day with a gay retinue to meet him at Winchester, where the marriage was fixed to take place. She arrived there on the 2.!rd of July, that is, three days after her bridegroom. He came attended by m.-iny Spanish officers of high rank, and amongst thera the duke of .\lva, whose name afterwards became so infamous for his atrocities committed in the Netherlands, on the protestants. Philip, on ascending the stairs from the beach at Southampton, was received by a great concourse of nobles and ladies deputed for that purpose by the queen. He was imme- diately invested with the insignia of the order of the Garter, and, mounted on a beautiful genet, which the queen had sent him by the master of the horse, he rode to the church of the Holy Rood, and returned thanks for his safe voyage. Piiilip was dressed simply in black velvet, havin" a barret-cap of the same, with small chains of gold. lie wa.s described .is a man of singular beauty, but the judgment of the fair historian of our queens is not in accordance with these representations : "his complexion being cane-coloured, bis hair sandy and scanty, his eyes small, blue, and weak, with a glowing expression of face, which is peculiarly odious in a person of very light complexion. A mighty volume of brain, although it sloped too much towards the top of the head, denoted that this unpleasant-looking prince W£i3 a man of considerable abilities." The weather was terribly rainy and tempestuous, although July. "It was a cruel rain," says Baoardo, an Italian who was present," through which Gardiner, bishop of Win- chester, came to welcome Don Philip, accompanied by fifty gentlemen with rich gold chains about their necks, dressed in black velvet, passamented with gold, and a hundred other gentlemen dressed in black cloth bound with gold. The duchess of Alva landed in the evening, and was carried on shore in a chair of black velvet, borne by four of her gentlemen. Don Pliilip despatched the next morning his grand chamberlain, Don Iluy Gomez de Silva, with a magniliccnt offering of jewels of the value of fifty thou.sand ducats, as a present to his royal bride. That day being Sun lay, after moss lie dined in public, and was waited upon by his newly appointed English officers of the household, to the great chagrin of his Spanish attendants, most of whom were, according to the marriage treaty, obliged to return with the Sp.inish fleet. Don Philip courted popularity. Ha told bis new attendants in Latin that he was come to live among thera like an Englishman ; and in proof thereof, drank some ale for the first time, which he gravely commended as " the wine of the country." The next day he and his retinue set forward for Winchester in still pouring rain ; which they, however, only suffered in common with the earl of Pembroke and a splendid cavalcade of one hundred and fifty gentlemen and nobles in black velvet .and gold chains, and a body guard of a hundred archers mounted, and wearing the prince's livery of yellow cloth, striped with red velvet, and with cordons of white and crimson silk. Besides these there were four thousand spectators variously mounted, who closed the procession. A ludicrous incident soon occurred. A gentleman came riding fast from the queen, praying him to proceed art further in such weather. Philip, seeing him present a small ring, and but imperfectly understanding his lan<»ua<»e, immediately imagined that the queen had sent to warn him of some menaced danger from his discontented subjects, for he was well aware how ill-disposed they were to the mar- riage, lie therefore called Alva and Egmont to him, in great consternation, and consulted what was to be done ; but a nobleman, who overheard their discourse, dissipated their alarm by telling them in French that the queen had sent her loving greeting, and prayed him not to commence his journey to Winchester in such weather. The message was intended to reach him before setting out. All fears being dissipated, the prince resolved gallantly to proceed — but had not gone far when another horseman came riding at a quick rate with a long white wand in his hand. lie addressed Philip in Latin, informing him that he was sheriff of the county, and begged permission to dis- charge iiis duty. This being granted, the officer, doffing his cap and elevating his wand, rode on before the cavalcade in the pouring rain. It was in vain that Philip repeatedly entreated him to bo covered — he persisted in riding all the way in that manner. The procession proceeded with true Spanish gr-avity ; so that, although Winchester is only ten miles from Southampton, it was betwixt sis and seven o'clock when they arrived. The queen was not favoured with any better weather when three days afterwards she arrived and took up her abode in the episcopal palace. The wedding ceremony took place in the cathedral with great state and much mag- nificence. The chair on which Mary sat, which was said to have been sent from Rome and blessed by the pope, is still preserved in the cathedral. After the marriage came great banqueting i but, however the king and queen might harmonise, there was many a feud and frown on each other amongst their followers, catholic and protcstant. One of the most singular men of the age, Edward Underbill, called the " hot gospeller," who, though a most independent and undaunted protcstant, was always one of the most chival- rous attendants of the catholic queen as gentleman-at-arms, had been strongly objected to by the e.arl of Arundel as being included in the cortege, lie was not the less coolly looked on by his old enemy, Norreys, now queen's usher. Xorreys, coming into the presence-chamber, and seeing Underbill, fixed his eyes on him, and demanded what he did there. " Marry, sir," replied the bold protcstant, "what do you do here P " Norreys, confounded at this address, vowed to report him to the queen, when another of the gentlemen-at-arms condemned the language o( A.I). 1551.] ARRIVAL OP CARDINAL POLE. 371 Norreya, declarin;^ that Underbill wa8 one of the most devoted and respected servants of her iiiaje.aty, and was only discliarging liis proper office. By slow di'giees the new-married monarchs approaclied their capita!. They went first to Basing-houso on a vi.sit to Paulct, marquis of Wincht ster, and thenco to Windsor Castle, \shore, on the 5th of August, was held a grand festival of the Garter, at which Pliilip was admitted, and immediately took his place as the sovereign of the order. On the 9th they removed to Richmond palace, where they remained till tlie 27th, cmbarliing then on the Thames, and being rowed in great state to the city, where they were received with the usual pageantry and quaint devices, amidst which the citizens did not omit a hint of their regret at the chanjre in i-eligion. Amongst the figures stood one of Henry VIII. holding a lioolc, as if ho would present it to the queen, inscribed, Vbri:um Dei. The queen was indignant at the reminder, and had the words so hastily painted out, that they obliterated her father's fingers with them. The most grateful sight to the citizens, and Wie best calculated to make the presence of tho Spaniards tolerable, was that of ninety-five chests of bullion, each chest a yard and a quarter long. This goodly load was piled in twenty carts and conducted to the Tower with all befitting ostenta- tion. There was a prospect of restoration of the coin to the purity which Henry VIII. hid so dreadfully debased. Having held their court at Whitehall and received the visits of their nobility and gentry, Philip and Mary took tho occasion of the death of the old duka of Norfolk to put a stop to the festivities, to dismiss the courtiers, and to retire to Hampton Court, where they remained for soms time in great seclusion, so much so that the public found cause of greatcompUiint in thenew Spanish custom. "Formerly," the people said, " the gates of our pahices were open all day long, and the faithful subject could have access, at least, to a view of his sovereign ;" but now, since the Spanish marriage, the gates were closed, and no one could be admitted without stating his identity and his business. If Mary, however, shut out her people, shn did not close her heart to her guilty sister. She sent for Klizabeth, who was brought under a strong gM,ird from Woodstock. On arriving at Hampton Court she had her admitted to her bed-chamber, where Elizabeth fell on her knees, and pro- tested as firmly as ever her innocence. If the statements of the intercepted letters are to be relied on, M.ary had too convincing proofs in her own hands to allow her to give credit to Elizabeth's asseverations, and to cut the matter short she replied, putting a valuable ring (m Elizabeth's finger, " Whether you be guilty or innoeent, I forgive you." Mary, however, without making Elizabeth a pri- soner, thought it necessary to place a trusty person in her house under the character of comptroller of her house- hold, and Sir Thomas Pope was chosen for this office. Sub- sequent events showed the prudence of this arrangement, for though Elizabeth was repeatedly tempted to listen to artful plotters, such a guard was maintained over her that she never a?ain fell under disgrace with the queen. On the II th of November the third parliament of Mary's reign was summoned, and sho and her royal husband rode from Hampton Court to AVhitehall to open the ses- sion. The king and queen rode side by side, a sword of state being borne before each to betoken their independent sovereignties. The queen was extremely anxious to restore the lands reft from the church, by her father and brother, to their ancient uses, but sho must have known little of the men into whose liands those lands had fallen, if she could seriously hope for su^h a sacrifice. The new nobility, made such virtually by the grant of those rich lands, were ready to worship, or pretend to worship, in any form she pleased, to attend the mam or the reformed sermon, to become Catholics or puritans, but to give up their ill. gotten lands, on no account! The e.irl of Bedford, than whom no one had so deeply gorged himself with church plunder, on hearing the proposition, tore his rosary from his girdle, and flung it into the fire, saying, he valued the abbey of Wobern more than any fallierly council that could come from Rome. This was that same .lohn Russell who had gone hand in hand with Edward VI. in remodelling the church, clearing away at one sweep its corruptions and its lands, and taking care, whatever became of the corrup- tions, that the lands were well looked after. Michele, tho Venetian ambassador, declared thjitthe English would turn Turks or Jews at the command of their sovereign, but it was useless to ask them to restore church lands. All the rest of the council were of the same way of thinking as Bedford, and Mary saw that it -was a hopeless case to move them on that point, though she set them a very honourable example by surrendering the lands which still remained in the hands of the crown, to the value of sixty thousand pounds a year. Though Mary could not recover the property to the church, sho re.-olved to restore that church to unity with Rome. She expressed her earnest desire to have the presence of her kinsman, cardinal Pole, in her kingdom, and he now set out for England, from which he had been banished so many years ; and he rendered this return the more easy, by bringing with him from the pope a bull, which confirmed the nobles in their possession of the church property, on condition that the papal supremacy was restored. The queen despatched Sir Edward Hastings to accompany the cardinal ; and Sir William Cecil, who had been Edward's unhesitating minister in stripping the church, set out of his own accord to ptiy homage to the papal representative. Cecil's only real religion was ambi- tion, and Mary knew that so well, that spite of all his time- serving, she never would put any confidence in him, whence his bitter hostility to her memory. Pole, on his arrival, ascended the Thames from Green- wich in a splendid state barge, at the prow of which he fixed a large silver cross, thus marking the entrance of the legatino and papal authority into the country, as it were, in a triumph.al manner. The people who crowded the banks of the river gazed with varied emotions on this significant scene. Gardiner, tho chancellor, received Pole at the Water- gate; king Philip received him at the grand entrance, and the queen at the head of the stairs, where she exclaimed on seeing him, "Tlic day that I ascended the Ihrono I did not feel such joy." The arrival of this distinguished champion of eatliolicism was celebrated by grand banquct- ings and a tournament, at which the English and Spanish nobles contended, with king Philip at their head. In this tournament the Spaninrd^ introduced a novelty — the Moorish game of throwing the jeered, or cane. Tho cardinal had assigned him for his residence the 372 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1555 orchiepiscopal palaoe at Lambeth, vacant by the imprison- ment of the primate ; auJ thus was the catholic religion plftccd in the ascendancy, its highest representative in tliis country occupying the official residence of the reforming metropolitan. On the 2 Ith of November the king and queen met the imited parliament in the presence-chamber of the palace of Whitehall : this was owing to the indisposition of the queen- Gardiner introduced the business, which, he told them, was the weightiest that ever happened in this realm, and begged their utmost attention to cardinal Pole, who would open the same. Pole then made a long speech, reverting to his own history as well as that of tlie nation. His persecution and expulsion were simultaneous, and, as it were, one with those of the church: and his presence there, he intimated, was a proof of the triumph of true religion, and of the orthodox queen's successful cause. All listened in solemn seriousness and yet apprehension when he drew a glowing picture of the happiness of the nation in the restoration of unity with Rome, and as he announced to them the fact that the pope was ready to absolve the English from their crimes of heresy and contumacy. Cut when he added that this was t) be done without any reclamation of the church lands, a heavy weight was suddenly lifted from the assembly — a burst of sunshine seemed to light up every face, and there was a unanimous vote of both bouses for reconciliation with Rome. The next morning, the king, queen, and parliament met again in the presence-chamber, when, Pole presenting him- self, Philip and 5Iary rose, and bowing profoundly to him, presented him with the vote of parliament. The cardinal, on receiving it, offered up thanks to God for this auspicious event, and then ordered his commission to be read. The peers and commons then fell on their knees and received absolution and benediction from the hands of the cardinal, and thus for a time again was the great breach betwixt England and the papacy healed, or rather skinned over. The whole assembly, including their majesties, proceeded to St. Stephen's Chapel, where Te Ihum was sung, and the next Sunday the legate made his public entry into London, and he and Philip attended at St. Paul's Cross, where Gardiner preached, making great lamentation over his own backslidings and thjse of the nation in the reign of Henry VIII., and exhorting all now to do as he had done, and make reparation for their apostacy by seeking the unity of the church. Parliament proceeded to pass acts confirming all that was now done, repealing all th6 statutes which had passed against the Roman church since the 20;h of Henry VIII., and the clergy in convocation making formal resignation of the possessions which had passed into the hands of laymen. The legate also issued decrees authorising all cathedral churches, hospitals, and schools, founded since the schism, to be preserved, and that all persons who had contracted marriages within prescribed degrees should remain married notwithstanding. Philip and Mary having succeeded so well in re-establish- ing the catholic church, theChristmas of 1554 was celebrated with unusual splendour and gaiety. The wedding festivities of the queen had been cut short by the death of Norfolk, and it was intended to make these a sort of reparation to the pleasure-loving courtiers. The queen and the princess Elizabeth being reconciled, that lady was present and treated with all distinction by both the kin^ and queen. It was a popular idea that Philip was anxious to send Elizabeth to Spain and have her consigned to some convent there, but Philip was too politic for that. He had no children by his English queen, though there were confident expectations of that kind, and till he was secure of an English heir, it was his policy to maintain Elizabeth in the position of the heir apparent, as a set off to the queen of Scots, who was about to be married to the heir of the French throne. Remove Elizabeth, and France would, in case of failure of issue on the part of Mary, lay claim to the crown of England. Besides Elizabeth, there were now ass'imbled at the English court a number of persons destined to fill the most prominent places in the history of Europe, for good as for evil. There was the duke of Alva, veiling under the graces of a fine person one of the moat cruel and diabolic spirits which ever exercised its malignant force on human destinies. There were two, also, of the celebrated victins of Philip and Alva — the counts Egmont and Home, the patriots of Flanders, who shed their blood on the scaffold for defending their conntry against the tyranny of this king and this his minister. There was Ruy Gomez, the future famous prime minister of Sp.iin ; Philibert Emanuel of Savoy, the lover of Elizabeth and conqueror of St. Quintin ; and the prince of Orange, calmly mixing with the festive throng, unconscious that it was his high destiny to pluck oppressed Holland from the iron grasp of this same Philip. So closed, in a blaze of brief splendour, the year 1554. To Mary the honour is due of concluding, early in the following year, the first commercial treaty with Russia. She sent Chancellor, the northern explorer, on an embassy to the czar Iwan Wasiljevitch, who brought back with him Osep Napea Gregorivitch as the first Russian ambassador who ever appeared in England. She incorporated by charter the company of merchant adventurers trading to Muscovy. Napea was received with great distinction by Mary at court, in May, 1555, and astonished the courtiers by the enormous size of the pearls and gems on his night- cap, and the ouches which he wore on his robes. The year 1555 opened with dark and threatening fea- tures. The queen's health was failing ; and, under the idea that she was merely suffering maternal inconvenience, she was rapidly advancing in a dropsy which, in less than two years, was destined to sink her to the tomb. The catholic and Spanish party had acquired that triumph over protestantism which they deemed a singular glory. The king, gloomy, despotic, and, consequently, unpopular, though he often endeavoured to act against his nature, and assume a popular character, still hoping for an heir to the English crown, had obtained from parliament an act con- stituting him regent, in case Mary should die after the birth of a child, during the minority of that child. Thus, whether the queen lived or died, he appeared to possess a reasonable prospect of obtaining the supreme power in this country, and how he would have used it, we may judge from his government of Spain and the Netherlands. If the child was a female, he was made governor till her fifteenth year j if a male, till his eighteenth year. Philip protested on his honour that he would give up the government faith- fully when the child came of age ; but lord Paget asked " who was to sue the bond if he did notP" — a suggestion never forgiven. With this flattering, but illusive prospect A.D. 1555.] before him, the tempest of persecution soon burst forth ; nnd, had Providence permitted, England would soon have exhibited the same scene of tyranny, bloodshed, and insult whicli Flanders did under his rule. As it was, for a short period, a terrible war on consoicnoo burit forth, and the prisons were thronged, and the fires of death blazed out in every quarter of the island, j^lary, with failing health, and doting absurdly on her husband, was easily drawn, by her master-passion for the dominance of the catholic church, to acquiesce in deeds and measures which have made her name a terror and a byword to all future times. One little gleam of mercy and magnanimity preceded this reign of horror, like the streak of red in the morning sky which often heralds a tempestuous day. Gardiner, accompanied by several members of the council, went to the Tower, and by royal authority, and, as he said, at the intercession of the emperor, liberated the state prisoners EMBASSY TO ROME. 373 the continent, and died at Padua in 1556, leaving the title of earl of DevoQ extinct in the Courtenay family, for nearly three centuries. In February, the viscount Montague, the bishop of Ely and Sir Edward Came, were despatched to Rome to ratify the union which had taken place betwist England and the papal court. Singularly two popes died whilst they were on their journey, Julius III. and Marcellus IF. ; and Paul IV. was elected just before their arrival, cardinal Pole having on both occasions been an unsuccessful candidate for the tiara. Paul received the ambassadors, naturally, with much pleasure. At the petition of Philip and Mary, ha raised the lordship of Ireland to the dignity of a kingdom. The amba.=sadors, on their part, recognised the pontifif as the head of the universal church, presented hira a copy of the act by which his authority was restored in England, and obtained hia ratification of the acts of his legate. Rjom in which Lord Guilford Dudley was lra,Ti3on:d in the Beaughamp Tower. confined there, on account of their participation in the attempts of Northumberland and Wyatt. These were Holgate, archbishop of York, Ambrose, Henry, and Andrew Dudley, sons to the late duke of Northumberland, Sir James Crofts, and Sir Nicholas Throckmorton. Courtenay, who had been liberated from Fothcringay, received a permission to travel, a permission believed to be tanta- mount to a command. Indeed, the presence of this hand- some but contemptible man, could not be pleasant to himself or any one else at the English court. He had sliow.p himself cowardly, dissipated, and ungrateful. He had rebelled in his heart, if not by any daring act, against Mar}', who liberated him from a life-long prison. He had entered into those designs with Elizabeth, which must make his presence a continual reproach to her, and he bad not strength of character to grow wiser or better by experience. He appears to have continued his life of low debauch on 84 granting absolution to all for the ofi'once of the schism, and confirming the bishoprics created during that period. Whilst the ambassadors were thus cementing again the ancient alliance at Rome, the Spanish rule in England was growing every day more unpopular. Few of the Spaniards as had been allowed to remain, the English saw them with unconquerable aversion. They could not pass them in the streets without insulting them. On one occasion, when they had come to downright blows, a Spanish (riar got into the church at Westminster, and rang the great alarum bell, creating the strangest alarm. These fracas became so fre- quent and violent, and the English had such a positive notion that Pliilip meant to bring this country under Spanish rule, that he was obliged to try and hang a Spa- niard who had killed an Englishman at Charing Cross. The people were ready to listen to any story which con- firmed this idea, or which promised to unsettle the govern- 374 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [i.D, 1655. raent. auJ iiinongst other projects there was one of the Simncl and Warb.-ck class, though a very tlireadbarc one. A youth appoarcd in Kent, who gave himself out as Edward VL, who, he declared, had only been in a traico, and not actually dead, and had been recovered from the tjmb. The story, improbable as it was, soon flew far and wide amongst the people, and reaching the ears of the council, excited so much apprehension, that the lad was seiied at Eitham, and conducted to Hampton Court. He there confessed that ha had been put upon this scheme, mnd lie was sent in a cart through London with a paper over his head, stating that ho was the impostor who had pretenJcd to be king Elward. He was then conveyed to Westminster, exhibited in the hall, and afterw.irds whipped at a cart's tail back through the streets of London, and then sent oflf into the north, whence, it seem?, he caraj. Being afterwards found rambling about and repeating the eami tale, he was hanged, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn, in th ; following y^ar. Before launching into the horrors that are now before us, we will quote the observations of Miss Strickland in her life of queen Mary, bec&use Uiay take the same view of the character of Mary, and of the real origin of tlie p3r3ecutioas of her reign, as a careful examination of the facts has im- pressed upon ourselves : — " Noailles expressly assured his sovereign, the king of France, that it was of little use appsaliog to qu;en Mary as an independent sovereign ; for from the day of her m ir- liage, Philip of Spain ruled virtually in every measure, domestic or foreign, in the kingdom of England."' And we may again observe that the ohiraoter of Mary's reign, as we have shown, up to her marriage, was that of mercy, moderation, and humanity : its ohar^cter after her mar- riage was precisely tliat merciless and bloody one which distinguished the will of Philip through his whole life whenever it was exerc'ised. "The bishops," he says, " received notice to make pro- cessions and prayers for the life and safety of the heir to the throne, of which the queen expected to became mother. Soon after, placards were fixed on her palace walls, containing these words: — 'Are ye so stupid, English nobles, as to believe that our queen should have ought, without it be a marmot or a puppy-dog ?' " " It is true that her hope of brinjing offspring was utterly delusive ; the increase of her fij;ure was but symptomatic of dropsy, attended by a complication of the most dreadful disorders which ciin afflict the female frame, under which every faculty of her mind and body s \nk for months. At this time commenced that horrible persecution of the protestants which has stained her name to all futurity ; but if eternal obloquy was incurred by the hnlf-dead queen, what is the due of the parliaments which legalised the acts of cruelty committed in her name ? Shall we call the bouse of lords ligotcd. when its majority, which sanctioned this wickedness, were composed of the same individuals who had planted, very recently, the protestant church of England .=" Surely not ; for the name implies honest though wrong-headed attachment to one religion. Shall we supr pose that the land groaned under t!ie iron sway of a st.ind- ing army ? or that the Spanish bridi?groom had introduced foreign forces ? But reference to facts will prove, that even Philip's household servants were sent back with his fl?et, and a few valet?, fools, and fiddlers belonging to the grandees, his bridesmen, were all the forces permiUed to land — no very formidable band to Englishmen. Tiio j queen had kept her word rigorously, when she asserted ' that no alteration should be made in religion witliout universal consent.' " '"Three times in two years had she sent the house of commons back to their constituents. nlthou:;h tlicy were most compliant in any measure relative to her religion. If she had bribed one parliament, why did she not keep it sitting during her short reign ? If the parliament had been honest as herself, her reign would have been the pride of her country, instead of its reproach ; because if they had done their duty in guarding their fellow-creaturee from bloody penal laws respecting religion, the queen, by her first regal act in restoring the free ccinstitution of the great Piantagenets, had put it out of the power of her government to take furtive vengeance on anii individual who opposed it. She had exerted all the energies of her great eloquence to impress on the minds of her judges that they were to sit 'as indifferent umpires between herself and her people.' She had no standing army to awe parliament — no rich civil list to bribe them. By restoring the great estates of the Howards, the Percys, and many other victims of Henry VIII., and Edward VI. 's regency, by giving back the revenues of the plundered bishoprics and the church lands possessed by the crown, she had reduced herself to poverty as complete as the most enthu- siastic lover of freedom could desire. But her personal expenditure was extremely economical, and she success- fully struggled with poverty till her husband involved England in a French war. The French ambassador affirmed in his despatches, that the queen was so very poor that her want of money was apparent in everything per- taining to herself, oven to the dishes put upon her own table. Such self-denial contributed to render her un- popular among her courtiers, and penuriousness has been added to the list of her ill qualities ; but those who reckon up the vast sums she had restored to their rightful owners, or refused to appropriate in confiscation, will allow that hers was an honourable poverty. " The fact of whether the torpid and half-dead queen was the instigator of a persecution the memory oT which curdles the blood with horror at this distance of time, is u question of less moral import at the present day than a close analysation of the evils with which selfish interests had infected the legislative powers of our country. It was in vain that Mary almost abstained from creation of peers, and restored the ancient cu,'?tom of annual parlia- ments; the majority of the persons composing the houses of peers and commons were dishonest, indifferent to all religions, and willing to establish the most opposing rituals so that they might retain their grasp on the accursed thing with which their very souls were corrupted — for cor- rupted they were, though not by the unfortunate queen. The church lands with which Henry VIII. had bribed his aristocracy, titled and untitled, into co-operation with his enormities, botli pwsonal and political, had induced national depravity. The leaders of the Marian persecution, Gardiner and Bonner, were of the apostate class of persecutors. 'Flesh bred in murder," they had belonged to the govern- ment of Henry VIII., which sent the zealous Roman catholic and the pious protestant to the same stake. For the sake of worldly advantage, ' cither for ambition or A.D. 1-J55.] ROGERS BURNT AT THE STAKE. 375 power, Gardiner and Bonner had, for twenty years, pro- moted the burning or quartering of the advocates of papal gupremaoj : they now turned with the tide, and burnt, with the same degree of conscientiousnesa, the opposers of papal supremacy. " The persecution appears to have been greatly aggra- vated by the caprice, or the private vengeance of these prelates; for a great jurist of our times (Sir James Mac- intosh), who paid unprejudiced attention to the facts, has thus summed up the case: — 'Of fourteen bishoprics, the catholic prelates used their influence so successfully as altogether to prevent bloodshed in nine, and to reduce it within limits in the remaining five. Bonner, "whom all generations call bloody," raged so furiously in the diocese of London, as to be charged with burning half the martyrs in t\ie kingdom.' Cardinal Pole, the queen's relative and familiar friend, took no part in these horrible condemna- tions. He considered that his vocation was the reformation of manners ; he used to blame Gardiner for his reliance on the arm of flesh, and was known to rescue from Bonner's crowded pile of martyrs the inhabitants of his own district. It is more probable that the queen's private opinion leaned rather to her cousin, who had retained the religion she loved unchanged, than to Gardiner, who had been its persecutor ; but Gardiner was armed with the legislative powers of the kingdom, unworthy, as its time-serving legislators were, to exercise them. Yet all ought not to be included in one sweeping censure ; a noble minority of good men, disgusted at the detestable penal laws which lighted the torturing Kres for protestants, seceded bodily from the house of commons, after vainly oppo.sing them. This glorious band, for the honour of human nature, was composed of catholics as well as protestants ; it was headed by the great jurist Plowdon, a catholic so firm as to refuse the chancellorship when persuaded to take it by queen Elizabeth, because he would not change his religion. This secession was the first indication of a principle of merciful toleration to be found among any legislators in England. Few were the numbers of these good men (thirty-seven in all) and it was long before their principles gained ground ; for, truly, the world had not made sufficient advance in Christian civilisation at that time to recognise any virtue in religious toleration." We are now called upon to pass througli a reign of terror, a time of fire and blood, such as has no parallel in the history of England. With the Spaniards had come to England, if not the Inquisition in its bodily form, yet the epirit of tlie Inquisition. The first burst of the storm fell upon the priests who had married — who were insulted, and driven from their livings. In London a number of them wore made to march in procession round St. Paul's church wrapped in white sheets, and bearing in their hands scourges and tapers. They were then publicly whipped, and this was a precedent for the same indignities in other parts of tlie kingdom. The wives of these priests were treated with the utmost contumely. The statutes against the Lollards enacted in the reigns of Richard II., Henry IV., and Henry V., were revived and were to come into force on the 20th of January. Bonner, accompanied by eight bishops and a hundred and sixty priests, made a grand procession through the streets of London, and had services of public thanksgiving performed for the happy restoration of Catholicism. A commission was then held in tlie church of .St. Mary Ovcry, inSouthwarlc, forthetrialof heretics. The first man brought before this court, over which Gardiner presided, was John Rogers, a prebendarv of St. Paul's, who had nob!y distinguished himself bv defending the first priest sent by Mary to preach papacy, on her acces- sion, at St. Paul's Cross. He had bSea lying in a vilo prison amongst thieves fur more than a year. lie now came forth prepared for death, with a bravery that nothin<» could daunt. He boldly asked Gardiner, wlio was brow- beating and insulting him, whether he himself did not fir twenty years renounce the pope, and put up prayers for his eternal exclusion from England. Gardiner endeavoured to parry this home-thrust by saying tliat ho was forced to it by- cruelty. "And," rejoined Rogers, " does it become you to practise this same cruelty on us ? " He not only thus ad- dressed Gardiner, but appealed to the wliolo court, whether they had not sworn, year after year under Henry and Ed- ward, to maintain the laws which they introduced on tha subject of religion, and how could they now condemn others for persisting conscientiously in that course ? He vindi- cated his marriage as being originally contracted in Ger- many, where the marriages of clergymen were legal, and as being since allowed also in this countrv, and reminded them that he had not brought his wife into this country until such marriages were made lawful here. The court condemned him to be burnt, and on the 4tli of February this horrible sentence was executed in thu most barbarous mannjr. The day of his death was kept a profound secret from him, and early that morning lie waa suddenly awakened out of a sound sleep, and informed that he was to be burnt that day. The condemned man, so far from sinking under the appalling announcement, only calmly observed, " Then I need not truss my points." Hi requested to be permitted to take leave of his wife and children, of whom he had eleven— one still at the breast . but this Bonner refused. As he was led by the sherift* towards Smithfield. where he was to sailer, he san" th> Miserere. His wife and children were placed where ha would have a full view of them at the stake, and it was expected that this would induce him to recant and save his life, and thus induce others to follow his example ; but outwardly unmoved, he maintained the most sublime for- titude. Noailles, the French ambassador, who was a spectator, wrote to his own sovereign, who was equally persecuting the protestants in his kingdom — " This day the confirmation of the alliance bettveen the pope and this kingdom has been mads by a public and solemn sacrifice of a preaching doctor named Rogers, who has been burnt alive for being a Lutheran, but he has met his death p.^r- sisting in his opiniim ; at which the greater part of the people here took such pleasure that they did not fear to give him many acclamations to comfort his courage : and even his children. stood by consoling him iu such a way, that he looked as if they were conducting him to a merrv mar- riage." BL-jhop Hooper, Forrar, bishop of St. David's, Dr. Row- land Taylor of Hadlei;^!! in Suffolk, and Lawrence Saun- ders, rector of AUhallows, Coventry, were all condemned to the same death, and, like Rogers, oft'ered their lives on recantation, which one and all refused. The case of the pious bishop Hooper was a most glaring case of ingrati- tude. Decided protestant .is he was, and of the mos^ primitive simplicity of faith, he had from the first mani' I fcstod the most stanch loyaltv to Marv. la his owu 376 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1555. •eoount of liimfelf, he 6«y». " When Mary's fortuDes were at Ihe worf t, I rode mygclf from place to place, m is well known, to win and etay the people to her party. And wherea.', when another was proclaimed (Indy Jane Gray) 1 fj^jferrcd our que^n, notwith.^tanding the proclamations. I sril, and was afterwards burnt in the sanctuary near St. Margaret's churchyard. The burnings now went on us a matter of course. John Cardmuker, chancellor of the church at Wells, was burnt in London on the 31st of May; John Broadfoot, a most learned and pious man, suffered the same death, in the same place, about a month afterwards. About the same time, Thomas Hawkes, a gentleman of Essex, was burnt at Coggeshall ; John Lawrence, a priest, at Colchester; Tom- kins, a weaver, at Shoredilch ; Piggott, a butoh'.r, at Braintree ; Knight, a barber, at Maldon ; aud Hunter, a silk-weaver's apprentice, at Brentwood. These were fol- lowed by a crowd of others in different parts of the king- dom ; and the prisons everywhere were crowded with the unfortunate prutcstants, who suffered all the horrors which confinement in the appalling prisons of these times — prisons dark, unventilated, undrained, having no provisions for cleanliness and decency — inevitably inflicted. This shocking state of things was interrupted for some time, the burnings at least, by the sudden and extraordi- nary outbreak of Alphonso di Castro, the confessor of king Philip, a Spanish friar, who preached before the court a sermon in which he most vehemently and eloquently inveighed against the wickedness and inhumanity of burn- ing people for their opinions. He declared that the practice was not learned in the scriptures, but the contrary ; for it was decidedly opposed to both the letter and the spirit of the New Testament. That it was the duty of the government and the clergy to win men to the gospel by mildness, and not to kill but to instruct the ignorant. A mystery has always hung over this singular demonstration. Some thought Philip, some that Mary had ordered him to preach this sermon, but it is far more probable that it was the spontaneous act of zeal in a man who was enlightened beyond his age and his country. That he had secretly exerted his influence with the king in vain, and took this decided step to ease his conscience. It is not probable that it proceeded from Philip, for he could at once have com- manded this change; it is besides contrary to his life-long policy. Had it been the will of the sovereigns it would have produced a permanent (ff^ct. As it was, it took the court and country by surprise. The impression on the court was so powerful that all further burnings ceased for five weeks, by which time the good friar's sermon had lost its effect ; and the religious butcheries went on as fiercely as ever, till more than two hundred persons had been slaugh- tered on account of their faith in this short reign. Miles Coverdale, the vener.ible translator of the bible, was saved from this death by the king of Denmark writing to Mary and claiming him as his subject. Whilst these lamentable tragedies were acting, Mary had, according to the custom of English queens, formally ttiken to her cliamber in expectation of giving birth to sn heir to the throne. She chose Hampton Court as the scene of this vainly hoped-for event, and went there on the 3rd of A.D. 1555.] April, where she continued secluded from her subjeotp, only being foen on one occasion, till the 21st of July, after she had again returned to St. James's. This occasion was on the i!3id of May, St. George's day, when she stood at a window of the palace to see the procession of the Knights of iho Garter witli Pliilip at their head, in their robes and orders, and attended by Gardiner, the lord chancellor, and a crowd of priests with crosses, march round the courts and cloisters of Hampton Court. A few days afterwards there was a report that a prince was born, and there was much ringing of bells and singing To Deum in the city and other places. But it soon became known that there was no hope of an heir, but that the queen was suffering under a mortal disease, and that such was the wretched queen's con- dition from her complaint and from her woful disappoint- ment, "that she sat whole days together on the ground crouched togetlior with her knees higher than her head." On the 21st of July she removed for her health from London to Elthani palace. Whilst Mary was thus suffering frightfully in person, from a complication of complaints, from dropsy, excessive head-aches, her head often being enormously swelled, and from hysterics, and whilst her reputation was suffering still more from the cruelties practised on her protestant subject?, her heartless husband was leading a dissolute life, and ever and anon attempting to corrupt the maids of honour. Mary probably never knew anything of this, " for some- times," s.ays Fox, " she laid for wetks without speaking, as one dead, and more than once the rumour went that she had died in childbed." Gardiner took advantage of the pause in persecution, caused by the sermon of di Castro, to withdraw from his odious office of chief inquisitor. Might henoi have instigated the friar to express his opinion so boldly, for it is obvious that he wanted to be clear of the dreadful work of murder- ing his fellow-subjects for their faith. He therefore with- drew from the diabolical office, and a more sanguinary man took it up. This was Bonner, bishop of London. He opened his inquisitorial court in the consistory court of St. Paul's, and compelled the lord mayor and aldermen to attend and countenance his proceedings. Bonner condemned men to the flames with unrivalled facility, at the rate of half a dozen per day ; and in this work he was stimulated to diligence by the privy council, who urged him continually forward. Burnet gives a letter written in the name of Philip and Mary exhorting him to increased activity, but from what we have seen of Mary's condition we may- safely attribute the spur to Philip. Cardinal Pole did all in his power to put an end to the persecutions, but in vain. It was now resolved to proceed to extremities with the three eminent prelates, Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer. They had been long in prison, and had now been for the space of a year removed from the Tower to Oxford. They were all, in tlie eyes of the law, guilty of high treason, for they had all dune their best to exclude the present queen from the throne. Oranmer had made the first breach in the papal power in England by suggesting to Henry VIII. the mode of getting rid of Catherine, and of assuming the supremacy in the church. Though obliged to conform to Henry's notions during his reign, he had under E3ulated on dis- honouring the reformation in him ; at the last moment he rose, and threw new lustre on it. Men might have despised a faith which its adherents were we.ak enough to renounce ; but its opponents drove their triumph too fur, and it became the triumph of their victims, whoie end, ennobled by their religion, made men reflect on that, and gave new impulse, and widely different influence to it. The day after t!ie death of Cranmer, cardinal Pole, who had now taken priesfs orders, was consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury; and was anxious to check this fiorco and impolitic persecation. but, as we shall find, with no great result. Whilst these terrible transactions had been taking place king Philip had quitted the kingdom. With all his endeavours to become popular with the English, Phiiip never could win their regard. He conformed to many national customs, and affected to enjoy the national amuse- ments ; threw off much of his hauteur, especially in his intercourse with the nobles, and conferred pensions on them on the plea that Ihey had stood by the queen during the insurrection. But nothing could inspire the English with confidence in him. They had always an idea that the object of the Spaniards w-as to introduce the Spani.sli rule and dominance here. They had always the persuasion that it was no longer their own queen but the future king of Spain and the Netherlands who rul<'d. It was clearly seen tliat Philip never had any seal affection for Mary ; it was tlie public opinion that he had now less than ever, whilst the poor invalid Mary doated on him, and was ready to yield up everything but the actual sovereignty to him. And now came a very sufficient cause for the departure of Philip from England. His father, Cliarles V. wearied of governing his vast empire, was anxious to abdicate in favour of his son. Philip embarked at Dover on the 4th of Sep- tember, 1555. Mary accompanied him from Hampton to Greenwich, riding through London in a litter, in order, as the French ambassador states, " that her people might see that she was not dead." The queen w.is anxious to pro- ceed as far as Dover, and see him embark, but her health did not permit this, and after parting with liim with passionate grief, she endeavoured to console herself by having daily prayers offered for his safety and speedy return. Before quitting the kingdom, Pliilip took care to leave witli cardinal Pole directions for tlie guidance of the council, and these directions, which remain in the cardinal's hand- writing, are as absolute, and as void of reference to any option of tlie queen's, as if there were no such person. This is plain proof that the English were quite right when they ascribed to Philip the real and sole government of the country, the queen having an idea that it was her duty as a wife to submit in all things to her husband. This im- portant fact is fully substantiated by an oration of Sir Thomas Smith, in which he traced all the cruelty of Slary's reign to her marriage ; by Fuller, the churc'i historian, who, whilst recording all the horrors of her reign, admits that ".she had been a worthy princess if as little cruelty had been done umhr her as 4;/ her; " and by Fox in his "Book of Martyrs," who declares that "she was a woman every w.ay excellent while she followed her own inclination. ' Nor did the queen resume more power in his absence, for we are assured by Noailles, that he maintained a constant correspondence with his ministers, and no appointment or measure was carried into effect witliout his previous knowledge and consent. Scarcely was Philip gone when Mary alarmed the nobility by agitating the question of the resumption of the church lands, declaring that they had been taken from the proper 3S2 CASSELL'8 ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGIAXn. [a.d. 1350. owners in the time of sol.isin. She offered to resign those held by the crown on the same principle ; but parliament would listen to neither of these propositions for some time, and finally only permitted the government to restore the first- fruits, tenths, and impropriations, with evident ill- will, fearing that it mi^ht only be a prelude to a demand of the church lands held by themselves. On the 12th of November, 155S, before the closing of the parliament, Gardiner died, and Heath, the archbishop of York, a man of much inferior talent, was made chancellor. During Philip's abscncj in 1556, he sent continual demands for money, which it was nest to impossible to supply, and clearly contrary to the marriage treaty. Mary in resigning the tenths and first-fruirs, gave up an income of iixty thousand pounds a year, and when she applied to on the throne. He was thrown into the Tower, but was, after a while, liberated, and allowed to retire to the continent. There be staid some time, at Basle, in Swit- zerland, cfijoying the protestant worship. Thence he visited Rome, and returned safe to Flanders on his way homewards. Philip hearing of his visit to his old friends lord Paget and Sir Joho Mason, Mary's ambassadors to the Netherlands, and now catholic converts, had him and his compiinion. Sir Peter Carew, who had also been a partisan of lady Jane Gray's, seized on the road betwixt Antwerp and Brussels, bound hand and foot, thrown into a cart, and carried off to a vessel bound for England. He was con- veyed, gagged and mufBcd, to the Tower, where he was, through fear of death, compelled to sign his recanta- tion, and have it published in tlie most humiliating parliament thj commons asked whether it was reasonable : manner. He is even said to have been compelled to sit on iliat the subjects should be taxed to relieve the necessities vl' the sovereign when she refused to avail herself of the resources lawfully in her own hands. There were public Ccpmplaints that Philip was draining the country for his own continental purposes. Disappointed in parliament, she nest endeavoured to raise a loan. She named a thousand persons and demanded a contributioa of sixty pounds from each, to make up a sum of sixty thousand pounds. Next sixty thousand marks were levied on seven thousand yeomen, who had not contributed to the loan, and from the merchants thirty-six thousand pounds. These sums not sufficing, still more extraordinary means were resorted to. Embargoes and prohibitions of exportation of goods were laid on, to benefit merchants who had already goods in foreign markets, and who paid largely for this monopoly. Being refused a loan by the English company in Antwerp, three ships laden with goods for the Antwerp fair were seized in the English ports, and detained till they agreed to the loan of sixty thousand pounds, and to a charge of twenty shillings on eaeh piece of goods. Whilst Mary at homo was thus incurring great odium by these arbitrary measures, her heartless husband, for whom the money was extorted, was living a dissolute life, and even ridiculing the person and manners of his wife amongst bis courtiers. But though he could bo jocose on this subject, so disgra:eful in a husband, his influence on the country of his wife was disastrous and oppressive. All who were inclined to maintain their truth to the reformed opinions were on'.y safe in the deepest retirement. The earls of Oxford and Westmoreland, the earl of Bedford and the lord Willou^hl y got into trouble on account of religion, and Bedford was imprisoned for a short time. Even Sir Balph Sadler, who had shown so little conscience in his Scotch diplomacy, retired to his rural mansion at Hackney, and avoided exciting attention till the accession of Elizabeth. Sir William Cecil, the soul of caution itself, having in vain tried to get into the service of queen Mary, studied to avoid the observation of her ministers, and is said to have laid down a plan for the conduct of the princess Eiizabeth during this hazardous period, which she afterwards repaid by high honours and deep confidence. But the treatment of one illus- trious man at this period excited great indignation amongst the liberal party. Sir John Cheke, one of the finest scholars of the age, whose name Milton apostrophises in bis sonnets, as he " Wlio Snt taught CambriJgc and kl3g Edirard Grceh," had taken part in the nftenipt to place lady Jane Gray the bench by Bonner and take part in persecuting those of his own faith. These shameful oppressions so affected him as to terminate his life at the age of forty-seven. The hateful Star Chamber was now in full operation. It was, in fact, an English Inquisition. Commissioners were empowered to inquire into heresies, and sale or pos- session of heretical books, to seize all persons offending in such particulars, and bring them to trial. They were authorised to break open houses, to search premises, compel attendance of witnesses, and to apply torture where they met with any stubbornness. Informers and secret spies abounded ; they were to give secret informa- tion to the justices, and these were to examine the prisoners secretly and without permitting them to see their accusers. Nothing but the name of the Inquisition was wanting, for there were in active operation all its main elements — spies, secret seizure and imprisonment, tortures and the stake. Crimes grew and multiplied with the reign of terror ; £fty- two malefactors were executed at Oxford at one assizes ; yet this did not clear the highways of thieves, and some of these were of aristocratic rank. A son of lord Sandys was hanged in London for a robbery on Whit-Sunday of pro- perty valued at four thousand pounds. A son of Sir Edmund Peckham and one John Daniel were hanged soon afterwards and beheaded, on Tower-hill, for an attempt to rob the Treasury. There were deep discontents and plots, and in Norfolk one Clever, who had been a schoolmaster, and three brothers of the name of Lincoln were hanged, 1 drawn, and quartered for an attempt at insurrection. To complete the dismal catalogue of the miseries of this ' gloomy time, fires and fatal maladies raged in the cities. The emperor Charles V., at the age of only fifty-five, had now resigned his immense empire to his son ; and Spain, the Netherlands, Naples, Sicily. Milan, and the new and beautiful lands of South America, owned Pliilip as their lord. On the 25th of October, 1 ja-j, Charles, in an assembly of the States of the Netherlands, formally resigned the government of these countries to Philip, and in a few months later he also put him in possession of all his other governments. He then retired to the monastery of St. Just, near Placentia, on the borders of Spain and Portugal, where this great king, who had so long exercised so great an influence on the destinies of Europe, shrunk into the condition of a private gentleman, retaining only a few servants, and a single horse for his own use, and employ- ing his now abundant leisure in religious exercises, in Cirdeninj, and clock-maklnir. And finding tl:at he could A.D. 1556.] DISTURBED STATE OF THE KINGDOM. 333 never make two clocks go precisely alike, he is said to have disoovcred what it would have been of infinite use if he had discovered at the beginning instead of the end of his career — and if he could have impressed it practically on his succes- sors—namely, if no two clocks can be made to agree, how is it likely that millions of men can bo compelled to do bo on any given point of religious opinion P iHiring Philip's absence, a series of insurrections took place which disturbed the quiet of the queen, and in which the king of France seems to have borne no inconsiderable part. His assiduous minister, Noailles, disseminated reports that JIary, hopeless of issue, had resolved to settle the crown on her husband. This having produced its effect, a conspiracy was set on foot to set Elizabeth on the throne, and depose ISIary. Henry Dudley, a relative of the late duke of Northumberland, was to head it, and the French king, to secure his interest, had settled a handsome pension upon him. The worthless Courtenay, who was at this moment on hia way to Italy, -whence he never returned, was still to play the part of husband to Elizabeth, though the management of the plot was to be consigned to Dudley. Elizabeth had again, it is said, fully consented to this plot, though the health of Mary was such as must have promised her the throne at no distant day. Dudley was already on the coast of Normandy witli some of his fellow conspirators, making preparations, when the king of France unexpectedly concluded a truce for five years with Piiilip. lie therefore advised Dudley and his accomplices to lie quiet for a more favourable opportunity. This was a paralysing blow to the scheme of insurrection, and the coadjutors in England had gone so far that they did not think it safe to stop. Kingston, Udal, Throckmorton, Staunton, and others of the league determined to seize the treasure in the Tower, and once in possession of that, to raise forces and drive the queen from the tlirone. But one cf them revealed the design, several of them were seized and executed, and others escaped to France. Mary applied by her ambassador. Lord Clinton, to Henry II., to have them delivered up, and received a polite promise of endea- vour to secure them, which there was in reality no inten- tion to fulfil. Amongst the conspirators arrested were two officers of the household of Eliz,ibeth, Peckham and Werne, who made very awkward confessions ; but again the princess escaped, it is said at the intercession of Philip, who was apprehensive, if Elizabeth was removed from the succession, of the claims of the French king on behalf of his daughter- in-law, the queen of Soots. Elizabeth at all events escaped, protesting her innocence as stoutly as ever, but receiving from the council in place of those two officers executed, two otlier trusty ones. Sir Thomas Pope and Robert Cage. Very awkwardly, however, for Elizabetli, another eruption took place. The refugees in Frauce pitched upon a young man of the name of Cleobury, who resembled the earl of Devon, and persuaded him to personate him. He was landed on the coast of Sussex, and gave out that he was Courtenay, come to marry Elizabeth with her consent, and had himself and the princess proclaimed king and queen. The people, however, were too well acquainted with the wortiilessness of Courtenay ; they seized Cleobury, and he was executed at Bury. Elizabeth, justly alarmed at this pretence of her cogni- sance of this miser.ible attempt immediately on the heels of the other, wrote to Marv declaring her detestation of all such treasons, and wishing that " there were good surgeons for making anatomies of hearts," that the queen might see the clearness of hers from all such hateful designs. The queen and council expressed their perfect assurance of Elizabeth's non-concern with these transac- tions, but Elizabeth was still so apprehensive of danger that she applied privately to the French ambassador to find means to convey her safely to France. The intriguing Noailles, who used to call his secret agitation keeping a flea in the queen's car, was now, however, gone, and his successor, the bishop of Acqs, gave her honest advice, telling her to remain where she was, and on no account to quit the kingdom ; for if her sister, the present queen, had, on the insurrection of lady Jane Gray, gone over to Flanders, as some of her friends advised her, she might have been there still. But if Elizabeth was uneasy, Mary was still more so. The disquiets which surrounded her, and the wretched state of her health, made her very anxious for the return of her husband. She had lost her able minister, Gardiner, and his successor. Heath, archbishop of York, by no means supplied his place. Mary, therefore, wrote long and repeated letters to urge the return of Philip, and finding them unavailing, she despatched lord Paget to represent the urgent need of his presence in the kingdom. But Philip, besides bis indifference, or rather repugnance to his valetu- dinarian wife, was now occupied with causes of deep apprehension on the side of Italy.- Cardinal Carafla, a Neapolitan, was, from the Spanish rigour of government in his native country, a decided enemy of Sp^in. He was now elevated to the popedom, and determined to exert all the influence of his position to liberate Naples from the yoke of Philip. For this purpose he fomented a spirit (if disaffec- tion in that country against the Spaniards, and prepared to assist the movement by an alliance with France, which should menace all Italy with a French invasion. But Paul iV. had a subtle and daring enemy to contend with in the duke of Alva, who soon after made himself so dreadfully famous by his relentless massacres of the protcstants in the Netherlands. About midsummer of 155G, the pojc dis- covered a private correspondence betwixt Garcilasso de la Vega, the ambassador of Philip at Rome, and the duke of Alva, viceroy of Naples, in which Garcilasso represented to Alva the defenceless state of the Roman territories, and how easily they might be seized by a Spanish army. Paul arrested Garcilasso ; imprisoned and put to the torture de Tassis, the postmaster general of Rome, for transmitting these letters ; and ordered his officers to proceed against Philip for this breach of the feudal tenure by which he held Naples. But Alva was not a man to wait to be attacked, he marched across the papal frontiers, and carried terror and confusion through the ecclesiastical states. Ho advanced as far as Tivoli before the pope would listen to any terms of accommodation ; he then solicited an armis- tice, and the Spaniards would soon have dictated a peace on their own terms, but the French, under the duke of Guise, hastened over the Alps to his assistance, with twelve thousand infantry, four hundred men-at-arms, seven hundred light horse, and a great number of knights. This turn of affairs sent Piiilip home to his wife when all conjugal persuasions on her part had failed. He sent over. to announce his approach, Robert Dudley, son of the late duke of Northumberland, whoni Mary had liberated from 35» CASSELLS lUXSTRATED HISTORY OF ESQLAND. [a.d. 1357. tlie Tower, ond who already it seems, bad contrived to win s.> much favour as to be taken intD the royal service, in which he continued to mount, till in the nest reign he Iwi-ame the notorious earl of Licccster and great favourite or>|uecn Elizabeth. On the 20th of Marjh Pliilip liimself arrived at Greenwich. As he wanted to win the English to join him in the war against France, he paid great court to the city of London. During this visit there appeared at court the novel sight of a duke of Muscovy, in the character of ambassador from Russia, who astonished the public by and Philip, on tlio jther hand, protested to the queen, that ifsiicdid not aid hira against France he would tako bis leave of her for ever. AVhilst matters were in this position a circumstance occurred which turned the scale in Philip's favour. Henry II., on deciding to accept the pope's invitation, and to make war on Philip called on Dudley and his adherents to renew their attempt.^ on England. Dudley and his coadjutors opened a communication with the families of the reformers in Calais and the surrounding district, who had sulTered Place of Execution, Smithfield. the enormous size of the pearls and jewels that he wore, and the richness of his dress. Philip used all his influence to induce the queen and her council to declare war against Henry of France, who had broken that five ye.irs' truce into which he had so recently entered. But the finances of the country were not such as to render either the queen or her council willing to go to war with France, which, connected as France was now with Scotland, was sure to occasion a war also with that country. Cardinal Pole and nearly the whole council were strongly opposed to it. They assured her that to engage lightly in Philip's wars was to make England a dependence of Spain, from the persecution of the English catholic government, or who were indignant at the cruelties practised on their follow professors, and they concurred in a plan to betray Hammes and Guines to the French. This scheme was defeated by the means of an English spy who became cog- nisant of th« secret. The mischief, though stopped there, soon showed itself in another quarter. Thomas Staf- ! ford, the second son of lord Stafford, and grandson of I the late duke of Buckingham, mustered a small army of English, French, and Scotch, and sailing from Dieppe j landed at Scarborough in Yorkshire, and surprised the i castle there. He was accompanied by one Richard Saunders ^i^k*?" D'TAVLER- IN DE ..^" FEWDJNG THAT ^. , VVA5-C0 0D A r A»' THIS PLAs le:.ft-.'j \N IS IB L i> e - ^^, jt.^t.. \^: is ■ • .n< v\K'-tr, 155S. T«»ted a great part of the day, and one whole night, and the next day, till throe of the clock at afternoon, without cither meal or drink. And while they were thus in the .•hurctes. and those other places, the duke of Guise, in the name of the French king, in their hearing, made a procla- mation, strictly charging all and every person that were inhabitants of the town of Calais, hiving about them any money, plate, or jewels, to the value of one groat, to bring the eanie forthwith, and lay it down upon the high altars of the same churches, upon pain of death, bearing them in hand, also, that they should be searched. By reason of which proclamation, there was made a great and sorrowful offertory. And while they were at this offering within the chnrches, the Frenchmen entered their houses and rifled the same, where was found inestimable riches and treasure, especially of ordnance, armour, and other munitions. Thus dealt the French with the English, in recompense of the like usage to the French, when the forces of king Philip prevailed at St. Quentin ; where, not content with the lionour of victory, the English, in sacking the town, sought nothing more than the satisfying of their greedy vein of covetousncss, with an extreme neglect of all moderation. " About two of the clock next day at afternoon, being the 7th of January, a great number of the meanest sort were suffered to pass out of the town in safety, being guarded through the army with a number of Scottish light horse- men, who used the English very well and friendly ; and after this every d.iy, for the space of three or four days to;»ethcr, there were sent away divers companies of them, till all were .ivoided ; those only excepted that were appointed to be reserved for prisoners, as the lord Went- worth and others. There were in the town of Calais five hundred English soldiers ordinary, and no more ; and of the townsmen not fully two hundred fighting men (a small garrison for such a town), and there were in the whole number of men. women, and children (as they were accounted when they went out of the gate) four thousand two hundred persons." Thus was lost the great conquest of Edward III. It cost that victorious king, with a large array, an obstinate siege of nearly a year, and after having been proudly maintained for two hundred and ten years, Wiis thus lost in eight days. The fact affords the clearest proof of the miserable govern- ment of the country by the ministry of Mary, for she her- self was now incapable of diplomatic management ; and it affords equal proof of th"? intense suspicion entertained by that ministry of king Piiilip; for though he again offered to regain the place for the quoen, and to remove any fear of his wanting to secure the place for himself, now proposed not to retake it entirely by his own forces, but by any number of such joined by an equal number of English, — this offer was rejected, on the plea that it was not possible to raise the necessary forces in time, that the greater part of the artillery wm lost, and the soldiers would not be able to Ijear the rigours of the siege in the depth of winter. The fall of Calais necessitated, as a matter of course, the lo!i8 of tlie whole Calais district. Having put Calais into a state of defence, the duke of Guise marched on the 13th of January to Gulsnes, about five miles distant, to reduce the town and fort there. These were defended stoutly by lord Grey de Wilton, who had received about four hun- dred Spanish and Burgundian soldiers from king Philip, bat they were in too miserable a state of repair to be long held. The walls in a few days were knocked to pieces ; the Spanish soldiers were nearly all killed, and the rem:^in- ing force compelled their officers to surrender. The little castle of Ham now only remained, and situated in the midst of extensive marshes, it might have given the enemy some trouble, but its governor lord Edward Dudley, the moment he heard of the surrender of Guisnes, abandoned it, and fled with his few soldiers into Flanders. The rejoicing of the French over this removal of the English from their soil was unbounded. The mortification of the English was as great, and the wretched queen felt it so deeply, that she declared if she were opened after her death the name of Calais w^ould be found engraven on her heart. But in reality the gain to the French was far greater than the loss to the English. To the French it was a mark of national opprobium, having their English rivals planted on their soil. The possession of Calais opened a way, at any moment of internal dissension or weakness, into the heart of the kingdom, and enabled the English to unite with the Flemings in that quarter in annoying France. To the English it was rather an expense and a burthen, than a real advantage. It was a temptation to engage in inroads on the French, and in coalitions with the Flemish for such purposes, which brought no lasting result but ex- pense ; and as a means of defence of the English coasts, it was useless. The British fleet was sufficient for that purpose, and was likely to be the more efficiently main- tained if there were no false reliance placed ou Calais. But nothing could soothe the injured national feelings for the moment but thoughts of revenge and re-conquest. Parliament met on the 20th of January, and such an in- tense spirit was shown for avenging the national disgrace, and recovering Calais, that it granted, besides a fifteenth, a subsidy of four shillings in the pound on land, and two shillings and eight pence in the pound on goods. The clergy, also, in convocation, granted an aid of eight shil- lings in the pound. These taxes were to be paid in annual instalments in four years. The zeal of the English was stimulated by the exulta- tion of the French king. He made a visit of triumph to his newly recovered district of Calais, and returned to Paris to celebrate the marriage of the dauphin with the young queen of Scots — an event which took place on the 2Uh of April, 1558, the greater portion of the princes, prelates, and nobles, of both France and Scotland attend- ing the ceremony. Mary was then only in her sixteenth year, and the dauphin, her husband, a weakly and imbecile boy of but a few months older. In England, during the spring, prepar-itions were making for the invasion of France. Seven thousand troops were raised and diligently drilled. Ships were hired to the amount of one hundred and forty, which the lord-admiral Clinton ooUected in the harbsur of Portsmouth, to be ready to join the fleet of Philip, and, in conjunction, to ravage the coasts of France ; whilst Philip, with an army of Spanish, French, and English, should enter the country by land. " It is verily believed," says Holinshed, " that if the admirals of England and Spain had been present there with their navies, as the other few ships of England were, and upon the sudden had attempted Calais with the aid of the count of Egmont, having his power present, the town of Calais mi;:ht have been recovered agiin with as little A.D. 1558.] LAST DArS OF QUEEN MARY. 3S0 difBcuUy, and baply in as short a time as it was before gained by the duko of Guise." Wiiy HolinsheJ siiys thus, was for this reai=on. The marshal dc Ternies, the governor of Calais, had made an expedition into Flanders with fourteen thousand men ; liad forced a passage over the river Aar, reached Dunkirk, and Burg St. Winoc, and burnt them to the ground. He was still advancing, ravaging some of the richest country of Flanders to near Newport, when he was suddenly arrested in his progress by count Egraout. In attempting to retreat, Egmont cut off de Tormes' lino of maroli near Gravelines by outmarching him with one wing of his army. They there came to an engagement near the mouth of the Aar, and whilst the Spaniards wore cannonading them on the one side, ten English ships, under Admiral Malins, which, off the coast near Gravelines, hearing the roar of the artillery, sailed up the Aar, and, perceiving the position of affairs, openrd a terrible fire on the right flank of the French army. This surprise threw the French into confusion, and so encouraged the Spaniards that they gained a most decisive victory. The routed French ran in hundreds into the sea, where the English secured two hundred of them ; and, by consent of count Egmont, received them as their prisoners in order to obtain their ransom. Five thousand of the French perished on the field of battle, or at the hands of the enraged pea- santry, whose lands and houses they had just before de- stroyed, and who had followed the army of Egmont crying for vengeance. Marshal de Termes, Senarpont, governor of Calais, and many of the French officers were taken prisoners, and the garrison of Calais was annihilated almost to a man, creating such a panic in the few left to guard the town, that, as Holinshed observes, had the combined Flemish and English fleet been there, Calais had, in all probability, been retaken. But this fleet and the English army, instead of aiming at the legitimate object of rewinning Calais, had sailed to make an attack on Brest, The English fleet, consisting of one hundred and forty sail, commanded by the lord admiral Clinton, and carrying a land force of sis thousand men, un- der the earls of Huntingdon and Rutland, had joined a much less squadron of the Flemings, and reached Brest. But their progress had been so dilatory that the French had made ample preparations to receive them, and, despairing of effect- ing any impression on Brest, they fell on the little port of Conquest, which they took and pillaged, with a large church and several hamlets in its immediate neighbourhood. Having done this, they marched some miles up the country, burning and plundering, and the Flemings, in the eager quest of booty, going too fiir a-head, were surrounded, and four hundred of them cut off. The English, with more caution, regained their ships. The duke D'Estampes, having col- lected a strong body of Bretons, appeared upon the scene, and the lords Huntingdon and Rutland, not thinking it prudent to engage, drew off their forces, and now finding the people on all the coasts up in arms, returned home without executing any further service. It appeared as if the war was to be brought to a conclu- sion by a pitched battle betsvixt the sovereigns of France and Spain. Philip had joined his general, the duke of Savoy, and they lay near Dourlens with an army of 45,000 men. Henry had come into the camp of the duke of Guise near Amiens, who had an army of nearly equal strength. All the world looked now for a great and decisive conflict. Philip had victory on his side, achieved both at St. Quentin and Gravelines, but his caution disqualified him for great military enterprise. A bold monarch under the circum- stances might have struck a decisive blow, and won great renown by replacing in the handn of his queen the old heri • tage of Calais. But Philip, though superior in numbers as well as crowned with the prestige of victory, listened to offers of accommodation from Henry, and dismissing their armies into winter quarters, they betook themselves to negotiation. From the first no agreement appeared pro- bable. Philip demanded the restoration of Calais, Henry that of Navarre, and they were still pursuing the hopeless phantom of accommodation, when the news of queen Mary's Jeath changed totally the position of Philip and put an end to the attempt. Mary was sinking to the grave before Philip left England the last time, and his conduct was not calculated to prolong her life. He had excited her jealousy by his warm atten- tions to the duchess of Lorraine, and he had evidently visited the queen not out of any remains of affection, but to obtain from her assistance in his war with France. The loss of Calais fell heavily on her diseased frame and melancholy mind. Her dispute with the pope, the con- tinual appearances of insurrection, the bitterness and hostile activity of the Protestants, whom all her perse- cutions had not daunted, and the fears that her anxious endeavours to re-establish the papal church, would all prove vain, knowing the secret bias of her sister and successor, were a combination of causes, added to hci- inveterate dropsy, which sunk her, in deep gloom, daily nearer and nearer to her end. Her heart, yearning with affection towards her husband, had been grievously disap- pointed. Her soul, yearning still more fervently for tlio triumph of her beloved church, had found no consolation in hope. She had alienated the love of her subjects, and oovsred her name with a sanguinary reproach. To make her situation still more desolate and depressing, nature during her reign had, as it were, sympathised with the un- happy course and character of events. A series of most wet, cold, and dismal seasons had been followed by their natural consequences, famines, fevers, and agues. Strange meteors were seen in the damp autumns near the end of Mary's reign, and all these things, certainly the natural precursors of disease and death, were regarded as the manifestations of divine wrath against the nation for the cruelties practised on theprotestants. The blazing exhala- tions of the marshes were thought to be supernatural reminders, especially, of the fires of Smithfield. Amid such lurid lights and superstitious gloom, the sun ot queen Mary went down. She had caught an intermittent fever at Richmond in the spring, and the great specific, Peruvian Bark, had not yet made itself sufficiently known to be available, still less were sanitary principles understood. From Richmond palace, she was removed to Hampton Court, a situation of equal disadvantage to an aguish patient, and getting no better, was removed, in the autumn, to St. James's palace. There she received tlie news of the death of her old kinsman and counsellor, Charles V., which took place in September, 1553. Her other able kinsman and counsellor. Cardinal Pole, was also lying on his death-bed, his exit expected from day to day. Instead of a conciliatory visit from her husband, he sent over to her the count do Feria, with a ring and a message of coudolcnce. By Feria 390 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1558. he also sent to her the recommendation of Elizabeth as her sjccessor ; a politic step on the part of Philip, who, aware of the high spirit an 1 distinguislied abilities of that princess, was thus anxious to secure her favour. Mary had already intimated to Elizabeth that she regarded lier as her successor, and charged her to pay all debts which she had contracted under the privy-seal, and to maintain !-eligion as she had left it. Elizabeth bad steadfastly re- flattery, it sunk deep into the soul of Elizabeth, and when the end of her reign was approaching, she often referred to the circumstance, and refused to name a successor. On receiving Philip's recommendation of Elizabeth, Mary sent the countess de Feria, formerly Jane Dormer, to her sister with her jewels, and to these were added, by Philip's own order, a very precious casket of his own jewels whic':i he had left nt St. James's, and which Elizabeth had greatly Quean Elizibeth. fused all offers of m.irringo which would have drawn her aw.ny from England ; the prince of Denmark, the king of Sweden, tlie duke of Savoy, had offered their hands in vain, and slie now saw the whole court and nobility flocking round her, as the queen sank from day to day. Hatfleld House, the residence of Elizabeth, was now much more of a court than St. James's. The dying queen seemed to heed this desertion cf the sinking, this worship of the rising sun. as a matter d indifference ; but even in the midst of its admired. By the countess de Feri.i, Mary again repeated her solemn injunction, that Eliz.abeth should pay her debts, and maintain the church as established, both of which the countc.ss reported that she swore to do. On the 17th of Xovemb?r, between four and 6ve o'clock in the morning, her end visibly approaching, at her desiro mass was performed in her chamber. At the elevation of the host, she lifted her weary eyes towards heaven, nnd aa the benediction was spoken, her head dropped, and she A.D. 1558.] END OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN MARY. 391 QnEEN ELIZABETH ACKNOTIEDCEI) BY THE nisaOPS. (sEE PAGE 393.) 392 CASSELLS ILLDSTR^VTED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1558- cspired in the forty-second year of her age. Cardinal Pole being informed of her decease, expressed his deep satisfac- tion at the prospect of so speedily following her, and'within two and twenty hours also took his mortal departure. Mary was interred on the north side of Henry VII. 's chapel. No tomb was ever erected to her memory. James I. placed two black tablets with Latin inscriptions to mark the graves of Mary and Elizabeth, and when the royal vault was opened in 1070, for the funeral of Monk, duke of Albemarle, the hearts of the two sisters were found in urns. With all the bigotry of Mary, and the horrors which her concession to the persecuting spirit of her Spanish husband brought upon this country, she had many good and amiable qualities, and had she reached the throne in an age when no religious strife existed, would probably have left a name regarded with much kindness by posterity. None of our sovereigns ever maititained a less expensive court. None of them were ever so anxious to avoid unnecessarily taxing the country. When obliged to go to war with France, she regarded the expenditure incurred in a great measure as her own, and in her will treated the remaining debt as if it were her private obligation. She was careful to avoid burdening ber subjects, even by the processions which it was the custom of our monarchs to make, and in which her successor, Elizabeth, was cff>ecially fond of indulging. She seldom went farther than to her palace at Croydon, where she lived in a most unoetentatioos manner, walked about amongst the poor with her maids without any distinction of dress, inquired into their wants, and had them relieved. She restored to the universities that portion of their revenues which had been seized by the crown in the late reigns. She built the public schools in the university of Oxford, though in no magnificent style ; and daring her reign Sir Thomas Pope founded Trinity College, and Sir Thomas White St. John's, on the site of Bernard's College; and in Cambridge Dr. Caios made such additions to Qonvil Hall, and endowed it with 60 many advowsons, manors, and demesnes, that it is now chieBy known by his name. Mary also granted a mansion on Bennet's Hill, near St. Paul's, for the Herald's College, which remains so to this day. She refounded the hospital of the Savoy, which had been confiscated by Henry 'S'lII. ; and the ladies of her court, at her instiga- tion, assisted in furnishing it with beds. But what is a perpetual honour to her memory is, that she was the first to pro^>03e a, hospital for old or invalid soldiers, and in her will to leave funds for the purpose, which, however, never were appropriated. " Forasmuch," she says, " as there is no house or hospital specially ordained and provided for the re- lit f and help of poor and old soldiers — namely, of such as have been hurt or maimed in the wars and service of this realm— the which, we think, both honour, conscience, and chanty willeth should be provided for ; and, therefore, my mind and will is, that my executors shall, as shortly as they may alter my decease, provide some convenient house within or nigh the suburbs of the city of London, the ■which house I would have founded and created, being governed with one master and two brethren ; and I will that this hospital bo endowed with manors, lands, and possessions to the value of four hundred marks yearly." In her court Mary preserved strict morals, which pre- Bcntcd a very different asnect to the dissolute one of Eliza- beth; and in everything, except in the toleration of religion, she showed a most careful regard to the maintenance of the constitution and the law, in most striking contrast to the practice of her father, and even of her sister Elizabeth. Ouo of the insurgents whom she had pardoned presented her with a plan by which she might make herself independent of par- liament, and this plan was recommended to her by the Spanish ambassador. She sent, however, for Gardiner, her own chancellor, and putting it into his hand, bade him peruse it, and, as he should answer at the judgment-scat of God, declare his real opinion of it. " Madam," replied Gardiner, on reading it, '• it is a pity that so virtuous a lady should be surrounded by such sycophants. The book is naught; it is filled with things too horrible to be thought of." She thanked him, and threw the paper into the fire. Precisely similar was her conduct when she appointed Morgan chief justice of the common pleas. " I charge you," she said, " to minister the justice and law indifferently, without respect of persons ; and, notwithstanding the old error among you, which will not admit any witness to speak or other matter to be heard in favour of the adver- sary, the crown being a party, it is my pleasure that what- ever can be brought in favour of the subject may be admitted and heard. You are to sit there, not as advocates for me, but as indifferent judges between me and my people." Mary was aljo attentive to the interests of trade. She was the first to make a commercial treaty with Russia, by which the woollen cloths and linens of England were ex- changed to great advantage for the skins and furs of northern Muscovy ; and she revoked the privileges of the Hansc town merchants in London, or " merchants of the Steelyard," as they were called, which had been very injurious to the interests of her own subjects, the first blow against which had been struck by Edward VI., and which Elizabeth completely extinguished. All these facts, fully confirmed by the modern re- searches of the great historical antiquaries, Tytler and .Sir Frederick Madden, give us a very different idea of Mary to that she had before acquired in history, and demand that, in drawing a fair estimate of her character, we should place them in the balance against her more unfortnnate deeds as a religious persecutor. Taking a complete view of ber with these modem lights, we are bound to believe that as a woman she was natur.al, mild, good, and liberal ; but that the persecution of her own faith in her mother and herself personally produced a fatal reaction, which yet, had it not been for the more fatal Spanish marriage, would have been beneficially and efficiently restrained by her better qualities. CHAPTER XII. ELIZABETH. AcMMlon 01 Ellzab«tb— She abailstac^ tbe Cathulic Wor9hi|>— Uati<3 Pcaco with France and Scotland— War of tbeScotlWi Beforniitiot)— Elizibclh takes part with the Reformeis— Supports them throneh Cecil— The Siege of Lelth — Peace— Mary Queen of Scots leai'ca France for ScotlaDct — Suitors of Elizabeth— She aids the French Huguenots — rarliament enacts Penal Statutes against the Catholics- The Thirty-nine .Vrlicles— Peace with France- Proposals for the M.irriage of the Queen of Scots— Elizabeth proposes the Earl ot Leicester— Mary marries tlio Lord Damley. P.\RLHMLNT had assembled on the morning of the 17th of November, unaware of t!ie decease of the queen • but, before noon, Dr. Heath, the archbishop of York and A D. 1058] ACCESSION OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. 303, lord chancellor of England, sent a message to the house of commons, requesting the speaker, with the knights and burgesses of the lower house, to attend in the lords to give their assent in a matter of the utmost importance. On being there assembled, the lord chancellor announced to tlie united parliament the demise of Mary, and, though by that event the commons were dissolved by the law, as it stood till the reign of William III., he called upon them to combine with the lords, before taking their departure, for the safety of the realm, by proclaiming the lady Elizabeth the queen of the realm. Whatever might have been the fears of any portion of the community as to the recognition of the title of Eliza- beth on the plea of illegitimacy, or from suspicion of her religion, that question had long been settled by the flocking of the courtiers of all creeds and characters to Hatfield, where she resided ; and now on this announcement there was a loud aoclaraatiou from the members of both houses of " God save qiieen Elizabeth ! Long may she reign over us!" Thus the parliament, before dissolving, gave full and unequivocal recognition of the title of Elizabeth, and all the necessary acts of the united houses were completed before twelve o'clock ; and the lords, with the heralds, then entered the palace of Westminster, and in due form, by blast of trumpet before the hall door, the attention of the public was called, and the new queen was proclaimed as "Elizabeth, by the grace of God, queen of England, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith, &c." This continuance of the claim on France was a sheer absurdity, as by the ancient and invariable law of that kingdom no woman could succeed to the throne ; but it took away all real right of complaint against Mary, queen of Scots, for quartering the arms of England with her own, the aggression being thus made by Elizabeth on the claim of Mary as queen expectant of France. Proclamation being .thus made in Westminster, the young duke of Norfolk, earl marshal, attended by a number of the peers and prelates, rode into the city, and there, being joined by the lord mayor and aldermen, Elizabeth was proclaimed at the cross in Cheapside, with the same instant and joyful recognition. The people shouted, " God save the Queen ! " The bolls from all the churches commenced ringing, bonfires were lit, tables were set out at the doors of the wealthy citizens for the multitude, and wine plentifully distributed. Not only was the death of the late queen forgotten in the universal joy, but all tlie melancholy circumstances of the time, for most melancholy they were. As we have stated, the season was wet and unhealthy. The fires of Smithfield, under the baleful activity of bloody Bonner, were still blazing ; the prisons were crammed with fresh victims ; and the power of an incensed Providence seemed to darken the country. The dismal seasons had produced famine, and a terrible fever, supposed to be what is now called typhus, of a mo>t malignant kind, was raging through town and country. So much had it thinned the agricultural population that, com- bined with the disastrous state of the weather, the harvests had in many places rotted on the ground. Many thousands of the people had perished during four months of the autumn, and amongst them great numbers of the clergy, and no less than thirteen bishops. The joyful news which iu-rested tlio hand of the persecutor, seemed like light bursting through the cloudB, and gave new hope and spirit to the nation. For two days Elizabeth, as if from due respect to her deceased sister and sovereign, remained quiescent at Hat- field ; but thousands of people of all ranks were flocking thither to worship the rising sun; and on the 19th her privy council proceeded thither also, and, after announcing to her her joyful and undisputed accession, they proclaimed her with all state before the gates of Hatfield House. They then sat in council with her, and she appointed her own ministers, having, no doubt, made all these arrangements with flie man whom she had long marked out for her prime minister, Sir William Cecil. This statesman of the true diplomatic breed, cool as winter's east wind, troubled with no disturbing imagination, no misleading heats of gene- rosity, but far-seeing and subtle, though he could never win the confidence of the late queen, though he had bowed humbly, waited long and diligently, and even renounced his religion to win her favour, had soon caught the saga- cious eye of Elizabeth, who had an instinctive perception of able men, though not in the truest sense great men, Cecil had for years been her confidential counsellor. By his shrewd and worldly guidance she had shaped her future course ; and in appointing her ministers now, she showed by her address to Cecil that it was for him that she designed the chief post. "I give you," she said, "this charge : That you shall be of my privy council, and content yourself to take pains for me and my realm. This judg- ment I have of you : that you will not be corrupted by any manner of gift, and that you will be faithful to the state ,• and that, without respect to my private will, you will give me that counsel which you think best ; and if you shall know anything necessary to be declared to me of secresy, you shall show it to myself only, and assure yourself I will not fail to keep taciturnity therein ; and, therefore, herewith 1 charge you." Besides Cecil, she named Sir Thomas Parry, her cofferer, Cave, and Rogers of her privy council. Cecil immediately entered on the duties of her secretary of state, and submitted to her a programme of what was immediately necessary to be done, which she accepted ; and thus began that union betwixt Elizabeth and her great minister, which only terminated with his life. On the 23rd the new queen commenced her progress towards her expecting metropolis, attended by a magnificent throng of nobles, ladies and gentlemen, and avast concourse ofpeople from London and from the country round. At High- gate she was met by the bishops, who kneeled by the wayside, and offered their allegiance. She received them graciously and gave them all her hand to kiss, except to bloody Bonner, whom she treated with a marked coldness, on account of his atrocious cruelties : an intimation of her own intentions on the score of religion, which must have given great satisfaction to the people. At the foot of Highgate hill, tlio lord mayor and bis aldermanic brethren, in their scarlet gowns, were waiting to receive her, who conducted her to the Charter House, then the residence of lord North, where Heath, tlie chancellor, and the earls of Derby and Shrewsbury, received her. There she remained five days to give time for the necessary preparations, when she pro- ceeded to take up her residence in the Tower, prior to her coronation. Her procession to tlic Tower marked at once her in CASSELL'8 ILLUSTkATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 155S popularity and her eens* of' royal dignity. Vast crowds hftj BssemblcJ to f c« and to cheer her ; and she was sur- rounded by a prodigious throng of nobles, and gentlemen, and ladiM. She rode in a chariot along the Barbican to Cripplegate, whcro the lord mayor and Ite civio dignitaries ivere waiting to receiro her. There sho mounted a horse, being already attired in a rich riding-dress of purple velvet, with a scarf tied over her shoulder, and attended by the eergeant-at-arnis. The lord mayor went before her bearing her sceptre, at his side the Garter king-at-arms, and followed ly lord Pembroke, who bora the sword of iiuto before the cjueen. Next to her m.ajesly rode lord ■Robert Dudley, who b.-vd already so won her fancy that, though one of those who had endeavoured to thrust her sister and herself from the throne, sho had appointed him master of the horse. The Tower guns announced her approach, and on entering that old fortress, she said to those about her, " Some have fallen from being princes of this land to bo prisoners in this place ; I am raised from being prisoner in this place to be prince of this land. That dejection was a work of God's justice, this advancement is n work of his mercy : as they were to yield patience for the one, so I must bear myself to God thankful, and to men merciful, for the other." Amongst those who had thus fallen was her own mother, who lost her head there : but as Anno Boleyn never showed any extraordinary anxiety about her daughter, Elizabetli never testified much xeal for the memory of her mother. She is said, however, to have gone to tho cell which she herself had occupied, and there falling on her knees had pronounced a prayer, most likely prepared for the occa- sion, as it was uttered aloud. Elizabeth continued at the Tower till the 5th of December. It was necessary to ascertain how many of the existing council would go along with her in the changes which she meditated. She soon found that she could not calculate ou many of them, and a sort of lesser or confidential council was fcrmed of Cecil, Sadler, Parr, the maniuis of Xorth- ampton, Russell, and the Dudleys. Of the old councillors sho retained thirteen, who were all professed catholics, though some bad only conformed for convenience under the late reign of bigot terror, and she added seven new ones, who all openly professed themselves protestants. As yet, however, she h.id not announced those changes which were most likely to try the principles of her councillors ; for she kept up a show of Catholicism, !\nd had not touched on the question of the supremacy. Elizabeth had learned caution in her own trials, and sho had now at her elbow the very jpirit of circumspection itself in Cecil. For the present she continued to attend mass and witness all the ceremo- nies of the old religion. She had her sister, the late queen, interred with the solemnities of the catholic ritual ; sho had m.138 performed at the funeral of cardinal Pole, and a solemn dirge and requiem mass for the soul of Charles V. Yet these thingj did not deceive the real catholios, and they were made the less doubtful by all prisoners on account of religion being discharged on their own recognisances, and the exiles for the same cause boldly flocking home, and appearing openly at court. The catholic dignitaries, by their gross want of good policy, soon forced on a more open demon- stration of Elizabeth's real feelings. Tho pope himself acted the part of a most shallow diplomatist. Instead of waiting to see whether he could not induce tho queen of England to follow in the steps of her sister, he insulted her in a manner which was sure to drive a high-spirited woman to extremities. The conduct of Paul TV., who was now upwards of eighty, can only be regarded as proceeding from ccclesi.istical pique, acting on a superannuated intel- lect. Elizabeth had sent announcement to all foreign courts of her accession " by hereditary right and the con- sent of the nation." She assured the emperor Ferdinand and Philip of Spain that she was desirous to maintain the .lUiance betwixt the house of Austria and England ; to the German princes, and the king of Denmark, she owned her attachment to the reformed faith, and her earnest wish to form a league of union with all protestant powers. At Rome, her amb;usador. Came, informed the pope that hi9 new sovereign was resolved to allow liberty of conscience to all her sul jects, of whatever creed. This, however, was by no means palatable to his holiness, for this toleration was, iu fact, an avowal of heresy ; and he replied that he could not comprehend (he hereditary right of one who was not born in lawful wedlock ; that the queen of Scots waf* the true legitimate descendant of Henry VIE. ; but that if Elizabeth would submit her cLaims to his judgment, he v.-ould do her all the justice he cculd. Perhaps words of more ruinous mfatuation never were spoken in the whole course of the world. One half of them were enough to sever this kingdom from the Roman see for ever, but the whole, denying Elizabeth's legitimacy, and advocating the claims of a rival of whom Elizabeth was excessively jealous, were decisive ; no circumstance could ever after have inclined her to union with the papacy. But at home, and to her very face, the same egregious folly and insult were shown. Dr. White, bishop of Win- chester, preached tho funeral sermon of the late queen, Elizabeth was present, and it may be supposed what were her astonishment and indignation to hear one of her subjects har-anguing in this style. The sermon was in Latin, but that language was perfectly familiar to the queen. The bishop gave a highly- coloured history of the reign of queeo Mary, and amongst other subjects of eulogium, was espe- cially loud in his praises of her renunciation of church supremacy. This was a palpable blow at the new queen, who was about to put the oath of supremacy to the prelates, in order to test them ; but this was only a beginning. He declared that St. Paul had forbidden women to speak in the church, and that, therefore, it was not fitting for the church to have a dumb head. He admitted that the present, queen was a worthy person, whom they were bound to obey, on the principle that "a living dog was better than a dead lion;" yet qualifying even this left-handed praise by asserting that the dead lion was the more praiseworthy of tho two, because "Mary had chosen the better part." .Vfler this display of episcopal rancour and folly, tho bishop found himself arrested at the foot of the pulpit stairs, where he continued his infatuated conduct by defying the authority of the sovereign, and threatening to excommuni- cate her. It is scarcely credible that one short reign of intolerance could so completely have carried back tho bisho|)s into the middle ages, and led them to act in a man- ner so utterly inconsistent with a firm but conscientious wisdom in support of their own faith. Spurred on by these insults, Elizabeth, after having kept up the appearance of conformity with the papal church for about a month, began to take a decided course. She had A.D. 1559.] CORONATION OF ELIZABETH. 30* had mass regularly performed in her own chapel, but on Christmas-diy, Oglethorpe, the bishop of Carlisle, was pre- paring to perform high mass in the royal chapel, when Elizabeth sent to him, commanding him nut to elevate the host. Oglethorpe replied that he could not obey the com- mand ; that his life was the queen's, but his conscience was his own. Elizabeth sat quietly during the reading of the gospels, but that being concluded, when every one expected to sec her make the usual ofi'eriug, she rose and quitted the chapel with all her train. She followed this up by issuing an order forbidding any one to preach without royal license, and stopped all preaching whatever at that political pulpit, St. Paul's Cross. She probably gave Heath, the lord chan- cellor, a hint, through Cecil, to retire, for he resigned the seals, which were immediately transferred to Sir Nicholas Bacon. The bishops, alarmed at the indications of a change in the public form of religion, met in London and discussed the question, whether they could conscientiously assist at the coronation of a princess who appeared to be preparing for the subversion of the established hierarchy, and decided that tliey could not. Possibly, confiding in the apparent resolution of their body to maintain their present ecclesias- tical status, they imagined that they should render the legal performance of the coronation impossible; but if so, they had little idea of the spirit they had to deal with. Elizabeth had all the ability, the self-will, and sense of her authority, which distinguished her father, and she soon made them feel it. 'i'hey had now engaged in a contest with the crown in which they were certain of defeat, for the people showed such attachment to their new queen, as would bear her through any opposition which the prelates could create. She found means to detach one single bishop from the general ranks, Oglethorpe of Carlisle, who had dared before to oppose her, and who must soon after have again joined his brethren in refusing the oath of supremacy, for we are told that all refused it except Kitchen of LandatF. This difficulty being removed, and the celebrated astro- loger. Dr. Deo, having been consulted by this wise and learned queen to point out a propitious day for the corona- tion, Sunday, the 1 5th of January, was fixed for that pur- pose. On the 14th she made her procession, according to custom, from the Tower to Westminster ; and the bishops might learn the uselessness of their opposition from the vast concourse of people of all ranks who filled the streets to witness the scene, and to make the air ring with their acclamations. Elizabeth appeared to do her utmost to make herself popular. She paid great attention to all the pageants which were prepared in the different streets thrnugh which slje passed, and to all the speeches recited, and made many condescending little speeches of her own. Tlic meanest person was suffered to address her, and she carried a branch of rosemary, given to her by a poor woman at Pleet-bridge, all the way to Westminster. She was greatly delighted to hear a man in the crowd say ho remembered old king Harry VIII. Not a bishop, except Oglethorpe, deigned to participate in the ceremony, though, with some trifling alterations, the queen had it performed in the catholic manner. She took the coronation oath, swearing to maintain the reli- gion as established, meaning to break it as a matter of necessity, and after the oath, as the bishop was kneo'*^* at the altar, she sent a little book by a lord for him to read out of, which he at first refused, and read on in his own books ; but after a while, seeming to think better of it, he read in the queen's book, and then read the gospel and epistle in English, at the queen's request. Following these concessions, he sang the mass from a missal which bad been carried before the queen. The whole affair of the coronation was a singular mixture of the old and the new ; and whilst the bishops declined to be present because. they believed the queen would turn out heretical, the protectants were alarmed by the pre- dominance of popish rites in the ceremony, and the next day pressed her for a declaration of her intentions as to religion. But it was not her intention to disclose her whole meaning too soon ; and she pursued her way, abandoning one thing and holding fast another, in a way which must have greatly tantalised all parties. Though she refused to sit out the mass in her chapel, she yet still kept her great silver crucifix and her holy water there, and forbade the destruction of images. At the very time, moreover, that she had a number of reformed divines sitting in the house of Sir Thomas Smith, preparing a new Book of Common, Prayer, she received very coolly any recommendations for reform. " The day after her coronation," says Bacon, " it being the custom to release prisoners at the inauguration of a prince, queen Elizabeth went to the chapel, and in the great chamber, one of her courtiers, who was well known to her, either out of his own motion, or by the instigation of a wiser man, presented her with a petition, and, before a great number of courtiers, besought her, with a loud voice, that now this good time, there might be four or five more principal prisoners released ; there were the Four Evangel- ists, and the apostle Paul, who had been long shut up in an unknown tongue, as it were in prison, so as they could not converse with the common people. The queen answered very gravely, that it was best first to inquire of them- selves whether they would be released or not." Wliilst thus appearing to favour very little this request, she did not neglect it, and the convocation, at tie request of parlia- ment, soon after recommended the translation of the Scrip- tures, and a translation was ere long published by royal authority, which, after several revisions, was re-issued by king James I., and became the basis of oui' present autho- rised version. On the 25th of January Elizabeth proceeded to open he first parliament. She had prepared to carry the decisive measures of reform which she contemplated, by adding fivj new peers of the protestant faith to the upper house, and by sending to the sherifl's a list of court candidates out of which they were to choose the members. Like all her other public proceedings, this was a strange medley of Catholicism and protestantism. High mass was performed at the altar in Westminster Abbey before the queen and the assembled houses, and this was followed by a sermon preached by Dr. Cox, the Calvinistic schoolmaster of Edward VI., who luid just returned from Geneva. The lord-keeper. Sir Nicholas Bacon, then opened the session by a speech, the queen being present, in which ha held very high prerogative language, assuring both lords and commons that they might take measures for a unifijrm order of religion, and for the safety of the state against both foreign and domestic enemies ; not that it was abso- lutely necessary, for she could do everything of her own S9<; CASSEIXS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [A.D. 1530. nuthoriiv, but she preferred having the advice and counsel of her loving subject*. The first thing which the commons proposed was the rerr last thing which she would have wished them to meJdIo with, — that is, nn address recommending her to marry, so as t. 1559.] EJECTION OP THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CLERGY. 397 deans, and other dignitaries before herself and privy coun- cil, and there admonished them to make themselves con- formable to the laws just passed regarding religion. Heath, the archbishop, replied by boldly advising her majesty to remember her own coronation oath, not to alter the religion which she found by law established ; adding that his con- science could not permit him to conform to the new regula- This they refused to a man, except Kitchen, the bishop of Landaff, who had clung to his see through all changes for the last fourteen years, and clung to it still. On their refusal of the oath, they were all deprived of their sees, and a considerable number of other church dig- nitaries were also deprived by the same test. The bulk of the clergy, however, conformed, and to those who were Qaeen Elizabeth CDtering LcnsJcn. lions, and all the other prelates and dignitaries declared the ; same. The council then charged Heath and Bonner, on the evidence of certain papers, with having, during the reign of Edward VI., carried on secret conspiracies with Rome, with the intent to overthrow the government. To this they replied by pleading two general pardons, and the council then proceeded to administer to them the oath of supremacy. 80 ejected pensions for life were .allowed — a policy far raoro considerate than had ever prevailed in such circumstances before. The refugees on account of the Marian persecu- tion, who had now flocked homo from Switzerland and Germany, were installed in the vacant livings, and be- fore the end of this year the church of Rome had lost the state patronage in this country for ever, Two statutes of SflS OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOBY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1559, thu sosnion. the one cstablishins the oath of supremacy. »nd the other of uniformity, became, till our own day, the law as it n— '■ prfsscd heavily and dcs- poticri'Iv 1 1> -s till a very late period. g,. lov wore iu i'vroc, uo one except a church of £jj ; had the flightost chance of promotion in the state or even of employment in it. The statute of uni- formity wai" the embodied spirit of intolerance. For even absentia;; himself from the worship of tlie established church, ho was fined a shilling for every such offence ; for using any other than the state ritual, forfeiture of goods and chattels was incurred for the first offence, a year's im- prisonment for the second, and imprisonment for life for the third. It was an attempt, of the kind which never succeeds, to put down a rival religion by force. It became the source of vast injustice and oppression, causing the most terrible heart-burnings and cruelties ; throwing the firebrand of dissension into every neighbourhood, and producing eventu- ally sanguinary civil wars, till the misoliief was abated by the revolution of IOCS, but never thoroughly eradicated till our own times. Till the accession of William and Mary, the catholics were pursued by the most annoying surveil- lance, and often by the most intolerable tyranny, and the evil was not so much at first the w^irk of the government, as of the puritania zealots who brought from their unfortu- nate exile in Switzerland the harsh, intolerant, persecuting spirit which sprang up there, and diffused its virus far and wide through protestant Europe. But under Elizabeth the catholics were the persecuted party. They could not worship according to their rites, except under the cloak of th« d'^'^rw^t secresy, and were con- tinually expo.-ed to t!. of ppics. In 1501 Sir Edward Waldegrare an i . were imprisoned in the lower for having * doni(>stic chaplain and attending mass m their own house. This was only one case amongst great numbers, and the eonseqnence was, that numbers of catholics went to live abroad, for the quiet enjoyment of their religion. Cecil, Wali>in(;ham, Bacon, and others of the queen's ministers h.id, iiv fact, to keep the protcstants m check, who demanded more severe treatment of the catholics. The injunctions of Edward VT., which were re- issued, were much modified, and opprobrious phrases, such as " kissing and licking images," were softene 1 down, the licking being omitted. The injunctions of Elizabeth, con- trary to those of Edward, forbade the destruction of paint- ings and painted windows in churches. On the other hand, the remaining monastic institutions were broken up. and the m onka and nuns were turned adrift : of which three convents were removed to the continent, and many of the ejected clergy followed Peria, the Spanish ambassador, to Spain. These changes were now witnessed by the catholic with great exacerbation. Five of the deprived bishops. Heath, Bonner, Bourn, Turberville, and Poole, presented a petition to the queen, praying her, without loss of time, to return to tht pious path of her late sister, to restore the catholic faith, and put down the prevailing heresies, before the wrath of Qod fell on the nation. Elizabeth, in great indignation, reminded them that they were, in her father's time, amongst the most obscquiou.^ flatterers and followers of his innovations, and committed them all to prison, excommu- nicated them, and retained Bonner in the Marshalsea for the remaining nine years of his life. The rest, after imprisonment for terms more or less long, were then put under the care of different bishops and deans. To replace the expelled bishops was no very easy matter, not from the paucity of candidates, but from the revolutions which had taken place in the ordinal of the church. Dr. Mattlicw Parker, who had been the chaplain of Anne Uoleyn, and who had stood so faithfully by her. was appointed by Elizabeth archbishop of Canterbury — but how was he to be consecrated ? His election was to be confirmed by four bishops, and his consecration to be performed by them. Where were they to be found ? There was not a bishop left, except he of Landaff. Still more, lilary had abolished the ordinal of Edward VI., and Elizabeth had abolished that of Mary. The difficulty was at first sight insurmountable, and no way out of it presented itself for four months. It was then recollected that Barlowe, Hodg- kins, Scorcy, and Coverdale, the deprived bishops of Bath. Bedford, Chichester, and Exeter, had been consecrated by the reformed ordinal, and that restoration which had been denied them at the petition of their friends, because they were married men. was now accorded as an escape from this dilemma. They were reinstated, and confirmed the election of Parker, consecrated him according to the form of Edward VI., and by their assistance confirmed and consecrated all the newly elected prelates. Elizabeth, however, procured the passing of two acts, by which she stripped the new bishops of a large amount of the property of their sees. She restored to the crown the property which Mary had returned to the church, and she empowered herself to seize on what episcopal lands she chose when tho sees were vacant, on condition of giving tithes and parson- ages instead, which, however, seldom approached to the same value. Whilst Elizabeth and her ministers had been thus en- gaged in settling the constitution of the church, they had also been equally occupied with effecting a continental peace. Philip had refused to conclude a treaty with France previous to the death of Mary, without including in it the restoration of Calais to England, and to Philibert, the duke of Savoy, his hereditary estates. The death of Mary at once cut the actual connection of Philip with England, but he remained firm in his demand, for he had formed the design of obtaining the hand of Elizabeth. He lost no time in making the offer, observing that though they were within ' the prescribed degrees of affinity, the pope would readily I grant a dispensation, and the union of England and Spain j would give them the command of Europe. But, indepen- dent of the partnership in power which this marriage ' would create, Elizabeth entertained schemes of church arrangement very different to any which would accord with Philip's ideas. She courteously, therefore, excused herself on the plea of scruples of conscience, and this refusal was followed by the non-appearance of Peria. Philip's ambas- sador, at her coronation. Philip, however, did not give up the suit without employing all the eloquence and the argu- ments that he could muster; he kept up a brisk correspon- dence for some time with the new queen, and even when the attempt appeared hopeless, he still offered to assist her all in his power in the treaty with France. He settled his owTO disputes with France by marrying the daughter of the king of France, as soon as he saw the hand of Elizabeth unattainable, and procured the sister of Henry II. for his friend Philibert. A.D. 1539.] THE SCOTTISH EEFOBMATIOX, 309 The great demand of Elizabeth was the restoration of Calais, and at Cateau C'ambresis a treaty was concluded on the 2nd of April, 1559, by which the king of France actu- ally engaged to surrender that town to England at the end of eight years, or pay to Elizabeth five hundred thousand crowns-, and that he should deliver, or guarantee for this sum,, fuur French noblemen and the bonds of eight foreign mer- chants. But to this article was appended another, which, to any one in the least familiar with diplomacy, betrayed the fact that the whole was illusory, and that there would be no difficulty, at the end of the prescribed term, on the part of the French, in showing that England had in some way broken the contract. The article was this : that if, within that period, Henry of France, or Mary of Scotland, bbould make any attempt against the realm or subjects of Elizabeth, they should forfeit all claim to the retention of that town ; and if Elizabeth should infringe the peace with either of those monarchs, she should forfeit all claim to its surrender or to the penalty of five hundred thousand crowns. The public at once saw that the French would never relinquish their hold on Cala is from the force of any Fuch condition, and the indignation was proportionate. The government, to divert the attention of the people from this flimsy pretence of eventual restoration, ordered the im- peachment of lord Wentworth, the late governor of the castle, and of Chamberlain and Ilurlestone, the captains of the castle and of the Risbank, on a charge of cowardice and treason. Wentworth, as he deserved, was acquitted by the jury ; the captains were condemned, but the object of the trial being attained, their sentence was never carried into effect. But notwithstanding this peace, there was no amity in the heart of Elizabeth towards her cousin, tlie young queen of Scots. We have stated that Elizabeth, at her accession, had assumed the title of the queen of France. Henry II. immediately, by way of retaliation, caused his daughter- in-law to be styled Queen of Scotland and England, and had the arms of England quartered with those of Scotland. Elizabeth, with her extreme sensitiveness to any claims upon her crown, and regarding this act as a declaration of her own illegitimacy and of Henry's assertion of Mary's superior right to the English throne, resented the pro- ceeding deeply, and from that moment never ceased to plot against the peace and power of Mary till she drove her from her throne, made her captive, and deprived her of her life. We have already shown that Henry VII. commenced, and Henry VIII. and Edward VI. continued, the system of bribing the Scottish nobility against their sovereign. Eliza- beth, in pursiiance of her plans against the queen of Scots, now adopted the same practice, and kept in pay both the nobles and the protestant leaders of Scotland. To under- stand fully her proceedings, we must, however, first take a hasty glance at the progress of the reformation in Scot- land. That kingdom received the reformation in its sim- plest, most rigid, and severe form. The doctrines which had sprung up in republican Switzerland, under Calvin and Zwinglius, were imbibed there by Knox and others in their most unbending hardness. There was none of the gentle and the pliant in his tenets, but the most stern asce- ticism, which suited well with the grave and earnest cha- racter of the Scotch. Foremost in the movement had stood the uncompromising John Knox, from the moment that he returned from hia Algerinc captivity, in 1580. During the reign of Edward VI. he was well received in England, and lent his aid in promoting those ecclesiastical changes which took place under that monarch. On tho accession of Mary, he fled again to the continent, and be- came minister of the English refugees at Frankfort. But there the presbyteriun system, which he pressed upon his congregation in all its nakedness, was too unpalatable for them, and he was expelled from his pu'pit, charged with treason against the emperor, and fled to Geneva. Con- firmed in all the iron puritanism of his master, Calvin, ho returned to Scotland in 1538. He found the reformers there disposed to take a more moderate course than that which he had learned, at Geneva, to regard as the only righteous one. They were in the habit of attending mass ; and as the queen-regent had, for her own purposes, shown some favour to the reformers, they were anxious to go as far with her in conformity to the national church as they could. Knox boldly opposed this spirit of compromise, and brought over Maitland of Lethingfon to his views, A more open and formal separation from the catholic church was determined upon. He now numbered amongst his adherents a number of men destined to figure in the religious history of their time : Erskine of Dun, a man of baronial rank and ancient family . Sir James Sandiland?, commonly styled lord St. John ; Archibald, lord Lorn, afterwards earl of Argyll ; the master of Mar ; James Stuart, prior of St. Andrews, a natural brother of Mary, queen of Scots, now called the lord James ; the earl Glen- cairn, and the earl marshal. Tho catholic clergy, roused by the recommendations of Knox for separation, summoned him to appear before an ecclesiastical convention in Edinburgh. Thither he re- paired, and, to his agreeable surprise, found the reformers collected in such numbers as to overawe his enemies. Ho addressed a letter to the queen-regent, calling upon her to protect the reformed preachers, and even to attend their sermons. This was a stretch of assurance which Mary of Guise treated with ridicule ; and the catholic party, em- boldened by her secret countenance, began to plot against his safety. A period of danger seemed approaching, and Knox, to the astonishment of his party, at this moment accepted an invitation to become pastor of the reformed congregation at Geneva, where all was prosperous and secure. He had expressed bitter sorrow for deserting his former pastoral charge in the hour of peril, yet he now repeated the very same failing, and removed with his family to Switzerland. Though he had not the soul of the martyr in him, he not the less loudly exhorted his reformed countrymen to stand firm to their principles, and that he would return to them should it be deemed necessary. His amazed followers strenuously entreated him to remain, but he saw danger menace ; and his warmest advocates are compelled to confess that at this period of his life the great Scottish apostle's bold language and timid conduct pre- sented a melancholy contrast. The catholic leaders exulted in the flight of Knox ; they summoned him to stand his trial, and as he, of course, could not appear, condemned him, and burnt him in effigy at the High Cross in Edinburgh. The conduct of the reformers whom he left behind him was far bolder than his own. When summoned by Jlary of Guise to appear in Edinburgh and answer for their conduct, the preachers, attended by 400 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED fllSTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1559. t' thousands of the respective congregations, pre- iiselves in such a formidable shape, that the r ireJ that she meant no injury t j them, and a I Ai tranquillity succe.-ded, that the leaders of the rer'Tiii party, the earl of Qlencairn, lord Lorn, son of the earl of Ariyll, Erskine of Dun, Stuart, afterwards the rejCi^iit Murray, entreated Knox to return to his country, which they assured him he might do in safety. Knox rc^igned his charge, and had reached Dieppe in order to take ship for Scotland, when he received the intelligence that the zeal of the reformers had cooled, that the scheme which occasioned them to write to him had been abandoned, and that the protestants preferred worshipping God in private to daring the perils of a public contest. Knox, timid when death stared him in the face, but in aught short of that bold and uncompromising, wrote a most indignant answer, telling the nobles that if they thought they should escape tyranny and oppression by shunning danger, they grievously deceived themselves ; that they would only encourage the enemy to greater insolence, and that the work of reformation was especially that of the nobles. This address, accompanied by stinging private letters to Erskine of Dun, and Wishart of Pitarrow, produced the intended effect. Anew impulse was given to the cause of reform, the leaders of the cause came together, their ical acquired every day more fervency, and on the 3rd of December, 1557, they drew up that league and covenant, which was destined to work such wonders in Scotland, to rout^e the suffering reformers into an actual church militant ; to put arms into the hands of the excited peasants, brace the sword to the side of the preacher, and, through civil war and scenes of str.inge suff-.-ring. bloodshed, and resist- ance on moor and mountain, to work out the freedom of the faith for ever in Scotland. The covenant described in no ro8cw:itcr terms the catholic priests as limbs of Satan, who sought to destroy the followers of Christ, and declared it to be the duty of every true disciple to stand to the death for the truth, ti engaged all who subscribed it, in a solemn vow, "in the presence of the Majesty of God and his con- gregation," to spread the word by every means in their power, to maint.iin the gospel and defend its ministers against all tyranny ; and it pronounced the most bitter anathemas against the superstition, the idolatry, and the abominations of Rome. Tills bond received the signatures of the earls of Glen- cairn, Argyll, and Morton, lord Lorn, Erskine of Dun, and many other nobles and gentlemen, who assumed the name of the lords of the congrcj^ation ; and from this hour it became a scandalous apostacy for any one to flinch or fall away from tliis " solemn league and covenant." War to the death was thus proclaimed against the established religion, and the congregation, as the reformers now styled them- selves, parsed a resolution, that in all the parishes of the re*lm the Common Prayer Book— that is, the book of Edward VI. — should be regularly used, with correspondin •■ lessons from the Old and New Testament, and that the curates should read the same ; but, if they were not quali- fied, or refu.-ed, then the next qurilified person should do it for them. Preaching, or interpretation of the Scriptures, was recommended to be used also in private houses, but not in such numbers as to draw the attention of the govern- ment till such time as God should move the prince to grant public preaching by true and faithful ministers. The lords of the congregation proceeded forthwith to put these resolutions in force in all their own districts. The earl of Argyll ordered Douglas, his chaplaiu, to preach openly in his own house, and a second letter wan wrilt^eu to hasten the arrival of Knox. The catholic clergy were greatly excited, and called on the queou-regent to interpose I her authority ; but Mary of Guiso had a diliiculc part to ' play. The marriage of her daughter with the dauphin was about to take place, but as yet the Scottish parliament had not given its final consent. She therefore had to avoid incensing the nobles of either persuasion, and whilst she supported the views of the establishment, she was obliged to protest against proceeding to extremities with the reformers. The archbishop of St. Andrews w.is averse to persecution also ; but the clergy would not let him rest, and Walter Miln, the parish priest of Luiiao, in Angus, who had been condemned as a heretic in the time of cardinal Beaton, but had escaped from prison, was now seized, and brought to the stake. He was a venerable man of upwards of eighty, and his death excited such a horror and iudigna- tion that he was the last victim in Scotland by fire. Tliis deed produced its natural fruits. The lords of the congregation remonstrated with the queen- regent boldly, and roused the indignation of the country against the clergy. Emissaries were despatched in all directions to stir up the people against such cruelty, and Mary of Guiso was compelled to protest, to a deputation headed by Sir James Sandilands, that such measures were contrary to her wishes, and that the protestants should have her protection. In the parliament of December, 1553, the lords of the congregation demanded that all proceed- ings on account of heresy should be suspended till the present differences of opinion in the church should be settled by a general council, and that no churchman should judge those accused of heresy, but lay judges only. But at this crisis Elizabeth of England ascended the throne. The power of the catholics was there for a moment paralysed ; but in France Mary's daughter was now married, and her husband, the dauphin, was proclaimed king-consort of Scotland by consent of parliament. Mary of Guise's objects were accomplished, and she at once threw off the disguise of assumed moderation towards the reformers. She was a catholic heart and soul ; and she at once joined the policy of her brothers, the duke of Guise and the cardinal, whose object was to combine France and the catholics of France, England, and Scotland, for the dethronement of Elizabeth, and the establishment of the queen of Scits in her place. The first step was evidently to put down the reformation in Scotland, and to secure the French dominance in that country, by which they imagined that, in combination with the disaffected catholics of England, they would easily depose Elizabeth. A firm stand against the demands of the reformers indi- cated this change in the policy of the queen-regent. In a convention of the clergy held in Edinburgh, in March, 1559, the lords of the congregation demanded that the bishops should be elected by the gentlemen of the diocese, and the clergy by people of each parish. This was peremptorily refused, and it was decreed that the practice of using English prayers should cease, no language should be per- mitted in public worship but Latm, and this was followed by a proclamation of the queen-regent, ordering all people to conform strictly to the established religion, to attend A.D. 1559.] THE LOEDS OF THE CONGREGATION. 401 mass daily ; and in an interview with the leaders of the pro- testants slie showed them the commands which she had received on these heads from France, and summoned the chief ministers of the reformed body to appear before a parliament to be held at Stirling to answer for their con- duct in introducing heretical practices and doctrines. The astonished lords of the congregation protested against 80 arbitrary and alarming a determination of government, and reminded the queen-regent of her solemn and repeated promises of toleration and protection. "Promises," re- plied the regent, to their 'Still greater amazement, "ought not to be urged upon princes, unless they can conveniently fulfil them." This flagrant avowal of the basest Jesuiti- cal doctrine so startled the lords, that they replied, on the spot: "Madam, if you are resolved to keep no faith with your subjects, we will renounce our allegiance ; and it will be for your grace to consider the calamities which such a state of things must entail upon the country." For a moment this remonstrance appeared to influence the ■ infatuated woman, but soon hearing that the town of Perth had embraced the protestant faith, she was so exasperated, that she commanded lord Ruthven, the provost, to suppress the heresy. " Madam," replied that nobleman, " I can cut down the people till you are satiated with their blood ; but over their consciences I have no power." Blind to the folly of her course, she reprimanded Ruthven for what she termed his malapert speech, and issued orders for Perth, Dundee, Montrose, and other places which had renounced Catholicism, to return to the ancient faith, duly to attend mass, and again summoned the reformed preachers to appear at Stirling to answer for their delinquencies. At til is moment, as by the direct ordering of Providence, Knox arrived, lie found the position of protestantism very different to that in which lie left it. Then, the ro- formcrij were zealous, but their numbers few ; now, they were numerous and powerful, though menaced. Willock, Douglas, and other ministers had, during his absence, been labouring at the peril of their lives ; but now, not only were they protected by the nobles, by the indignant spirit of the people at large, but by England under her new protestant queen. It was determined by the lords of the congrega- tion to attend their ministers to Stirling in such numbers as should overawe the government, and Knox volunteered to take his part with the other preachers. The nobles and the people mustered at Perth, and Erskinc of Dun was sent on to request an interview with the queen-regent. Mary of Guise, aware of the formidable assembly of the protestants, on this occasion exercised that duplicity for which she became famous. On Erskine assuring her that the people asked for nothing more than to worship God according to their consciences in peace, she declared that that was only reasonable, and if the leaders would request their followers to disperse, the summonses to the ministers should bo discharged, and toleration fully conceded. But no sooner had the people returned home from Perth on the faith of this promise, acting on her maxim that promises were only to be regarded by princes as long as they were convenient, she continued the summonses, denounced all who did not appear as rebels, and made it high treason for any one to harbour them. Erskine of Dun, burning with indignation at this gross perfidy, hastened to Perth, where, on the announcement of this news, Knox ascended the l^ulpit, and preached a fiery sermon against the idolatry of the mass, and enumerated the stern commands of Scripture for the destruction of all the monuments of that crime. Scarcely had the people retired from the church, when a priest, as in defiance, unveiled a rich shrine wliich stood above one of the altars, and, displaying the images of the Virgin and the saints, prepared to celebrate mass. An enthusiastic young man called to those standing around him to prevent such a perpetration of the idolatry just denounced in so terrible a m.mner ; the priest struck him in resentment at the interruption, and the young man re- taliated by flinging a stone, and dashing to pieces one of the images. This was the signal for a general onslaught on the altar. Images, candles, and ornamcnt.«, were torn down in an instant, and destroyed; and the noise recalling thosa without, there was a general rush into the church, and crosses, shrines, confessionals, paintings, and painted windows, were rent and battered into a thousand frag- ments, and stamped under foot. From the cathedral the excited multi,tude rushed away to the religious houses of the Gray and Black Friars, and thence to the Chapter House, or Carthusian monastery. In a very short time, there was not a church or chapel in Perth that was not stripped and desolated ; the rioters, Knox says, leaving the spoil to the poor, who showed no reluctance to help them- selves. The fury thus aroused against the popish idolatry, as it was called, soon spread from town to town, and the first to imitate Perth was Cupar in Fife. The queen-regent, at the news of this destruction, became furious. She vowed she would raze the town of Perth to the ground, and sow it with salt as a sign of eternal desolation. She summoned to her aid Arran, now duke of Ohatclherault, the earl of AthoU, and D'Oyselles, the French commander, and being joined by two of the lords of the congregatio n, Argyll and the lord .lames, who were averse to the outrages committed, on the 18th of May she marched towards Perth. The congregation hastened to address letters both to the queen-regent and the two lords of the congregation, who, to their great incensement, had joined her. They told Mary of Guise that hitherto they had served her willingly ; but, if she persisted in her persecutions, they should abandon her .and defend them- selves. Tliey would obey the queen and her husband if permitted to worship in their own way, otherwise they would be subject to no mortal man. To the two lords of the congregation they wrote first in mild expostulation, but they soon advanced their tone to threats of excommunica- tion, and the doom of traitors, if they did not come from amongst the persecutors. They addressed another letter " To the generation of Anti-Christ, the pestilent prelates and their shavclin;;s in Scotland ; " and they warned them that, if they did not desist from their persecutions, they would exterminate them as the Israelites did the wicked Cunaanites. Matters were proceeding to extremity when Glencairn arrived in the protestant camp with two thousand fi^t hundred men, and this had the efi'cot to make the queen- regent pause, and an agreement was eff'ected by means of Argyll and the lord James, by which toleration was again granted, and the queen-regent engaged that no Froncliinan should approach within three miles of Perth, a c»ndition which she characteristically evaded by garrisoning it with Scotch troops in French pay. Knox and Willock had an interview with Argylc and the lord James, and sharply up- 103 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1559. braided them with appearing in arms against their brethren, to which those nobles replied that they had done it only aj a means of arbitrating for peace; but the con- gregation t)ok means to bind them in future by framing a new covenant, to which every member swore obedience, engaging to defend the congregation or any of its members when menaced by the enemies of their religion. They were soon cilleJ upon to prove their sincerity, for the queen-regent— totally regardless of the treaty just entered into, on the old plea that no faith was to be kept with heretics — the very same day tliat the lords of the congregation quitted Perth, entered it with Chatclherault, llshing the churches and shrines of the popish idjlaters, as he styled them. At Crail, a small seaport in Fife, he had avowedly urged on the multitude to this work, and they had done it effectually, in the destruction of the altars and images in the church. The same scene was repeated at Anstruther, another seaport not far distant ; and now ho prepared to attack the great centre of papal power and worship in St. Andrews. The archbishop, hearing of the menaced attack, entered the town on the Saturday evening, at the head of a hun- dred spe.irs, and sent to inform Knox that the moment ho showed himself in the pulpit he would be saluted with a Juhn Knox- D'Oyselles, and a body of French soldiers. She deprived the chief magistrates of their authority, because favourers of the reformation ; made Charteris of Kinfauns, a man of infamous character, provost, and left a garrison of troops in French pay to support him. The lords of the congregation assembled at St. Andrews, and with them Knos, now roused to a pitch above all fear, and having come, as he said, to the conclusion that to be rid of the rooks it was necessary to pull down their nests. The destruction of the cathedral and monasteries of Perth might have been the result of a sudden enthusiasm in the people . Knos himself was now bent, on principle, on demo- dozen culverins. Great alarm was occasioned in the con- gregation by this, but Knos treated thethreatwith contempt, appeared at tlic csact moment in the pulpit, and took fur his test the account of Christ whipping the money-changers out of the temple. He declared that it was the intention of the queen-regent, who kept no oath or treaty, to bring in French troops and curb both their religion and their liberties, and to such a degree of fury did ho work them, that the whole congregation rushed forth, with their magistrates at their head, and levelled with the ground the proud edifices of the Dominican and Frilnclsoan Friars. The archbishop tied to the queen, who was lying at Falk- A.D. 1559.] REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. 403 ■r.COTK'N u.- TU£ CAHTnCSIAN ilOXASTESV, PEnTD, ET MOlBRSf. (4BE PAljE i'-'l ■) 401 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOKY OP ENGLAND. [k.d. 1559. land, and she immcaintoly ordered her army to march upon SI. Andrews and iiniiihilatc the iconoclast.^. But on reaching Cupnr Moor eho found the camp of the congrcsation de- fei.dod at all points, and filled with a host of enthusiastic covenanters, with skilful commanders at their head. Knox »aid people seemed to have been rained from the skies. Mary of Guise again betook herself to negotiation, and a truce of ei^ht d;iT8 was granted on the assurance that a number of noblemen should bo appointed to meet the leaders of tho congregation, and settle all points of difference. But it was soon perceived that tho queen-regent was only cndca- Touring to gain time for tho muster of more troops ; and no commission-ors arriving, but, on the contrary, the in- habitants of Perth complaining loudly of tho cruellies and oppressions of Chartcris, it was dctormincd to send a force to their relief. Sir William KirkaUly of Grange, an ofiScer of great ability and experience, joined them at this junc- ture. Such numbers flocked to the rescue of Perth, that it was surrendered at the first assault. In the immediate vicinity stood the episcopal palace and abbey of Scone, in which, from time immemorial, the kings of Scotland had been crowned; but, spite of tho popular veneration for this place, they cntertainod a deep hatred of the bishop, who bad been tho chief instig:itor of the burning of Walter Miln. The people rushed away to execute vengeance upon him, and Knox and the congregation hurried afcer them to prevent them. They succeeded in checking any further outrage than the destruction of the altar and images ; and Argyll and the lord James contrived to draw them away to fresh quari-y. It w.is reported that ths queen -regent wa.5 on the march to occupy Stirling and the fords of the Forth, so a3 to cut off all communication betwixt the northern and southern covenanters. A great crowd foUoivod Argyll and Murray to forestall her, but by this means they left Scone exposed. P.-ople from Perth began the nijxt day to gather about the abbey, some in liopo of plunder, others of vengeance, and tho bishop, alarmed, barred his gates, armed his servants, and stood on the defensive. A man approach- ing tho " gerncl," or granary, was thrust through with a rapier, and the cry was that it had boon done by tho pre- late's son. The news flow to Perth ; the excited popnliioe poured forth vowing vongeaiice, and presently, spit'; of tho vehement dis^uafions of Knox and his associates, the palace and abbey were in flames. "Now," exclaimed an old woman, who had been watching tho ' efforts of the leaders to prevent the conflagration, " I see that God's judgments are just, and none can save where IIo will punish. Since ever I can remember aught, this place hath been nothing else than a don of profligatos, where those filthy bea«t8, the friars, have ac'od in darkness every sort of sin, and specially that most wicked nmn, tho bishop. If all knew ^/hat I know, they would see matter for grati- tude, but none for offence." Argyll and the lord James had succeeded in chocking the march of the queen-regent ; and on their advance to Lin- lithgow, she and the French forces evacuated Edinburgh, falling back to Dunbar ; whilst tho covenanting army, entering Linlithgow, pulled down tho altars and images. destroyed the relics, and then advanced on Edinburgh, which they entered in triumph on tho 2i>th of June, 10.30. It wa^ at this crisis that the progress of tho reformers in Scotland arrested the attention of tho government in England, and a letter was received from Sir Henry Percy by Kirkaldy of Grange, inquiring into the real objects of the lords of the congregation. Kirkaldy replied that they meant nothing but the reformation of religion ; that they had purged the churches of imagery and other popish stuff wherever they had come, and that they pull down such friaries and abbeys as will not receive tho reformed faith; but that they had not meddled with a pennyworth of the church's property, reserving the appropriation of that to tho main- tenance of godly ministers hereafter. That if the queen- regent would grant them spiritual liberty aud send away tho Frenchmen, they will obey her ; if not, they will hear of no agreement. Knox also wrote to Percy in tho name of tho whole congregation, and entreated that England should aid them in their struggle, telling them, in his sturdy way, that if it did it would bo better for it ; if not, though Scotland might suffer, England could not escape her share of tlic trouble. Tho consequence of this was that a secret interview took place betwixt Kirkaldy and Percy, at Norham, in which as^sistauce was promised to the Scotch reformers by Eliza- beth. The manner in which Elizabeth proposed to afford this aid was most mean and dishonourable. As a friend to the reformation, nothing could have been more noble than to have openly and courageously owned that sym- pathy, and sought in a legitimate manner to influence the young queen of Scotland to arrest the persecution of her subjects, and to allow them toleration of their religion. But nothing was further from Elizabeth's intention than this. She regarded Mary already with deep jealousy and resentment, on account of her claims on the succession to the English throne, aggravated by her having been induced to quarter the arms of England with those of Scotland. Her desire, therefore, was to weaken Mary in tho affec- tions of her subjects, and to create such troubles in Scot- land as should not only prevent any attempt of Mary in England, but should afford herself opportunity of acquiring an a.'^cendancy in Scotland. Elizabeth was bound by treaty to be .it peace with both France and Scotland, yet she did not hesitate thus secretly to foment rebellion in tho kingdom of the young and absent queen, to hold hor sub- jects in her secret pay, at tho same time that she professed to act uprightly and faithfully towards their government, as by her treaty bound. This was not a queenly, much less a Christian conduct, but a base Machiavellian one, which must ever reflect tho deepest dishonour on the English queen. The parsimony of Elizabeth, however, and the caution of her minister Cecil, prevented any efficient aid to the Scottish reformers at the time that it was most essential Whilst the queen-regent delayed any active proceedings in the hopo of the arrival of fresh troops from France, and the knowledge that tho irregular army bnmght into the field by tho Soottiwh barons could not long lie kept together, Elizabeth deferred the promised subsidies. Mary of Guise, meantime, spread all kinds of reports to the disadvantage of the covenanters, declaring that, under the guise of seek- ing freedom of conscience, they were conspiring to over- turn the government of tho country. She cau.'sed a procla- mation to be issued in the name of the young king and queen, charging the reformers with having stolen the irons of the mint and of maintaining a correspondence with England— a charge only too true. She asserted that she had already offered to call a parliament, in which every- A.D. 1559.] NEGOTIATIONS OF THE CONGEBGATION WITH ELIZABETH, 40S thing should he satisfactorily settled and full religious liberty conceded. These acts had their effect. Many of the reform party, in a lelfccr to the queen, repudiated every idea of rebellion ; othors di-ew off from the army, and the duke of Chatelhe- rault abandoned the congregation. In thi.s predicament, the lords of the congregation made still more impassioned appeals to Cecil, and Knox wrote to him entreating him to abate the prejudice of Elizabeth towards him. But that prejudice was of the most bitter and unconquerable kind in the h' .rt of Elizabeth. She regarded Knox with the fiercest aversion, and swore that ho should never set f^ot in her kingdom. He had sought tlirough Cecil to obtain from hfr permission to pass thrnugh England on his way from Geneva, but received the most angry denial. Knox had perpetrated the unpardonable offence to Elizabeth in writing his " First Blast of the Trumpet against the Mon- strous Regiment of Women," wherein, aiming a blow at his own queen Mary, he had hit more mortally the proud queen of England. It was in vain that Knox now at- tempted to correct this capital error and to turn courtier, a thing he was never fashioned for. He declared that, " though he still adhered to the propositions he had set forth in hia book, he never meant to apply them in her case, whoso whole life had been a miracle, God having by an extraordinary dispensation of His mercy made lawful to her that which both nature and God's law denied to other women, and that no one in England would be more willing to maintain her lawful authority than himself." He prayed that ho might be permitted to come into England to plead the cause of the religion of his country. But such was the detestation with which the English queen regarded liim, that he might he thankful that she did not allow him to go there, or she would probably have served him worse than she did afterwards the Scottish queen. Disappointed in his attempt, Knos did not fail, impolitic as it was, to give the proud queen a taste of his quality. He called her " an infirm vessel," and warned her that, if "she persisted in her pride and fooli.sh presumption, she would not long escape punishment." He was equally in- sulting to Cecil, from whom he hoped to obtain assistance for hia cause; reminding him of his backsliding in the days of bloody Mary, when " he had followed the world in the way of perdition, to the suppressing of Christ's true evangel, to the erecting of idolatry, and to the shedding of the blood of God's most dear children, to which he had by silence consented and subscribed." Such was Knox's mode of seeking favour. No aid coming soon from Elizabeth, the reformers were compelled to come to terms with the queen-regent. Tl.ey agreed to evacuate tlio town, restore the coining irons of the mint, and refrain from any attacks on churches and religious houses, or molestation of churchmen. On the other hand, the queen agreed to give full freedom of faith and speech, and to admit neither a French nor Scotch garrison to the town. The conditions were signed by the duke of Chatel- herault, the carl of Huntley, and D'Oysellcs, to whom the negotiation was intrusted. The reformers, before quitting the place, issued a proclamation, in which they made a false representation of the treaty, giving at length a statement of the privileges conceded, but concealing the conditions by which they liad bound themselves to make no aggressions on the opposite party. Neitiier party was honest in its professions. The queen-regent was looking daily for succour from France, the reformers for support from England ; and either party Would, no doubt, have broken the contract with little ceremony h.ad it found itself ia a condition to dictate to the other. Sir James Melville had arrived from France during these late transactions on a private mission to ascertain the actual state of parties, and particularly whether tlie lord James had any design of seizing the crown, as the queen- regent had represented. Melville interrogated Murray himself, and, professing himself satisfied with bis denial, returned through England. At this moment died Henry II. of France, He had been in low spirits since the signing of the treaty of Catoau Onmbresis ; and receiving a wound in the eye whil.st tilting at the celebration of tlie festivities on the marriages of hia daughter Isabella with Philip of Spain, and his sister Margaret with the duke of Savoy, inflammation took place, and he died on the 10th of July, 1559. He was succeeded by his son as Francis II., and thus Mary queen of Scots became the queen of France. Melville, on his return, found this change had taken place. The Guises were in the ascendant, and the most determined menaces of destruction to the protestant party in Scot- land prevailed at the French court. The congregation was greatly alarmed at the rumours of French troops which were to be sant over. The leaders had retired to Stirling, where they entered into a new bond to receive no messago from the regent — who sought to sow dissension amongst them — without communicating it to the whole body. Knox was despatched to the borders to communicate with Sir James Crofts, the governor. The assistance which the reformers claimed was e.xtensive. They asked for money to pay a garrison for Stirling, which they engaged to seize. They called for reinforcements by sea to secure the safety of Perth and Dundee, and proposed that Broughty Craig should be fortified, the nobles of tlio neighbourhood offering to do the work so that they got the money. Knox had it in his instructions to urge the seizure of Eyemouth, and money to influence the Kers, tlio Homes, and other bor- derers. Money was wanted and troops, too, ready to sup- port the movements of the congregation : in fact, the Scottish nobles were thirsting for the pay which they had enjoyed under Henry VIII. and Edward VI. ; and, in return for what they called " this comfortable aid," they promised to enter into a strict league of alliance with Eliiabeth, l)inding themselves to make her enemies their enemies, her friends their friends, and never to come to any accom- modation with France without the consent of Elizabeth. Knox and his companion, Alexander Whitelaw, did not "o and return on this clandestine mission without incurring danger from the French, who attacked their escort at Dun- bar ; and they returned much disgusted with the cautious parsimony and double-faced conduct of the English queen, who, instead of furnishing the comfortable funds which they craved, accused the congregation of lukcwarmnoss in notniore vigorously exerting themselves against the queen- regent, whilst she herself was making the most open pro- fissions of amity to that princess. Her policy is displayed in the instructions which she gave to Sir Ralph Sadler, whom she now sent as her agent to Scotland. He was to nourisli the faction betwixt the Scotch and the French, so that the French should have less leisure to turn their 406 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OP E.VGLAXD. [a.d. 1559, attentiuD to England ; and he was to ascertain whether the lord James really entertained designs against the cruim. This policy of Eliiaboth's extremely chagrined the rt formers. The lord James and the earl of Argyll addressed letters to Sir James Crofts and to Cecil, in which they complained of the treatment thown them, and asper- sions of indifference cast upon them. They even threw out mysterious threats if thoy were not euccoured. They observed that the English government recommended them to supply themselves out of the wealth of the churches and altarf. but they replied that ihey had not the court with them in this matter, as England had had ; but in one thing ti.ey had followed the advice of England : they had esta- blished a council, had endeavoured to bring over Chatel- heraulc to their views, and only waited a good opportunity to depose the ciueen-rejient, and to place the viceregal power in the h.inds of some chief of their own party. Who this should be was an important question. There were three leaders who principally attracted the attention of England : Chatelherault, his son, the earl of Arran, and the lord James. Chatelherault was a timid and un- decided character ; Arran was daring enough, for he aspired to the h&nd of Elizabeth, and was thought to be liberal and chivalric, but further experience proved him to be only rash, vain, and fickle. The man on whom the expectations of Elizabeth and her w-iry minister, Cecil, were fixed, was the lord James, the natural brother of the queen of Scots, and afterwards the noted regent Murray. He was yet not twenty-six, and devoted to the congregation. He was of powerful mind, of inordinate ambition, and, as the way opened so brilliantly before him, it became obvious that no moral principle was likely to present any obstacle in his path to power. lie had been educated in Franco for the church, in a school where the most subtle and unscrupulous doctrines were taught as the real philosophy of life. Out- wardly he had an honest, frank, and friendly air, covering a mind quick, penetrating, capable of seizing on the thoughts, and appropriating the plans and powers, of those around him. He had a fine person and air, a kingly presence^ and his knowledge of continental politics gave him a superiority over all his countrymen. At the same time he was selfish, perfidious, and capable of the worst deeds to his nearest kindred, in the prosecution of bis own advancement. Such an instrument was precisely of the kind that the English queen and her minister desired. Cecil requested Sadler to ascertain whether the lord James had an eye to the crown, and, if he had, to let Chatelherault take what course he pleased without troubling himself much about him. Meantime Knox wrote very plainly to Cecil, telling him that if the queen did not soon do something for the Scot- tish nobles, and that liberally, they would bo very likely to accept the bribes which France was offering. He desired Cecil to speak out plainly, and let them know what they had to expect at once, adding that he marvelled that the queen did not write to them, as her noble father used to do to men fewer in number and of less power ; alluding to those hired by him for the murder of cardinal Beaton, a business which seemed to be approved by Kno.t. This remonstrance produced the desired effect. Sadler was instructed to treat with the Scotch reformers. A messenger from Knox assured him that if the queen would furnish money, to pay a buJy of fifteen hundred arquebuses and three hundred horse, they would soon expel the French from Scotland and establish the English ascendency there. i Balnavcs, a zealous adherent of the congregation, and intimate friend of Knox, had a long private interview with Sadlir, and assured him that the reformers were resolved to make no further league with the queen-regent, but to depose her on the first opportunity, place the power in the hands of Chatelherault or Arran, and then make open treaty with England. Sadler was so satisfied with this prospect that he paid over to Bulnavcs two thousand pounds for the lords of the congregation, and promised to give addi- tional aid to Kilkaldy, Ormiston, 'Whitelaw, and others, who expended considerable sums in the cause of the congre- gation, and had their pensions from France etopped since they became its partisans. Three hours after the arrival of Balnaves at the castle of Berwick, and whilst he and Sadler wero deep in their dis- cussions, at midnight, Arran alighted at the gate. Arran had been serving in the French army as a colonel of the Scottish guards, and in reality as a hostage for the faith of his father in Scotland. He had been summoned by Henry II. to attend the marriages of his sister and daughter to the duke of Savoy and Philip of Spain ; but Arran, who was in the secret interest of Elizabeth, sent an apology, and, as it was supposed, by the aid of Throckmorton, the English ambassador, made his escape to England, where he had several secret interviews with Elizabeth and Cecil, and then made bis way to Scotland under the assumed name of M. de Beaufort. France, on the one side, and England on the other, wero now in active rivalry for the ascendency in Scotland. The Sieur de Bettancourt arrived from the French court in tho beginning of August with assurances of the speedy trans- mission of an army under the marquis d'Elbeuf, and with letters to the lord James, calling on him, by the benefits which he had received from France, to prove himself a faithful subject to his sister and queen. Towards the end of August, a thousand men, under an Italian ofiScer named Octavian, landed at Leith, and with these the queen-regent put that port into a tolerable state of defence ; but at tho same time she sent urgent despatches to Franco for four ships of war to cruise in the Frith, for an additional thou- sand men, and a hundred barbed horse. She did not; obtain all she wanted, but La Brosse arrived on the 22nd of September, with three ships, two hundred men, and eighty horse. With these came the bishop of Amiens and two learned doctors of the Sorbonnc, to endeavour to recon- cile the people to the ancient faith. This was the most hopeless of missions. Tho people of Scotland had long grown weary of the French, and sus- picious of their designs on the independence of the country. Tho reformed preachers had perambulated the country, exposing the corruptions of the catholic church, and ex- citing indignation against the queen-regent for her bigoted attempts to put down the reformation, for her decided leaning to French interests, and Iicr perfidious and repeated breaches of her contracts with the lords of the congregation. This arrival of frosh forces confirmed all their charges, and inspired the papulation with augmented jealousy of Fr.ince. No sooner was the arrival of Arran known, than it pro- duced the highest enthusiasm in the protestant party. Ho A.D. 1559.] HOSTILITIES BETWEEN THE CONGREGATION AND THE QUEEN-REGENT, 407 was regarded as the destined husband of the English queen ; and the expectation of the influence which this circumstance would give his party with England, together with the en- couragement of the two thousand pounds just received, raised the spirits of the congregation to the highest pitch. They accused the queen-regent of two breaches of the capitula- tion (if Edinburgh, by celebrating mass in Holyrood-houso and receiving fresh troops from France, and they sent her a message requiring her to desist from the fortification of Leith. The quoen-regont bluntly refused, declaring that she was as determined as she was able to maintain the power and interests of her daughter, their soyereign. Hereupon the congregation prepared for direct hostilities. The duke of Ohatelherault came over to them ; and a commission was issued to Glencairn and Erskine of Dun, to proceed with the purgation of the religious houses. The abbeys of Paisley, Kilwinning, and Dunfermline were accordingly suppressed by them. Sir Thomas Randall, or Randolph, who had became acquainted with Arran at Geneva, was secretly despatched by Cecil to Hamilton, to co-opcrato with the Scottish reformers, affording them a direct means of counsel and communion through him with the Euglish court. Thus was Elizabeth in full and active connection with the insurgent subjects of the queen whose kingdom she was bound by solemn treaty not to interfere with or prejudice in any way ; but perhaps she was not destitute of excuse, in the fact that the French court was equally labouring, through the sides of Scotland, to penetrate her realm. The chain of intelligence betwixt the English court and all that was going on in the Scottish one, was rendered complete by Maitland of Lethington, the secretary to the queen-regent, becoming the secret ally of the congre- gation, and betraying all the councils and the most private designs of the Scottish government to the reformers. On the loth of October the congregation assembled its forces, twelve thousand in number, and marched on Edinburgh, which they occupied without resistance, the queen-regent retiring before them to Leith. They esta- blished a council for civic affairs, consisting of Ohatelherault, Arran, Argyll, Glencairn, the lord James, Balnaves, Kirkaldy, and others, and another for religious affairs, under Knox, Goodman, and the bishop of Galloway. They sent a message to the queen -regent, requiring her to order all foreigners and men-at-arms to quit the town, and leave it to the subjects of the realm. Mary of Guise replied that the French were naturalised subjects, and Scotland united to Franco by marriage ; and she, in her turn, commanded the duke of Ohatelherault and his associates to quit the capital, on pain of treason. The lord-liun, who brought her message, was requested to wait for an answer, which was that, as an oppressor and an idolatress, they suspended her authority as a council of born subjects for the queen, on the ground I hat she was acting contrary to the will and interest of the sovereign. On the 28th the covenanters prepared for an assault on Leith, by constructing scaling-ladders in the High Church of St. Giles, to the great scandal of the preachers, who prognosticated that proceedings begun in sacrilege would end in defeat. This very soon appeared likely to be the result, for the money sent from England being exhausted, tlio soldiers clamoured for pay, and the army of twelve thousand was on the verge of melting away very rapidly. In great alarm, the leaders vehemently entreated Elizabeth for more money, and making a struggle with her natural parsimony, she sent four thousand pounds to Cockburn of Ormiston, who undertook the perilous office of conveying it to head-quarters. But a man who afterwards became notorious for the audacity of his crimes, the earl of Bothwell, who now professed to be a zealous supporter of the congrega- tion, and had by this means obtained the knowledge of the transmission of the treasure, waylaid Cockburn, and carried off the money. This was a severe blow to the congrega- tion, and was speedily followed by another. Haliburton, provost of Dundee, had led a parly of reformers to attack Leilh. He had planted liis heavy artillery on an eminence near Holyrood j but whilst the majority of the leaders were attending a sermon, the French attacked the battery, and drove the reformers b.ack into the city with great slaughter. The queen-regent, sitting on the ramparts of Leith, iiailed the victorious soldiers returning from the massacre of her subjects, and thus gave mortal offence. On the 5th of November the French sallied from Leith to intercept a convoy of provisions for the relief of Edinburgh. They were attacked by the lord James and Arran, who, getting into difficult ground, were defeated in the morasses of Restalrig, with great slaughter. ITali- burton of Dundee was killed ; Arran and the lord James escaped into the city, where Knox summoned them to he.ir the " promises of God ; " but though the royalists had re- turned to Leith, the eloquence of Knos failed to inspire confidence, a sudden panic spread through the city, and the reformers, abandoning Knox in his pulpit, fled. The road to Linlithgow was crowded before midnight with fugitives, and the darkness adding to their terror, in the belief that the French were pursuing them, they never stopped till they reached Stirling, thirty miles off. When tlio Scottish fugitives arrived at Stirling, and the emptiness of their terrors became fully known, they were, botli leaders and people, covered with confusion. Knox, however, undertook to restore them to their usual confidence by finishing there the sermon which they had broken off, so suddenly at Edinburgh. Ho .asked why had the army of God fled before the uncircunjciscd Philistines ; and he answered his own question by asserting that they had been suffered to fall through the avarice of one leader, the lewd- ness of another, and the vain-glory and presumption of a third. He bade them repent and return sincerely to the Lord, and the tribes of Israel should yet triumph over the recreant sons of Benjamin. Thus ho raised the spirits of the" protcstants by his fiery eloquence, in the very act of soundly castigating them. Meantime, the qacen-regent entered Edinburgh in triumph ; fortunately, however, the failure of the re- formers did not cool the ze.al of their Euglish friends, The struggle was oonsiJered not so much with the Scotch gOTcrniiient as with Franco ; and Sadler urged on Cecil to supply the insurgents with more money, for so long, tie observed, as they kept the French engaged there, they would have less leisure to turn their designs on England. The lords of the congregation, thus reanimated by the sermons of Knox and the promises of Cecil, mu^tercd fresh forces at Stirling ; but again they were defeated, and Stirling taken by a detachment from the queen-regent's army at Leith. The royalist forces then invaded Fifcshiro. burning aud laying waste the lands of the covenanters. Kinghora, Kirkaldy, and Dysait were sacked, and the OASSELL-S ILLrSTRATED HISTORY OF EN'GLAND. 403 ^ troops of Arran and the lor>'. James were compelled to retire before the superior forces of the enemy. With the intenseit aniiety did they expect the promised succours from England : the royalists were now in full march for St. Andrews, over which inevitable destruction seemed to hover, when, on rounding the promontory of Kingcraig, i the little army of Arran following at a distance, watching | their motions, a fleet was descried in the offing. Each army gazed in terror and expectation, the royalists hoping it might be the French fleet bringing the troops of D'Elbceuf, the reformers that it might be the English succours. It proved to be the latter. Three small vessels of the queen- ' regent were soon made prize of, and the fleet directed its guns against her army. It was obliged to make instant ^ retreat. I This was a direct and open infraction of the peace be- twixt England, Scotland, and France. Xoailles made a formal complaint at the English court of this violation of i the treaty ; but it was pretended that Winter, the English j admiral, had only acted in self-defence ; that he had been ; [i.D. lOCO. don ; ."jbO. on this plea Cecil is accused of not only inciting conspiracy in Scotland but also in France, by arming the princes of the blood and the reformerj against their sovereign, Francis II. For this purpose Throckmorton was sent over to the king of Xavarre, a favourer of the protestant cause. Throckmorton bore secret offers of alliance and support against his enemies and the enemies of the true religion from the queen of England. The fact w.os that Elizabeth was aware that Antoinc, the king of Xavarre, and Louis, prince of Conde, were jealous of the preference given by Francis to his uncles, the duke of Guise and the cardinal of Lorraine, the uncles of his qaeen, brothers of the queen-regent of Scotland. They were placed at the head of afiairs, and, as the determined champions of Catholicism, were doubly odious to Xavarre and his ad- herents. Accordingly, having the secret countenance of the queen of England and other protestant princes, Navarre, Condc, Coligny, admiral of France, D'Andelot, colonel of the French infantry, and the cardinal of Chatillon, nephews of the constable Montmorency, united in a plot to seize the Great .Seal of Queen Hiziib*th. gent to convoy a fleet of victuallers to Berwick, but had been driven by stress of weather into the Frith of Forth ; | that there the batteries of Leith, Bruntisland, and Inch- 1 keith had fired upon him, and obliged him to return the fire in self-defence. The story, though solemnly supported in -hz form of a dispatch from the duke of Norfolk, who was residing on the borders as the queen's lieutenant, was too flimsy and barefaced to bear a moment's inquiry, and, to appease the clamour of the French ambassador, an inquiry into Winter's conduct was set on foot, which, like many such inquiries, was never meant to go very deep ; and it answered its purpose by keeping up an appearance of investigation till the duke of Norfolk had completed a treaty at Berwick with the lords of the congregation, by which Elizabeth bound herself to aid them with an army to espel the French from Scotland. Elizabeth's excuse for entering into a formal treaty with the subjects of another monarch, with whom she w.13 at peace, was, tl'.at she knew the French were directing their power in Scotland to an ulterior attack on her own king- king and queen, the cardinal, and the duke of Guise, and place the government in the hands of the princes of the blood. At this moment the duke of Norfolk received his orders to conclude the treaty with the Scottish lords at Berwick. The French arabai=sadors, rather than proceed to extremi- ties, offered to withdraw the bulk of their troops from Scotland, and submit the points in dispute to the decision of Elizabeth herself. It is said that they even offered to restore Calais, and that Elizabeth replied that she could never place a fishing village in competition with the security of her dominions at large. This, however, is by no means probable, for we soon find Elizabeth herself demanding Calais as a condition of peace, and it is not to be supposed that she would not have at least deferred her plans against Scotland for the much-desired repossession of that town. Whilst these negotiations were proceeding, the conspiracy of the French princes was defeated at Amboise through the sagacity of the duke of Guise, and Elizabeth rather hesi- tated in completing her treaty with the Scots; but her A.D. 1560.] THE SIEGE OF LEITH. 409 council urged her to advance, alleging that France was still on the eve of a civil war, and that she vrould, by back- ing out, lose a golden opportunity of driving the French from Scotland. • On the 27th of February, 1560, the treaty was concluded at Berwick, and in the month of March the English fleet appeared in the Forth in greater strength. D'Oyselles, the town. On the other hand, the duke of Norfolk had collected an army of six thousand men in the northern counties of England, and sent it under the command of lord Gray de Wilton into Scotlaud by land. Lord Gray marched from Berwick to Preston, where he joined the forces of the lords of the congregation; and whilstWinter's fleet blockaded Leith 1 by sea, the united army invested it on the land side. It was Mary Queen of Sects landing at Ltith. (See page 413.) French general, managed to efi'ect his retreat from Fife, and threw himself into Leith, where he resolved to defend him- self. The queen-regent, who was lying tliere worn out by her continual struggles for the maintenance of her daughter's tlirone and religion, removed, by the permission of lord Erskine, the governor, to the castle of Edinburgh, as unable to endure the hardships and anxieties of a besieged soon known that the fleet of the marquis d'Elboeuf had been dispersed by a tempest, and partly wrecked on tho coast of Holland, partly made their way back to France ; so that the English and their allies had little to fear from the arrival of fresh enemies. Tlio siege was carried on against Leith in a manner little creditable to the ancient fame of the English ; as for «7 410 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1560. the Scot*, Sadler saiJ, " they could climb no walls : " that i*, thrT wore not famous for c miucting sieges and taking towns 'by assault. The En;;;lirl), who had acquired great famo in that kind of warfare, now seenied to have forj;')tten their ukill, though thev had lost n'"ine of their couri^". Their lines of oircumvallation were ill-drawn : their guns were ill-dircctcd. their trencher were opened in ground un6t for the purpose, and they were repeatedly tlirown into disorder by sorties of the enemy. To make matters worse, the supplies of the Scots became exhausted, and they began to mak'.' their usual cries to the English for more money. But from the English court came, instead of tlio all-needful money, signs of discouragement. Elizabeth still maintained her equivocal conduct, and the lords of the congregation were greatly alarmed to find her actuilly negotiating with the sick quecn-reg'!nt for an accammodation. At the very time that the Scotch and the English were engaged in a sm.irt action at Hawkhill, near Lochend, during the siege. Sir James Croft and Sir George Iloward were with the dying Mary of Guise in the castle of Edinburgh. Eliz ibeth still declared that she was not fighting against Francis and Marv, the king au'l ij'ioen of France and Scotland, but against their ministers in the latter country, and .•^iniply for the defence of her own realm against their attonipt?. She desired Sir Ralph Sadler to express her willingness to treat, and to make it olear that she was no party to any design to injure or depose the rightful queen. What she aimed at was the expulsion of the French from Scotland as dangerous to her own dominions, and he was instructed if the old plea was raised, that the French only retnaiuod there to main- tain the thr.)ne of their mistress against disaffected subjects, that she never would admit this plea, as it was only a pretence, and tliatthe herself would not lay down her arms till the queen of Soota was also secured in her just power and claims. These plausible arguments did not, howerer, abate the suspicions of the lords of the congregation, that Elizabeth was prepared t) make a peace without them, nor that several of their own party, including the duke of Chatel- herault, who were lukewarm nn 1 dubious protestants, were ready to join in it. Fortunately for the congrogntion, Elizabeth and the queen-r:g''nt, undaunted and uncom- promising in death, ouuld not agree ; the negotiations were broken off, and Elizabvth gave orders to renew the siege with fresh vigour, still ommonding her officers to " con- temn no reasonable offers of agreemeat " that might be made by the Fri^nch. No such off>!r3. however, appeared likely to come from the brave defon lers of Leith. They continued to fight with a spirit and gallantry which gave them a brilliant reputa- tion all over Europe; and the English, on their part, worked doggedly, if not Bkilfally, to make a breach ia the walls. At length th"y accomplished such a breach, and rushed headlong and in blind fury to force their way into the town; but one of the storming parties lost its way, and the rest, when they reached the ramparts and raised their ecaling-ladder.s, found them too short -, and, though they fought like bull-dogs, they were obliged to give way, leaving a thousand of their comrades in the ditches, and mowed down by the enemy's artillery in the adv.ance and the retreat. The qaeen, who had recommended tre.iting in preference to S;;hting, was greatly chagrined by this failure, and the ' soldiers wore greatly discouraged ; but it Wi\s not in ' English spirit to be thus put down. The government sent ' down more money, with orders to continuo the siege with all vigour, and the duke of Norfolk despatched fresh rein- forcements of two thousand men, with promises of more, declaring that the besiegers should n )t lack men whilst there were any betwixt the Trent and Tweed. The invest- l ment was thus continued with the utmost rigour, and famine became terrible within the walls. On the loth of Juno the queen-regent died in the castle. Her life since she had been left a widow bad been one of storm and struggle, and as a sincere catholic she had not the conception of any other truth but what existed in it ; and so long as she lived, or had any power left, the struggle must go on. On her death-bed she earnestlj' entreated the lord James, in ber presence, and some others of the lords of the congregation, as well as her own courtiers, to support the rightful power of her daughter , but, as the events showed, and the treacherous, nmbitious character of the bastard brother of queen Mary rendered probable, to very little purpose. The queen-regent's decease, however, opened a way to negotiation. The insurrectionary feeling in France made the Frenc'j court readily tender such a proposition, and it was agreed that the French and English commis- sioners should meet at Berwick on the 14th of June. The Eogiish Commissioners were Cecil and Dr. Wotton, dean of Canterbury ; the French, Monluo, bishop of Valence, and count de Eandon. Perhaps four more acute diplomatists never met. On the IGth of June they proceeded to Edin- burgh, passing through the English camp on the way, whero they wore saluted by a general discharge i^f fire- arms. By the 0th of July all the conditions of peace were settled, and it was announced both to the besiegers .".nd besieged that hostilities were at an end. Leith was surrendered, and D'Oyselles, the French oomm.ander. enter- tained the English and Sootoh officers, by whom he had biea so nearly famished, at an entertainment, "where." say.s Stow, " was prepared for thera a banquet of thirty or forty dishes, and yet not one either of flesh or fish, saving one of a powdered horse, as was avouched by one that vowed himself to have tasked thereof." The French commissioners stood stoutly for the rights and prerogatives of the crown, but they were compelled to yield many points to the imperturbable firmness of Cecil. Dunbar aud Inohkeith were surrendered as well as Leith. The French troops, excepting a small garrison in Dunbar and another in Inchkoith, were to bo sent home, and no more to be brought over. An indemnity for all that had passed since March, 1.358, in Scotland, was granted ; every man was to regain the post or position which be held before the struggle, and no Frenchman was to hold any office in that kingdom. A convention of the three estates was to be summoned by the king and queen, and four-and-twenty persons were to be named by this convention, out of whom should be chosen a council of twelve for the govern - ment of the country, of whom the queen should name seven and the estates five. That the king and queen should not declare war, or conclude peace, without the concurrence of the estates ; that neither the lords nor the members of the congregation should be molested for what they had done, and the churchmen were to bo protected in their persons, rights, and properties, and to receive compensation for their losses according to the award of the estates in parliament. A.D. 1560.] TREATY OF PEACE BETWEEN ENGLAND AND FRANCS. 411 On one point, and that the chief point of the quarrel, the leaders of the congregation did not obtain their demand, which naturally was for the establishment of their religion. Wo may suppose that Cecil and his colleague were not very desirous of carrying this ; for the queen of England regarded the Scotch reformers as fanatical and uutri, and blie especially abominated the character and doctrines of Knox. It was conceded, however, that parliament should be summoned without delay, and a deputation should lay this request before the king and queen. By a second treaty betwixt England and France, it was determined that the right to the crowns of England and Ireland l;iy in Elizabeth, and that Mary should no longer bear the arms or use the style of these two kingdoms. Another proposition, however, was refused in this treaty, u - 1 that was the surrender of Calais to England. The war thus brought to an end reflected little credit on the diplomatic principles of Elizabeth and her ministers, however much it might display their ability and address. To excite the subjects of a neighbouring sovereign to rebel- lion, at the same time that she was bound by a treaty of peace, and was solemnly professing to maintain it, can never bo vindicated on any system of morals, either public or ■private. If Mary of Scotland infringed, by her assumption of the arms or title of Elizabeth, the treaty betwixt them, that was a cause of fair but open appeal. If Elizabeth regarded her own national tranquillity as endangered, that was another just cause of protest j if she wished to protect the interests of the struggling protestants in Scotland, nothing could have been more honourable, had the attempt been made by open and direct means, by earnest application to Francis and Mary; but so long as Elizabeth neglected these means and offices, by fomenting clandestine resistance amongst the subjects of the Scottish queen, she at once violated every honourable principle of international law, and perpetrated a felony on the rights of sovereigns. > . Cecil, whilst busy with the negotiations now terminated, saw enough of the reformers of Scotland to convince him that the French troops would be no sooner removed than they would trample under foot all tlic engagements into which they had entered whilst under that restraint. Tliis was im- mediately verified. The parliament assembled on tlie 1st of August, and the very first act which it passed was one abolishing the papal jurisdiction in Scotland, and decreeing severe punishment, in the very style of the church against which they had been battling, for those who presumed to worship according to the Romish creed. A crowd of lesser barons had attended at the call of the lords of the congre- gation, so that they carried everytliing their own way. They prohibited mass both publicly and privately. Who- ever officiated at mass, or attended it in church, chapel, or private liouso, was amenable to confiscation of his goods and imprisonment at the discretion of the magistrate, for the first ofi'ence ; to banishment for the second ; and death fur the third. A confession of faith, according to the austere model of Geneva, w.as framed by Knox and his confederates, .and the most flagrant intolerance, spite of all their own out- cries .about liberty of conscience, was its most prominent feature. The moment that this bill was passed, it was put into execution, and every member of the parliament who refused to subscribe to this new creed was instantly expelled, and, with a refinement of injustice worthy of the worst times and the worst characters amongst their opponents, they then called over twice the names of the ejected, and, of course, receiving no answer, they refused them all com- pensation for their losses during the war, according to tha provisions of the treaty, which they thus violated in all its clauses. One of the most singular proceedings of the parliament was, that it deputed the earls of Morton and Glencairn, and Maitland of Lethington, to wait on queen Elizabeth and propose to her a marriage with Arran, the son of the presumptive heir to the Scottish crown ; a scheme supposed to originate with Cecil, who thought thus to give the queea a strong plea for uniting the kingdoms ; in this, however, tlie queen's own obstinacy regarding matrimony defeated him. It remained now to obtain the consent of Francis and .Mary to these decisions, a not very probable attempt ; and Sir James Sandilands, a knight of Malta, was despatched to Paris for tliis purpose. The reception of the wortliy knight was such as might be expected, more especially as the two earls had been sent to Elizabeth with the proposal of marriage. Mary refused to sanction the proceedings of a. parliament which had been summoned without her autho- rity, and which had acted in the very face of the treaty, and sought to destroy the religion in which she had been educated. When Tlirockmorton waited on her for the rati- fication of the treaty, .she declined that also, alleging that her subjects had already violated every article of it ; that they had acted in absolute independence of her sanction ; and that Elizabeth had not only continued to support her subjects in their disloyalty, but had herself infringed the treaty by admitting to her presence deputies from the par- liament who had proceeded without the consent of their sovereign. The princes of Lorraine, Mary's uncles, expressed the utmost indignation at the whole proceeding, and are said to have taken measures for invading Scotland with much greater forces than before, and punishing the audacious reformers. All such speculations were cut short by the death of Francis II., the husband of Mary, on the 2nd of December, 15G0. Ho had always been a sickly personage, and his reign had lasted only eighteen months. His successor, Cliarles IX., was only nine years of age, and with a mind and constitution not exhibiting more promise of health and vigour than those of his late brother. His mother, Catherine de Medici, became regent, .and his uncles of Lorraine lost the direction of aS'airs. Catherine and Mary were no friends ; the young queen-dowager of Fiance, only nineteen, was now treated harshly and contemptuously by the lady-regent, and I she retired to Rheims, where she spent the winter amongst her relatives of Lorraine. But, if she was coldly treated by the new court of Prance, she was not likely to receive any the more genial treatment from her cousin of England. It were hard to say whether her own subjects of Scotland or Elizabeth contemplated her return to Scotland with more aversion. Her subjects saw in her a princess whose religious ideas were totally opposed to their own, and to their schemes for its predominance. Elizabeth, though she felt that the union of France and Scotland was severed by the death of Francis, knew that Mary's beauty, accomplishments, and crown, would soon attract new lovers, and that some alli- ance might be formed which might become as formidable as the one just extinct. In conjunction, therefore, with 412 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED EISTORY OP ENGLAND. [A.D. 1561. is ■■ Tj, and, in fact, traitorous subjects, Elizabeth pr. tike the most arbitrary and unwarrantable inca.>urcs tor preventing the return of the S^'ottish (niccn to her kingJoni, and for dictating to her such a marriage M should suit her own views. The fleet of Winter, therefore, continued cruising in the Frith of Forth, and Randolph pressed the lords of the eongrogation to tnter into a perpetual league with England, ere their own sovereign could return, as well as to unite in the great object of preventing their mistress marrying a foreign prince, by compelling her to give her hand to one of her own subjects. These lords of the new religion fell into Elizabeth's plans with the utmist al.icrity, for they were Very much their own, and promised to keep up the lucra- tive connection with t'lio English court. Chatelhernult' Morton, Olencairn, and Argyll promised their most devoted services ; Maitland, as secretary, agreed to betray to Cecil all the plans of Mary and the party with whom she would naturally act ; and the lord James, the base brother, pro- ceeded to France, ostensibly to condole with his sister, but really to make himself master of h'r views and intentions, and, returning by England, revealed them to Elizabeth. and encouraged her to intercept the young queen by the way. Perhaps no set of men ever cast such discri^dit on the cause of religion as these Scottish lords of the congre- gation. As a distinguished historian has justly remarked, with them "loyalty and morality appear to have been empty names." Perhaps in all history there is no instance of a more dark and ungenerous conspiracy against a young and generous queen than this against Mary of Scotland. The envoys of Elizabeth lost no time in pressing Mary to ratify the treaty. Again and again they returned to the charge, and on every occasion Mary gave the same answer — a most reasonable one — which she bad given to Throck- morton ; namely, that, as it was a subject which vitally affected her crown and people, her husband being dead, ■ind her uncles refusing to give her advice upon it, lest they should seem to interfere with Scotland, she cjuld not decide till she had reached her kingdom, and had consulted with her council. She might have repeated what she had at first stated, that the treaty had been openly violated both- by Elizabeth and her own subjects. In one respect Mary Wiis ill-advised, and that was to ask permis.iion of Elizabeth to pass through England on her way to Scotland. The proud English queen, incensed at Mary's prudent resistance to her attempts to force her into the ratification of the abused treaty, now, on D'Oyselles preferring this request in writing, answered him with griat passion, and in the presence of a crowded court, that the queen of Scots must ask no favour till she had signed the treaty of Edinburgh. When this ungenerous and unqucenly refusal was communicated to Mary, she sent for Throckmorton, and requesting all present to retire to a distance, in n manner to mark the sense of the rude con- duct of his own queen, she thus addressed him : — " My lord ambassador, as I know not how fur I may be transported by paiision, I like not to have so many witnesses of my infirmity as the queen your mistress had, when she talked, not long since, with M. d'Oyeelles. There is nothing that doth more grieve me tli,an that I did so forget myself as to have asked of her a favour which I could well have done without. 1 came here in defiance of the attempts made by her brother Edward to prevent me, and, by the grace of God, I will return without her leave. It is well known that I have friends an 1 allies who have power to assist me, but r chose rather to be indebted to her friendship. If she choose, she may h.ivc me for a loving kinswoman and useful neighbour, for I am not going to practise against her wirii her subjects as she has done with mine : yet I know there be in her realm those that like not the present stnte of things. The queen says I am young and lack I'xperionc?. I confess I am younger than she is, yet I know how to carry myself lovingly and justly with my friends, and not to cost any word against her which may be unworthy of a qu"en and a kinswoman ; and, by her permission, I am as much a queen as herself, and can carry my carriage as high as she knows how to do. She hath hitherto assisted my subjects against me ; and now I am a widow it may bo thought strange that she would hinder me in returning to my own country." She added that she had never been wanting in all friendly offices towards Elizabeth, but that she dis- believed or overlooked these offices ; and that she heartily wished that she was as nearly allied to her in affection as in blood, for that would be a most valuable alliance. Nothing can breathe a finer spirit of womanly honour and of generous feeling than this speech, so opposed to the dark and unprincipled policy of Elizabeth ; and no one can read it without feeling that, had Mary of Scotland found on the English throne a woman as open in her character and friendly in her intentions as herself, the colour of subse- quent events in both kingdoms would have been very different. Mary now prepared to make her way home by sea. Her false half-brother, the lord .Tames, who, instead of being to her, at this trying moment, a friend and stanch counsellor, was. and had long been, leagued with her most troublesome and rebellious subjects, her most insolent and fanatic enemies, and was looking forward, by the aid of Elizabeth of England, the mortal foe and je.alous rival of the young queen, not yet twenty, to engross the chief power in the state, if not eventually to push his unsuspecting sister from the throne. The catholics of Scotland were quite alive to the dangers which attended their sovereign in such com- pany, and deputed Lesley, the bishop of Ross, a man of high integrity, which, through a long series of troubles, he manifested towards his queen, to go over and return with her. Lesley was so much alarmed by the dangers which menaced her amongst her turbulent .ind zeal-excited sub- jects, that he advised her in private to extend her voyage to the Highlands, and put herself under the protection of the earl of Huntley, who. at the head of a large army, would conduct her to her capital, and place her in safety on her throne, at the same time that he enabled her to protect the ancient religion. But Mary would not listen to any- thing like a return by force. She determined to throw herself on the affections of her subjects, and to go amongst them peaceably. The return of this youthful queen to her own country and capital is one of the saddest things on record. She had left it as a child, to avoid I'eing forcibly seized and m.irricd, from political motives, to the boy king of England. She had been educated in all the case and gaiety of the French court. Far removed from the perpetual storms and struggles of her own country and race, she had given her- self up to the enjoyments of a peaceful and pleasant lite, to social pleasures, music and poetry, iu which she excelled. A D. 1561.] LANDING OF 5IARY IN SCOTLAND. 413 All that slie knew of her country from history showed her a race of proud, rude, half-savnge nobles, who had made the lives of her ancestors miserable; who had murdered some, pursued others with perpetual rebellions, and sent them to their graves in broken-hearted despair. All that she had heard from her own mother were the eternal details of the same conflict of weapons, factions, and opinions. With a divided people, with an aristocracy to a great extent sold to do the work of her powerful and, as it proved, deadly enemy, the queen of England, with all the disadvantages of attractive charms and inexperienced youth, she was going, as it were, from calm sunshine to perpetual tempest, and into a very whirlpool of dark passions and heated antipathies, which required a far more vigorous hand, a far cooler and more worldly temperament than her own to steer through. If she could have known her enemies from her friends, that would liave been something; but the basest and most deeply bribed traitors, the cruelest and most unfeel- ing of her enemies, were immediately around her throne, which they had already undermined with treason, and over- shadowed with death. JIary embarked at Calais on the 1.5th of August. So long as the coast of France remained in sight she continued to giizo upon it ; and when at length it faded from her straining vision, sho stretched her arms toward.s it, and exclaimed, "Farewell, beloved France, farewell ! I shall never see thee more ! " There had passed her youth in honour and happiness. It was the only happy portion of her short existence; and no sooner did she turn to face the dark, rude sea, than her indefatigable enemy of Eng- land appeared. Elizabeth was there by her admiral to obstruct her progress, and, if possible, to seize her person. So soon as the intention of Mary to return to Scotland was known, Elizabeth collected a squadron of men-of-war in the Downs, on pretence of cruising for pirates in the narrow seas. In defiance of this, Mary put to sea, with only two galleys and four transports, and, accompanied by the lord James, bishop Leslie, three of her relatives, the duiio of Aumerle, the grand prior of France, and the marquis d'Elboouf, the marquis Damville, and other French noblemen. They wore not long in falling in with tlie English fleet ; but a thick fog enabled them to escape, except one transport, on board of which was the earl of Eglinton. Yet so near was the British admiral to the queen, that ho overtook and searched two other transports containing her trunks and effects. Failing, however, of the great prize, they let the ships go, and then pretended that they were only in quest of the pirates. But, on the 12th, only three days before Mary sailed, Cecil had written to the earl of Sussex, that " there were three ships in the North Seas to preserve the fishers from pyrates," and he added that he thought they would fie sornj to see iltc queen of Scots pass. Elizabeth, having missed the mark, thought it necessary to apologise for the visit of her admiral, and wrote to Mury that she had sent a few barques to sea to cruise after certain Scottish pirates at the request of the king of Spain ; and Cecil wrote to Throckmorton that , " the queen's majesty's ships that were on the seas to cleanse them from pirates, saw her (the queen of Scots), and saluted her galleys ; and, staying her ships, examined them gently. One they detained as vehemently suspected of piracy." So flimsy and shameless were the pretences of Elizabeth's ministers, wlio never hesitated at an action because it was despioa'ile, if it were, as they thought, politic, and never lacked au excuse for their proceedings, though often a very transparent one. On August the 19th, after a few days' voyage, Mary landed on her rugged native shore at Leilh. She had come a fortnight earlier than she had fixed, to prevent the schemes of her enemies ; but the mass of the people flew to welcome her, and crowded the beach with hearty acclama- tions : the lord.?, however, says a contemporary, had taken small pains to honour her reception, and " cover the naked- ness of the land." Instead of the gay palfreys of France to which she had been accustomed, in their rich accoutre- ments, she saw a wretched set of Highland sheltiea pre- pared to convey her and her retinue to Holyrood ; and when she surveyed their tattered furniture, and mounted into the bare wooden saddle, the past and the present came so mournfully over her, that her eyes filled with tears. The iionest joy of her people, however, was an ample compensation, had sho not known what ill-will lurked in the background against her amongst the nobles and clergy. Mary was unquestionably the finest woman of her time. Tall, beautiful, accomplished, in the freshness of her youth, not yet nineteen, distinguished by the most graceful manners, and the most fascinating disposition, she was formed to captivate a people sensible to such charms. But she came into her country, in every past age turbulent and independent, at a crisis when the public spirit was divided and embittered by religious controversy, and she was exposed to the deepest suspicion of the reforming party, by belonging to a family notorious for its bigoted attachment to the old religion. Yet the open candour of her disposi- tion, and her easy condescension, seemed to make a deep impression on the mass. They not only cheered her enthusiastically on the way to her ancient ancestral palace, but aljouttwo hundred of the citizens of Edinburgh, playing on three-stringed fiddles, kept up a deafening serenade under her windows all night ; and such was her good- natured appreciation of the motive, that she thauked them in the morning for having really kept her awake after the fatiguing voyage. Not quite so agreeable even was the conduct of her liege subjects on the Sunday in her chapel, where, having ordered her chaplain to perform mass, such la riot was raised, that had not her natural brother, the lord James Stuart, interfered, the priest would have been killed at the altar. This was a plain indication that, however the reformers demanded liberty of conscience for themselves, they meant to allow none, and a month afterwards the same riot was renewed so violently in the royal chapel at Stirling, that Randolph, writing to Cecil, said that the carl of Argyll and the lord James himself this time "so disturbed the quire, that some, both priests and clerks, left their places with broken heads and bloody ears." Mary bore this rude and disloyal conduct with an ad- mirable patience. She had the advantage of the counsels of D'Oyselles, who had spent some years in the country, and had learned the character of the people. She placed the leaders of the congregation in honour and power around her, making the lord James her chief minister, and Malt- land of Lcthington hei- secretary of state, both of whom, however, we are alrc;idy aware, were in the pay and interests of the English le might rise ia cpca i.D. 15G1.] REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. 415 416 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1561. rebellion and drive her from her throne. Such were the ragged and uncouth notions vrbich this Scottii^h npostle had imported Jrom Geneva, nnd mistook for the religion of Christ, for that charily which suffereth long ood thinketh no ill. But it was not merely the religion of queen Mary which was exposed to this cynical and dumineering spirit : the most innocent actions of her life, the most graceful and innocuous of her acquirements, were subj-'Cted to the Iron shears of this bitter Calvinistic philosophy. Mary had been accustomed to the enjoyment of music and the exhila- ration of a social dance. All this was vile and scandalous in the eyes of Knox and his associates, abe could not follow her hawks to the field, nor scarcely enjoy the pleasure of a ride amid her court, without being denounced ae a vain and sinful Jezebel. "It is difficult," says Knight's History, "to conceive a greater vulgarity of ideas or coarseness of language than that in which the presbyterian clergy assaiie.i these pa.-- times, which can be only sinful in excess — an excels not proved in the case of the queen. The preachers, one and all, were at least as bold in public as John Knox hiid been in his private conference. Every nulpit and hill-side was made to shake with awful denunciations of Qod's wrath and vengeance ; and, following the example of their leader, they affirmed that, instead of dancing and singing, and hearing vile masses — the worst offence of all — thu queen ought to go constantly to tb'e kirk and hear ihni preach the only true doctrine. It was repeated daily that idolatry was worthy of death ; that papistry was rank idolatry ; that the person who uphold or in any way defended the Roman church was on the high-road to hell, however sin- cerely convinced of his religion being the true one. This sour spirit fermented wonderfully among the citizens of Edinburgh. The town-council, of their own authority, issued a proclamation, banishing from their town all the wicked rabble of antichrist, the pope — such as priests, monks, and friars, together with nil adulterers and forni- cators. The privy council, indignant at this assumption of an authority which could only belong to the sovereign and the parliament, suspended the magistrates ; and then the magistrates, the preachers, and the people declared that the queen, by an unrighteous sympathy, made herself the protector of adultcrei-s and fornicator;*. Before any cir- cumstance had occurred calculated tj throw suspicion on Mary's conduct, either as a queen or a woman, she was openly called Jezebel in the pulnit ; and this became the appellation by which John Khos usually designated the sovereign. It was in vain that Mary tried to win the favour of the zealous reformer. She promised him ready access to her whenever he should desire it ; nnd entreated him, if he found her conduct blamable, to reprehend her in private rather than vilify her in the kirk before the whole poop'e. But Knox, wliose notions of the rights of his clerical office were of the most towering kind, nnd who, upon other motives besides those connected with religion, had declared a female reign to be an abomination, was not •willing to gratify the queen in any of her demands. He told her it was her duty to go to kirk to hear him, not his duty to wait upon her -, and then came the u~ual addition, that if she gave up her mass-priest, and diligently attended upon the servants of the Lord, her soul might possibly be saved and her kingdom spared the judgments of an offended God. There was certainly a Calrinistic republicanism interwoven with this wonderful man's religious creed. Elizabeth blamed Mary that she had not sufficiently con- formed to the advice of the protestant teachers ; but if Elieabeth herself had bud to do with -uch a preacher as John Knox, she would, having the power, hare sent him to the Marshalsca in one week, and to the pillory, or a worse place, in the next. He once told queen Mary that he would submit to her even ;v5 Paul had submitted to Nero. But even this expression was ni !d and moderate compared with others, in which he renoui. • 1 his submission, md upheld the holiness of regicide and the slaughter of catholic priests. 'Samuel,' said this fearful man to the young queen, ' feared not to slay Agag, the fat and delicate king of .Vmaiek, whom king S«ul had saved ; neither spared Blias Jezebel's false prophets and Baal's priests, though king Ahab was present. jVnd so, madam, your grace may see tliat others than chief m.igistrat^^s may lawfully inflict punishment on such crimes as are condemed by the law of God.' " It is, perhaps, impossible to conceive a situation more appalling than that of this young and accomplished queen suddenly thrown into the midst of this soar effervescence of spiritual pride and boorish dogmatism, so totally insen- sible to the finer influences of social life, so otteily uncon- scious of the rights of conscience in those of a different opinion Mary certainly showed far most a Christian spirit. She remind d Knox of his offensive and con- temptuous book against women, gently admonished him to be more liberal to those who could not think as he did, and use more meekness of speech in his sermons. But the Scottish clergy at that moment received a severe recompense for their contempt of the social amenities, in their aristocratic coadjutors treating them as men who had no need of temporal advantages. The nobles used them to overturn by their preaching the ancient church ; and that done, they quietly but firmly appropriated the substance of it to themselves. The example of the English hierarchy had not been lost upon them. When the clergy put in their claim for a fair share of the booty, the nobles affected great surprise at such a worldly appetite iu such holy men. The clergy proposed that the property of the church should be divided into three portions : one-third for the pastors of the new church, one-third for the poor, and one-third for the endowment of schools and colleges. Maitland of Leth- ington asked Knox, ''Where, then, was the portion of the nobles ? Were they to become hoJ-bearers in tliis build- ing of the kirk?" Knox replied that they might he worse employed. But he nnd his fellow ministers had different material to operate upon in the hard-fisted nobles. They might browbeat and insult a young queen, bat r extensive favours by her ambitious brother, the lord .Tames, prior of St. Andrews. She created him earl of Jlar, and she further contemplated conferring on him the ancient etirldom of Murray, which had been forfeited to the crown in the reign of James IL A great part of the property, however, of this earldom, had been taken pQsgpfisidn of by the earl of Huntley, the head of the mo.'it powerful family in the north. Huntley had oft'ered, if Marv would land in the Highlands, to conduct her to Edinburgh at the head of twenty thousand men, and enable her to put down the whole body of reformers. Mary had declined this offer, as the certain cause of a civil war, if accepted. Huntley, therefore, stood aloof from the present government, and was especially hostile to the earl of Mar, who was the leading person in it. Mar determined to break the power of this haughty chief, and thus wrest from him the land.s he claimed for his new earldom. It did not require much persuasion on the part of Mary, who was anxious to advance her brother, to sanction this design of Mar ; and the son of Huntley, Sir John Gordon, having committed some feudal outrage, was seized and imprisoned for a short term. This punishment was regarded as an indignity by the house of Gordon, and the symptoms of disaffection towards tlie government were increased. Mary, therefore, took the field with her brother, the lord James, and marched into the Highlands at the head of her troops. The earl of Huntley, dismayed at this spirit in the young queen, who appeared to enjoy the excitement and the inconveniences of a campaign, hastened to make overtures of accommodation ; and the matter would pro- bably have been soon amicably arranged, but, unfortunately, a party of Huntley's vassals refused Mary and her staff entrance into the castle of Inverness, and made a show of holding it against her. They were, however, soon com- pelled to surrender, and the governor executed as a trr.itor. At this time, Sir Jolin Gordon, escaping from his prison, flew to arms, roused the vassals of the clan Gordon far and wide ; and his father, seeing no longer any chance of accommodation, led his forces into the field. He advanced towards Aberdeen, and met Mar, who had now exchanged that title for the title of earl of Murray, encamped on the hill of Fare, near Corriohie. There Murray, as an excellent soldier, defeated Huntley, who was killed on the field, or died soon after. His son. Sir John Gordon, Avas seized and executed at Aberdeen, three days after the battle. Murray was thus placed in full possession of his title and new estate, and Mary, with so able and powerful a relative as her chief minister, appeared in a position to command obedience from her refractory subjects. But now a new danger menaced her from the rival queen of England, who was still btnt on seeing Mary so mairied as to give her no additional power. Before, however, entering on this subject, we must take a view of Eh'zabeth's own proceedings, during the period we have followed the fortunes of Mary of Scotland. In the summer of this year Elizabeth made one of those progresses in which she so much delighted, through Essex and Suffolk. In the course of this progress she complained much of the negligent performance of divine service by the clergy, and of their not wearing their surplices. What still more incensed her was the number of married clergy, and the number of children and wives in the cathedrals and colleges, which, she said, was contrary to the intention o£ the founders, and very disturbing to the studies of the students and clergy. Nothing excited her indignation so much as a married bishop ; and, on her lirst visit to Parker, the archbishop of Canterbury, though she had put the primate and his wife to enormous expense and trouble, she addressed Mrs. Parker at parting in these words : — " And you ! — madam 1 may not call you, mistress 1 am ashamed to call you— but, howsoever, I thank you." Hearing that Pilkington, the bishop of Durham, had given his daughter ten thousand pounds as a marriage portion — as much as her father, king Henry, left her — she imme- diately deducted a thousand a year from the revenue of bis see, which she appropriated to the maintenance of the garrison at Berwick. But marriage in any shape threw her into paroxysms of rage. On this progress, whilst -at Ipswich, she learned that lady Catherine Gray, a sister of the unfortunate lady Jane Gray, who was one of her bed-chamber ladies, was likely to become a mother. This news excited her extreme fury; but still greater was her wrath when, on inquiring of the young lady herself, she found that she was clandestinely married to the earl of Hertford. Lady Catherine Gray was the eldest surviving daugliter of Frances Brandon, duchess of Suffolk, whose posterity was named by the will of Henry VIIL as the next successors to the throne, and, by the party opposed to the queen of Scots, held to be the heirs presumptive. With Elizabeth's terror of all successors, this discovery produced in her the most violent emotions. The earl of Hertford, dreading her anger, had taken the precaution to retire to France. The remembrance of her own flirtations with the lord-admiral, the uncle of this young lord Hertford, and the disgraceful disclosures brought before the privy council of Edward VI., a'jout ten years before, had no effect in neutralising her resentment. She committed lady Catherine to the Tower ; and Cecil, writing to the earl of Sussex, — Cecil, who owed his first court favour to the lord protector, the father of this lord Hertford,— used the grossest terms regarding lady Cathe- rine, and tlien a Ided, " She is committed to the Tuwor ; he is sent for. She saith that she was married to him secretly before Chri.-^tmas last." Lady Catherine Gray, in her turn, .appealed to lord Robert Dudley, so soon to be earl of Essex, the great favourite of Elizabeth, and brother to lord Guildford Dudley, the decapitated husband of her sister lady Jane, to inter- cede with Elizabeth on her behalf; but the heartless courtier refused, and Lady Catherine was conveyed to the Tower, where she was delivered of a son. When lord Hertford returned on the royal summons, he was also comniitted to the Tower, but to a sepaiatc apartment. By the connivance of Warner, the lieuicnaut of the Tower, the unhappy 418 CASSELLS ILLDSTRATED HISTORY OF ENQLAXD. [a.d. 1562. husband and wife were permitted to visit each other — snolber child was born — and Elizabeth then giving way to her rage, she discharged Warner from his office, fined the earl of Hertford fifteen thousand pounds, for seducing, as she called it, a lady of tlie blood roy.il, and for breaking his prison to renew his offence. The sister of Hertford, lady Jane Seymour, being dead, who was the solo witness to the marriage, Elizabeth declared it null and void, and the children illegitimate. Lady Catherine was kept in con- finement till death released her, in 1507; and lord Hertford, who had recovered his liberty, was again incarcerated for endeavouring to prove the legitimacy of his children. This lawless and tyrannic conduct of Elizabeth, true daughter of Henry VIII., caused much discontent ; for the house of Suffolk had many adherents in opposition to the Scottish claim on the throne, but few dare speak out loudly. Those who did were severely punished. Hales, clerk of the Hanaper, was committed to the Tower for defending lady Catherines marriage, and her claim to the succession, lord keeper Bacon was visited with the resentment of his royal mistress, on suspicion of inciting Hales to this task ; and even Cecil was brought into jeopardy on the same ground, notwithstanding his apparentrreadiness to prosecute and malign the unfortunate victim of Elizabeth's jealousy. Nor did this arbitrary conduct of Elizabeth end here. In 1564 lady Mary Gray, the remaining sister of lady Catherine, perpetrated the like crime of marrying, and Elizabeth immediately committed her and her husband to separate prisons. In the spring of 1562 Elizabeth became engaged in the support of the Huguenots, or protestants of France, against their government, as she had supported the covenanters of Scotland. After the failure of the conspiracy to surprise the court at Amboise, and the accession of Catherine de Medici to the regency, the heads of the party again flew to arms ; but Catherine making concessions, in order to engage Conde, Coligny, and their party to assist her in counteracting the influence of the house of Guise, a treaty was entered into by which the protestants were to be allowed free exercise of their religion. But the duke of Guise becoming possessed of the person of the king, soon persuaded Catherine, his mother and regent, to infringe the conditions of the treaty. The Huguenots again rose in defence of their principles and persons, and no less than fourteen armies were soon on foot in one part or another of France. The duke of Guise headed the catholics; the prince of Conde, Admiral Coligny, Andelot, and others, commanded the Huguenots. The parliament of Paris issued an edict, authorising the catholics to massacre the protestants wherever they found them ; the protestants retaliated with augmented fury, and carnage and violence prevailed throughout the devoted country. The duke of Guise found himself so hard driven by the protestants, in whose ranks the very women and children fought fiercely, that he entreated Philip of Spain to come to his aid. Philip gladly engaged in so congenial a work, his own protestant subjects having had bloody experience of his bigotry, and sent into France six thousand men, besides money. On this the prince of Conde appealed to Elizabeth for support against the common enemies of their religion. To induce her to act promptly in their favour, he offered to put Havre- de- Grace immediately into her bands. Now-a-days, in each a case, the English government would take the public means of endeavouring by negotiation to induce its ally to concede their rights to its subjects. But Elizabeth took her favourito mode of privately aiding the discontented subjects of a power with wliom she was at peace, against their sovereign. She made no overtures to Catherine do Medici, as queen-regent. She made no declaration of war, but desp.itched Sir Henry Sidney, the father of the after- wards celebrated Sir Philip Sidney, ostensibly to mediate betwixt the catholics and protestants, but really to enter into a compact with Condi', to furnish him with a hundred thousand crowns, and to send over sii thousand men, under Sir Edward Poynings, to take possession of the forts of Havre and Dieppe. On the 3rd of October a fleet carried over the stipulated force, took possession of the ports, and Ambrose Dudley, earl of Warwick, the brother of the favourite, lord Robert Dudley, was made commander-in-chief of the English army in France. The French ambassador, with the treaty of Catau Cambresis in his hand, demanded the cause of the infringement of the thirteenth article of this treaty, and reminded the queen that, by proceeding to hostilities, she would at once forfeit all claim to Calais at the expiration of the prescribed period. Elizabeth replied that she was in arms, in fact, on behalf of the king of France, who was a prisoner in the hands of Guise ; and when the ambassador required her, in the name of his sovereign, to withdraw hsr troops, she refused to believe that the demand came from the king, because he was not a free agent, and that it was the duty of Charles l.X. to protect his oppressed subjects, and to thank a friendly power for endeavouring to assist him in that object. But these sophisms deceived nobody. The nobility of France regarded Guise, who had driven the English out of France by the capture of Calais, as the real de- fender of the country ; and CondiS, who had brought them in again by the surrender of Havre and Dieppe, was considered a traitor. Numbers flocked to the standard of Guise and the queen-regent, who were joined by the king of Xavarre. The royal army, with Charles in person, be- sieged Rouen, to which Poynings, the English commander at Havre, sent a reinforcement. The governor of the city defended it obstinately against this formidable combination, and the Englishmen, mounting a breach which was made, fought till their last man fell. Two hundred of them thus perished, and the French, rushing in over their dead bodies, pillaged the place for eight days with every circumstance of atrocity. The fall of Rouen and the massacre of a detachment of her troops was news that no one dared to communicate to Elizabeth. The ministers induced her favourite, lord Robert Dudley, to undertake the unwelcome task ; but even he dared only at first to hint to her that a rumour of defeat was afloat. When at length he disclosed the truth, Eliza- beth blamed nobody but herself, confessing that it was her own reluctance to send sufficient force which had caused it all. She determined to send fresh reinforcements ; com- missioned count Oldenburg to raise twelve thousand men in Germany, and ordered public prayers for three days in succession for a blessing on her arms in favour of the gospel. Conde, who had been engaged ne.ir Orleans, on the arrival of six thousand mercenaries from Germany, advanced to- wards Paris ; and at Dreux, on the banks of the Dure, where 15G3.] PEKAL STATUTE AGAINST THE CATHOLICS. 419 the duke of Guise achieved a victory over the Huguenots, Oondo and Montmoi'eney, a leader of each party, were t.iten [.risoners ; and Coligny, who now became the chief Huguenot general, fell back on Orleans, and sent pressing cntipatio.i to Elizabeth for the suprilies wbieli slie was bound by the treaty to furnisli. The English queen, never fond of parting with her monoy, had at this crisis none in lior exchequer. But money must be forthcoming, or the cause of protestantism must fail, to her great disgrace, through her bad faith. The German mercenaries wore clamorous for their pay, none of which they had received, and tlio representations of Coligny were so urgent, that Elizabeth was compelled to summon a parliament, and ask for supplies. P.arliamcnt met on the I3th of February, 1563; but as Elizalietli liad just had a dangerous attack of small-pox, in which her life had been despaired of, the commons imme- diately presented to her an address, praying her to set the mind of the country at rest as to the succession, by choosing a husband, or by naming her heir. To get rid of this awk- ward dilemma, she saw herself required to name the queen of Scots, or the lady Catherine Gray, whom she had impri- soned, and whose children she had bastardised, as her successor. This she was resolved not to do; but, as she had now the duke of Wurtemberg as a fresh admirer, she pre- ferred thinking of a husband. Parliament not being able to get from her anything more decisive, consented to vote her a subsidy upon land, and two-tentha and fifteenths upon movables. She called for it, on the plea of defending her throne against the catholics of France, as she had catholics i and convocation equalled parliament in the intolerant character of its proceedings. It new modelled the articles of t!iR church, making them thirty-nine, as they stiil remain ; but, instead of leavin'.; them as matters of voluntary acceptance, they decreed that any one openly declaring his dissent from them, or attempting to bring them into discredit, sliould, for thi first offence, p.ay a fine of one hundred marks, four hundred for the second, and for the third should forfeit the whole of his possessions, and be imprisoned for life. But tlie privy council disallowed of this decree, which, indeed, was wholly unnece.ssnry to place the catholics under the foot of tlie law, for the oath of supremacy did that effectually. The government and church of Elizabeth had now, in fact, adopted that doctrine of infallibility, which they had so vehemently condemned in the papal church, and they h,ad now only one step to go, in order to stand side by side with it in persecution, which a few years actually brought to pass. Convocp.tion having voted the queen a subsidy of six ' shillings in the pound, payable in three years, parliament was prorogued. Meantime affairs in France had been anything but satis- factory. The Huguenot chiefs had promised Elizabeth, as the price of her assistance, the restoration of Calais. Elizabeth, on her part, ordered the earl of Warwick not to advance with his troops beyond the walls of Ham ; and when Coligny reduced tlie principal towns of Normandy, he gave up their plunder to his German auxiliaries, and, instead of awarding any sliare to the English, complained loudly of the neutrality of Warwick's troops, and the more before defended it from the catholics of Scotland, who, if ' so when he saw the duke of Guise preparing to lay siege to they could succeed in putting down the protcstants, con- tcmrlated dosisui^ dangerous to protesfcant England. It was pretended that the same dangerous spirit existed in the catholics of this country, and parliament was called vpon to pa?s an act extending the oath of supremacy to all catholic subjects. Before, it had been confined to such only as being heirs, holding under the crown, sued out the livery of their lands, or who sought appointment? or pre- ferment in church or state. It was now not only sought to impose it on all persons, but to make its first refusal punish- able by premunire, its second by death. So severe a law, had it passed, and been carried with any considerable rigour into effect, would have revived the dreadful persecu- tions of the late reign. The bill was violently opposed, especially by viscount Montague in the peers. He con- tended that the catholics had created no disturbance ; that they neither preached, disputed, nor disobeyed the queen, and that such compulsion could only create hypocrites, or louse the resentful into enemies. The bill passed eventually, though sliorn of much of its mischief, yet still extending its liability to members of the house of commons, schoolmasters, private tutors, attorneys, and to all person.s who had held office in the church or any ecclesiastical court during the three past years, who should hereafter seek such office, or who should disapprove of the established worship, or attend mass publicly or privately. Members of the house of commons, schoolmasters, or attorneys, could only have the oath tendered once, so that they could imly be fined and imjirisoned : Init all others, if not peers,, were liable on refusal to death. After so barbarous a law, the reformed church had little cause to bo.asl of its advance in Chrisiinintv over the Orleans. But Guise was assassinated by Poltrot, a deserter from the Huguenot army, and this circumstance produced a great change amongst the belligerents on both sides. The catholics were afraid of the English uniting with Coligny, and gaining still greater advantages in Normandy ; and, on the other hand, Condt' was anxiou.s to make peace, and secure the position in the French government which Guise had held. A peaca w.as accordingly concluded on the Gth of March, in which freedom for the exercise of their religion was conceded to the Huguenots in every town of Franco, Paris excepted ; and the Huguenots, in return promised to support the government. Elizabeth, in her anger at this treaty, made without any reference to her, appeared to abandon her own shrewd sense. Though the French government offered to renew the treaty of Citau, to restore Calais at the stipulated time, Havre being of course surrendered, and to repay her all the sums advanced to the Huguenots, she refused, and declared that she would maintain Havre against the whole realm of France. But wlien she saw that the two parties were united to drive tlie English tioops out of Franco, she thought better of it. She despatched Throckmorton to act for her, in conjunction with Sir Thomas Smith, her am- bassador. But Throckmorton arrived too late. The united parties were now pretty secure of the surrender of Iltivre ; and, as Throckmorton's intrigues in France were notorious, to prevent a repetition of them, they seized him on pretence of having no pi-oper credcntiiils, and deferred audience to Sir Thomas Smith from day to day, whilst they pushed on the siege. To prevent insurrection, or co-operation with the French outside, Warwick had expelled most of the native iuliabi- 420 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORT OF ENGLAND, [a.d. 1561. tants from ITavre. He had about five thousand men with him. and during the siege Sir Hugh Paulet threw in a rein- forcement of about eight hundred more. Elizab«h had now the mortification to see her old allies taking the command against her. Montmorency, the constable, had the chief command • and Conde, who had been the principal means of leading her into the war. served under him. Coligny, who had no faith in the perfidious Catherine de Medici, maintained a neutrality. Catherine herself pushed on the siege with all her energy. She entered the besieging camp, carrying with her the young king, her son. and summon- ing all liege Frenchmen to the contest. During the months of May and June the siege was conducted with great spirit, and the town was defended with equal bravery. In July a grand assault was made upon it with three thousand men, but they were beaten back with a loss of four hundred of their soldiers. On the 27th of the same month a fresh assault was made, which was as stoutly resisted. But the French had now gathered to the siege in immense numbers. It was of the highest importance to regain the town, which commanded the whole traCSc to Rouen, Paris, and a vast extent of country ; and the besiegers cut passages for the water in the marshes, and made the approaches to the town more passable. The batteries were now brought close under the wall, and breaches were at length made in it. To add to the extremity of the English, pestilence broke out, and, with the heat of summer, swept away the inhabitants by thou- sands. The streets were filled with the dead. The enemy cut ofif the supply of fresh water, and there was a failure of fresh provisions. It was clear that the place could not hold out long, yet the English manned the walls, defended the breaches, and, till the whole garrison was reduced to less than fifteen hundred men, gave no sign of surrender. The constable uiada the first proposals for a capitulation, which Warwick agreed to accept ; but such was the fury of the French soldiers, or, rather, the rabble collected from all quarters to the siege, that, in spite of the truce, they fired on the besieged repeatedly, and shot the earl of Warwick, as he stood in a breach in hose and doublet, through the thigh, with an arquehuse. The nest day the capitulation was signed, the garrison and people of the town being allowed to retire within sis days, with all their eflfects. The chief marshal, Edward Randall, caused the sick to be carried on board, that they might not be left to the mercy of the French, and himself lent a helping hand. But the infected troops and people carried out the plague with them ; it spread in various parts of England, and raged excessively in London. The inns of court were closed ; those who ; could fled into the country. To the plague was added scarcityof money and of provisions. There were earthquakes in Lincolnshire, Northamptonshire, and other places ; terrific thunders and lightnings— and all these terrors were attri- buted lij the catholics to the heresies which were in the ascendant. Thus terminated Elizabeth's demonstration in favour of the Huguenots. She contemplated the humiliating result 1 with indignation, which she w.is unable to conceal even in j the presence of Castelnau, the French ambassador. At one moment she declared that she would not consent to peace, at another she vowed that she would make her commis- sioners pay with their heads for oflFering to accept conditions which were gall to her haughty spirit. But there was no alternative. She first attempted to compel the French I court to liberate Throckmorton, by seizing the French envoy de Foix, and offering him in exchange ; but the French would not admit that Throckmorton was a duly- appointed ambassador, and in retaliation for the seizure of de Foix, they arrested Sir Thomas Smith, and consigned ' him to the castle of Melun. Elizabeth still held the bonds I for five hundred thousand crowns, or the restoration of I Calais, and the hostages ; and in the end she submitted to I surrender the hostages for the return of Throckmorton, and I reduced her claim of five hundred thousand crowns to one- I fourth of that sum. Tlius, not only Havre but Calais was I virtually resigned, though Elizabeth still claimed to nego- tiate on that point. The proud English queen was, in fact, most mortifyingly defeated, both in the cabinet and the field. The treaty was signed .\pril llth, 1504. This French campaign terminated, Elizabeth turned her attention again to Scotland, and the subject on which she was most anxious was the marriage of the Scottish queen. To Elizabeth, who abhorred above everything the very idea of any one ever succeeding her on the throne, it was of much consequence how Mary, her presumptive heir, should wed. If to a foreign prince, it might render the claim on the English throne doubly hazardous. By this time it was pretty clear that Elizabeth herself was resolved to take no partner of her power, and, before entering on her endeavours to provide M;iry of ScDtland with a husband, we may pass in brief review those offers which she herself had refused. Philip of Spain, we have already stated, lost no time, oa the death of queen Mary, in offering his hand to Elizabeth. She was flattered by the proposal, the more that, united with Spain, she could have no fear of the power of France, or of its demands on the throne for Mary of Scotland. But she was compelle'd to admit the representations of her wisest counsellors, that Philip, by his bigotry, had rendered his connection with England odious in the minds of the people ; that nothing could convert him to a tolerance of protestant- ism ; and that, as he stood to her precisely in the same degree of affinity as her fithcr had been to Catherine of Aragon, she could not marry him without admitting that their mar- riage had been valid, and that of her mother consequently null, and herself illegitimate. She assured the Spanish ambassador that if she ever m.irried she would prefer Philip to any other prince, but that she was totally debarred from such an alliance by Philip's former marriage with her sister. Philip replied, that the pope's dispensation could at once remove that obstacle,^ but, as she did not listen to that, he made no long delay, but offered his hand to Isabella of France, who accepted him, by which he rendered the position of Elizabeth still more dangerous, for now France Spain, and Scotland had a national alliance for the support of Catholicism and the suppression of the new faith. Her next suitor appeared in the person of Charles, arch- duke of Austria, the son of the emperor Ferdinand, and cousin of Philip. This prince was young, of agreeable person, and of superior talents and accomplishments. Again Elizabeth was much flattered by his addresses, and, again, his power would present a sufficient barrier to that of France. But then, again, his religion stood in the way -. he was a catholic, and of a most catholic family. So much encouragement, however, did Elizabeth give to this proposal, that she declared to count Elphinstone, the emperor's ambassador, " That of all the illustrious marriages that had A.V. 15W.] PKOPOSALS OF MARRIAUE TO liLlZABETII. ■J21 beeo offered to her, there wa3 not one greater, or that she affected more than that of the archduke Charles." She espressed a desire to see hiin in England, and it was quite expected that he would make his appearance ; but as it was insisted that he should have a private chapel for the exercisa of Lis own religion, this was a stumbling-block on that score. He was the son of the celebrated Gustavus Wasa. lie was of a romantic and excitable character, notorious for his amours at home, and not less eo for being an aspirer to the hands of Elizabeth of England, Mary of Scotland, and of a princess of Heese. John, his brother, was a man of a handsome and princely person, but 'caisfSTisS'- ^ Queen Elizabeth and her Suitors. tl:at could not })0 got ever. Somo years hence, howerer, vrc shall find him reviving his suit. Whilst the archduke was etill preferring his suit, there arrived another matrimonial ambassador, in the person of John, duke of Finland. He arrived on the 27th of September, 1559, to solicit the hand of Elizabeth for his brother, prince Eric, heir-apparent to the throne of Sweden. Eric was a protestant prince ; there could be no objection 83 ambitious and cruel. lie cama ot this time, commissioned by the aged Gustavus, to seek this alliance with the queen of England. John affected much magnificence, and wherever he went he threw handfuls of money amongst the people, saying, he gave silver, but his brother would give them gold. Elizabeth was evidently greatly charmed with the person and attentions of the handsome Swede, and it soon became rumoured that John was wooing fB 422 CASSKI-L-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [v.D. 1540. himself rather than for his hrother. Guttavus dy'ng and Eric just now f uccceding to the throne, he grew je.iluus of John, an 1 recalled him. In the stead of John, who was Terv copahlc of trying to supplant bis brother, and after- ward* did supplant him in the throne, and murdered him, Eric sent Nicholas Guilderstern as his ambo-o^adur, who was reported to have brought two ships laden with treasure for the queen, but who really did brin^ eighteen pied horses, and several chests of bullion, announcing that he was fallowing in person to lay his heart at the feet of the illustrious queen. Eric was said to be the handsomest man in Europe ; he was undoubtedly a man of great accomplishment, a profi- cient in music, and one of the earliest and best poets of his country, as his poetry still remaining testifies, one of his iiynms being yet sung at the execution of criminals. But Elisabeth never had an opportunity of witnessing the attractions of the Swedish monarch ; for though slie might have liked the flattery of his presence, she dreaded the ex- pense of entert.iining him and his suite, though he had sent ample provision for his expenditure. She, therefore, re- quested him to wait awhile, and the indignant aionarch castini; his eyes on a very kandaome countrywoman of liis own, the daughter of a oorponJ, named Karin, or Cathe- rine Mansdotter, married her, and made her queen of Sweden. Perhaps be could not have found a princess ia Europe equal to ber. She made him an admirable wife. comforting him in his imprisonraeut, and after bis death lived >vith her daughter and son-in-l.iw to a serene old age. Whilst Eric was wooing Elizabeth, the king of Oenmurk, out of political jealousy, seat over his nephew Adolphus, duke of Holstein. Etc arrived March 20th, 1560, and w.is received with much honour. Adolphus was youag, hand- some, had a great military reputation, and is said to have been really in love with the queen. ElizaVeth af reared equally charmed with iiim, but she could not prevail on herself to accept him. She made him knight of the garter, gave him a splendid reception and spleadid preeeats, and then politely dismissed him. At the same time that Charles of Aaetria, Eric of Sweden, and Adolphus of Holstein were contending for the rcyal prize, the earl of Arran was pat forward by Cecil himself, and strongly recommended as giving a claim on the throne of Scotland. Arran, tl.e son ©f the duke of Chatelhcrault, had been very active in the Scottish war of the reformation, stimulated by the smiles of the queen, and the support of her great minister ; hut when, in ISiiO, he made a formal application for his reward, Elizubeth shrouded herself in her old affected dislike of matrimony, and, when Arran retired in confusion, complained that, though crowned heads had prosecuted their suits for years, the Scot did not deign to prefer his request a second time. Arran soon after lost his reason, and the loss was attributed to this disappointment. To this list of regal or princely suitors, we may add Hans Catirair, the eldest son of the elector palatine. He was a remarkably handsome youth of three-and -twenty, who, though betrothed to the beautiful 3Iademoisellc de Lorraine, abandoned that alliance from the persuasion that, once seen by Eliz.ibeth, he was sure of success. Hans Casimir entreated Sir James Melville, who wns in his father's service, to proceed to London and prefoi- liis tuit, Melville, who was a shrewd Scotchman, declined the commission ; but Casimir found another agent, who, with his father's sanction, delivered his message. Til's queen replied, that " the young prince must come to Engl.tnd. either openly or in disguise, for she would never marry a man that she had not seen." This reply of the royal coquette gave Oasimir the highest hopes, but agtun Melville withstood his suit, by declaring that he knew tha queen never meant to marry, and therefore his journey would bo a fjol's errand, producing nothing but dis- appointment and enormous expense. Ho consented, however, to tat? his picture, which he did, and Eliiab;t!i treated it with contempt. On Melville sending this intelli- gence to H.ins Casimir, he was so far from resenting this treatment, or taking it to heart, that he thanked Melville for his services, and immediately married the eldest daughter of the duke of Saxe. Amongst suitors of lesser rank, we may name the grand prior of France, brother of the duke of Guise, and the youngest aocle of the queen of Scots. On returning to France from accompanying Mary to Scotlind, with tho constables and a hundred gentlemen of that embassy, ho and his associates paid a visit to the English court. Eliza- beth received them with great dietiiiction, and appeared part'jular'y charmed with the grand prior. He was a handsome and bold fellow, and entered into this nyal Krtation with .ill his heart. Brantome, who was one of the company, says, " I have often heard the queen of England address him thos: 'Ah, roon prieur, I love you much ; but I hate that brother Guise of yours, who tore from me my town of Calais.' " With this gay oavalier the English queen danced, and showed him great attention ; but let him go, and found eoosolation in admirers nearer home. One of these was Sir William Pickering, a han Isoraa man, of good address, at»d a ta«le for literature, who, for some weeks, engrossed so much of her attention, that the courtiers set him down as tho fortunate man. Ho was soon, however, forgotten ■ and the more uiature carl of Aruniel, a man of high descent, appeared to have a still more favourable hold on the fancy of the maiden queen. This nobleman, who, though a catholic, to please the queen voted for the reformation, and who nearly mined himself in expensive presents and eatertalameats for her, fell in a while under her displeasure, and wa« maS» a prisoner in his own house, for participation in Ae scheme of marrying tho dnke of Norfolk to Mary of Scotland, where he continued chiefly till his death. But of all the 1 ng array of the lovers of this famous queen— foreign or English — none ever acquired siich a place in her regard and favour as the lord Robeit Dudley, one of the sons of the duke of Northumberland, who had been attainted, with his father and family, for his participation in the attempt to place lady J.ane Gray on tho throne, to the exclusion of queen Mary and of this very Elizabeth. The queen restored him in blood, made him master of tho horse, installed him knight of the garter, and scon after this period cnil of Leicester. This maiden queen, who had rejected eo many kings and princes, soon became so enamoured of thl^ young nobleman, that their conduct became the scandal of the courc and country. The most current reports were believed, both in tliis country and abroad, of their living as m.an and wife, even whilst Leicester was still the husband of Amy Bobsart. The queen of Scots, in one of her letteri^. tells her that she bears this asserted, and that she had promised A.D. 1561.J PKOPOSED MABRIAGE OF MARY. •123 to marry him before ens of the ladles of the bed-chamber. Confirming this belief, Misa Strickland admits that Eliza- beth had Leicester's chamber adjoining her own. Throck- morton, her ambassador, sent his secretary, Jones, to inform Elizabeth privately, and at the suggestion of Cecil and the other ministers, of the coramoa remarks on this subject by the Spanish and Venetian ambassadors at Paris. Eliza- beth, listening to Jones's recital, including the account of the murder of Amy Hobsart, sometimes laughed, sometimes hid her face in her hands, but replied that she had heard it all before, and did not believe in the murder. From the evidence on this subject, it appears that Elizabeth had pro- mised Dudley to marry him, and was this time very near being involved in the trammels of matrimony; butshecscaped to have another long string of princely suitors, whose advents we have yet to relate. Careful to avoid the bonds of matrimony herself, Eliza- beth was, however, bent on securing in them the queen of Scots. Since Mary of Scotland had become a widoTi", the suitors of Elizabeth had transferred their attentions to her. She was younger and much handsomer ; her kingdom was much less important, but then she was by no means so haughty and immovable. She was of a warm, a generous, a poetic nature, and would soon have found a congenial hus- band, but either her own subjects or her rival Elizabeth had something in each case to object to. Her French relatives successively proposed Don Carlos, the son of Philip and heir of Spain ; the duke of Anjou, one of the brothers of her late husband ; the cardioal de Bourbon, who had not yflt taken priest's orders ; the duke of Ferrara, and some others. But none of these would suit her Scottish subjects, for they were all catholics ; and they suited Elizabeth as little, for they would create too strong a foreign coalition. Mary, with an extraordinary amiability, listened to all the objections of Elizabeth, and expressed herself quite disposed to accept such a husband as should be agreeable to her. But Mary was not without a piece of policy in this con- decension. She hoped to induce Elizabeth, by thus being willing to oblige her in this particular, to acknowledge her right to succeed her, but in this she was grievously dis- appointed. Elizabeth declared that " the right of succes- sion to her throne should never be made a subject of dis- cussion, for it would cause disputes as to the validity of this or that marriage ; " that is, it would assuredly bring prominently forward what Eli'/.abcth well knew was the weak place in her own claim — the illegal marriage of her mother. Mary declared herself ready to aaknowledge the right of Elizabeth and of her posterity to the English throne, if she would acknowledge that her claim stood next ; but Elizabeth replied that she could not do that, without con- ceivinga dislike to Mary, forshe asked "huwit was possible for her to love any one whoso interest it was to see her dead." This was Elisabeth's predominant and uncon- querable feeling, and this had been immensely strength- ened by what she had seen of the courtiers of her sister, flocking to herself so soon as she was named her successor. She never forgot that barefaced worship of the rising sun. AVhilst Elizabeth was making a progress in the summer of 15G3, in which her chief visit was to the university of Cambridge, where she made her Latin speech, she was greatly disturbed by the news that her old lover, the arch- duke Charles of Austria, was paying his addresses to the o he was happy in a great prince, who could diseern and reward good service.' 'Yet,' she replied, ' yo like better of yon long lad,' pointing towards my lord Darnley, who, as nearest prince of the blood, that d.ay bare the sword before her. My answer was ' that no woman of spirit would make choice of sic a man, that was liker a woman than a man, for he w.as lusty, beardless, and lady- faced.' I had no will that she should think 1 liked him, though I had a secret cliarge to deal with his mother, lady Lennox, to purchase leave for him to pass to Scotland." At this crisis it m.iy be as well to give a brief glance at whothe-e two noblemen were. We have seen that Du.lley, Dowoarl of Leicester, was the son of the late attainted diike of Northumberland and brother of the attainted lord Guildford Dudley. Leicester had won the fancy of Eliza- beth by his showy person, for that was his only attractive quality. He was neither brave, nor of superior ability, nor honourable. Ho had the worst possible character with the public at large, for almost every vice, and was confidently believed to be the murderer of hia wife. This was the beautiful Amy Robsart, w!ios3 story Sir Walter Scott has told in his " Kenilworth." As Leicester saw a pro?pect of marrying the queen, he is eaid, according to a contem- porary account, to have sent his wit'c " to the house of liis servant, Foster, of Ctimnor, by Oxford, whero shortly after she had tiie chance to ftdl from a pair of stairs, and so to break her neck, but yet without hurdng of her hood that stood upon her head. But Sir Richu;d Vurney, who, by commandment, remained with her tliat day alone with ouc man, and had scut away perforce ail her servante from her to a market two miles off, — he, I say, with his man, con tell you how she died." The account continues : " The man, being afterwards taken for a felony in the marches of Wales, and offering the matter oi the said murder, was made privily away in the prison ; and Sir Richard \'arney himself, who died about the same time in London, cried piteously and blas- phemed God, and said to a gentlemen of worship not long before his death, that all the devils in liell did tear him to pieces. The wife, also, of Baldwin Butler, kinsman to my lord, gave out the whole fact a little before her death.' Nor w.is this the firm belief of the multitude only, but of men of the highest estate and best information in the realm. Sir Nicholas Ti:rockmorton, the queen's ambassador at Paris, one of her most sagacious statesmen, was so horrified at the idea of the queen's marrying this man. that, as we have seen, when he could not move Cecil to dare thii representation, he sent his own secretary, Jones, to make a full statement of the murder of his wife by Leicester. Throckmorton declared that such a marringe would render Englishmen the oppro- brium of men and the contempt of all people : " God and religion, which be the fundamentals, shall be out of estima- tion ; the queen, our sovereign, discredited, contemned, and neglected ; our country ruined, undone, and made a prey." Yet so little effect had this honest representation, and the general abhorrence of Leicester, on Elizabeth, that for three years after it she continued her open and infatuated dalliance with this> man, and then made him earl of Leicester, and proposed him as the husband of the Scottish queen, the real truth being, that as she never meant to marry at all, so she never meant the queen of Scots to have him. The fact was that she liked to tease both Leicester and queen Mary, she often quarrelled with Leicester, and then made it up by valuable presents. " Hb treasure was vast," says Lloyd, "his gains unaccountable, all passages to preferment being in his hand, at home and abroad. He was never reconciled t» her majesty under five thousand pounds, nor to a subject under five hundred pounds, and was ever and anon out with both." Little can be said of the delicacy or the morals of Elizabeth whilst such a man was ' her favourite. Lord Darnley, "the long lad," as Elizabeth called him. was the son of that earl of Lennox who in Henry VIII. 's timo joined with Glencairn, Cassillis, and others in attempting to betray Scotland to Henry. For these services, and especially for attempting to betray Dumbarton castle to the English, ho was banished and suffered forfeiture of his estates, but received from Henry A'il I., as the promised reward for his treason, the hand of the lady Margaret Douglas, daughter of Margaret, queen of Scotland, and sister of Henry VI II., one of the lewdest and most turbulent wotnen of the age. Thus Darnley was the son of M.iry'a aur.t. the lady Margaret Douglas, and grandson of Eliza- beth's aunt, Margaret Tudor. He wa.i thus near enough to have laid claim to the crowns of England, and .Scotland A.D. 1565.] ELIZABETH AND MAKY. 423 too, in case of the failure of issue by tlie present queens. His nearness to the thrones of both kingdoms seemg to have suggested the idea of marrying him to the queen of Soots, whereby her claim on the English throne would receive aug- mentation. Mary was induced to favourthe family, her near relatives. She corresponded with tho countess of Lennox, and invited Lennox to return to Scotland and reversed hi.s attainder. He did not recover the patrimony of Angus, his father, for that was in possession of tho powerful earl of Morton, chancellor of tho kingdom, but Mary promised to make that up to him by other means. Once restored to favour and rank in Scotland, Lennox pushed on the Bchemo of marrying his son Daraley to the queen. Melville was commissioned to intercede for his return to Scotland, but Elizabeth, who could not be blind to the danger of Darnley's wedding the queen of Scot,?, for a time would not listen to it. We may believe too that Cecil did his best to prevent this, for of all his daily prayers, tho most earnest was that of the removal of Leicester from the court, and therefore he used all his eloquence to get Leicester chosen for that honour. The great favourite, Leicester, was a perpetual tliorn in his side. Ho usurped all favour, all honour, all power and patronage. Whilst he was in the ascendant Cecil was never safe, for they hated one another. Cecil, therefore, watched every motion of both Leicester's and the queen's. Ho soon perceived that though Elizabeth pretended to urge the marriage of Leicester with Mary, so soon as matters appeared coming to a point, she always slackened her negotiations. He conceived hope again when he perceived any symptoms of 1 the queen's returning to a foreign courtship. "This I gee in tiie queen's majesty," he wrote to his confidants Sir Thomas Smith, " a sufficient contentation to be moved to marry abroad ; and, if it may so please God Almighty to lead by tho hand some meet person to come and lay hand on her to' her contentation, I then could wish myself more health to endure my years somewhat longer, to enjoy such a world here as I trust will follow ; otherwise, I assure you, as now thing* hang in desperation, I have no comfort to live." Matters were in this position, when Melville spent his nine days at the English court. She saw him, ho says, every dav, often three times a day, " aforenoon, afternoon, and after supper." The great topic was Mary's marriage, and slie declared if Mary would take Leicester she would set the best lawyers in England to ascertain who had the . best right to the succession, and that she had rather her dear sister had tho crown than any other. She herself, she said, " never minded to marry except compelled by tho queen her sister's hard behaviour to her." I said, " Madam, ye need not tell me that; I know your stately stomach. Yo think, gin ye were married, ye would be but queen of England ; and now ye are king and queen baith, ye may not suffer a commander." Elizabeth, who was .nssuredly one of tho most finished dissemblers that ever lived, affected great kindness for queen Mary, kept her portrait l)y her, often gazed on it in Melville's presence, and would then kiss it. She showed Melville a fair ruby like a racket-ball and the portrait of Leicester, and told hiih that his mistress would get them both in time if she followed her counsel, and all that she tiad. She interrogated Melville regarding every particolar ■of Mary's person, dress, and habits. She had female I costume from various countries, and would appear in a licsh dress every day, and ask Melville which best became her. Melville replied tho Italian, because it best displayed her golden coloured hair under a caul and bonnet. He add.!, a3 it were aside, her hair was redder than yellow, and curled apparently by nature. She then wanted ts know which had the handsomest hair, she or Mary, and there Melville was obliged to be evasive, then which had tho handsomest person, and Melville was at his wit's-end, but replied they were botb tho handsomest women in their own courts, but that Elizabeth was whitest. Then sho wanted to know which was tallest; and Melville thought he might speak the truth there without offence, and said his queen. " Then she is over high," said Elizabeth, " fur I am neither too high nor too low." Sho next wanted to know what were Mary's amusements and accomplishments ; and learning that she played well on the lute and virginals, the same day he was taken, as it were without the queen's knowlc'lge, to where he could iiear her playing on the virginals. Then Elizabeth asked which played best, Mary or her, and, of course, Melville was obliged to say she did. She spoke to Melville in French, Italian, and Dutch, tc display her knowledge of langu.ages ; and she detained hini two days, that he might see her dance, after which cama the regular question, which danced best, slie or Mary P and Melvilb got out of that by saying that his queen dancod not so high or disposedly as she did. A more exquisite exhibition of female vanity is nowhere to bo found, and well would it have been if this womanly jealousy had pro- duced no worse fruits. On returning from Hampton Court, where this last scene took place, Leicester conducted Molviile to London by water, and on the way ho asked him what the queen of Scots thought of him as a husband. The answer of Melville, who did not care so nicely to flatter the favourite, was not very complimentary, and thereupon Leicester made haste to assure tho Scotch envoy, that ho had never presumed so much ns to think of marrying so great a queen ; that ho knew th.at ho was not worthy to wipe her shoes, but that it was the plot of Cecil to ruin liim witli both the queens. Melville, on his return to E-linburgh, assured the queen of Scots, that she c;>uld never expect any rc.il friendship from the queen of England, for that she was overflowing with jealousy and w.is made up of falsehood and deceit. These royal courtships and rivalries went on still for some tims ; queen Mary finally determined to refuse the archduke Charles of Austria, probably to avoid giving umbrage to Elizabeth, .and Elizabeth received one more suitor in no less a personage tlian tho young king of France. This was a scheme of tho busy and intriguing Catherine do Medici, who thought it would be a fino thing to link England and Franco together by marriage, but Elizabetli was not likely to perpetrate anything so shallow. Tho king was only sixteen, and Elizabeth replied that "her good brother w^as too great and too small ; too great as a king, and too small being but young, and she already thirty." Catherine, however, again pressed it, by do Fois, the ambassador; but Elizabeth, laughing, said, she tlroughi her neighbour, Mary Stuart, would suit him better ; but this was only thrown out because Elizabeth had heard of soma such project, which, if real, sho would oppose resolutely. But a circumstance now took place which it seems . difficult 426 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP EXGLAXD. [a.d. UG5. to account for. Haxing refused to permit lord Darnley to go to Scotland, lest he should marry tlie queen of Scots, and add to her claims on the English tlirono, all at once her objection seemed to vanish, and in February, 15G5, she permitted him to travel to Edinburgh. Darnley was at this time in his twentieth year, very tall and handsome, possessing the courtly accomplishments of tlio age, and free in the distribution of hU money. He waited on the young resolution. Elizabeth, probably apprehensive that Darnley being present might obtain the queen's goodwill, again sent Randolph pressing the marriage with Leicester, on which Mary bursting into tears declared that tho queen of England treated her aa a child, and immediately favoured the pretensions of Darnley. The rumour of tho queen's intention to marry Darnley soon reached the English court. Do Foix hastened to con- TLa Eiarl of Murray. Fcom aa Origiual Po."trait. queen at Wemyss castle in Fife, and was well received by Mary, who was now about four-and-twenty. There appears no doubt but that tho marriage had been planned and promoted by the Lennox party, and it is said that Murr.iy encouraged it, thinking that with a young man of Darnley 's weak .and pleasure-loving character, ho could easily retain the power of tho state in his hands. Be that as it may, Darnley soon proposed, and was rejected ; but Eli7..abeth, contrary to ber own Intentions, contributed to alter Mary's suit Elizjibeth upon it, iind found her playing at chess, anJ whispering the news, added ns he surveyed tho position of the game. " This game is an imago of the worJs and deeds of men. If, for example, we lose a pawn, it seems but a small matter, nevertheles^s the loss often draws after it that of the whole game." " 1 understand you,'" observed Elizabeth ; ' Darnley is but a pawn, but may well check- mate me if he is promoted ! '■ fciho rose and gave over the play. A council was immeJiately called, aud Sir Niclnjl.ia A.0. 1505.] KEIGN OF ELIZABETH. 427 'I':i3 BWMISSIC:! QV ME RiRI. OP M-JSRAY AND THE ABSCT OP KILWINMWa BT QUEEN ELIZABETO. (sHE PAQE 423.) 425 OASSELLS H.LUSTRATED DISTCEY OP E.NGLANU. [a.o. 1565. Throckmorton was dcsj-atched to dissuade or iutimitUito the queen of Soots from the match. lie found that ineffectual. Mary told him that she mi^ht have married into the houses of Austria, Franco, or Spiin; but. that as none of those matches could p!easo Eliiabeth, she gave them up to oblige her, and had noiv resolved to marry one who was not only bcr subject, which she h.ad so earnestly recommended to her, but her kinsman : " And why," she asked, " is she offended P " All she offored was to defer the marriage three months, to give time for Elizabeth's oppttition to subside, and dis- missed Throckmorton with the present of a gold chain. But that wily minister had contrived to bro.atho suspicion into the mind of Murray. Darnloy. and Lennox, his father, were ropresenteJ as papii^ts, and the fears of the lords of the congregation were aroused at the idea of a catholic kin^ and queen. Murray withdrew from court, declaring that he could not remain to witness idolatry. The gospel was declared to be in danger ; the protestants were summoned in defence of their religion, and the most scandalous stories of the intimacy of Darnley and the queen were propagated. Such was the excitement, t!iat Randolph informed his own court that the assassination of Darnley, now created earl of Ross, was openly menaced. In England, Elizabeth showed her re- sentment by seizing the countess of Lenno-t, Darnley's mother, and shutting her up in the Tower. She also sent word, through Randolph, to the Scottish leaders of tie congreg*- tion, bidding them maintain their religion, r-.i the union betwixt the kingdoms, and on tliese conditioai proiulsiag her support. Eneotwag.?d by these assurances, the kirk presented to Mary a memorial, bfamtly informing her that they could no longer tolerate idolatry in the sovereign, any more than in the subject. Private information was given to Mary that the protestant lords bad l^d their plan to seise both herself, Ir^nox, and Darnley, as they proceeded to the baptism of a child of lord Livingstone's, at Callendar .- that Chatelherault was at Kinneil, Murray at Loohleven, Argyll at Oastle Campbell, and Rothes at Parretwall. To preTcnt this Mavy was on horseback nt five in tho morning, and dashed through their intended ambush before they were aware. Two hours later, Argyll, B lyd, suid Murray met at the appointed spot, only to ieara that the bird hod escaped the snare. Th? traitor.', to cover their defeated design, aothorised Randolph to assure the queen that she had unnecessarily alarmed herself. Bat as, after this, tlieie could be no safety for them, they implored Elisabeth to send them three thousand pounds, and they would still endeavour to seiae Lennox and Darnley. To defeat that object, Mary, on the 9th of July, privately married Darnley at Edinburgh, "nio intimacy which now subsisted betwixt tho queen and her husband, attracted the attention of the spies of the lirds, and the utmost horror was expressed at the profligacy nf their queen. Matters now were hastening to an extremity. The lords assembled at Stirling, and entered into a bond to stand by each other. They sent off a messenger to urge speedy aid from Elizabeth, and actively diffused reports that Lennox had plotted to take away the life of Murray. This, both Lennox and Darn'.cy stnit!y denied, and the queen, to leave no obscurity in the case, gave Murr.iy a safe conduct for himself and eighty others, and ordered him to ntttnd in her presence and produce bis proofs. She declared that such a thing as enforcement of tho religion or consciences of her subjects, had never entered her mind ; and she called on her loyal subjects to hasten to her defence. This call was promptly and widely responded to, and Mary, finding herself now in security, declared the choice of Darnley as her husband, created him duke of Albany, and married him openly, in the chapel of Holyrood. Ho was, by proclamation, declared king during the time of their marriage, and all writs were ordered to run in tho joint rames of Henry and Mary, king and queen of Scotland. Elizabeth, meantime, had complied with the demands cf the Scottish lurds : sent off money, appointed Bedford ami Shrewsbury her lieutenants iu the north, and reinforced tho garrison of Berwick with two thousand men. Finding, however, that the call of Mary on her subjects had brought out such a force around her, as would require still more money and men to C'>pe witli it, she despatched Tamworth, a creature of Leicester's, to Scotland, to deter Mary by menaces and reproaches. It was too late ; and Mary, assuming the attitude of a justly incensed monarch, com- pelled the ambassador to deliver his charge in writing, and answered it in the same manner, requesting Elisabeth to content herself with the government of her own king- dom, and not to interfere in the concerns of moaarchs as independent as herself. When Tamworth took leave, t!io pawiport given him bearing the joint names of the king and (jaeen, he refused it, out of fear of his imperious mistrc.-?, for which Mary ordered him to be apprehended on the ri.'a 1 by lord Home as a vagrant, and detained a couple of day:; ; and on Randolph reiaumUating. she informed him that unless he ceased to intrigve with her subjects, she woiiM treat him the same. This bold rebuff given to the meddling queen of Englanl, and the demonstration of affection on the part of the people, confounded the disaffected lords ; they retired wiUi th.'ir forces, some towards Ayr, some towards Argyll-hii-. Henry and Mary paraaed the latter division, which, by a rapid march, gained Eiifiaboi^ ; but receiving no encourage- ment there, and the king and quf^en approaching, they fled towards Dumfries. Mary in this campaign appeared on horseback in light armour, with pistols at her belt, and at once greatly encouraged, by her courage and devo- tion, her followers, and astonished her cneraiea. As she drew near Dumfries the rebel army " ' " ^ rindMumy and his associates fled to Carlisle, v .forrd received and protected them. The traitors, being in the pay, and having acted B«dcr the encouragement of Elizabeth, hastened up to Liadea ti seek refuge and fresh supplies ai her CD«rt. Bat ET'«rtetli, who had brought herself into ill odour by daodsstiMly fomentag and assisting the rsbellioos Bobjects of both Scotland and France, now looked askance «n them, an J would not admit them to her presence unlo ' ' 1 free her from all blame, by confessing bi-forctli ■■■■ 1 Spanish ambassadors that she had had nothing t> do with their rising. As they knew that this w.as to mystify the con- tinental courts, they consented, but they little anticipated tho result. Murray, the duke of Hamilton, and the lord abbot of Kilwinning being admitted, on their knees declared that the queen had no p irt in the conspiracy, which was entirely of their own concocting and executing. "Now," cxcliiimod this truthless queen, " ye have spoken the truth ; get from my presence, traitors as ye are !" The confounded A.D. loCG.] DISCONTENT OF DAENLEY. 429 miscreants wore driven from her presence ; and, assuming a lofty and dignified air, according to her true servant Cecil, she declared roundly that " Whatever the world said or re- ported of her, she would hy her actions let it appear that she Vfould not for the price of the world maintain any sub- ject ia any disobedience against any prince. Fur, besides the offence of her conscience, which should justly condemn her, she knew that Almighty God might justly recompense her with the like trouble in her own realm." Thus this extraordinary woman was clearly quite aware of the infamy of her conduct : but that full consciousness never restrained her in conduct either before or after, till, filling up the great measure of her iniquities, she dyed her hands in the blood of the Scottish queen. The crest-fallen Scottish lords retired to the north, where Elizabeth suffered them to hide their dishonoured heads, supplying them, how- ever, with the necessary means of existence. Mary sum- moned them to surrender, but failing to do so, she proclaimed them rebels. Randolph, who ought long ago to have been ordered out of Scotland, still remained there, and to oousole the queen his mistress for her defeat, he regaled her ear with the most abominahlo scandals against Mary that ho could rake together or invent. Amongst others ho did not fail to ini^inuate that Murray was become her enemy, on account of an incestuous passion which she had entertained for him, and the knowledge of which she would now fain extinguish by his murder. This atrocious calumny, which her very worst enemies could not believe, is one of a foul mass of such still to bo seen in hi.^ letters to Leicester, and which Raumer, the Prussian historian, has stated as a fact. Such were the deadly and diabolical wretches, and en- venomed tales, with which our boasted maiden queen surrounded the throne of her sister sovereign : too dark for crcdenoo even, if they were not stamped on abund.mt state documents, which the criminals themselves have singularly enough left in our archives for our astonished perusal. Mary, on her part, displayed a spirit of forgiveness equally surprising. She had called a parliament for the purpo.se of attainting the rebel lords and confiscating their estates, but no .sooner did Chatclherault and her traitor brother, Murray, exhibit assumed symptoms of repentance, than she discovered a disposition to pardon them, and would probably have done it, but for the persuasions of her uncle, the cardinal of Lorraine, and the fanatic fury of the the mob, who insulted the priests, disturbed her at mass in her own chapel, and at tho preceding Eustor had dragged out a priest in his robes, and with tho chalice in his hand, and bound him to tho market-cross of Edinburgh, where they pelted him with mud and rotten eggs. These, in an evil hour, led her to join the great catholic league of France and Spain, by which she hoped to gain the support of the monarehs of these countries against England and her own intolerant people. By this ill-advised step she only roused the religious zeal of her protestant subjects to a formidable height, and increased the power of Elizabeth to wound her, whilst she gained no support whatever from tho cruel bigots who, by their Bayonne alliance, covered their names with infamy and horror. CHAPTER XIII. THE REIGM OF QUEE^ ELIZABETH (ConlinttCd). Tlvo Murder oi P.iizio— Birtli of Jamc3, afterwards the First o( EngUnd - Another Petition to Elizabeth to marry— Her Myateriom Answer— Tlve Miirder of Darnley— Trial of Bothwcll— Marriage of Mary to BothweH — Indignation of the People— Attempt to seize Mary and BothweU st Borthwiclt Castle— Affair ol Cirhcrry UiU— Mary taken Captive, and Imprisoned at Lochlevea -CouipL-lled to rcaljn tho Cro*n— Her Son proclaimed King— ifnrr.iy ra.ide Regent— Botliwcil escipei to Norway — Mary's Escape from Loclilevea —Defeated at Lang:iide- Flees into England— Uer Keceptioa there. The queen of Scots, victorious by arms over Lcr enemies, determiacd to call together a parliament, and there to procure the forfeiture of Murray and his adherents. This threw the rebel lords into the utmost constcruation • for, in the then temper of ibe nation at large, the mcosuto would have been passed, and they would have been stripped of their estates and entirely crushed. To prevent ibis catastrophe no time was lost. It was actively tpread amongst the people that Mary, having signed tho catholic league, it was ihe intention, through the kings of France and Spain, to put down the reformation in Scotland, it was represented that David Rizzio, a Milanese, who was become Mary's secretary for the French language, was the agent of the league and a pensioner of Rome, and that it was necessary to have him removed. This Rizzio Lad come into the kingdom ia tho train of Moret, the Savoy ambassador ; and, according to Melville, was at first con- tent with being made a singer in the queen's baud : but this fact Chalmers, by examining the treasurer's accounts, and tracing Rizzio's progress from the first, denies. What- ever was his original station, however, he soon rose to that of Mary's secretary, and to tho possession of her confidence. Nor was this at all extraordinary, for Mary folt that sha was surrounded by traitors and enemies. The violence and intolerance of the reform nobles had driven her into the catholic league, and Rizzio, as a strict catholic, supported all her views. Besides himself, there were also his brother Joseph Rizzio, and one Francisco, Italians, and other foreigners, in the queen's service. Rizzio strongly urged the queen to call the parliament, and thus to cruah her turbulent and insolent enemies, and unless ho could be got out of the way that would inevitably take place, and the ruin of Murray, Morton, and tho rest be certainly insured. Unfortunately for Rizzio, he had incurred tho hatred, not only of these protestant lords, but of Darnley, the queen's husband. That young man had soon displayed a character which could bring nothing but misery to the queen, lie was a man of shallow intellect but of violent passions, and, as is usually the case with such persons, of a will as strong as his judgment was weak. lie was ambitious of tho chief power, and sullenly resentful because it was denied. Mary, who was of a warm and impulsive temperament, iu the ardour of her first affection, had promised Darnley tho crown matrimonial, which would have invested him with an equal share of the royal authority ; but soon unhappily perceiving that she had lavished her regard on a, weak, headstrong, and dissipated person, she refused to comply, fully assured of the mischiefs which such power in his hands would produce. Darnley resented this denial vio- lently. He reproached the queen with her in.sincority in most intemperate language ; treated her in public with scandalous disrespect ; abandoned her society for the lowest and worst company, and threw himself into tho hands of 430 OASSLLLS ILLUSTHATED HISTORY Or' EKGLAJS'D. [a.d. IdSS hia enemies, whj eoou luaJo him their tool. They persuaded him that Bizzio, who, iu his quarrels with the queen, always took her part, and who, as the keeper of her privy purse, was obliged to resist his extravagant demands upon it, was not only the enemy of the nation, the spy and paid agent of foreign princes, but was the queen's paramour, and the author of the resolve to keep him out of all real power. The Echcmo took all the effect that was desired. Darnley became j<;alous and furious for revenge. His father, the earl of Lennox, joined him in his suspicions, and it was resolved to put Rizzio out of the way. Darnley, in his blind fury, sent for lord Buthven, im- ploring hiia to come to him on a matter of life and deatli. Buthven was confined to his bed by a severe illness, yet ho consented to engage in the conspiracy for the murder of Rizzio, on condition that Darnley should engage to prevent the meeting of parliament, and to procure the return of Murray and the rebel chiefs. Darnley was in a mood ready to grant anything for the gratification of his resent- ment against Eizzio i he agreed to everything; a leagu- was entered into, a new covenant sworn, the objects of which were the murder of Bizzio, the prevention of the assembling of parlia.iient, and the return of Murray and his adherents. Randolph, the English ambassador, now banished from Scotland for his traitorous collusion with the insm-gents, yet had gone no further than Berwick, where he was made fully acqaaiuted wi:a the plot, and communicated it immediately to Leicester in a letter, dated February 13th, loGfi, which yet remains. He assured him that the murder of Bizzio would be accomplished within ten days ; that the crown would be torn from Mary's dishonoured head, and that matters of a still darker nature were meditated against her person which he dared not yet allude to. Amongst the nobles who had fully participated in the rebellion against their queen, but who had had the cunning to keep their treason cjncealed, were Morton, Buthven, Lindsay, and Maitland. These men now worked diligently to organise the conspiracy. They communicated the plot to Knox and Craig, as the head of the clergy, who came fuUy into the design, as did Bellenden, the justice-clerk, Iilaigill, the clerk-register, the lairds of Bi-unston, Calder, and Ormiston. Morton assured them that the only means of establishing the reformation was to prevent the meeting of parliament, by tlie murder of Eizzio and the interposition of the king, the imprisonment of the queen, the investment of Darnley with the regal authority, and of Murray with the condu3t of the government ; and the whole was readily accepted by both the ministers of state and the mmisters of religion as a thing perfectly justifiable. To communicate with Murray and the other refugees in England, Lennox, the father of Darnley, set out thither ; and the result was two bonds or covenants, into which the conspirators entered. The first— still preserved iu the British Museum — ran in the name of the king. In it he solemnly sworo to seize certain ungodly persons, who abused the queen's good-nature, and especially an Italian stranger called David; and Sn any resistance "to cut them off immediately, and hlay them, wherever it hap- pened," anil to defend and uphold his associates in this enterprise, even if carried into effect in the very presence of the queen. This was signed by Darnley, Morton, and Buthven. The second covenant, also still preserved, promised to support Darnley in this and ail his just quarrels, to be friends of his friends, enemies of his enemies, to give him the crown matrimonial, to maintain the protestant religion on condition that the king pardoned Murray and his asso- ciates, and restored their lands and dignities. This was signed by Darnley, Murray, Argyll, Glencairn, Bothes. Boyd, Ochiltree, and their "complices." All this was duly communicated to Elizabeth and her minister;', Cecil and Leicester, by letters still extant, from Eandolph and the earl of Bedford, the lieutenant of the north, to both Elizabeth and Cecil ; and they add that they have engaged that the particulars shall be communicated to none but the queen, Cecil, and Leicester. Thus we see that Elizabeth was made fully cognisant of all these diabolical designs, and the names of all the leading men engaged in them. In the letter of the 6th of March, 1560, from Berwick, signed by Hertford and Rmdolph, we learn that Randolph had taken copies of the secret bonds or covenants entered into by the conspirators, and forwarded them to the queen and her confidential ministers. She knew, therefore, that Eizzio was to be murdered before the meeting of parliament, that the queen was to be seized, stripped of her crown, imprisoned, and other designs too dark to mention, meditated against her person ; Murray and the rebels, whom she had so indignantly reprimanded in public, were to be restored to power ; and all this was menaced against a queen whom she was calling sister, for whom she was professing great regard, and with whom she was in profound peace and alliance. The conduct of a queen who had the heart of a queen and a woman, who was animated by any tolerable principles of right and religion, would have been instantly to apprise the roj'al victim of her danger, to denounce the murderous traitors, and to vindicate the rights and security of sove- reigns, as a matter as much of sound policy as of humanity. But Elizabeth, however we may admit her great ability, spite of all the laudations of historians as "good queen Bess," and as a great and glorious sovereign, judged by the simplest rules of Christian morals, was one of the basest women, the most truthless, most perfidious, and most unprincipled that ever lived in any age or country ; and we should do violence to the sacred integrity of history, and the best interests of society, if we did not faithfully depict her, as her actions and whole policy display her, in no equivocal colours. \Vc shall find her going on in the same principles of duplicity, arbitrary power, and murderous mind, till she dips her hands in the blood of many innocent and illustrious victims, and dies the most wretched spectacle of misery and remorse which the righteous judgment of God ever stamped on crime. Whatever may be our decision as to her character as an able queen, we cannot assuredly award her that of a noble one, or behold her us a woman but as stained with deep crimes, much licentious- ness, much cruelty, and gross wrong. What did she do at this startling crisis? We prefer using the words of a distinguished historian to our own, Mr. Tyler says, " She knew all that was about to occur : the life of Eiccio, the liberty, perhaps, too, the life of Mary was in her power; Moray was at her court; the con- spirators were at her devotion ; they had given the fullest information to Eandolph, that he might consult the queen. She might have imprisoned Moray, discomfited the plans of i.D. 15GG.] MURDER OP EIZZIO. 431 the conspirators, saved the life of the miserable victim who was marked for slaughter, and preserved Mary, lo whom she professed a warm attachment, from captiyity. All this might hiive been done, perhaps it is not too much to say, that even in those dark times, it would have been done by a monarch acutely alive to the common feelings of humanity. But Elizabeth adopted a very different course : .she not only allowed Moray to leave her rcalna, she dis- missed him with the marks of the highest confiJenoe and distinction ; and this man, when ready to sail for Scotland, to take his part in those dark transactions which soon followed, sent his secretary, Wco^, to acquaint Cecil with the most secret intentions of the conspirators." Mary was not without some warnings of the devilish work preparing, but she could not be made sensible of her danger, neither could Rizzlo ; fur Damiot, an astrologer, whom he was in the habit of consulting, bado him beware of the bastard. The obscurity attending all such oracles led Eizzio to believe that Damiot alluded to Murray, and Rizzio laughed at any danger from him, a banished man; but we shall see that he roc?ivod hid first wound from anothor bastard, George Douglas, the natural son of the earl of Angus. Knox and his brother clergy prepared for this dastart!ly murder as for some act of most religious nature. They ordered a week for fasting and prayer, and mad) the pulpits resound with bloody texts from the Old Testament — the sl.aying of Oreb and Zeeb, the massacre of the Bcnja- mites, the fast of Esther, the hanging of HamM, and similar acts of vengeance. On the 3rd of March parliament was opened, and a statute of treason and of forfeiture against Murray and his accomplices was immediately introduced on the Thurs- day, which was to be passed on the following TucsJr.y. But on the Saturday evening, the queen, sitting at supper in a small closet adjoining her chamber, attended by her natural sister, the countess of Argyll, the commeudator of Holyrood, Beaton, master of the household, Arthur Erskine, captain of the guard, and her secretary Rizzio, was sur- prised by the appai-ition of Darnley suddenly putting aside the arras which concealed the door, and standing for a moment gloomily surveying the group, Behind him caine a still more startling figure ; it was that of Ruthven, ia complete armour, just come from his sick-bed, and wit!-, a face pale and ghastly as that of a ghost. Mary, who v.'aa seven months gone with child, started up at this trrrible sight, and commanded Ruthven to be gone: but at this moment Darnley put his arm round her waist as to detain her; and other conspirators entered, one after another, with naked weapons, into the room. Ruthven drew his dagger, and crying that their business was with Rizzio, endeavoured to seize him. But Rizzio, rushing to his mistress, seized the skirt of her robe, aud shouted, "Qiustizia! giustizia! sauve ma vie — Madame, sauve ma vie ! " Darnley forced himself betwixt the queen and Rizzio, to separate the secretary from Mary, and probably the inten- tioa was to drag him out of her presence, and despatch him. But George Douglas, the bastard, in his impetuosity, drove his dagger into the back of Rizzio over the queen's shoulder, and the rest of the conspirators — Morton, Car of Faudonside, and others — dragged him out to the entrance of the presence-chamber, where, in their murderous fury, they Stabbed him with fifty-six wounds, with such blind rage that they wounded one another, and left Darnley's dagger sticking in the body as an evidence of his participa- tion in the deed. This done, the hideous Ruthven, ex- hausted with the excitement, and yet capable of speaking daggers, staggered into the presence of the shrieking queen, and, sinking upon a seat, demanded a cup of wine. Mary upbraided him with his brutality ; but he coolly assured her that it was all done at the command of her husband and king. At that moment one of her ladies rushed in crying that they had killed Rizzio. " And is it so ? " said Mary ; " then farewell tears, we must now study revenge." It was about seven in the evening when this savage murder was perpetrated. The palace was beset by tronps under the command of Morton. There was no means of rousing the city, the queen was kept close prisoner in her chamber, whilst the king, assuming the sole authority, issued letters commanding tho thx-oo estates to quit the capital within three hours, on pain of treason, whilst Morton with his guards was ordered to allow no one to leave tho palace. Notwithstanding this, Huntley, Both- well, Sir Jafnes Balfour, and James Melville made their escape in the darkness and confu-sion ; and as Melville passel under tho queen's window, she suddenly threw up the sash, and entreated hi;n to give tho alarm to the city. Her raffiivuly guards immediately seized her, and dragged her back, swearing they would cut her to pieces ; and Darnley was pushed forward to harangue the people, and assure them that both tho queen and himself were safe, and commanding them to retire in peace, which tlicy did. Tho queca remained in the most frightful condition, and the only wonder is that in her situation the consequences were cot fatal to both herself and child. She became dslirioua, and cried out ever and anoa, that Eutliven was coming to rjurder her. As miscarriage was imminent, even the foolish and contca)ptil>Ic Darnley was at. last moved, and her women were admitted to attend on and soothe her. In the morning her base brother, Murray, with Rothes, Ochiltree, and others of the banished lords, rode into tho capital, and thence directly to the palace. So little was the unfortunate queen aware of the extent of the villainy surrounding her. that, on soeingMurraj', she threw herself into his arnis, and, bursting into tears, exclaimed, " If my brother had been here he would never have suffered me to have been thus cruelly handled." Tho wretch either felt or feigned a momentary compassion ; but if real, it was but like a passing flash, for he went from her direct to the meeting of the conspirators, where it was determined to shut Mary up in Stirling Castle, to confer the crown on Darnley, and establisli the protestant religion, with death or imprisonment to all dissentients. But Mary was not long left alone with Darnley, before she convinced him of the dupe he had made of himself. Slio asked him whether he was so mad as to expect that after they had secured her, after they had imperilled the life of his child, they would spare him ? and she bade him look at their conduct now, where they usurped all autliority and did not even allow him to send his own servants to her. Darnley became thoroughly alarmed ; he vowed he had had no hand in the conspiracy, and offered to call the conspirators into her presence, and declare that the quean was ready to pardon them, on condition that they withdrew their guards, replaced her own servants, and treated her as their true queen. The noble traitors were this tiine oyer- 432 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 156u, rjachcJ ia their turn; probably trembling for the conse- quences of their daring conduct, on seeing Darnlcy and the f ueen reconciled, they consented, and in the night the queen and Darnley mounted fleet horses and fled to Dunbar. The consternation of the murderers, in the morning, may be imagined. The outraged and insulted queen had escaped their hin3s, and tho news came flying that already the nobles treason and bloodshed, rushed away to conceal himself in the fastness of Kyle. Maitland of Lethington betook him- self to the hills of Atholl, and Craig, the colleague of Knos, dived into the darksome recesses of the city Trynde. Mary, once more free, resumed all the decision of her character. But she had a difficult part to play. Willing to think the best, and only too prone to forgive, she yet Murder of R'zz'9 See page 431. and the people were hi-rrring from all sides to her standard. Uuatley, Atholl, Bothwell, and whole crowds of barons and gentlemec, flew to her, and at Dunbar a numerous army flood as by magic ready to march on the traitors and execute the vengence due. They fled. Morton, Ruthven, t'lO grisly, pale-faced assassin, Brunston, and Car of FaufoDside escaped to England, and Kaos, the apostle of must have seen enough to shake her faith in all around her, Darnley, spite of his protestation, lind Appeared simulta- neously with tlie assassins, and what had been the real con- duct of Murray ? Besides the doubts which hung around many of her courtiers, they were almost all at deadly foul with each other. There was nothing for it, howcrer, but j to make the best of her materials. She reconciled Both- A.D. 1566.] MARY DELIVEEED OF A SOX. 43J well to Murray, and Argyll to AthoU, and slie appeared ready to pardon Morton, Maitland, and others of the con- spirators. In Mary's kindly and forgiving nature lay her danger. Had she punished with the relentless severity of Elizabeth her throne might have stood. But her pardons were wasted on wretches who, at the first opportunity, would turn and rend her. The nobles of her court were but demi -savages, rude, insolent, treacherous, and im- placable. Darnley, conscious of having committed himself irre- coverably with these brutal men, was now loud in their denunciation. His safety lay only in their destruction, and contemplated retiring thither, and committing the govern- ment of the country to a regency of five lords, Murray, Mar, Huntley, AthoU, and Bothwell. She contemplated a divorce from her unworthy husband, and, it was 6aid, had sent an envoy for that purpose to Rome. But the spirit of ilary was not of a character long to brood over revenge ; that belonged rather to such men as Ruthven, Murray, and Morton. They vowed deadly vengeance on Darnley, and from this hour his destruction was settled, and never lost sight of. As for Elizabeth of England, she was loud in denunciation of the outrage on the queen, and wrote expres:jing deep sympathy ; and the "' " >^Si:! Holyrood House. there was not one that he did not betray except Murray, who was at hand and dangerous. The fugitive nobles, enraged at Darnley's betrayal of them, sent the " bonds," or covenants which had passed between them, or copies of them, to the queen. She was thunderstruck there to behold, in the list of sworn traitors and assassins, her own husband and her brother, Murray. She seemed crushed to the soul by the terrible discovery. She saw herself actually seated in a nest of vipers, and the vilest of those reptiles were those nearest to her in affection and consanguinity. She could no longer put faith in her husband, she turned from him in sickness of heart, and so completely was she dispirited with the scene around her, that recollecting the peaceful and pleasant days she had passed in France, she 89 virtuous Murray was indignant at the villainy in which he had been engaged, but now only seemed to perceive the fall extent of. The assurances of the friendship of England and France seemed, however, to tranquilias Ae queen's mind, and the hour of her confinement drawing nigh, she called her councillors around her, became reconciled to the king, and prepared everything for her own life or deaih. On the 19th of June, she was, however, safely delivered in the castle of Edinburgh, of a son. who was named James, and Sir James Melville was despatched to carry the tidings to Elizabeth. The messenger arrived as the English queen was dancing after supper at Greenwich. Cecil, who had seen Sir James, took the opportunity to whisper the news to her in preparation. No sooner did she hear the i3i CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1566. news than she seemed struck motionless. She ceased, sat dowD, leaning her cheek on her hand, and when her ladies hastened to ascertain what ailed her, burst out, " The queen of Scots is mother of a fair son, and I am a barren stock : " Her agitation was so visible that the music stopped, and there vras a general \yonder and confusion. There were not wanting spies to carry this to Melville, and aware of the truth he was curious to mark the official look ■which the great dissembler wore the next morning. She was then all smiling and serene, and even received the message, he says, with a "merry volt," that is, we suppose, a caper of affected joy. She declared that she was so delighted with the news, that it had quite cured her of a heavy sickness which she had had for fifteen days. Melville was too much of a courtier to congratulate her on being able to dance merrily in sickness j but he wanted her to become godmother, which office she accepted cheerfully, by proxy. She expressed quite an ardent desire to go and see her fair sister, but as she could not she sent the earl of Bedford, with a font of gold for its christening and one thousand pounds. With Bedford and Mr. Carey, son of her kinsman, lord HunsJon, she sent a splendid train of knights and gentlemen to attend the christening. The ceremony was performed at Stirling by the archbishop of St. Andrews, according to the rites of the catholic church, the kings of France and the duke of Savoy being godfathers by their ambassadors. The English embassy remained outside the chap«l during the service, for they dared not take part in the idolatries of the mass. They reported that Mary looked very melancholy, and Darnley was not present, it was supposed for fear the officers of Elizabeth should not give him the homage of royalty; for Elizabeth had still refused to acknowledge his title as king of Scotland. The birth of a s«n to, the queen of Scotland, though mortifying enough to Elizabeth in itself, was made tenfold more so by the increased impatience which it occasioned amongst her own subjects of her own obstinate celibacy. Even Leicester now began to despair of winning her hand. He had demanded the fulfilment of her promise, and begged that she would decide finally at Christmas : she promised it at Candlemas. But Cecil, who dreaded this marriage with Leicester above all things, ventured to give Elizabeth six objections to it. They were that Leicester could bring neither riches, power, nor estimation ; that he was deeply in debt, spite of all she had lavished on him ; that he was surrounded by greedy dependents who would swallow up all the patronage of the crown ; that he was so violent and fickle in his temper, that the queen could expect no happi- ness with him ; that he was infamed by the death of liis wife ; and that to marry him would confirm all the scan- dalous reports which had been disseminated both at horns and abroad. Whether or not these reasons had any more influence than Elizabeth's private resolve never to take a partner in her power, far less a master, she remained immovable. Leicester was so much chagrined that he openly declared to La Forets, the French ambassador, in August, that he believed the queen would never marry ; tliat he had known her from her eighth ye.ir better than any man on earth, and that from that early age she had always had the same language. That if she did ever break her resolve, he believed it would be in his favour, but that he now despaired of that. The restless state of Leicester's mind, and the knowledge that the carl of Sussex was an advocate of the queen's marrying the archduke Charles, occasioned such quarrels betwixt these noblemen this summer, that Elizabeth was repeatedly obliged to call on them to be friends : but it was a hollow friendsliip, soon broken again, especially as the Howard family, to which Sussex's mother belonged, and lord Hunsdon, the queen's relative, supported the same views as Sussex. In September Elizabeth made a visit to Oxford, after a progress into Northamptonshire and to Woodstock, where she was feasted, harangued, and lionised for seven days . Intending on one occasion to deliver a speech in Latin, a Dr. Westplialing made so tremendously long an oration, that she sent to him bidding him very curtly to cut it short; but the doctor having committed his speech to memory, found himself unable to do so, on which she severely lectured him ; but laughed heartily when he confessed to her his predicament. The next day she pronounced her own Latin oration, and in the middle stopped short to order Cecil a chair, and then went on again to show the learned, but prosy, doctor how much bettor she could manage it. On her return to town she was not quite so successful in cutting short the harangues of her parliament. After six prorogations she was compelled to summon it, and no sooner did it meet than it came upon the distasteful subject of her marriage. The queen of Scots having now a son, the catholics would have been glad to have the succession recognised in that line ; but the protestants were alarmed at that circumstance, and all the more anxious for an alliance with a protestant prince. Both parties, therefore, united in addressing her on this head. On hearing the address she replied that she should keep her intentions locked in her own breast: that was her own concern, aad she bade them go and perform their own duties, .and she ;would perform hers. The commons resented this language, and as soon as a motion for supply was made, it was opposed on the ground that the queen had not kept her pledge to marry or name a successor, given when the last money vote was passed. The motion was carried that tho business of the supply and the succession should go together. The lords commissioned a deputation of twenty of their body to wait upon her, calling her attention to the incon- venience of her silence. She replied to them in a very angry style, saying she did not choose that her grave should be dug whilst she was alive. That the commons had acted to her like rebels, and durst not have behaved so to her father. That the lords could do as they pleased, but she should regard their votes as mere empty sounds. Sho would never confide such high .and important interests to a set of hair-brained politicians, but would appoint sis grave and discreet counsellors to confer upon it, and would ac- quaint the lords with their decision. This novel and intemperate language excited an immense ferment, both within and without the walls of parliament, !md language was heard in tho senate such as had not been uttered for the last several reigns. Leicester, who was in the worst humour with Cecil, for his letter to the queen in his disparagement, took the opportunity of revenging himself by mingling in the debate, and boldly charging that minister with being the man who steadily dissuaded her majesty from marrying. Elizabeth was so incensed at A.D. 1307.] ELIZABBTtt i'ETilluNED TC> MARKY. 433 this presumption in the favourite, that she forbade Leicester and Pembroke, who supported him, hor presence. Xever had the spirit of parliament and of the public risen so high for centuries ; much ill will was heaped on Cecil, and many curses were bestowed on Herrick, the queen's physician, for having said something professionally which had tended to deter her from marrying. On the 27th of October both houses joined in a petition to lier, which was read to her by the lord keeper. This time she restrained her temper, and determined on mystify- ing the honourable legislators. The following specimen of her address is unique in its line, and even equals the ■oratorical effusions of Cromwell for its quality of employ- ing speech to conceal your thoughts :—" If any one here doubt that I am by vow or determination bent never to trade in that kind of life (marriage), put out that kind of heresy, for your belief is therein awry. For though I can think it best for a private woman, yet do I strive with myself to think it not meet for a prince ; and if I can bend my liking to your need, I will not resist such a mind. As to the succession, the greatness of the cause, and the need of your returns, doth make me say, that which I think the wise may easily guess, that as short a time for so long a continuance, ought not to pass by rote, as many tell their tale's; even so, as cause by conference with the learned sliall show me matter worth the utterance for your behoof, 80 shaL' I more gladly pursue your good after my days, than with all my prayers, whilst I live, be means to linger my living thread." But the commons, who wanted a distinct statement of licr views, and not a puzzle, were not satisfied with this. They resolved to stand by their vote, that the supply and succession should not be separated. On presenting her with a copy, she hastily scribbled at the foot of the paper these lines, which she read aloud to Mr. Speaker and thirty members, who waited on her November 14th, 1566 . — " I know no reason why any my private answers to the realm should serve for prologue to a subsidy rate ; neither yet do I understand why such audacity should be, and to make without my licence an act of my words. Are my words like lawyers' books, which now-a-days go to the wire-drawers to make subtle doings more plain ? Is there no hold of my speech without an act to compel me to confirm ? Shall my princely consent be turned to strengthen my words, that be not of themselves substantives ? Say no more at this time, but if these fellows (query, the members of the house of commons) were well answered, and paid with, lawful coin, there would be no more coun- feits among them ! " • . The commons pronounced this speech a breach of their privileges, and, as the legitimate course, allowed the bill for supplies to lie on the table, with the observation that, "Since the queen would not marry, she ought to be com- pelled to name her successor ; and that her refusing to do so proceeded from feelings which could only be entertained by weak princes and faint-hearted women." This was hitting the proud queen on her tender place. To be pronounced weak-minded or faint-hearted and womanish was of all things most repugnant to her nature. But she felt it was not the moment to show further resent- ment ; she therefore bridled her wrath, and knowing that France, Scotland, Spain, and Rome were all on the watch to combine against her if they saw the slightest symptom of diia3"ection at home, slie sent for thirty members from each house, and, receiving them graciously, assured them of her hearty desire to do all that they required, and added that "as the commons were willing to grant her a subsidy if she would declare her successor, she could only say that half would content her till she had determined that point, as she considered the money in her subjects' purses as good as in her own exchequer." This stroke completely threw the commons ofi' their guard. They granted her one-tenth and one-fifteenth, to which convocation added four shillings in the pound. No sooner was Elizabeth in possession of this vote, than she broke out upon them, when she summoned them for dismissal. She complained bitterly of the dissimulation that they had shown, whilst she was all plainness towards them. " As for your successor," she said, " you may, perhaps, have a wiser or more learned to reign over you, but one more careful for your weal you cannot have. But whether 1 ever live to meet you again, or who- ever it may be, 1 bid you beware how you again try vour prince's patience, as you have done mine. And now, to conclude, not meaning to make a Lent of Christmas, the most part of you may assure yourselves that you depart in your prince's grace." Thus the resolute and politic queen once more triumphed over her parliament, and in proof of the truth of Cecil s remark, that sometimes she was more than a man, some- times less than a woman, she went away to consult alchymists and astrologers, how she was to triumph over time and age as she did over men. According to Cecil's journal of January, 1567, she committed Cornelius Launoy, a Dutchman, to the Tower, for abusing the queen's majesty in promising to make an elixir. This man had promised to convert any metal into gold, and had been allowed to set up his laboratory in Somerset House. Perhaps he might hwo been simply dismissed for his failure in making gold, but the elixir was a more touching affair. Ho had convinced tho queen that he was acquainted with the secret of preparing the golden elixir which confers perpetual life, accompanied by the charms of unfading youth and beauty. The result was not satis- factory, and the alchymist was committed — like a very great criminal — to the Tower ! The celebrated Dr. Dee was more fortunate with her. He was a truly learned man, who had studied on the continent, and mixed with all the sound knowledge of the times all its superstitions. He was at once a good mathe- matician, a good linguist, an astrologer, astronomer, alchymist, and soothsayer. He wrote a book called " The Book of Spirits," and held conversations with them, using as a medium in which he saw them, a black speculum, or a crystal, still preserved in the British Museum. Dr. Dec promised Elizabeth tho transmutation of metals and the revelation of future events ; but, however often he might fail in them, there were other services in which he was calcu- lated to be successful beyond any man of his age. From his familiar knowledge of tho continental languages, and the learned men of all ranks there, he could be used as " a secret intelligencer " without the slightest suspicion. He spent a great deal of his youth, in the reign of Henry VIII., on the continent, studying in Holland and Belgium, particularly at the University of Louvain, He afterwards lectured oa Euclid at Eheims and other places with wonderful eclat, and was in communication with tha most learned of all "36 OAsSELL-S ILLUSTllATED HISTORY OP ENQL.VND. [a.d. 1507. countries. He was consulted by Elizabeth's maids, if not.^ by Elizabeth, in queen Mary's reign; was presented to Edward VI. by the crafty Cecil, and was consulted by lord Dudley, afterwards the carl of Leicester, as to the most auspicious day for her coronation. He was constantly Fcnt on pretended scientifio missions to Fr.ance, Germany, Belgium, and other countries ; but, no doubt, really to learn everything that Cecil or Elizabeth wanted tii know. Hence he was presented to the rectory of Upton-on-Severn by Edward VI., and by Elieabeth to anotlur living and to the chancellorship of St. Paul's. He lived many years at Mortlake in Surrey, and there Elizabeth would ride over, with her whole court and privy council, on prcteuco of examining his library ; but even then she did not neglect to get a peep into his magic mirror. In his own diary he says:— "Septeiubcr 17th.— The queen's majesty came from Richmond in her coach, the higher way of Mortlake field; and when she came right against the church, she turned down towards my house ; and when she was against my garden, in the field, she stood there a good while, when, espying me at my door, making obeisances to her majecty. she beckoned mo to come to her coach-side. She very speedily pulled oflF her glove, and gave me her hand to kiss, and, to be short, asked me to resort to her court, and to give her to wete when I came there." Dee not only promised the queen perpetual youth and beauty — which she seemed to believe, for she imagined her- self handsome at stxty — but he also promised to convert any base metal into silver and gold, and once sent to her majesty a copper warming-pan with a piece cut out of it, and the piece converted into real silver. Had he discovered how to electrotype ? or did he very exactly fit a piece of silver to the part cut out P Be that as it may, to the last his prestige with her was never shaken. She sent for him from the continent, when he ♦ad staid there some time ; he came travelling in three coaches and four, like a prince. On landing, a guard of soldiers met him, and accompanied him on the road, to prevent him being plun- dered. Those who imagine that the queen's love of the occult sciences was the cause of this great honour to Dr. Dee, are, perhaps, not far wrong ; for of all the occult sciences, that of diving into the secrets of all the princes who could have any influence on her re.ilm or person.il security, was the most profoundly cultivated by Elizabeth and her astute mini.-tcr, Cecil. In Dr. Dee's coach we may rest assured that there were documents of much more value than silver or gold, and which, for the world, Elizabeth wouM not have come to the light. The attention of Elizabeth and her ministers was no sooner released from the contest in parliament than it was attracted to Scotland by the startling events in progress there. The birth of the young prince had only for the mo- ment had the effect of softening the wayward temper cf Darrley. It became absolutely necessary for Mary to con- struct a strong government if she was to enjoy the slightest power or tranquillity. Had she known the villainous mate- rials out of which, at be.st, she mujudic3 either his or her own honour. If, however, she had unfortunately offended him unconsciously, she desired to make every reparation, and she implored him to speak plainly, and not to spare her iu the least matter. Xone but a fool or a maniac could have resisted such aoilcable and generous conduct; but D;irnley was one of those impr.acticable fools who cannot bear high fortune. He declared that tho queen had never given him any occa- sion whatever of discontent or displeasure ; yet his sullen stubbornness of humour was in no degree dissipated. Dc Croc reported the folly of Darnley to his own court, and added, 'It is vain to imagine that he shall bo able to raise any disturbance, for there is not a person in all this king- dom, from tiie highest to the lowest, that regards him any farther than is agreeable to the queen ; and I never saw ber majesty so much beloved, esteemed, and honoured, uor so great a harmony amongst all licr subjects as at present is, by her wise conduct ; for I cannot perceive the smallest division or differeuco." Nothing availed to show Darnley the folly of his pro- ceedings, everything tended rather to aggravate his way- wardness. He persisted in his declarations that he would leave the kingdom, yet he never went. Ho denounced Maitland, Bellenden, the justice-clerk, r.nd Makgill, the dlerk register, as principal conspirators agriinst Rizzio, and iusisted that they should be deprived of office. He opposeil the return of Morton, and thus embittered his associates, i:»Iurray, Bothwell, -Vmyll, and Maitland. There was no ^inrty, esccpo the catholics, which did not regard him with suspicion or aversion. The . reformers- hated him for his A.D. 1567.1 PLOT AGAINST DARNLBY. 437 intriguing Tvith the catholics ; Cecil suspected him nf plotting with the catholics of England ; the Hamiltons had detested him from the first for coming in betwixt them and the succession. The queen now became grievously impatient of his in', 'actable stupidity, and deeply de- plored her unioa with the man who had already endan- gered the life of herself and her child, and now kept the government in a constant state of struggle and uncertainty. Matters were in this state when, in the commence- ment of October, 15GG, disturbances on the Borders rendered it necessary for the queen to go thither in person. Her lieutenant, the earl of Bothwell, in attempting to reduce the borderers to subordination, was severely wounded, and left for dead on the field. lie was not dead, however, and was conveyed to Hermitage Castle. Mary arrived at Jedburgh on the 7th of October, and the next day opened her court. The trials of the marauders lusted till the 15th, whoa she rode over to Hermitage, a dis- tance of twenty miles, to visit her wounded lieutenant. This visit excited much observation and remark amongst her subjects, and the events which succeeded have given deep significance to it. Bothwell was a bold and impetuous man, who had from the first maintained a sturdy attachment to the service of the queen, even when all others had de- serted and betrayed her. This had given him a high place in! Mary's estimation, and she was not of a character to conceal such prefex-ence. He was a man of loose principles, which; he had indulged freely, if not acquired, on the continent.' Ambition and gallantry, united to the most unabashed' audacity, made up a forcible but most dangerous character.! The manifest favour of his young, beautiful, and unhappy sovereign seems very soon to have inspired him with the most daring designs, which still lay locked in his own heart. There is little doubt that he had entered into the conspiracy to kill Darnley, for he was mixed up with that clique ; and the miserable and irritating conduct of Darn-' ley towards the queen was now rousing the indignation of far better men than Bothwell. The favour in which Both-- well was with the queen was early observed and eucouragod by Murray, Maitland, and their associates, because it tended to punish and might eventually lead to the dismissal of Darnley. Sir James Melville, indeed, attributes Bothwell'.s scheme for murdering Darnley and gainiag ^possession oB the queen to this period. There is no reason to believe that Mary, however, con- sciously encouraged the unhallowed passion of Bothwell at this period. As an oflioer high in her court, and in her esteem for his fidelity, it was not; out of the generous conrse of Mary's usual proceedings to pay him a visit, which, moreover, was only of two hours, for she rode back to Jedburgh the same day, ordering a mass of ofiioial papers to be immediately sent after her. Immediately on reach- ing Jedburgh she was seized with a fever, so severe and rapid that for ten days her pliysicians despaired of her life. This was ascribed to the fatigue of her long ride to Hermitage and b;icki but it probably arose from that fatigue operating oa a mind and body already shaken by deep anxiety. Might not a perception of her growing regard for Bothwell, causing her to feel more acutely t!ic misery of her union with Darnley, have had much to do with it? Nothing, however, of a criminal aquiescence in the growth of this passion could exist; for, believing herself dying, she displayed all the resignation of the most un- questionable innocence, exhorting her ministers and nobles to unity for the good of the kingdom, and for the safety of her son. She recovered, but her peace of mind and cheer- fulness were guns. Darnley never went to see her during the extremity of her illness : and though he made her two visits during her convalescence, thsy were not visits of peace or regard. They left her in a state of deep melancholy, and she often wished that she was dead. The recollection of what Darnley had sliown himself capable of in the plot against Rizzio, and his deep duplicity on that occasion, seemed now to inspire her with a dx-ead that he would conspire against her life, and she never saw him speaking to any of the lords but she was in alarm. Matters being now arrived at this miserable condition, Bothwell, Murray, and Maitland invited Huntley and Ai-gyll to meet them at Craigmillar Castle, and there proposed that a divorce should be recommended to the queen, on condition that she pardoned Morton and his accomplices the death of Rizzio. Mary listened to the scheme with apparent willingness, on the understanding that the mea- sure was not to prejudice the rights of her son ; but when it was proposed that Darnley should live in some remote part of the country, or retire to Franco, the idea appeared to realise their separation too vividly. She evidently felt a remainder of affection for him, and expressed a hope that he might return to better mind. She even offered to pass over to France herself, and remain there till he became sensible of his faults. On this Maitland exclaimed, sooner than that she should banish herself, they would substitute death for divorce. This effectually startled Mary, and she commanded them to let the matter be, for that she would wait and sec what God in his goodness would do to remedy the matter. The conspirators expressed their obedience to the queen's demands, but they still proceeded with the plot. At Craigmillar they met again, and drew up a bond or covenant for the murder of Darnley, which was signed by Huntley, Maitland, Argyll, and Sir James Balfour, of which Bothwell kept jiossession. It declared Darnley a young fool and tyrant, and bound them to cut him off as an enemy to the •nobility, and for hi.s unbearable conduct to the Cjueen. Soon after the e.arl of Bedford arrived to attend the baptism of the child. As wc have stated, Darnley, though in the palace, did not attend the ceremony, and the queen was observed to be oppressed with melanclioly and to shed tears. The ministers now prevailed on the queen to pardon all the murderers of Rizzio, except Car of Faudon- side, who had held a pistol to her breast, and George Douglas, who stabbed Rizzio in the back. This gave such ofifence to Darnley, that he quitted Edinburgh, and went to his father's, at Glasgow. There he was seized with a severe attack of illness, and an eruption which came out all over his body. It was believed to be poison, but proved to be the small-pox. Whilst he was lying ill, Morton returned to Edinburgh. Bothwell and Maitland met him at Whittingham, the seat of Arcliibald Douglas, where they pressed him to join the conspiracy for the mnrder of Darnley, professing that it was all done at the queen's desire. Morton insisted that they should bring him the queen's warrant under her ovrn 4 36 CiSSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [<.n. 10U7. hand, but this they failed to do. .\t the time that these plotti'ngs were going on, in the month of January. 1567, the queen set out to visit D.irnley. who had received Bome hints of the plots against him, and knowing that Morton was returned, who regarded him as a traitor to the Rizzio con- spirators, and the cause of their banishment, he was greatly alarmed by the tidings that the queen, whose severe censure entreated that all should be made up, and that she should not withdraw herself from him, as he complained she had done. Mary conducted him by short journeys Edin- burgh, herself travelling on horseback, and Parnley being carried in a litter. They rested two days at Linlithgow, and reached Edinburgh on the last day of January. It was intended to take Darnley to CraigmiUar, on account of Lord Darnley. From the Original Portrait in the Collection of the late Earl of Seaforth. of him he was well .icqu.ainted with, was on the way to see him. lie sent a messenger to meet her, apologising for not waiting on her in person The queen replied there was no medicine against fear, and rode on. She went direct to his father's, entered his room, and greeted him kindly. Darnley professed deep repentance of his faults, pleading ' his youth, ,ind the few friends and advisers that he had. | He complained of a plot got up at CraigmiUar, and that it was said the queen knew of it but would not sign it. He ' Holyrood being thought to lie loo low for a convalescent ; but probably Darnley, after what he had heard, objected to go thither, and he was, therefore, taken to a suburb called Kirk-of-Ficld, an airy situation, where the duke of Chatclherault had a palace. The attendants proceeded to the duke's house, but the queen told them the lodging pre- pared for the king was not there, but in a house just by, and also by the city wall, near the ruinous monastery of the Black Friars. A.D. 15G7.] BEIGN OP QUEEN ELIZABETH. 130 €i)t p^ousc Of ILortig. QUEES ELIZABETH AND JIER PARLIAMENT. FROM AN EKGIIAVINO <.'f THE rEr.I'.D. no CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.u. 1567. The pUioe appeared a singular one for a king, for it was confiueJ in size and not over well furnished. What was more suspicious was, that it was the property of Bobei t Balfour, tiie brother of that Sir James Balfour, one of the league sworn to destroy Darnley, and t!ie same who drew up the document. lie was a dependent of Both- well's, wlio held the bond, and who met the king and (juecn a little way before they reached the capital, and accompanied them to this place. All these circumstances comp.ired with those which followed, show that the whole had reference to the catastrophe, and the great question which has divided historians to this hour, is, how far the queen was a party to the proceedings. That we shall be called upon anon to discuss. For the present, so far as the queen was concerned, all appeared fair and sincere. She seemed to have resumed all her interest in her husband. She was constautly with him, and attended to everything necessary for his comfort and restoration. She passed the greater part of the day in Iiis chamber, and slept in the room under his. Though Darnley was apprehensive of danger from the circumstance that all his mortal enemies were now in power, and about the courc, the constant presence and affection of the queen was a guarantee for his safety, and appeared to give him confidence. But the conspirators were watching assiduously for an opportunity to destroy him. Morton, Maitland, and Balfour, had now gathered into the plot the earls of Huntley, Argyll, and Caithness, Archibald Douglas, the archbishop of St. Andrews, and many other lords and leading men of the bench and bar. Murray, alone, seemed to stand aloof ; though, from the evidence existing, there can be no question that he was privy to the whole. Darnley during this time received a warning of his danger' from the earl of Orkney, who finding opportunity told him, that if he did not got quickly out of that place it would, cost him his life. Darnley told this to the queen, who: questioned the earl, and he then denied having said so.' This was precisely what Morton stated would take place, when on his death-bed, confessing a knowledge of the plot, ho was asked why he had not revealed it. He replied, that there was nobody to tell it to. That it was no use telling it to the queen, for he was assured that she was in the plot ; and that if ho had told Darnley, he was such a fool that he would immediately tell it to the queen. The circumstance, however, startled the conspirators, and determined them to expedite the terrible business. The desired opportunity arrived. The queen agreed to be present on the evening of the uiuUi of Pebniary at the marriage of Sebastian! and Margaret Garwood, two of her servants, which ^vas to be celebrated vnth a masqae. The queen remainiod witli the king the greater part? APtheday, which was passed in the most apparent cordiality, ftnd Mary declared her inten- tion of remaining all rught/«c Kirk-of-Field. It is said that whilst sheWas talking there with theiing.l liay of Tallo, John Hepburn of Bokon, Pourio, Dalgloish, and other ruffians iu the pay of Bothwell, entered the room below tlie king's and deposited bags of gunpowder. These men, who were afterwards examined under torture, and oonfess-jd to strangling the king, could not in this instance, as we bhall see, have told the truth. However, Mary, still Bitting with her husband, suddenly recollected her promise to attend the marriage, and taking leave of Darnley, kissed him, and taking ariog from bof finger placed it on his own. Darnley, according to the evidence of these ruffians, retired to his bedchamber on the departure of the queen. He seemed much changed since his illness, had become tlioughtful and repentant of his past conduct, and this state of mind will account for the change in the queen's manner towards him. But still he was melancholy : com- plained tliat he had no friends, and was impressed with the conviction that he should be murdered. From those feelings he sought refuge in religion, and before retiring to rest ho repeated the fifty-fifth psalm, which he often sung. After lie fell asleep Taylor, his page, continued still to sit by his side. It was now that the hired assassins executed their appointed task. How Darnley and his page were murdered is yet a cjjsputed point. The house was blown up with gunpowder, but the bodies of the king and his page were found in the orchard adjoining the garden wall, the king only in his night-dress, his pelisse lying by his side, and no marks of fire upon the body. There is a story of the murderers going to commence their operations, and the king hearing-their false keys in the lock of his apartment, and rushing down in his shirt and pelisse, endeavouring to escape. Of his being seized and strangled, and his cries being heard by some women in the nearest house. On the other hand, the ruffians who did it, swore that only gun- powder was employed, and that the king's bed-clothes must have defended him from the action of the fire, and the crushing effect of the fall. Why, indeed, should they have taken the trouble to strangle Darnley, when the gunpowder was sufficient to destroy him ? It was also stated that two of his servants had perished in the ruins, and two others had escaped with very little hurt. How does the presence of 80 many attendants agree with the strangling story P However doubtful may be other matters, there is no question of the presence of Bothwell at the tragedy. He at- tended the queen from Ku-k-of-Fieldto Holyrood, but about midnight quitted the palace, changed his rich dress, and in disguise joined the murderers, who were waiting for him. About two o'clock two of his ruffians entered the house and lit a slow burning match, the other end of which was placed among.it the powder. They remained some time expecting the catastrophe, till B(Jthwcll grew so impatient, tliat he was with difficulty withheld from entering the house to ascertain whether the match still burnt. This was done by one of the fellows, who looked through a window and perceived the match ■n-Ught. The explosion soon after took place, and with a concussion which seemed to shake the whole city. Botliwell hurried away and got to bed before a servivnt rushed iuAvltlrHic news. He then sMHied up with^well-acted astonishment, and'ruslicd forth flouting " Treasoii! treason ! " Huntley -ftrtd some others of the conspirators then proceeded to the queen's cliamber, and iufoniiod her of what liad taken place. She seemed pttrifled with horror, • g.ive herself up tolhcmost violent expression of grief, and shutting lier.sclf Up in her chamber, continued as if paralysed by so horrible and diabolical a tragedy. But how far had Mary been cognisant of this con- spiracy ? Was she wholly or only partially innocent of participation in it ? These arc questions which have iieen, and continue tj be, agitated by difforcnt historians with iinioh zeal. We arc disposed to believe the queen entirely innocent of any direct guili. iu the matter. A.D. 1567.] BOTHWELL ACCUSED OF DARNLEY'S MUBDER. Ill Her character was that of open, warm, and for- giving sincerity. Much as she had been tortured and humiliated hy Darnley'a conduct, she had refused to bo divorced from hira when it was proposed to banish him from the kingdom. When it was vaguely suggested to be rid of liim by this very means, she recoiicd from the idea, and commanded that no steps should be taken in the matter till it was seen what the hand of God itself might effect on Darnley in reforming hira, or bringing some guiltless solu- tion to tlie difficulty. She had hastened to forgive the past, and to ronew her kindly intercourse with him, and to the last moment maintained a conduct towards him in keeping with her own warm-hearted character. But we are not so clear that even now she was not strongly, though perh.aps unconsciously, influenced by Bothwcll. It was at his suggestion that she had taken him to Kirk-of-Field instead of to some more stately mansion, where the concerted explosion would not be so easily effected ; and her conduct from this period bore more and more the marks of one of those paralysing and infatuated passions, which have converted the queens of nations into queens of tragedy, from Cleopatra to the queen of Scots. J.Iultitudes in the morning rushed to Kirk-of-Pield fo examine the ruins, but Bothwell hastening thither with a guard drove them back, and carried the king's body into a neighbouring house, where it was in the custody of one Alexander Drurem, who refused Melville a sight of him. Melville then went to the palace to inquire after tlie queen. Bothwell came out to him, and Paid that her majesty was sorrowful but quiet, and he told him a clumsy story of the strangest accident tliat ever chanced, — that the thunder came out of the sky, and had burnt the king's house, and killed the king, but so wonderfully that there was not the least mark upon hira, desiring him to go and look at him. The public were impatient to have the affair thoroughly investigated, and were amazed at the apparent apathy of the queen and court. Two day.*, however, passed before any step was taken, when a reward of tv.'o thousand pounds was Cjffercd for the discovery of the as.^assins. In the night, a paper was af&sed to the door of the Tolhooth denouncing Bo'hwoll, James Balfour, and David Chambers, as the perpetrators of the king's murder. Voices at the dead of night also were heard in the streets accusing the same persons, and calling for their punishment. But to the astonishment of the public, the queen, who had hitherto acted with so much spirit and energy, now remained perfectly quiescent. She was surrounded by the conspira- tors ; Bothwell, whom all judged to be the leader of the assassins, was in the highest favour ; and after remaining several days in her chamber, Mary removed to the house of lord Seaton, at a little distance from the castle, accom- panied by Bothwcll, Huntley, Argyll, Maitland, and others of the well-knovi'n conspirators. Darnley was privatelv buried in the royal chapel of Holyrood, none of the nobility attending. The demands of the iodign.ant public for inquiry con- tinued. The city was placarded with the names of Both- well, James Balfour, David Chambers, black John Spens, Signors Francisco, Joseph Rizzio, the brother of David, Bartiani, and John do Bourdeaux, as the loading murderers. The earl of Lennox, the father of Darnley, called on the queen to bring them to trial; but he demanded in vain. Bothwell, the man that the whole public denounced, con- tinued the first in favour with the quoen. At this time Lutyni, an Italian, and companion of Joseph Rizzio, who had been on his way to the continent, and had been re- called by ttio queen's warrant, on a charge of theft, and was believed to be concerned in the plot, was examined by Bothwcll and dismissed, the queen presenting him with thirty crowns to assist him on his journey. Nine days afttr the exjlosion, Sir Wi'diam Drury wrote to Cecil from Berwick, informing hira that Do!u, the queen's treasurer, had arrived in that town with Bartiani, who was denounced in the placards, and eight others. Francisco, another of the denounced, was expected to pass that way in a day or two ; and other foreigners had left Scotland by sea. All this time Bothwell was at the head of affiiirs, accom- panied by Jlaithind of Lethington, Argyll, and Huntley, all grievously su.spectcd persons. Morton and Murray kept still away from court, .and Lenncx, when demanded by Mary to repair thither, dismissed her messenger without reply. The people, astonished at this state of things, talked loudly, and hinted a variety of means of coming at Ihc truth, if it were desired. The smith, said a placard affixed to the Trnii, who furnished the false keys to the Kirk-of-Field house, was ready to name his employers ; and the person who furnished James Balfour with the powder was well Icnown. Other placards and drawing,"! pointed broadly at the queen and Bothwell. The. only effect of all this was, that whilst there was no attempt to inquire after the authors of the murder, there was a sharp search after the authors of tho placards. Bothwell him- self rede into the city in great fury, surrounded by fifty guards, declaring, with furious oaths and gestures, that if he Inew who were the authors of the placards, he would wash his hands in their hearts' blood. At the same time tho queen was attended, as guard, by Captain Cnllen, a notorious creature of Bothwell's, and his comp.any; and Mary, it was repeated, so far from being overwhelmed by grief, was leading n gay life at Seaton with the conspirator lords. She and Bothwell amused themselves with shoot- ing at the butts against Huntley and Seaton ; and so incon- gruous was this conduct of the queen with the recent terrible death of her husband, and the rumours busy all over the country, that public feeling wag shocked; and the very evening after Bothwell's furious appearance ir tho city, there were displayed two placards, one with the initials M.R. and a hand holding a sword, the other with the initials of Bothwcll, and above them a m.illefc, alluding to the only wound discovered on the king, as if perpetrated by such an implement. Everything demonstrated the necessity of the queen exerting herself to discover the murderers of her husband. Sir Harry Kiliigrew arrived from Elizabeth, bearing a message of condolence, but at the same time urging tlie absolute necessity of the trial of Bothwcll. Kiliigrew found the op.pital in a most excited state, clamorous for inquiry, ard loud in its censures of the queen. At the same time a letter arrived from bisliop Beaton, her ambassador in Franco, stating in plainest terms that she was publicly accused there of being herself the chief mover of the whole dark business, and telling her that if she did not exert herself to take a rigorous vengeance she had better have lost life and all. Mary promised Kilii- grew that Bothwcll should ho brought to strict trial ; but so soon as he was gone mcana were taken to sesuie Both- n-2 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED mSTOBT OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 15G7. -well more completely from any effectual inquiry. The earl of Mar was induced to give up the possession of the castle of Edinburgh to Bothwell, Morton had his lands and his castle of Tantallan restored to him, and, in return, sup- ported Bothwell Tvilh all his influence. The castle of Blackness, the Inch, and the superiority of Leith were conferred on Bothwell ; and Murray, who neither liked to play the second to the aspiring favourite, nor to run any risk of exposure in those inquiries which must sooner or later ensue, requested permission to visit France. Mary could not possibly be happy in such circumstances. Whatever were the state of her conscience, her character was fearfully implicated, and on all sides came calls for inquiry, which she did not seem to have the power or the will to make. She was observed to be no longer the same j woman. She was oppressed with melancholy, often sur- j prised in tears, and the ravages of her internal feelings were marked in a deep change from her former health and | beauty. The climax to her trouble was put by the queen- mother of France and her uncle, the cardinal, sending her the most cutting message of reproach ; calling on her with- out delay to avenge the death of the king, and to clear her own reputation, or regard them as no longer her friends, but the proclaimers of her utter disgrace. There was no possibility of putting off a show of inquiry any longer, but every means was adopted to make it a mere mockery. Bothwell was now so completely lord of the court, and had so many offices and means of injury in his hands, that who was to be found hardy enough to oppose him ? The earl of Lennox, who had hitherto demanded inquiry in vain, was now suddenly summoned to appear and make his charge against Bothwell on the 12th of April ; but Lennox, appalled at the prospect of meeting his antagonist backed by all the power of the state, without the utmost prepara- tion, prayed for more time that he might collect his friends and his evidence. It was refused, and he then wrote to Elizabeth, who sent a despatch, urging on Mary the reason- ableness of the request of Lennox. She stated that Lennox represented that there was a combination to screen Both- well, and prevent justice being attained, and exhorted her, as she valued her reputation, to see that a fair trial was given. The letter of queen Elizabeth was forwarded by the provost of Berwick, who arrived with it on the morning of the trial, but Bothwell and his accomplice Maitland pretended that the queen was asleep, to prevent her seeing the letter, or being known to see it, before the trial. The provost, indeed, from the moment he entered the city, was quite satisfied that no justice was intended. The palace and the castle were entirely in the hands and surrounded by the retainers of Bothwell and his accomplices. The provost, though known as the envoy of the queen of England, w.is rudely treated, and called an English villain who had come to prevent the trial. When Bothwell and Maitland came out of the palace, he handed them his despatches, with which they returned, but soon came out again, and without deigning him an answer, mounted and were riding away. But the provost, who resolved to assert his proper dignity, pressed up to them and called for his answer. They assured him that the queen was asleep, and could not be disturbed. Such con- duct and such an excuse, when an envoy from the queen ol England had come express on most important business, showed a dcterminatioit to pursue a concerted coarse at all costs. L'nfortunately for the exoneration of Mary fronj ignorance of this letter, a servant of De Croc, the French ambassador, at the very moment that Bothwell and Leth- ington rode out, saw Mary standing at an upper window of the palace with the wife of Lethington, and pointed her out to the provost, who observed her give a friendly nod to Bothwell as he went away. The trial was precisely such as might be expected under the circumstances. The court was surrounded by the retainers of Bothwell, the jury was selected from those in his interest, the judges were all under the awe of his power, and the earl of Lennox, who was approaching, accompanied by his friends, was forbidden to enter the court with more than six of them. It would have been madness to proceed, especially as the hagbutters of Bothwell, who crowded round the door, would have suffered no material witness to enter, if any such daring mortal could be found. Lennox demanded more time, and liberty to bring forward bis friends and proofs , it was refused: the jury, without hear- ing any evidence, pronounced an unanimous acquittal of Bothwell. On this being decided Bothwell challenged any gentleman who dared to accuse him of the king's murder. Sir William Drury wrote at once to Cecil to pray the queen that he might accept the challenge, being perfectly sure of Bothwell's guilt, but it does not appear that the queen con- sented, for nothing came of it. The public of Scotland were greatly scandalised at these proceedings, and the people of Edinburgh openly expressed their disgust in the streets ; the very market-women calling out to Mary as she rode through the city, " God preserve your grace, if you be innocent of the king's death." Drury wrote to Cecil that not only had Bothwell insulted the public sense by riding to the trial on Darnley's favourite horse, but that he was assured that Mary sent him an encouraging message and token during the trial. In fact, so completely had this unfortunate princess now become infatuated by her passion for the murderer of her husband, that nothing could open her eyes, so that the people de- clared that Bothwell had bewitched her with love philtres. As if to defy the public opinion, Mary called a parliament, appointed Bothwell to bear the cro^vn and sceptre before her as she rode thither, and passed a bill fully confirming his acquittal at the trial. As if to win the clergy to the side of Bothwell, she abolished all laws restricting the free enjoyment of religious liberty, and made provision for the poorer members of the ministry. The assembly, however, unwarped by such favour, presented to her an address praying for a searching inquiry into the king's murder, which she took in very ill part. Could a more expressive proof of her blind devotion to the regicide Bothwell hayo been given. Events now marched on at a great rate. First camo rumours that Bothwell was about to divorce his wife, the sister of Huntley, to whom he had only been married six months. Immediately afterwards stranger rumours of his being about to marry the queen ; and in the face of this Mary conferred on him the castle and lordship of Dunbar, with extension of his powers as high admiral. As the rumours of the queen's intended marriage with Bothwell grew, Murray, her brother, as was his wont, stole away out of the contact with danger or responsibility, and retired to France. But, nevertheless, she did not lack warning. Her ambassador at the court of France entreated her, in the A.D. 1567.] MARRIAGE OP MARY AND BOTHWELL. 413 most serious manner, to punish her husband's murderers, and not allow the world to use such freedom witli her character as it did. " Lord Herries,' according to ilelviUe, "went to her and told her what bruits were pa.ssing through the country of the carl of Both well murdering tlio king, and how she was to marry him ; requesting her majesty, most humbly upon his knees, to remember upon her honour and dignity, and upon the surety of the prince, which would bo all in danger of tincell, in case she married tlio said ear), with many other groat persuasions to eschew sucli ulter wrack and iuconvenients as tliat would bring ou. Her majesty marvelled of such bruits without purpose, and said there was no such thing in her mind. He asked pardon and prayed her to take his honest meaning in good part, and took his leave immediately, fearing tho earl Bothwell should get word thereof. He had fifty horse with him, and caused his men to buy as many new spears in Edin- burgh, and rode home." She liad equally strong letters from herfriends in England, which Melville showed to her, and was advised by Maitland of Lelhington to get away from court for fear of Bothwell. Bothwell, however, soon put the matter beyond doubt. He invited the principal nobility to a tavern, kept by one Ansley, and there he drew out of his pocket a bond, expres- sing his innocence of the murder of Darnley, as established by the bench and the legislature, and his intention to marry the queen, and containing, it is said, her written warrant, empowering him to propose the matter to the nobility. The company was composed partly of his friends and accomplices. The rest were taken with confusion, but they had all now been deeply drinking, and they found the house surrounded by two hundred of Bothwell's hag- butters. Under this constraint, eight bishops, nine carls, and seven lords, subscribed the paper, which Bothwell then returned to his pocket. The earl of Eglinton contrived, notwithstanding the hagbutters, to mako his escape, but there yet remain to the copy of this bond in the state paper office, the signatures of the earls of Morton, .Argyll, Huntley, Oassillis, Sutherland, Glenoairn, Rothes, and Caithness ; and those of the lords Hume, Boyd, Seaton, Sinclair, and even Herries, who had strongly dissuaded the queen from this very measure. But this compulsion and the daring ambition of the man now roused oven his old accomplices to conspire against him, for the safety of the young prince and government. Morton, Argyll, Atholl, and Kirkaldy of Grange were .at the head of this plot ; and thoy wrote to Bedford tho day after the supper at Ansley's, saying it was high time that his dangerous career was cliecked, and engaging by Eliza- beth's aid to avenge the murder of the king. Kii-kaldy, who was tho scribe, added, that tho queen had been heard to say that " she cared not to lose Prance, England, and her own country fur him, and would go with him to the world's end inawhito petticoat, before she would leave him." An anonymous letter, but undoubtedly from some of this party, soon followed, declaring that the queen had con- certed with Bothwell the sei/.uro of her person. " This is to advertise you," it says, "that tho earl Bothwell's wife is going to part with her husband ; and a groat part of our lords have subscribed the marri.age between the queen and him. The queen rode to Stirling this last Monday, and returns this Thursday. I doubt not but you have heard how the earl of BothwoU has gathered many of his friends, and, as some say, to ride into Liddesdale, but I believe it is not, for he is minded to meet the queen this day, called Thursday, and to take her by the way, and to bring her to Dunbai'. Judge you if it be witli her will or no ? " The correctness of this information was immediately proved. On Monday, the 21st of April, the very day fore- told, Mary rode to Stirling to visit her son, where the earl of Mar, entertaining strong suspicions of her intentions, refused to allow her access to him with more than two at- tendant:*, to her great indignation. On her return, as had been foreseen in the letter quoted, Bothwell met her .at the head of a thousand horse, at Almond Bridge, six miles from Edinburgh ; and, according to Melville, who was in the queen's train, taking the queen's bridle, he boasted that " he would marry the queen, who could or who would not; yea, whether she would lierself or not." He says that Captain Blackadder, one of Bothwell's men, told him that it was with the queen's own consent. Whether this were so or not, has been argued eagerly on both sides, but it is probable from what we have seen that Mary really was a consenting party. Tlie roy.al retinue was suffered to continue its journey with the exception of Melville, Maitland, and Huntley, who were conducted along with the queen to the castle of Dunbar, the recent present of Mary to Bothwell. The queen seems to have made no loud outcries against the apparently forcible abduction, and the country was bo satisfied of the real nature of the affair, that there was no attempt to rescue her. The divorce of Bothwell from his wife was now hastened, and after detaining the queen five days at tho ca«t!o of Dunbar, he conducted her to Edinburgh, and led her to the castle, where she was received under a discharge of artillery, Bothwell holding her train as she dismounted. There ap- peared no evidence of force, no resentment on the part of the queen, but to the great disgust of the public, the murderer of her late husband appeared to act rather by her choice than in any opposition. Melville and Kirkaldy of Grange had not only informed Elizabeth of all that would take place, but when it had occurred, entreated her to aid the coalition of nobles, now become anxious to avenge the king's murder and rescue the queen. But Elizabeth, who was no doubt pleased witlAhe degradation of tho queen of Scots, and with the destruction of licr authority, so far from acceding, blamed them for using such language regara- ing their queen. The ministers of the church were ordered to proclaim the banns of marriage betwixt the queen and Bothwell, Dut they declined ; and Cr.aig, the colleague of Knox, who was absent, declared that he had no command from her majesty, who was held in disgraceful constraint by Bothwell. This brought to him the justice-clerk with a letter under the queen's own hand, declaring that the assertions he had made were false, and commanding him to obey. Craig still refused till he had seen the queen herself; and, before the privy council, charged Bothwell with murder, rape, and adultery. No punishment followed so daring a charge, and the preacher having done his duty, obeyed the royal man- date, and published the banns, at the same time exclaiming, " I take heaven and earth to witness that I .abhor and detest this marriage, as odious and slanderous to the world;' and I would c.ihort the faithful to pray earnestly, that a union against all reason and good conscience, may yet bo overruled by God to the conform of this unhappy realm." 411 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1567. Xotliing moved by these public expressions of censure and disgust, the queen appeared, on the 12th of May, at the high court of Edinburgh, and informed the chancellor, the judges, and the nobility, that, though she was at first incensed against the earl of BothwcU, for the forcible detention of her person, she had now quite forgiven him for his sub- sequent good conduct : as if crimes of so deep a dye could have been thus easily pardoned, where the outrage had been real. That day she created Bothwell duke of Orkney and Shetland, and with her own hand placed tlie coronet on his head. Oa the fifteenth they were married, at four o'clock in the morning, in the presence-chamber of Holy- rood. The ceremony was performed by the bishop of Orkney, according to the protestant form, Craig being present; and afterwards, privately, according to the catholic rite. Mary, strangely enough, was married in her widow's weeds. Melville describes Bothwell that day, as seen by him, di'icking after supper, and using very vile language, his companions being the justice-clerk, and Huntley, the chancellor, and brother of Bothwell's divorced wife. But the misery of such a monstrous marriage was swift in showing itself. The queen herself appeared miserable. De Croc, soon after the marriage, relates that the queen sent for him ; and on his perceiving something strange in her behaviour, he writes, " She attempted to excuse it, and said, ' If you see me melancholy it is because I do not choose to be cheerful — becausa I never will be so, and wish for nothing but death.' " In fact, though Bothwell studied to appear respectful, and refused to be covered in her pre- sence — which she would playfully resent, and, snatching his cap, place it on his head — ^yet his nature was so brutal and overbearing, that she must soon have felt that she was fallen under a vulgar and intolerable tyranny, for which she had forfeited the respect of her people and of the whole world. Still, amidst it all, she made an appearance of con- tentment, put off her mourning, assumed a g.iy dress, and rode abroad with Bothwell. But this wag only assumed. Bothwell could not rest till he had the young prince in his hands ; and though Mary had resigned her own life and honour to the villain, she refused to put that of her child into his power. The paro^sms of agony into which his importunity wrought Mary were such that she was tempted to destroy herself. One day, says De Oroc, when she and Bothwell were in the room with the Count D'Aumale, she called aloud for a knife to kill herself; the people in the ante-room heard it. He adds, " I believe that if God does not support her, she will entirely fall into despair. On the occasions when I have seen her I have given her advice, and consoled her as well as I was able. Her husband will not be able to containe her long, for he is too much hated in the kingdom, and the people will always be convinced that the death of the king was his work." Around her, indeed, lowered a gathering tempest ; and it would have broken sooner but for the refusal of Elizabeth to consent to the deposition of the queen and the crowning of the prince, which shocked all her high notions of royal authority. " To crown her son," she replied to the con- spirators, " during his mother's life, was a matter, for example's sake, not to be digested by her or any other monarch." It was, in fact, a matter of secret gratula- tion to Elizabeth to see her hated rival, who had so strenu- ously persisted in maintaining her claim to her crown, thus daily slaking herself lower and lower in the world's eye. But it was with difficulty that the spirit of Mary's indignant subjects was restrained. Maitland and Huntley, though ap- parently friends of Bothwell's. and still retaining their posts at court, were pledged in the secret bond to his destruction. Bothwell grew suspicious of them, and they resolved to kill him ; but Mary threw herself betwixt them, and declared that if a hair of Bothwell's head perished, it should be at the peril of their life and lands. Such was the condition of Mar}-, groaning under the tyranny of this brutal adventurer, trembling for the life of her child from him who had murdered the father, and evidently clingin" to him in the strength of an infatuated passion. The con- spirators kept Murray in France well informed of all that passed ; and Elizabeth, though she could not aid the rebels, sent the earl of Bedford to the north to watch every move- ment of both parties. .,.,. On the other hand, the queen and Bothwell despatched Robert Melville, whom the queen deemed one of the most trusty of her servants, to Elizabeth and Cecil, with apologies for their conduct ; but Melville at the same time was the sworn ally of the conspirators, and carried letters from Morton to the English queen, to whom he recom- mended him, as the trusty friend of the combined lords. Meantime, circumstances hastened the insurrection in Scotland. Mary had summoned her nobles to accompany her on an expedition to Liddesdale, but many disobeyed the order. Murray had now arrived in England, and was using all his influence with Elizabeth to make a move- ment for the expulsion of Bothwell from his usurpation ; and even Maitland, who to the last had remained at court, wearing the air of a stanch supporter of the queen, slipped away and joined the opposition. These were ominous circumstances, and suddenly, whilst the queen and Bothwell were at Borthwick Castle, about ten miles from Edinburgh, the conspirators made a rapid night march, and morning saw the castle surrounded by nearly a thousand borderers, under the command of Hume and other border chiefs, with whom were Morton, Mar, Lindsay, Kirkaldy, and others of the nobles. The confederates deemed the queen and Bothwell now safe in their hands, but they were deceived. Bothwell escaped through a postern to Haddington, whence he reached Dunbar ; and the queen also eluding them, disguised as a man, rode booted and spurred after him. The confederates, disappointed of their grand prize, marched upon the capital, forced the gates, and entered proclaiming that they came to revenge the death of the king, and to rescue the queen from the murderer. There the earl of AthoU and Ufaitland joined them, and a banner was displayed on which was painted the body of the murdered king lying under a tree, and the young prince kneeling beside it, exclaiming, " Judge and avenge my cause, Lord ! " The people flocked to this exciting standard, and they saw themselves at the head of a strong force. Mary and Bothwell, meantime, summoned the nobles and people around Dunbar, and the lords Seaton, Yester, and Borthwick, appeared in arms, with a body of two thousand men. Impatient to quell the confederates at once, they marched to Seaton, where Mary issued a proclamation, declaring that all the pretences of the confederates were false ; that her husband, the duke, was no murderer, but had, as they knew, been fully acquitted ; she was under no restraint, but freely married to Bothwell, by consent and A.D. 15C7.1 REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. •51; STORENDER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, AT OARBERRT Hill. (sEE PAOE 416.) 90 aa CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATKD HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 15U7. approbation of these very nobles , nor was her son in an,\ danger, unless it were from them, for he was in their hand*. Marv udvaiiceJ and intrenched herself on Carberry Hill, in the old works which the English had thrown up before the battle of Pinkie. The confederates marched out of Edinburgh and con- fronted the royal army, eager for the battle. De Croc, the French ambassador, now attempted to mediate betwixt the two parties, and carried a message to Morton and Glcncairn, offering the queen's pardon, on condition that they all returned to their allegiance; but Glencairn replied that they were not come there to seek pardband, and are prepared to yield her our obedience, on condition that she dismisses him from her prcseuee. and delivers him up to us." It was clear that these terms must be complied with or they must fiiht • and it was soun perceived that the soldiers of the queen's army began to show symptoms of disaffec- tion ; Bothwell, therefore, rode forward, and defied any one who dared to accuse him of the king's murder. His challenge was accepted by James Slurniy of Xullibardine, the same haron who wa« said to have charged Buthwell with the murder, by the placard affixed to the Tolbooth pate. Bothwell declined to enter the lists with Murray, on the plea that he was not his peer, whereupon lord Lindsay of the Byres offered himself and was accepted, but at the moment of action the queen forbade the fight. By this time the defection in the C|aeen's army became so conspicuous that Mary rode amongst them to encourage uU0n>, assuring them of victory ; but her voice had lost its charm, and the soldiers refused to figlit in defence of the alleged murderer of the king. Whilst this was passing, it was observed that Kirkaldy of Grange was wheeling his forces round tiie hill to turn their flank . and the panic becoming generdi, the qneen and Bothwell found themselves abandoned by all but about «ixty gentlemen, and the band of hagbutters. To prevent Gcan^ ^advancing his troops so as to cut off their xctreat tovMldsSanbar, the queen demanded a parley, which vwos inalanilgr ^eattted. Grange went forward and assured the queen that -they were ail •prepared to obey her authority, provided she put -away the man who stood by her side stained with the bluud of the king. The queen promised to ac<|uie8ce. and ahe held a mument's con- versation with Bothwell, ^ave him her band, and followed Grange ; Sotbwcll turning his hor-se's head and riding off in another direction. .Mary did not ioUow Grange far till she saw Bothwell out of danger, when she reminded him that she relied on the assurauuus of the lords, on which Grange, kissing her Majesty's hand, took her bridle by the rein, and j led her towards the cautp. On reaching the lines, the con- | federate lordi. received tiie queen on their knees, and vowed | to obey and defend her as loyally as ever the nobility of the realm did lier anoostor^ ; but they very soon showed the hoUownees of tliege prulessions, and the common soldiurs assailed her earsiwith the most opprobrious language. The v:ry first wis.i 4but Mary expressed, that of com- j municating with the Humiltons, who had advanced, as if to I her aid, as far as Linlithgow, they refused. Indignant at I this conduct, Mary asked them whether that w.is keeping i their word, and how they dared to treat her as a prisoner ? ' Xhey returned her no answer. She then called for lord I I Lindsay, noted for his fierceness, and desiring him to give her I his hand, she said, 'By this hand 1 will have your head j for tliis." Tlie speech was imprudent, for now the cun- federates, by letting Bothwell escape, bad got rid of the ' danger of their exposure as iicenuiplices in the murder of i the king, for Bothwell ludd the bond signed by them ; and I this no doubt actuated them to let him escape, whose murder of the king they proclaimed as the cause of their I rising. Every step that the unfortunate queen advanced showed ' her the more plainly her real situatiim, and tl.e faith which ; she was to put in these nobles. She was conducted like a ' captive into Edinburgh, the soldiers, with the vilest language, constantly waving before her eyes the banner on which w.as painted the murdered king. The nuib was crowding round in thousands, shouting and yelling in execration, and the women heaped on hec all the coarsest epithets ot adulteress and murderess. The nobles, who had promised so much honour and loyalty, suffered it all without any restraint. On arriving in the city, instead of conducting her to her own palace, the perjured and inhuman monsters shut her up as a solitary prisoner in the house of the prove?:, not even allowing her t» have her women to attend her ; and in the morning she was greeted by a repetition of the scenes of the previous day — the same hideous banner was hangout opposite her window, and the yells of the mob were furious. I Driven to actual delirium by this treatment, she rent the I clothes from her person, and almost naked attempted to I speak to the raving populace. This shocking spectacle I roused the sympathy of the better class of citizens, and they determined on a rescue of the insulted queen, when the heartless nobles removed her to Holyrood. There they 1 held a council, and concluded to send ber prisoner to Loch- I leven custlc, at Kinross, under the stem guardianship of : liindsay and the savage Kuthven, whose^ghasily apparition I at tthe uiuvder of Bizzio the queen was never likely to j forget. Mary's journey to her prison was but a continued courso of the same popular insult which marked her passage from iQarberry JHill to the capital. She was mounted on a sorry back, and exposed all the way to the gnae and the reproaches of the mob. Elirkaldy of Grange, who had pledged his word for hor honourable treatment, xemoiutratod against this gross violation of their duty, but they put into his hand a latter whicli they said Mary bad written to Bothwell whilst ;in Iheir bands, declaring that she would never desert hiia. 3.'h>8 was, in all likelihood, a forgery ; for Mary could have little opportunity for writing or sending such a letter; and the character of these men, traitors to their sovereign from the first and most innocent part of her reign, warrants us in believing them quite ready for the commiiisioa of all such frauds. On scouring their queen in-this prison, the confederates wrote to Klizabeth and to the king cf France toju.-^tify themselves. They assured Elizabe'h that tlieir only object in taking up arms was to punish tlio king, an object which they notoriously avoided by letting Bothwell e: . pe, and by sparing themselves, who were really T.t do^p in the irimc as he. They declared, moreover, that they bad never for a moment dreamt of crowning the young prince ; and they finished with their eternal postscript of wanting more money, on the receipt of which they pledged themselves to throw overboard all the tempting offers of France. To the king A.D. 1567.] IMPRISONMENT OP MARY. 447 of France, who was anxious to have the prince sent to him to be brought up, they held out encouraging hopes of com- pliance, but took care to give him only words till they heard what Elizabeth would do ; and they pressed Murray and Lennox to hasten to Scotland. On the 20th of Juno the confederates professed to have made a grand discovery, namely a silver casket belonging to Bothwell, and containing certain sonnets and love-letters from Mary to Bothwell, completely decisive of her guilt- This casket, we shall find, came to play a conspicuous part in the after history of the Scottish queen. The whole story is suspicious; and though the lords despatched Ooorge Douglas, one of their number, on a special mission to the earl of Bedford on the very day of the alleged discovery, no mention is made of it at this period in the corerspondence with Cecil. Elizabeth had a difficult game to play under the present ciroumstancos of Scotland, but she played it with her usual duplicity. She openly protested against the violation of the prerogatives of their sovereign by the lords, but privately she supported them. She was quite aware that the lords had no intention of restoring Mary to her liberty and throne, and, therefore, Elizabeth could with perfect security urge them to do so ; and could sympathise with Mary in her letters to her. She furnished Robert Melville with despatches suited to each party, the confederates and the queen, and sent that double-faced man home with them. She also sent Sir Nicholas Throckmorton soon afcer to Edinburgh as her ambassador. There the confederates were busy pretending to bring the murderers of the king to justice. They had let the great actor in it go purposely, and now sought to satisfy the people by punishing some of the little ones. They seized three : one captain CuUen, a daring tool of BothweU's, who they boasted had confessed all, but who does not seem to have been brought to trial ; probably they were afraid that he might prove too much. Another, captain Blaokadder, they tried and executed, but he died protesting positively his innocence, and revealing nothing ; and the third, one Sebastian de Villours, a foreigner, was discharged. The public were not likely to be satisfied by these pro- ceedings, nor the Hamiltons, who claimed the throne next to Mary and her issue, and who might probably hope that if the young prince was sent for protection to France, and Mary was reinstated, they might secure the chief power, for the duke of Ohatelherault, their head, made no secret of attempting the liberation of the queen. They, were joined by Argyll, Huntley, Herries, Crawford, Seaton, and Flem- ing. The Archbishop of St. Andrews and Lesley, bishop of Ross, were the directors of their counsels. Such a party was formidable, and the confederates flew to the clergy to rouse the people on their side. Knox who had never ventured to reappear till the queen was in custody, once more mounted the pulpit, and thundered against popery, the lewd queen, and the murderers of the king — himself till that moment invisible as one of the sworn accomplices. In return for these services the confederate lords promised to restore the possessions of the church, to place all educa- tion in the hands of the clergy, and to take care that the prince was educated in the strictest principles of protes- tantism. They prevailed on Knox, Douglas, Dow, and Craig, to seek an interview with the Hamiltons, and per- suade them to an accommodation, but in this they failed. Meantime, although queen Mary was shut up in the island castle of Lochlcven, under the strictest surveillance, she was not idle. No confinement could be more hateful or more severe. The castle was in the keeping of lady Margaret Erskine, daughter of lord Erskine, who had been the mistress of James V., the father of Mary, and was by the king the mother of the earl of Murray. She afterwards married Sir Robert Douglas, and had by him a family. Her eldest son, William Douglas, was now proprietor of the castle, but lady Douglas always boasted that she had been the lawful wife of James V., and that therefore her son, the earl of Murray, was the rightful heir of the throne. Mary, was, in her eyes, only a usurper and supplanter of her son j and proud and stern as she was by nature, we may imagine the jealous rigour with which she executed the office of jailoress to the queen of Scots. To aid her in this office she had the cordial assistance of those two iron men, Ruthven and Lindsay of the Byres. But such jailors and such a prison did not quail the spirit of Mary Stuart. Had she been as proof to the blandish- ments of fortune and of men, as she was resistant to oppression and injustice, she would have been a great and prosperous queen. She continued to convey an account of her situation and sentiments to the courts of both Prance and England. The French monarch despatched M. Villeroy to have an interview with her, but this was not allowed, and the messenger whom she had chosen to state her case to Elizabeth, we have seen was a traitor. By various letters of this Melville on his return to Edin- burgh, in the State Paper Office, dated June and July, and addressed to Cecil, we find him engaged in a scheme for prevailing on Mary to resign in favour of her son, and, as it would appear, under threat of bringing her to trial for the murder of her husband if she refused. Accord- ingly, though on the very day on which one of his most significant letters to Cecil is dated, the 1st of July, Melville went to Loohleven, and delivered to her the letter of the queen of England. At this interview, Ruthven, Lindsay, and Douglas were present, so that, had he wished it, he could enter into no private communication ; but eight days after they sent him again to her, and allowed him to bo alone with her. On this occasion he endeavoured to persuade her to abandon Bothwgll, but she refused, a con- vincing proof of the strength A that passion for this brutal adventurer which had ruined her vyith her people and defamed her with all the world. Whilst Mary was stubborn in the adherence to her own feelings and views, without, the various parties were actively seeking each their own interests. Both France and England were anxious to obtain the person of the prince, and whilst France was ready to give up the queen for that object, Elizabeth of England professed to wish for her eidarge- ment and the punishment of the murderers. Neither of these plans tound favour with the confederate lords. It Prance obtained the person of the prince, it would be in r. condition to dictate to every party in Scotland, and the lords themselves saw no security for their own ascendency. If they set the queen at liberty, they assured Trockmorton they should only sign their own death-warrants. Franco tried to win over Murray by splendid offer.'<, to join with it, and desert the confederates; but Murray, who saw only his interest in maintaining the rights of the queen and the prince against the confederate lords, now joined Elizabeth 44S CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED BISTORT OP EVQLAXD. [.i.D. 15G7. in Uemaadingjustioo for the queen ; and he de.^patclicd liis i appointed Murray regent till he was of a;;e ; and by the confidential servant, Xicholas Elpliinstone, to Mary to assure I third constituted the duke of Chatelherault, the earls of her of his devotion to her cause. Uow far he was honest : Lennox, Argyll, Atlioll. Morton, Gleneairn, and Mar, a subsequent events soou proved. Elpliinstone in his passage council cf regency till the arrival of .Murray, with power *hrough London had a private interview with Eli/.abe'h. who entered into all his views , which were to support the I confederates to a certain extent, but not by destroyinf; the ijucen to render them independent of her. She ordered Cecil to wriio a letter in her uaiuo to Mary, confessing that , she could not writo herself because ' ' she had not used I to continue in that office if he refused the charge. , Melville was employed to prepare Mary by exciting her terrors. He was first admitted, and assured her that if she refused to sign these papers her death was certain. To induce her more readily to comply, he hinted to her that her signing under restraint would be wholly invalid, and Mary well in those broken matters that were passed." She | might enable her at some fortunate moment to repudiate bade him assure Mary that Murray had nover defamed her in regard to the death of her husband, never plotted for the secret conveying of the prince to England, but was the most faithful and honourable servant that she had in Scotland. Elizabeth, with her deep insight into character and events, saw clearly that so long as she supported Murray in conjunction with the interests of his own family, she might continue to lean on him for aid ; whilst the pro- tcstant lords once free of Mary and united with the church would set her at defiance. But the confederate lords, havin;» the queen in their hands, alike refused admi3.sion to the envoys of France, England, or Murray. They themselves endeavoured to induce her through Melville, wliom they admitted to her them, and he bri)ught m 'ssages to the same purport from Atholl, Miiitland, and Throckmorton. Mary indignantly refused, but on the entrance of Liudsay, who had never forgotten her menace of the loss of his head at Carberry. his stern countenance and fierce manner so overawed her that, probably inwardly adopting Melville's suggestion, she took the pen and without even reading the documents feigned them all. So far the confederates had obtained a grand triumph, but before it was completed they must per- petrate another illegal outrage. It was necessary that this resignation and appointment should pass the privy seal, and when Iluthven and Lindsay presented the deeds to Thomas Sinclair, deputy-keeper, he refused to affix the seal, (he queen bein;; under restraint ; on which Liudsay collected a posse presence as her friend, and as a favour, to resign the i of his retainers, assaulted the keeper in his house, and crown, abandon Bothwell, and consent to the crowning | compelled him to affix the seal by force. Sinclair, who of her son. Melville had a third interview with her, on the j seems to have been almost the solitary honest man and patriot 18th of i^uly, for this purpose, and conveyed to her a letter in this debauched and unprincipled age, only tlien complied from Throckmorton advising her to the same course. Mary, i under spirited remonstrance. who believed herself with child, would not even consent to the divorce from Bothwell, because it would illegitimate her expected offspring, and on Melville's retiring, she pre- iicnted him with a letter to Bothwell, which Melvihe refused to take charge of, and which she then angrily threw into the fire. This resistance of the ((uecn was spread abroad by the confederates, and made the most of through both press and pulpit ; and the public mind was worked up to such a pitch, that the populace began to cry for her head if she would not consent to give up Bothwell. There was now a new doctrine advanced, calculated not only to alarm Mary but Elizabeth herself; it was that of the right of the nation to call its soverei^jn to account for any crimes that he or she mi^ht commit. " It is a public spaech," wrote the astonished Tiirockmortoa to Elizabeth, " that their queen hath no more liberty nor privilege to commit murder or adultery than any private person, neither by the laws of God nor the laws of the realm." Knox, Oraig, the rest of the ministers of the church, with the celebrated Buchanan, promulgated loudly this startling doctrine, destined to take such effect on the grandson of queen Mary, and to produce such marvellous consequences in this and other kingdoms. It was a doctrine greedily imbibed by the people, and the general assembly taking advantage of it, proceeded to call upon the lords of the secrei eouncil to bring the queen to trial and put her to death. Tiirockmorton remonstrated with them most solemnly against any such proceeding, and the assembly, lowering its tone, determined to send to her lords Lindsay and Ruthvon and Robert Melville. Thoy carried with them three instru- ments ready prepared for the queen's signature : by the first she resigned the crown to her son: )iy the second she The lords of the secret council now lost no time in com- pleting their work, and crowning the young king. The Hamilton?, however, refused to admit of it, till it was con- ceded that it should in no way prejudice the right of the duke of Chatelherault; and Knox coatended that he should not be anointed, which w;is a mere Jewish rite, but simply crowned. This latter point was overruled ; and the infant being carried in the arms of Mar, his governor, from the castle to the high church in Stirling, and the lords Lindsay and Euthven swearing a most false oath, a little matter to them, that the queen resigned the crown to her sou of her own free will, James VI. was there crowned by the bishop of Orkney, on the 29th of July, 15G7. Bonfires, dancing, and universal mirth throughout the city testified the real exultation of the people. Thus a small knot of nobles deposed their sovereign, in defiance of the menaced hostilities of both England- and France, and placed her successor on the throne, without almost a movement in the nation, and that simply because the sovereign ha4 lost the affection of her subjects, with which all royal power departs, and leaves the most able sovereign a mere helpless automaton. Elizabeth, on receiving the news of the deposition of the queen of Scots, expressed the utmost indignation. She did not like Mary, but she respected in her the rights of sovereigns, and regarded with horror such new and ominous proceedings as that of subjects, at will, discrowr:ing their sovereigns. Besides, the confederates had taken caro to hold their new king fast, and to send for Murray, so that there was a great probability that the Scottish govern- ment would adopt a tone of independence to which it had long been unaccustomed. She, therefore, instructed Throckmorton to keep aloof from tl.e cjrouation, which A.D. 1567.] RETORX OF ,MCRR4.T. 449 he Hill, finrl to put in her most dpciderl romonRtranco iizain'it the wholo pruceening. But the confeflorate lords, who lia'l comp to Rdinburi^h to await the arrival of Jfiirray, paid a visit to Throckmorton thoui^h he would not go to them, and after hearing his remonstrance, showed him the folly of it. They com'nunieated to him that the Hamilton.^, thrrmsh the archbishop of St. Andrews and thu abbot of Kilwinning, had proposed to execute the queen, as the best mode of reconciling all parties. They contended that if she ever recovered her liberty she might marry and have numbers of children, whereas now there was nobody but this crowned child betwixt their claim and the throne. Throckmorton expressed hi^ hon-or at this disclosure of the murderous treaohepy of the Hamiltons, wlio had so lately professed themselves the .stanch friends of the queen ; and suggested that it w.as policy as foolish as it was wicked, for the queen might be brought to divorce herself from Both- well, and marry a son of the duke's or a brother of Argyll's. To this Murr.ay of Tnllib.ardine replied, that all that had been diseussed, and the Hamiltons doomed nothing so secure ns the queen's death. All obstacles being removed to his triumphant return, the e.irl of Murr.ay set out from Pr.anoe for Scotland. This able, but cold-blocded and unprincipled man, had, as wo have seen, always taken care, .after putting into play the machinery which sliould serve his own ambition, to retire out of the way. and leave others to do the dirty .and bloody work. Like the spid.'r. however, he k'^pt up a close watch in the distant ob,-ourity of his rotroat, and was ready to start forward at the right moment, and secure his own advan- t.age. Had he beon^ .is- generous and ju«t .as he w,as clever,, ho would have hceti' one of the great men of the age. Kature denied him tJiese groat qualities, or !ie quenched them in his soul, and becams only a successful but guilty politi- cian. Had he stood firmly by his sister, he might have corrected the defects in her character, protected her from her rnoniiofi, the most dangerous of which were her own ardent feelings, and led her and himself through a noble career of prosperity andimntorinl blessing. As is was, all sympathy fir hi^ sister's snfforings w.iB- lost !«■ Hib dbsiro' to mount npon her fall; and having pretcnddd' to lie hnr warm and faithful ehampioni. his object, being gained; he showed himself her most treaoheron? and-pitiless f'lfl- lie had sent to Elitiabeth, by Elpliinstone; to- represent himself as his sister's friend and defender, .and', therefore, Elizabeth received him on Iiis way thrnugli London, and^ expected to fiad' him such as lie had professed himsflf. She calculated th.at, with his friendsliip, tlio queen of Soots •would Re maintained' in llor privato position in goourity as a check against tlie ambition of tho noblfls ; but Murray, with all his art, had not tlie policy to conce.al his true sentiments, and Elizabeth perceived, with astonisliment and anger at the deceit which he had practised npon her, that ho wiis a decided enemy to his sister, the cx-qu"cn. They rose in their conversation to bigh words, .and parted with mutual ill-will. JIurray now pretended that much .as lie had been dis- posed to support the cause of M.ary, he had recently received such proofs of her guilt as entirely changed his sentiments towards her; at the same time it was well known that he had been in the most constant and com- plete communication with the confederates, through their whole proceedings. But Murray now saw the supremo power within his gr.asp, during the minority of his nephew, and he br^gan to withdraw his mask. This aroh-dissimulator proceederl on his way, accom- panied by M. de Lignerolles, the French envoy commissioned to convey a message to the lords of the council, but in reality sent to keep a ptrict watch on the proceedings of both them and the regent. He was met at Berwick by Sir James M,akgill, lord clerk-registrar, and Sir James Melville, sent by the two parties, these most desperate against the queen, and those inclined to more moderate measures. Makgill urged on him the absolute necessity of his accepting the regency ; but the hypocritical statesman professed to have many scruples, and rode on. At the Bound Rode, a line scpar.ating the two countries, he found four hundred noblemen and gentlemen assembled to receive him. They rode on with liini to Whittingham, where Morton and Maitland also received him. Only eighteen months before, the death of Darnloy had been planned by Bithwell and these very men, and afterwards the resolution communicated to Murr.ay. Ho had now reaped the benefit of the deed from which he had seemed to keep aloof, and on Morton and Maitland cmgratulating him on the success of their plans, the pious Murr.ay now expressed deep horror of the deed, and declared his reso- lution to tflko vengeance for it. On arriving in the capital, he was rfoeivcd by the assem- bled population of nobles, clergy, and commons, with enthusiastic acclamations, for they all looked to him as tho man who was to establisli all thoip claims to fix protes- tantism as tho established faith, tJo ghm tlie clergy confir- mation of tho church property, Uy please the people by maintaining a noble guardi.anxhip of tiHcip infant king, and to sanction all the revolution.ary meaeures-by his near kin- ship to the king they had set up .and the queen they had put down. All agreed to regard him .as the most pious of all the pious lords ; and such was his pretended consci- entiousness, that he would dooide on notliing till the whole history of the late tr.ansactions, with all the proofs, had been duly laid before him, and he had had time to weigh them well. All the evidences of .Afary's guilt were spread bef ire him ; and so well did ho act his part, that the deep and practised Throckmorton was satisfied that ho was pro- ceeding on most sincere and honour.able motives. The English minister promised his best endeavours to reconcile his mistress to the new state of things ; De Ligncrolles anticipated no lasting difflcultins on the part of France , the oppo.sition of the Hamiltons appeared to melt away . and the oonsoiontious Murray at length expressed himself almost pursnaded'to accept the regency. One only point repelled him : the resignation of tho crown, the transfer of it to her son, and his own appointment as regent, he said, was asserted to have been extorted by force. If that were the fact, nothingcould induce him toacceptthe office, and hedemandod to see the queen and learn from her own lips the truth. This demand appeared to startle the lords, for Murray had expressed to Throckmorton, if not to others, much pity and concern for his sister ; but ho had no doubt expressed him- self otherwise to some of the lords, for, after a seeming reluctance, his request was conceded. On the 15th of August. Murray made this visit, and was aceompanii'd bv the surly Lindsay, th3 stern Morton, and AthoU. This interview w.as one of the most painful, repul- sive to every generous feeling, and hnmiliating to the claims 450 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOBY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1507. of nobility in human nature, which history can show. Murray was everything which he was by the generosity of his perliaps guilty, certainly very imprudent, but generous ;md troJden-down sister. Throughout her life she had delighted to honour, to elevate, to enrich liim. She had to the last moment demonstrated her confidence in him, and though he had stood aloof in tlie days of her indignities which he did do stamps him as one of the most ungrateful and contemptible of mankind. Mary received the deputation with natural anxiety and agitation. She saw there together, those stern, hard, insolent men, who sought her dishonour and her very lif« and the brother who had received only good at her hands. and who now had the power to repay it. She complained Mary Stnart about to sign her resignation at LochUven Castle (See page US') snd distress, d-e had yet placed him, by her own free-will loudly and passionately of the wrongs she had suffered, and — for she had oL'Dred that before called on to sign the three with tears, and then, taking Murr.iy aside, .'he conjured him documents— in the post of supreme authority. A noble- to be candid with her, and to let her know what her enemies minded mar., with the firmness and authority of .Murray, intended and what he intended. But the brother who had would now have repaid all these benefits , and, if he could I basked in the sunshino of her prosperity, who had imbibed not restore his only sister, he might have shielded her from , greedily the good which (ell from her, who had so lately insult, and made her retirement as easy as possible. That ' even professed to be her warm and stanch friend. A.D. 1567.] MUKRAY'S VISIT TO MAEY. 451 now was cold, gloomy, and reserved. After supper she again conversed with him in private ; she appealed to him as a brother, her only friend, her only near relative, and conjured him, if he could not make up his mind to serve her, at least to let her know his mind. She told hira that ho was her only dependence ; and if he did not stand by her, where was she to look ? Any honour ; he only wished to secure at her expense the utmost advantage to himself. He, therefore, commenced a ruth- less examination of her past life, and drew as foul and revolting a picture of it as his powers of mind enabled him. It was done more, says Throckmorton, in the spirit of an ascetic confessor than a counsellor, much less a brother. The murder of Darnley, the plain guilt of Bothwell, her mj' Mary Queen il Scots m Imprisonment. man of ordinary feeling, thus appealed to by an affec- tionate sister, who had covered him witli benefit.?, and who had never, whatever was her guilt, sinned against him, would have felt bound to alleviate her suffering as much as possible, if he could not remove it altogether. This heartless man put her on the rack, and tortured her by the most cruel art that he could devise. He was not inlendinf to reinstate her in the slightest degree of power or criminal passion for him, her obstinate refusal to surrender him, the shameful parade of this before all the people, their consequent utter and hopeless alienation, the proofs of all this from her own letters, and the determination of the lords to bring her to mortal punishment for it, were all piled upon her outraged and affrighted soul with a pitiless cruelty which overwhelmed her in agony and despair. It was in vain that she interrupted him to protest, to deny, to 452 CASSELL'S ILLrSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 15G7. explain, he went on in frozen, merciless rigiur with his nnrra'ive ; nml when, crushed by the recital ami the menaced d'"im, ?lie appcalcil, in terms that might have softened a tij;pr, to him fiT succour and protection, he coldly bade her lojk to God for mercy, and withdrew to his chimbcr. Thi; next mormntumed to Morton. Ruthven, and AthoU, and recommending Lindsay and Douglas to use the queen gently, t lok his leave. Prom' Lochleven he and his grim comnanions took their w(w^ to Stirling on a visit to the king. On the 22nd of Ausust. Murrav was solemnly proc'aimid regent amid the acclama- tions of the people, and th nourish dissension amongst u.s, we have an eye upon them all. T!ie Hamiltons will tako your monev, laugh you to scorn, and side with us. At this moment wc have an offer of an agreement with them in onr hands. The queen, yimr mistress, declares shi- wishes onlv for our sovereign's liberty, and her restoration to her dignity ; but is equally zealous for the preservation of the king, the punishment of the murder, and the safety of the lords. To accomplish our queen's liberty much has been done, for the rest, absolutely nothing. Why does not her majestv fit out some ships of war to apprehend Both well, and pay a thousand soldiers to reduce the forts and protect the king? When this is in hand we shall think her sincere ; but for her charge to set our sovereign forthwith at liberty, and to restore her to her dignity, it is enough to reply to such strange language, that wo arc the subjects of another prince, and know not tlic queen's majesty for our sovereign." Tlirockmortnn. aft^rKstfningto this new language, turned toMurray, and -said that ho trusted that such sentiments did not meet lii« approval ; ttmt he was not " handed " with these lords, nnr had joined in their excesses. But Murray very soon undeceivod him, by indorsing all that Letbini.'ton had said, and deoiaringihat, being made regent, he would rcduee ail men to obedience in the king's name, or that it should wist, him his life. Throckmorton at once informed Elisabeth that his stay there was now usele-ss, and obtained his recall. On taking his leave ho requested an int.-r. and nest sought sjieltcr in the Orkney.", where his nominal subject's refused to receive him. On this he took to the sea, with a band of pirates, and vowed to scour the ocean with a blood-red flag. In this course he was overtaken by the ships of Grange and Tullibardino ; and, in endeavouring to escape from them, was driven by a tempest on the coast of Norway. On being discovered. Fredi rick the king refu-ed to see him. and sent him prisoner to the castle of Mulmo, in Schoncn. Thence, at different times, he addressed the king in vindication of his conduct, and made him an --ffer of the Orkneys and Shetland islands, to be annexed to the crown of Denmark and Norway, on condition that he should fit out an expedition for the liberation of the queen of Scots. The offer was declined, and Bothwell lingered in prison till 1576, when be died. Both Murray and Lennox, during his short regency, claimed Bothwell of tho king of Denmark, but he refused to give him up • and on his death- A.D. 1568.] REGENCY OF MURRAY. 453 lied he is said to have confessed that Murray, Morton, and himself perpetrated the murder of Darnley, but that Mary was perfectly innocent of it. Mary, whilst in captivity in England, endeavoured to get a copy of this confession, or tostan)ent, as it is called ; Eli7.abeth was said to have re(:eivcfaitland, he was a double- facsd one to every party from the beginning ; and the people, perceiving, as their passions subsided, the real state of things, were the most ill-affected of all. Instead of the glory and power to which Murray imagined himself mounting, by baseness in himself, upon base materials, he found himself in the midst of a discordant chaos of hateful «nd incompatible natures. Whilst all seemed crumbling and shaking around him, an earthquake suddenly heaved beneath his feet. The queen, seeing herself deserted and deceived by Murray, and destined by him to perpetual captivity, re- solved to exert every faculty of soul to effect her escape. Probably some rumours of the unsatisfactory condition of the government, and the returning affection of the people, had penetrated the recesses of her prison-house. She assumed gradually an air of resignation, of cheerful- ness. Instead of treating the Douglases with the haughty distance of an injured captive, she opened to them the natural charms of her mind and conversation. No person, man or woman, could long remain insensible to her fasci- nations. George Douglas, a younger brother of the house of Locbleven, became deeply in love with her : and the proud mother relaxed her severity, and in the brilliant prospect •of a marriage of this young and gallant son with the queen of Scotland, forgot the interests of her son the regent, who left her to occupy, distant from court, the odious office of a turnkey. George Douglas entered into the plot to effect th« queen's escape, with all the ardour of youth and passion. He had planned to convey her to shore disguised as a laundry-woman, but on the passage she was detected by the remarkable whiteness and delicacy of her hands, and was carried back, whilst Douglas was expelled from the castle. The most rigid surveillance was now maintained over Mary ; but, with her indefatigable lover on shore, she never despaired. He was more useful there than in the castle, for he was flying about rousing the Hamiltons and the Seatons to muster their forces, and to be ready at some favourable moment to receive and defend her. Within the ■castle he had a very ingenious coadjutor in a relative, William Douglas, a boy of fifteen or sixteen, called the Little Douglas. The Little Douglas acted as page to the castellan; and on Sunday, the 2nd of May, 1508, he contrived, while waiting at supper, to drop a napkin over the key of the castle, which lay at the castellan's side, and abstract it unobserved. He flew with it to the queen, who, taking one of her maidens with her, hurried down to the outer gate, which they locked after them, and flinging the key into the lake, entered the boat and rowed away. The signal to the parties always on the watch on shore, was to be a light left in a particular window of the castle. The boy had not forgotten this, and lord Seaton and a party of hisownpeople and the Hamiltons were eagerly awaitingthem on the shore. A man, lying at length on the shore, soon gave notice that he could perceive a iemale figure with two attendants flying hastily from the outer gate of the castle, and spriogmg into the boat. Soon the preconcerted sign, the white veil of the queen with its red fringe, was visible, and presently the little boat approaching, Mary sprang on shore, in the rapture of recovered freedom. The faithful George Douglas was the first to receive her: she was im- mediately surrounded by lord Seaton and his friends, and being mounted on a swift steed, they gallopped with all speed to the ferry, crossed, and pursued their flight to Niddry, in West Lothian, where the next day she proceeded to Hamilton, attended by lord Claud Hamilton, who had met them on the road with fifty horse. At Niddry she had snatched time to write a hasty announcement of her escape to France ; and, true to her unconquerable affection to Bothwell, despatched a letter to him, sending Hepburn of Riccarton to Dunbar to summon the castle to surrender to her, and then to speed onwards to Denmark, and convey to Bothwell the news of her freedom. The news of the escape of the queen flew like lightning in every direction ; the people, forgetting her failings in her beauty and her sufferings, gathered amain to her standard ; she who a few days before saw herself a deserted captive, now beheld herself at the head of six thousand men. Many of the nobility, and some of those who had sinned deeply against her, now flocked around her. Argyll, Cassillis, Eglinton. and Rothes, Somerville, Yester, Livingstone, Harris, Fleming, Ross, Borthwick, and other lords and gentlemen, joined her at Hamilton. To these she at once declared that her resignation of the crown was an act of force and not of will : her council declared by a resolution the whole of the proceedings by which Murray had become regent were treasonable and void. Nine earlsi nine bishops, eighteen lords, twelve abbots and priors, and nearly a hundred barons signed a bond pledging themselves to defend her, and to restore to her her crown and kingdom. But, though rejoiced at this wonderful demonstration of the reaction of the public in her favour, Mary, with her usual tendency to kindness and forgiveness, despatched a messenger to Murray with offers of pardon and reconcilia- tion. The regent was at the moment at Glasgow, not eight miles from the queen's camp, with few of his friends or troops at hand. The blow came like a thunderbolt, and the effect became instantaneously evident. Numbers began to steal away to join the royal standard, and ordinary pru- dence would have dictated acceptance of the queen's offer. But Murray, who could not forgive under such circum- stances, and who knew that his participation in the murder scheme was now no secret, could not really believe in forgive- ness in the injured queen. His selfish instinct and his ambition at once decided him to reject the proposal, though his cunning led him to seem to weigh it. He begged time to reflect, and passed that time in writing a proclamation, and despatching couriers to call up his allies in all haste. There were plenty whose consciences, like his own, prompted the instant conviction that their only safety lay in resist- ance; and Morton, Glencairn, Lennox, who fought to avengo his son, Semple, Mar, and Grange, mustered their forces, and hastened to his support. In ten days he found him- self in possession of a body of four thousand men. Mary, on her part, proposed to make for Dumbarton castle, which had never been yielded by her fiim adherent lord Fleming, and there to make her position as strong as possible till her friends bad time to gather in overwhelm- ing force. Meantime she despatched a iressenger to England to solicit the support of Elizabeth, who professed A.D. luG8.] MARY TAICES REFU'GE IN ENULAXD. 450 lierself determined to Bend to her her warm consratula- tions, iind tho fullent promises of support, proviiled she would follow. her couneils, and not call in foreign aid. At the same time M. de Beaumont, the French ambassador, entered her camp, and offered his services to procure an accommodation with Murray. But Mary's wise plan of retiring to Dumbarton, and there awaiting the qficumu- lation of troops in her interest, was defeated by the rash and overbearing cooduct of the Hamiltons, who were bent on falling on Murray and crushing him at once. Mary prevailed on them still to march towards Dumbarton ; but, on the way, falling in with Murray, they rushed headlong into the fijiht, and risked everything. Murray, on the tirst news of their movement, marched out of Glasgow, and took possession of a small hamlet called Langside, surrounded by gardens and orchards, which occupied each side of a steep narrow lane directly in the way of the queen's army. Instead of avoiding this position, and making their way to Dumbarton by another course, lord Claud Hamilton ch.arged the troops there posted witli his cavalry, two thousand strong, in perfect confidence of driving them thence j but the hagbutters, who had screened themselves behind walls and trees, poured in on the cavalry a deadly fire which threw them into confusion. Lord Hamilton cheered them on to renew the charge, and ■with great valour they pushed forward and drove the enemy before them. But, pursuing them up the steep hill, they suddenly fouod themselves face to face witli Murray's ad- vance, composed of the finest body of border pikemen, and commanded by Morton, Home, Ker of Oessford, and the barons of the Merse, all fighting on foot at the heads of their divisions. The battle was unequal, for the troops of Murray were fresh, whilst those of the queen were out of breath with their up-hill battle. Notwithstanding, the main body of tlie queen's forces coming up, there was a severe battle, and the right of the regent's army began to give way. (ri-ange, who was watching the field from above, quickly brought up reinforcements from the main body, and made so furious a charge on the queen's left as to scatter it into fragments ; and Murray, who had waited with the reserve for the de- cisive moment, rushed forward with so much impetuosity, that the main battle of the queen w.as broken, and tlie flight became general. Mary, who had surveyed the conflict from the castle of Orookstane, on a neighbouring eminence, and about four miles from Paisley, beholding the route of her army, turned her horse and fled, and never drew bit till she found herself at the abbey of Dundrennan, in Galloway. She was accompanied by lords Herries, Fleming, and Livingstone. So rashly and so ill-conducted was this decisive battle — a battle wliich involved such momentous interests, that it lasted only three-quarters of an hour. Only one man, it is said, fell on the side of the regent, and only three hundred on that of the queen— only half that number, as some authorities contend. Ten pieces of cannon and a great many distinguished prisoners were taken, amongst thorn lords Seaton and Ross, the eldest sons of the earls of Eglinton and Oasslllis, Robert and Andrew Melville, and o long list of lairds and gentlemen. [f Mary had fled to the cast coast, secured a vessel, and made her way to France, she would have met with a cordial reccptlou. and a very different story would have been to tell. UnfortuQBtely, she was always too trusiiiig; and, juk empowering him to enter on that duty. But Northumber- land and all these gentlemen were catholics, and therefore the jealousy. Notwithstanding the ebullitions of public opinion, con- demning the conduct of the English court in treating the queen of Scots as a prisoner and an enemy, rather than as an independent sovereign in distress, it was resolved to keep Mary a prisoner for life, and to support Mhrray in his usurped power. Tais proceeding was so totally at variance with all the past professions of Elizabeth, that it has cost some of our historians much rhetoric to raise a plausible vindication of what is altogether incapable of vindication. On the insurrection of the Scottish lords against Mary. Elizabeth bad expressed the most virtuous indignation. She had vowed that she would reinstate her on the throne ; she had prohibited Randolph and Throckmorton, her ambas- sadors, attending the coronation of her son : she had re- fused to confirm Murray in the title of regent, and had called upon him loudly to return to bis duty and liberate his rightful sovereign. She had endeavoured to obtain access to Mary by her ambassadors, and to the last moment had maint-iined the mask of friendship and the words of condolence or congratulation. But all this time she had been in secret and close correspondence with her enemies ; had furnished them money, even while giving them, pub- licly, reproof; and had given an asylum at her court, or in the kingdom, to the rebels whom she affected to denounce. In reality, therefore, she did not now alter in the least her policy, except in that it became more honestly hostile ; she was still the same woman — she only dropped her mask. Elizabeth and her subtle minister Cecil now so planned their proceedings as to secure the greatest amount of in- justice under the greatest appearance of fairness. Mary urged her demand for a personal interview with Elizabeth, when she promised to state to her things that had never yet been uttered by her to any mortal. But these dis- closures the politic queen, and her equally politic servant, were too well aware would touch too nearly, not only on the guilty conspiracies of Murray and his colleagues, but on those of Elizabeth and Cecil themselves. They, as we are now fully informed, were all along cognisant of the murder scheme which the Scotch lords had carried out. With the charges which Mary could bring homo to Murray and Maitland— for she openly accused them and Morton of the murder of Darnley — it would not be so easy for them, with a show of honour, to support these nobles against their queen. Therefore, it was used as a precaution against any such interview, that Mary lay hereeli" under charge of par- ticipation in this murder, and also of adultery, from which she must first clear herself. For this purpose Elizabeth despatched Mr. Middlemoro to Mary, and thence to the regent. To Mary she disclaimed all intention of detaining her as a prisoner ; her object, she A.C. 1568.] PROPOSED COyFEREKCE ON SCOTTISH AH-'AIRS. 457 said, was merely to secure her from immediate pursuit of lier enemies : but as to a personal interview, that was at present inadmissible, because Mary having chosen the queen of England as her judge, it was necessary, to prevent any charge of partiality, not to receive either party before the trial, or indeed, as regarded her, till she had established her innocence. she could submit to no trial, bciu;; an independent sove- reign like herself. As to Murray and the rest of the rebels, it seemed that Elizabeth propo.sed to hear them against their queen, who was not to be allowed to be pre- sent to hear and rebut their traitorous charges. Waa that impartial P Was that due to a sovereign to listen to the charges of traitors against their prince ? Yet, if they must Queen Mary protesting against the Commiosioner; appointed to inquire into her condoct. ''Judge! trial!" exclaimed Mary, in indignant amaze- ment. " What did the queen of England moan P She had appointed no one her judge, and could accept no trial, where she could have no peers. She had come freely to seek the protection of Elizabeth, and was as freely willing to accept her mediation. She had offered to explain all needs be heard, let them come, but let her be there to answer them, and she suspected that they would not be very eager for the opportunity," When Mary learned that a message was actually on its way to call Murray and his accomplices to England, to prefer their charges against her. she protested vehemently the circumstances of her case to her sister, ihe queen ; but I against such a proceeding, and declared that she would 91 458 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP EXGLAND. [a.d. ijCi*. rsdwr die Am eubmit to eueh indignity. The conduct of Elit;it>oth wa?, indecJ, a violation of all the rights of ■orereign prinoo?. and as unjust as it was mean. Murray MOcived his summons with his usual artful coolness. He was required by Eliiaboth to prefer his charges against the queen of Soots, but in the meantime to refrain from all hostilities. Ho obeyed the requisition ; placed his soldiers in quarters ; but doiuanded to know what was to be the result of the inquiry- If the queen was declared innocent, what guarauteo was he to receive for his own security P If guilty, wh.1t then? He said he had already sent copies of his proof-) by his servant Wood , and, if tliey were found to be faithful to the originals, would they be deemed conclusive ? Thus the cunning regent w;vs seeking to ascertain whether he had already evidence deemed by the seledted judge sufficiently damnatory, or whether he should fabri- cate more. Nothing can be conceived more unwarrantable than such a proceeding, and nothing ever was more serpentine than Eliiibeth's dealings in reply. She assured Murray, and also Miry, that she did not set herself up as a judge of the Scottish queen, far less as an accuser ; that her sole object was to eetcle all the disputes betwixt Mary and her subjoctif, and to reinstate her at once in their good opinion and in her full power ; but in secret she assured Murray, as we learn from GooJall and Anderson, that, whatever wore her assurances to Mary, she really meant to try her, and, if she could find her guilty, to retain her in perpetual imprisonment. Thus encouraged, Murray engaged to meet her majesty's commis.sioncrs at York ; and, indeed, it was high time for him to do something to sustain his position. His unpopu- larity w^is become extreme. His unnatural situation as the dothroncr of his sister and benefactor, when he had declared that he would be her champion, and hi.- severity in puni.poke the paper wos gnatchol from bis hand Uy Boths-oU, bishop of Orkney, who rushed over the tiiblo, pursued by Wood, and handed it to the English cominissionera. It was received amid roars of langhter, and Cecil, who had now gained his great ohject, became radiant with exultation. The con- fusion of the scene wa? extraordinary ; lord William Howard, a blunt sea-officer, shouting aloud in his glee, and Maitland whispering to Murray that he had ruined his cause for ever. But as there was now no going back, the paper was read, and found to contain the broadest and most direct charge against Mary, not only for boing an accomplice in the murder of her husband, but even of inciting Bothwell to it, and then marrying the murderer. This was totally different to Murray's former declaration to the Enj;lish ministers • but it was now backed by a similar one from lord Lennox, dem;inding vengeance for the death of his son. No sooner did the commissioners of the queen of Scots hear this than they most indignantly condemned the conduct of the English commissioners, declared themselves prepared to prove that Murray and his friends themselves were the actual authors, and some of them the perpetrators of the murder. They demanded instant admittance to the presence of Elizabeth ; complained loudly of the breach of the con- tract that nothing should be received in prejudice of their quocn's honour, in her absence ; demanded the instant arrest of the authors of the foul charge, and, on that being refused, broke off the conference. Here, indeed, the conference really ceased. Elizabeth had clearly broken every article of it, in order, by force or fraud, to obtain the ondomnition of >[ary. She summoned, spite of the withdrawal of Mary's commissioners, Murr,ay to produce his proofs ; and the pretended love -letters and sonnets, of which Elizabeth had already had copies, were spread before her commissioners. The origin,^!s of these celebrated documents have long disappeared, but the copies which remained have been evidently tampered with, and have been pronounced most suspicious by all who h,ave examined tlicm. Mary, on hearing this, demanded by her commissioners the right to see these papers, declarin" that she would prove the exhibitors of them the real murderers, and expose them t> all Christian princes as liars and traitor-i. This most reasonable request was refused, and Elizabeth, having now all she wanted, delivered by her council this extraordinary decision : — That neither against tho queen of Scotland, nor against Murray, had anv con- vincing charge of crime, on the one hand, or treason on tho other, been shown. That the queen of England saw no cause to conceive an ill opinion of her good sister of Scot- land. It was conceded that Mary should h-ave copies of the papers in the casket, on condition th.at she should reply to them, which she consented to do, provided tliat Murray and her accusers were detained to abide the consequence. This, however, did not suit the object of Elizabeth : Murray and his associates were permitted to retire to Scotland ; but it w.as declared that, on many grounds, the queen of Scots must be detained in England. From first to last, it must be pronounoad, that the whole transaction on the part of Elizabeth waa of the most arbi- trary, unjust, and unjustifiable character. The plainest principles of justice demanded that M;iry should be ad- mitted, if not to tho presence of the queen, at least face to face with her accusers ; that whatever was advanced against her should undergo the most public and rigorous scrutiny ; and that the accused queen should have every opportunity afforded her of replying to such iufamous charges against her. All this, notwithstanding her con- stant demands and remonstrances, was systematically and persistently refused; and still, after the extr.-vordinary announcement by the privy council of England that no charge was sustained against the queen of Scots, nor any which had been preferred were of such weight as to in- fluence the queen of England's opinion of Mary, to deter- mine on the detention of Mary was yet a more violent breach of all right and honour. But this was only of a piece with the whole of Elizabeth's behaviour towards the Scottish queen, — it was one unvaried course of flagrant in- justice. As to the character and proceedings of Murray and his accomplices, no words are strong enough to oxprcs.s their turpitude. They were men against whom the most undoubted proofs existed of their being the murderers of the queen's husband, as well as traitors to. and slanderers of, their sovereign. These facts were well known to Eliza- beth and her ministers, and yet did this able queen, who had been lauded for her greatness, knowingly encourage the rebellious subjects of her sister sovereign to overturn her govomment, chase her from her kiugdum, malign her charac- ter on tiie foulest charges, and, covered with the foul stain of murder themselves, exert themselves to destroy their lawfu] sovereign by transferring the odium of their own guilt to her. At tliis time of day, and with the evidence of the State Paper office, we stand aghaet at such an exhibition of political guilt in both the Scottish nobles and the Eng- lish government. Murr.iy, on the 10th of January, 1569, was permitted to return home ; but it was not so easy to perceive how he was to get there alive. His not(?rious breach of faith with the duke of Norfolk had enraged that nobleman, who, as lord warden of the northern marches, had all the military force of that quarter of the kingdom in his hand.s, and who de- termined not to suffer him to pass alive. If liy any means he could escape from this danger, on the other side of the borders the friends of Mary were in arms and burning with indignation against him. Mary had appciinted the duke of Chatclherault and the earls of Huntley and Argyll as lieu- tenants, and lord Boyd and other powerful barons were zealous in her cause. All the south of Scotland swarmed with her enraged partisans, and Murray and any force which he could assemble .to meet tliem must inevitably be crushed. Yet from this apparently insurmountable danger tho wily and supple genius of the man relieved him. He made fresh overtures to the duke of Norfolk, expressed the deepest regret for tho part which he bad been compelled to take against Mary, but protested that he hnd never .altered his opinion as to the excellence of the arrangoment for the marriage betivixt the duke and her. He declared that he still regarded it as a measure of the highest advan- A.D. 1569.] PARTY FORMED AGAIXST CECIL. 4M tage to both kingdoms, and expressed himself ready to pro- mote it to the utmost of his power. The duke, who was extremely ambitious of the match, was moved, and Murray at once opened •communicatloa with the bishdp of Ross, who proposed it to Mary; and so completely did he con- vince all parties of his earnestness, that Norfolk procured him a loan of five thousand pounds from Elizabeth, and sent the strictest orders to the north that the regent should not be obstructed or molested in any manner on his journey. Mary at the same time despatched similar orders to her adherents in Scotland, and Murray proceeded in the utmost quiet to Edinburgh. Once there, he threw off the mask. He called an imme- diate convention of the states at Stirling, procured a ratifi- cation of his proceedings in England, and ordered a speedy' muster of forces in every quarter of the kingdom. It was in vain that the friends of Mary attempted to oppose him : his movements were so rapid and well-obeyed, that, though they proclaimed him a traitor and usurper, they were speedily compelled to come to terms with him. It was agreed that the nobles in the interest of Mary should dis- band their forces and return to their estates till the 10th of April, when they should meet at Edinburgh for the settle- ment of the affairs of the country. They complied with this, and Murray liberated the prisoners which he had taken at Langside, but he took care not to disband his own forces. At a meeting at Stirling, lord Herries, the earl of Cassillis, and the archbishop of St. Andrews placed themselves in Murray's hands as ho.stages ; and no sooner had they done this than Murray marched towards the borders and ch.asti.'^cd their adherents in that quarter. When the meeting took place at Edinburgh, on the 10th of April, Murray demanded that the duke of Ohatelhcrault should acknowledge the king, which he refused until the questions relating to the queen had first been publicly discussed and settled ; and on this refusal JIurr.ay arrested the duke and lord Her- ries, and sent them to the castle of Edinburgh. Thi.s arbitrary act occasioned much resentment in the country ; but it intimidated his two most powerful opponents, Argyll and Huntley, who held the western and northern highlands. They had refused to sign the late treaty, but they now saw him .supported by England, and at the head of a powerful army. Thoytliorcfore soon came to terms with him ; and having received hostages from Huntley, he immediately marched into the highlands ; and levying heavy fines on all who had risen in favour of the queen, vigorously reduced the clana to swear allegiance to the young king, and returned triumphant and enriched by the expedition. Meantime Elizabeth had removed Mary farther from the Scottish border. She evidently doubted the security of the queen of Scots so near her Scottish subjects, and in a part of the country so extremely catholic. Mary, on her part, was quite sensible of the views of Elizabeth, and protested against going farther into the interior of the country. She did not hesitate to express her opinion that it was the in- tention of Cecil to make away with her. But resistance on her part was now hopeless. She was in the hands of a powerful and unscrupulous woman, who every day felt more and more the difficult position in Vfhich she had placed her- self by thus making herself the gaoler, against all right and honour, of an independent queen. She sent express or CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTOKY OF EXaLAXD. [a.D. 1569. r:rh ?hr:n?<, trfn=uros. nnd works of art, and closing all t' •• to work to smash and destroy p; . ncd. Amongst them was a fiunuus orucitii, placed aiol't, tlie work of a famous artist, wliich they dragged down with ropes, and knocked in pieces. The pictures, many of them very valuable, they cut to shreds, and the altars and shrines they tore down and utterly destroyed. From the desecrated cathedral they proceeded to the other churohes, where they perpetrated the same ruin, and thence to the convents and monasteries, driving the monks and nuns destitute into the streets. The example of Antwerp was zealously followed in every other province in the Netherlands, except in the Walloons. The iconoclasts were at length interrupted in their work by the duchess of Parma, who fell upon them near Antwerp, and defeated them with great slaughter. Philip despatched the notorious duke of Alva to take vengeance on the turbulent heretics, and overran the Netherlands with his butcheries. The prince of Orange retired to his province of Nassau, but Home and Egmont were seized and cist into prison. The Huguenots in France, alarmed at this success of Alva, and believing that he was appointed to carry into execution the secret league of Bayonne, for compelling the protestants of France, Spain, and Flanders, to give up tberr religion or their lives, rose under Oonde, and at- tempted to seiae the king, Charles IX., at Monceaux. Charles, however, was rescued by his Swiss guards, who, sarronnding him in a body, beat off the Huguenots, and conducted him in safety to Paris. There, he was, never- theless, a prisoner, till he was released by the defeat of the Huguenots at the battle of St. Denis, where his principal Keneral. the constable Montmorency, was killed. Condu had fallen in the battle of Jarnac. Norris, the English ambassador, was accused of giving encouragement and aid to the insurgents, and the king was compelled to make a treaty with his armed subjects. In the spring of 156S, three thousand of these French Ilnguenote marched into Flanders, to join the prince of Orange, who hal tiken the field against Alva. After various success, the prince, at the close of the campaign, was obliged to retreat across the Rhine. Throughout these struggles, both in France and Belgiom, Elizabeth lent njuch aid and encouragement in the shape of money ; but, with her usual caution, she would take no public part in the con- test, and all the while profe.>;sed herself the friend of Philip, and most hostile to all rebellions. The summer of this year was distinguished by a remark- able scheme for the marriage of the duke of Norfolk to the queen of Scots, which ended fatally for that nobleman, and iucre.ised the rigour of Mary's incarceration. The scheme was said to have originated in the ever-busy brain of Maitland. Murray fell into it, probably under the idea that Mary would then content herself with living in Eng- land, and leave the government of Scotland in his li.inds : or it might have entered into the calculations of Murr.iy that it would, on discovery, so exapperato Elizabeth, as to lead to what it did, the closer imprisonment of the queen of Scots, w'.iich would be equally acceptable to him. Elizabeth was not long in catching the rumours of this plot, and she burst out on the duke in her fiercest style ; but Norfolk had the art to satisfy her of the folly of such an idea, by replying that such a thing had, indeed, been sui;- gestcd to him, but that it was not a thing likely to captivate him, who loved to sleep on a safe pillow. The plan, however, went on, and from one motive or another, it eventually included amongst its promoters the earls of Pembroke, Arundel, Bedford, Shrewsbury, her keeper, Northumberland, and Westmoreland. Leicester and Throckmorton were induced to embrace it, and even Cecil was made aware of it, and favoured it. In Scotland, Murray, Maitland, the bishop of Ross, lord Boyd, were favourable to the measure ; and Mary was sounded on the subject, and professed her readiness to be divorced from Bothwell ; but as to marriage, from her past sortowful experience, would rather retain her solitary life ; yet, if the approbation of Elizabeth was obtained, would esMMit to take Norfolk — not, as all her miseries had floiwA from her marriage with Darnley, contrary to the qonen of England's pleasure. The duke, on his fmtt, when H was propo.^ed to him, had recommended Leimster rather, and on his declining, his own brother, lord Htmrj Howard. How far either party was sincere in these statements matters little ; the promoters were urgent, sad fbey ac- quiesced. The bishop of Ross, with the apparent uppiu h at ioB of Murray, undertook to negotiate with Elizabeth for the restoration of the Scottish queen, on condition that neither she nor her issue should lay clain to the English throne during the life of Elizabeth ; that Mary should enter Hto a pcrp»tual league, offensive and defensive, with £a|^cd I and establish the reformed religion in Scotland. Efiatlbcth affected to listen to these proposals, and the matter went si fir that, on the assembling of the Scottish parliament, in July, Murray professed to be quite agreeable to the libera- tion of Mary, but took care to reject the proposals approvei of by Eliz.ibeth, and opposed the appointment to examinj the queen's marriage with Bothwell. Maitland at once fathomed the long-concealed deceit of the regent, and dreading his vengeance on those who had committed them- selves in the matter through his plausible jpretenaes of agreement, took a hasty flight into the fastnesses of AAoIl. And now befell what, no doubt, Murray IumI oaloriatei upon. He despatched an envoy to the Englisii queen, bearing full details of the propositions laid before the Scottish parliament, and the consent received from BHh- well in Denmark to the divorce. The mar r ia gB with Norfolk, which was the end and object of all these flot- tings, had never been communicated to Elizabeth ; for, though Leicester had promised to impart it to her, he had not ventured to do it. Elizabeth immediately invited Norfolk to dine with her at Farnham, and, on rising from table, reminded him, in a very significant tone, of his speech when charged with such a design some time before, saying, " My lord duke, beware on what pillow yon lay your head." Alarmed at this expres.sion, Norfolk wged Leicester to redeem his promise, and speak to the q w ee n on the subject ; and tlii.s he did, nnder pretence of being seriously ill, whilst tl»e queen was sittiBg by his b'?d8ide. The rage of Elis.ib'jth was unbounded, but on Ij"i«c8ter expressing the deepest regret for his meddling in the matter, she forgave him, but sent for Norfolk and poored out on him tlie fiiU vials of her wrath and scorn. Norfolk expressed h'Hns'.lf most perfectly indifferent to the alli.incc, th'jugh so strongly recommended by his friends ; but his words .ind manner did not deceive the deep-sighted queen. She continued to regard him with stern looks, and the A.D. 1569.] AN INSUfiEEOTION BREAKS OUT. 465 courtiers immediately avoideil him as a dangerous person. Leicester, who h;\<\ promised him so much, lowered upon him as a public disturber. Norfolk felt it most agreeable to withdraw from court, and his example was followed by his stanch friends Pembroke and Arundel. From Norfolk he wrote to Elizabeth, excusing his absence, and expressing fears of the acts and slanders of his enemies. Elizabeth immediately commanded him to return to London. Her first information from Murray had been increased by the treachery of that nobleman and of Leicester, who had hastened to reveal to her all the socrot correspondence of Norfolk with them. His friends advised him to fly, but lie did not venture on this, but wrote to Cecil to intercede wijh the queen. Cecil assured him there was no danger; tlio duke, therefore, proceeded to London, and was instantly arrested and committed to the Tower. At the same time Elizabeth joined the carl of Huntingdon, an avowed enemy of the queen of Scots, in commission with lier keeper, the earl of Shrewsbury, and viscount Hertford, to secure more completely the person of Mary, who was again removed to Tutbury, and to examine her papers for further proofs of the correspondence with Norfolk. Her confidential servants were dismissed ; her person was sur- rounded by an armed force ; and her cabinets and apart- ments were strictly searched for this correspondence, but without effect. It is also asserted that it was determined to put her to death, if, as it was expected, the duke of Nor- folk should attempt her rescue by force. The friends of Mary blamed the duke for not taking arms for her rescue, declaring that a short time would have brought whole hosts to his standard, but Norfolk must have too well known the hopelessness of such an enterprise. The disclosure of the plot produced consternation and distrust on all sides. Murray, in revealing the correspon- dence with Norfolk, had not been able to escape suspicion himself. Elizabeth saw enough to believe that ho had been an active promoter of the scheme ; she saw still clearer that Maitland had been the originator of it ; she was, moreover, incensed at the double-faced part which Murray's secretary. Wood, had been playing in the matter in London : and she ordered lord Hunsdon, and her other agents in the north, to keep a sharp eye on Murray, and the movements of the kading Scots. To propitiate Elizabeth, Murray determined to sacrifice Maitland : he, therefore, lured him from his retreat by some plausilde artifice, when, on the demand of Lennox, ho was arrested in the council as one of the murderers of his son Darnley. Sir James Balfour, whom Lennox also accused, was seized with his brother George, spite of the pardon which had been granted liira on this head. In the midst of Murray's exultation over his suc- cess, Kirkaldy of Grange, dreading fresh disclosures, attacked the house where Maitland was kept, and carried him off. The trutli of the assertion that had the duke of Norfolk risen in arms he would have found extensive support, was now manifested by what took place in the north of England. The fascinations of the queen of Scots were felt by all who approached her. Her beauty and her wrongs deeply stirred the enthusiasm of the generous, and the attempts to defame her character only resulted in raising her up hosts of friends, who regarded her as a martyr to the cause of her religion. Many were the offers of service, to the utmost extent of life and fortune, which she received from j chiv.alrous gentlemen who beheld with indignation her un- i worthy treatment, or who doubly sympathised with her through the oppression of the common faith. So long as the duke of Norfolk was her great champion, she referred all their offers to him ; but when he fell, and she found two of her mortal enemies appointed the guardians, or rather keepers, of her person, she entertained the deepest fears for her life, and exerted all her eloquence to rouse her friends for her liberation. She despatched secret messages — verbal ones they seem to have been, for they never could be traced — to the earl of Westmoreland, whose wife was the sister of Norfolk, and to the earl of Northumberland, who had his own causes of complaint against the council. These were forwarded by them to Egremont Radcliffe, brother of the earl of Sussex, to Leonard Dacres, the uncle of the late lord Dacres, to the Nortons, Tempests, Marken- flelds, and others who had tendered their services. She did not scruple in conversation to assert that Cecil would never rest till he had her made away, and she wrote to demand that the two hostile keepers should be removed, one of whom was not only her own enemy, but had said at table that the duke of Norfolk should " be cut shorter er it weare long." As tlie autumn approached, there were repeated rumours of rebellion in the north, which alarmed the court of Elizabeth. On inquiry, however, no trace of such a thing could be discovered, and the earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, when questioned, gave such apparently honest and satisfactory answers, that the government was per- plexed. Suddenly, however, in the commencement o*" October, the two earls received a summons to York on tht queen's business, and the earl of Sussex was instructed, when he once had them, to forward them to London. The fate of Norfolk, and their consciousness of their actual secret proceedings, determined them to disobey the sum- mons. But, unfortunately for them, their plans of action were yet so immature that they were not prepared to assume .arms. Wliilst consulting what course to take, the summons of Sussex arrived, and at the same time a rumour that an armed force was on the march to arrest Northumber- land at Topcliffe. He and his countess hastened to Branoe- peth castle, where the carl of Westmoreland had already assembled around him his guests and retainers. North- umberland was still of opinion that they should avoid hostilities for which they were unprepared; but others, and among.'it them the countess of Westmorland, the sister of Norfolk, the Markenfields and Nortons, demanded war. Northumberland still dissented, and resolved to set out for Alnwick ; but was detained by force, and the banner of revolt was unfurled. The insurgents proposed, as their first object, to inarch to Tutbury, and liberate Mary; and now it was visible how necessary had been the caution of Elizabeth in removing her to the midland counties. Had sho been in the north, her rescue would have been almost certain : as it was, the insurgents dared not even whi.=per their intention, or Mary would have been hurried away south, if not at once to the scaffold. The war-cry of the earls was religion. They represented her majesty to be sur- rounded " by divers newe set-upp nobles, who not onlie go aboute to overthrow and put downe the ancient uobilitie of the rcalme, but also have misused the queue's majestio's owne personne, and also have, by the 466 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOBT OF ESOLAXD. [i..v. 15C9. spaoe of twelve Toarcs nowe past, set upp and mayntayned a new-fouud religion and heresie, contrary to God's word." On this ground tbey called on all true subjects of the realm to come forward and help to restore the crown, the church, and the government to their due condition. The northern counties, according to the assertion of Ralph Sadler, who knew them well, were so entirely catholic that 'there are not," he says, "in all this country ten gentlemen that do favour and allow of her majesty's proceedings in the cause of religion." Dr. Nicholas Morton, a prebendary of York, and recently arrived from Borne with the title of apostolic penitentiary, had been Tcry active in rousing them at the call of the pope to rebellion ; and it was a strong argument, furnished by Elizabeth herself, that it was lawful to take up arms against your o\vn sovereign where your religious liberty was infringed. Elizabeth had made herself a universal champion on this side of the question. In Scotland, France, and the Netherlands, she had long and noto- riously supported by her money and agents the subjects in dcBance to their governments, on the ground of invasion of their religion. What was allowable to Elizabeth was, they contended, equally allowable against her. The first step of the insurgents was to occupy the city of Durham. So insignificant was their number at this moment, that only sixty horsemen followed the banner of the two carls. But their appeals to rise and defend their ancient faith found a strong response. Maes was celebrated in the cathedral before some thousands of people, who tore up the English Bible, and destroyed the communion table. They then, continually increasing in numbers, marched though Staindrop, Darlington, Richmond, and Ripon, every- where turning out the apparatus of the reformed worship from the churches, and reinstating the ancient ritual. They proceeded as far as Branham Moor, where they mustered their force.', or, as some say, on Clifford Moor, near Wetherby, where their forces were found to amount to one thousand seven hundred horse, and something less than four thousand foot, but many of them badly armed. The carls, who were famous for their hospitality, had but little ready money ; Northumberland bringing only eight thou- sand crowns, and Westmoreland nothing at all. The catho- lics did not rise in their favour, as they had calculated. The 1 iBurgents had sent to the Spanish ambassador, solicit- ing nis aid, but he referred them to the duke of Alva, and the duke waited for orders from Philip. Their aid not arriving cast a damp oa the catholics, who now, doubting of the expedition, lay still, or went over to the royal army under the earl of Su.ssex. To add to their confusion, eight hundred horse, whom they had despatched to secure the queen of Scots at Tutbury, returned with the news that she was re- moved thence to Coventry. They were confounded by this intelligence, and still more by the rumours of the numerous forces raising under .\mbro8e Dudley, carl of Warwick, and the lord admiral, whilst lord Hunsdon from Berwick was hastening down upon them with his garrison and royalists from the borders. Dissension now began to appear in their ranks and amongst the leaders. The earl of Westmoreland, who at first was the most daring, now began to hesitate ; and Noithumberliind, who was, in a manner, dragged into the rising, on the contrary, counselled bold measures, as they had committed themselves. The result, however, was that they retreated to the earl of Westmoreland's castle ot Branspeth. They there issued a new manifesto ; and as the catholics had not come forward as they expected, they now dropped the argument of religion, and took up the plea that there was a determination at court to exercise arbitrary power over the lives and liberties of the subject, and that it was necessary to drive from her majesty's counsels the persons who gave her pernicious advice. But this retreat had shaken the confidence of the public ; and the different noblemen to whom they sent messengers followed the example of the earl of Derby, and arrested them and sent them to the queen. The measures on the part of Elizabeth's government were active and effectual. Orders were issued to muster a large army in the south. The earl of Bedford was despatched to maintain quiet in Wales. A regiment of well-discipluied troops were marched from the Isle of Wight to defend the person of the sovereign, and suspected persons were arrested. To prevent any com- munication with the foreign princes, the mail-bags of the Spanish and French ambassadors were stopped and ex- amined. Leicester entreated to be sent against the rebels, but Elizabeth would not risk his precious life, and kept him near her as her chief adviser, Cecil being indisposed. The patience of Elizabeth was greatly tried by the cautious delay of the earl of Sussex, who was her com- mander in the north, and especially as his procrastination allowed the two earls to besiege Sir George Bowes in Barnard castle for eleven days, which then opened its gates. There were even insinuations that Sussex was in secret league with the rebel earls. On the approach of the army of the eirl of Warwick, twelve thousand in number, the insurgents held a council at Durham, on the 16th of December ; but dissension again broke out betwixt West- moreland and Northumberland to such a degree that the forces squandered, and the enterprise was at an end. The foot got away to their homes, and the earls fled across the border with five hundred horse. " ■ Elizabeth, who is characteristically represented, in th e fine old ballad of "The Rising of the North," as swearing stoutly on the first news of this rising — ' ' Her grace alie turned her roond about. And like a royal qaeen she iwore— *I will ordaine tbem lucb a breakfast. At nerer wa> in tbe north before,' "— now demanded the surrender of the fugitives. Murray, by bribes and menaces, induced Hector Armstrong of Harlow, with whom Northumberland had sought refuge, to give him up ; but Murray did not dare to send his captive to England but shut him up in Mary's old prison, the castle of Loch- leven, where be continued till 1572, when Morton, having become regent, surrendered him to lord Hunsdon, at Ber- wick, when he was sent to York and executed. Westmore- land escaped to Flanders. The countess of Northumber- land, Ratcliffe, Markenfield, Swinburn, Tempest, and other exiles continued safe amongst the border clans of Hume, Scot, Carr, Maxwell, and Johnstone. The brave old Norton, who bore the banner of his house which displayed " tho cross, ' And tbe Are woanda onr Lord did bear,' " surrounded by his nine gallant sons, is said by the old ballad, which has been followed by Wordsworth in " The White Doe of Rylstone " to have fallen : — A.v. 1570 1 ASSASSJ-VATIOX OF MURRAY. ■1G7 "Tliec, Norton, with thiue eigii t good sons, Tlley doome'i to die, alas ' for sooth; Thy reverend locks thee could not save, Nur them their fair and blooming youtb." Franci?, tlie eldest sod, who refused to fight against his sovereign, is represented as being killed in endeavouring to rescue the family banner. Other authorities, however, assert that Norton escaped into Scotland with the rest. In England no severity was spared in punishing the fallen insurgents. Thosp who possessed property wcro reserved for trial in the courts, to secure the forfeiture of their estates. These, and the fugitives together, amounted to fifty-seven noblemen, gentlemen, and freeholders, so ^hat their wealth would form a good fund for the payment of the expenses of the campaign, and the reward of the officers and soldiers. On the poorer class Sufses let loose his ven- geance with a fury whicli was intended to convince Elizabeth of his before-questioned loyally, in the county of Durham he put to death more than tliroe hundred individuals, hang- ing at Durham at one time sixty-three constables ; and Sir George Bowes made his boast that, for sixty miles in length, and fifty in breadth, betwixt Newcastle and Wetherby, there was hardly a town or village in which he did not gibbet some of the inhabitants as a warning to the rest; a cruelty, says bishop Percy, ''which exceeds that practised in the west after Mouinoubh's rebellion ; but this was not the age of tenderness or humanity." Sussex, in writing to Cecil, says, " I gesse it will not be under six or seven hundred at leaste of the common sort that shall be executed, besides the prisoners taken in the field." When the vengeance was completed, Elizabeth issued a, proclamation that all others should be pardoned who came in and took the oaths of allegiance and supremacy. She declared that she was accused of persecuting for religious opinion, but she denied that, affirming that she should molest no one for their religious sentiments, provided they did not gainsay the Scriptures, nor the creed apostolic and catholic ; or for their practice, so long as they outwardly conformed to the laws of the realm, and attended regularly the divine service in the ordinary churches, as by statute required. That is, she did not care what they thought, or believed, provided they were hypocrites enough to make a legal show of conformity. Perhaps nothing could more strikingly characterise the spirit of Elizabeth and her mlnistei's, who were by no means troubled with delicacy of conscience, or fine ideas of justice, but with the highest notions of prerogative, and the most exquisite conception of authority. No one who went out on this expedition acted a more strange part than Leonard Dacres, the head of the house of Cfillsland. He was deep in th<3 plots for the restoration of Mary, but at the time of the " rising of the north," he was at the court of Elieabeth, gathering all the information of affairs that he could. On the outbreak taking place, he hurried to the north, on the pretence of mustering forces for Elizabeth, but in reality for Mary. But, on his arrival, the rebel army was in full retreat from Hexham to Naworth on its way to Scotland. Adroitly calling out his retainers, he pursued his flying friends, and made a number of prisoners, by which he acquired much reput;ition for his loyalty amongst his neighbours, who were greatly ama/.rd to find, soon after, the carl of Sussex attempting to arrest him, the council in L(mdon being much better acquiiiuted with his real cliaractcr than those about him. He then turned about, and on the 20th of February, 1570, sent a defiance to lord Hunsdon from Naworth castle. After c bloody skirmish on the banks of the Chelt, the Dacres were defeated, and Leonard fleeing, secured himself first in Scot- land, and afterwards in Flanders. This escapade of the Dacres i.^ suppascd to have been excited or encouraged by an event which had just taken place in Scotland— the murder of the regent Murray. Thj regent, finding that there would never be any rest for either England or Scotland whilst the queen of Scots was detained in her unjust captivity, entered into serious negotiations with Elizabeth, to have her surrendered to his own custody, when it would have been in his power to get rid of her on some pretence. Kuox, in no equivocal language, in a letter to Cecil which still remains, had recommended her being put out of the way, telling hhn, " If ye strike not at the root, the branches that appear to be broken will bud again, and this more quickly than man can believe, with greater force than wo could wish." On the day on which tins letter wa9 dated, Murray despatched Elphinstone to Elizabeth, to impress upon her the absolute necessity of some immediate and decisive dealing with Mary. He assured her that the faction in her favour both at homo and abroad was daily acquiring fresh force ; that the Spaniards and the pope were intriguing with the catholics of England and Scotland, and that daily .succours were expected from France. He demanded that she should, therefore, at once exchange the queen of Scots for the duke of Norfolk, and enable him, by a proper supply of money and arms, to resist their common foes. Ho entreated her to remember that the heads of all these troubles — no doubt meaning Mary and Norfolk — were at her command, an J th:it if she declined this arrangement, ho must forbear to adventure his life as he had done. These negotiations, however private, did not escape the knowledge of Mary's friends. The bishop of Rosa imme- diately entered a protest before Elizabeth against the scheme, which he declared would be tantamount to signing the death warrant of the queen of Scots. Ho induced th( amb.assadors of France and Spain to enter like protests; but whether they would have been efiective remains !\ mystery, for Elizabeth had despatched Sir Henry Gates to the regent on the subject, when the news of Murray's end altered the whole position of affairs. Private revenge and public had combined to accomplish this tragedy. James Hamilton, of Bothwellhaugh, an estate adjoining the celebrated Bothwell-brig, was one of the Hamilton clan who fought at Langside, and was there taken and condemned to death, but let off with the forfeit of his estate. The loss of his property of itself might have been cause enough of discontent to a proud and high-spirited gentleman, but this was rendered tenfold more intolerable by the seizure of that of his wife, and her ejectment from it in the most brutal manner. She w;is the proprietor of Woodhouselee, a small estate on the Esk, and was living there in imagined security, when Murray gave the place tu his favourite Bellenden, the ju.^tice clerk. This heartless wretch turned out the wife of Bothwellhaugh in the met barbarous manner, in a bitter winter's night, with only her night clothes on. In the morning sho was discovered in the woods in a state of fm-ious madness. Bothwellhaugh with a feeling which found a universtvl echo in the hearts of all men of the least remains of feeling or honour, vowed 486 GASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1570. destruction to the ruffian lawyer. The Hamiltons encou- raged liim from political hatred to the regent , and he is Eaid bj CalJcrwell to have made two abortive attempts to shoot the regent, when a most fiivourable opportunity presented itself for the execution of his inestioguishable vengeance, Murray was about to proceed from Stirling to Edinburgh, and had arranged to pass through Linlithgow. The arch- bishop of St. Andrews, the uncle of Bothwellhaugh, had an old paKice in the High-street of that town, through which ilurray must pass. Bothwellhaugh took possession of this, and made all his preparations for the murder with the coolest exactness. He barricaded the front door, so that no one could, without considerable delay, force their way in to seize him. In the back yard he placed a powerful and swifl horse, ready bridled and saddled for flight ; and even removed the bead of the doorway, so as to admit him to fprini; upon his steed, and ride through it without the to take aim. As he passed the archbishop's house, Both- j wellhaugh fired so accurately that he shot him through the > body, and killed the horse of the person riding next to him. The confusion which followed allowed the assassin to escape I before his barricade could be forced, and he was just seen ' gallopping away towards Hamilton. There the archbishop, ' the lord Arbroath, and the whole clan of the Hamiltons \ received him in triumph, as the liberator of his country from an unnatural tyrant who was plotting the murder of I his sister and sovereign. They immediately flew to arms, i and resolved to march to Edinburgh, liberate the duke of Chatelherault, and assume the government. The character of Murray, perhaps, cannot be better summed up than in the words of Mr. Tytler, the historian of Scotland : — " As to bis personal intrepidity, his talents for state affairs, his military capacity, and the general purity of his private life, in a corrupt age and court, there can be no difference of opinion. It has been recorded of Z£:i^*^ Place of ImprUonmeat in the Tower. moment's delay of leading the horse there. He then cut a Lole through a praulet below a window, in a sort of wooden gallery, from which he could survey the procession, large enough to admit the barrel of his gun. To prevent his booted steps being heard, he laid a feather-bed on the floor ; and to prevent the possible casting of a shadow, hung up behind him a black cloth. These preparations being made, he stood ready, with his piece loaded with four bullets. The regent had been duly warned of his danger by a faithful servant named John Heme, who seems to have had full knowledge of Bothwellhaugh's plan and place of ambush, and offered to take the regent where he could seize the assassin on the spot. ^Tith that fatal neglect which so often attends such victims, Murray agreed to avoid the public street, but took no means to secure the murderer. The crowd on entering the town became so great that he allowed himself to be densely surrounded — as it were, borne irresistibly along the fatal street. The throng, moreover, u jropelled him to move slowly, giving his enemy ample time him that he ordered himself and his family in Buch sort, that it did more resemble a church than a court ; and it is but fair to conclude that this proceeded from his deep feelings of religion, and a steady attachment to a reforma- tion which he believed to be founded on the word of God. But, on the other hand, there are some facts, especially such as occurred during the latter part of his career, which throw suspicion upon his motives, and weigh heavily against him. He consented to the murder of Rizzio , to compass his ovra return to power, he unscru- pulously leagued himself with men whom he knew to be the murderers of the king; used their evidence to con- vict his sovereign , and refused to turn against them till they began to threaten his power, and declined to act as the tools of his ambition. If we regard private faith and honour, how can we defend his betrayal of Norfolk, and his consent to deliver up Northumberland ." If we look to love of country — a principle now, perhaps, too lightly esteemed, but inseparable fiom all true greatneae— A.D. 1570.] CONSEQUENCES OF MTjERAY'S ASSASSINATION. 469 what are we to think of hie last ignominious offers to Eliza- beth P If we go higher still, and seek for that love which is the only test of religious truth, how difficult is it to think that it could have a place in his heart, whose last transaction went to aggravate the imprisonment, if not to recommend the death of a miserable princess, bis own sister and sovereign ! " A London Street on a Rainy Day, in the days of Queen Elizabeth. CHAPTER XIV. REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZADETH.-(Contliineii.) Proposals for the Release of the Queen of Scots-Proceedings against Catholics and Puritans— Trial and Execntlon of Norfolk-CIri War in France and the Netherlands— Dake of Anjou proposes for Elizabeth- Visits England- Promise of Marriage— His Death— The Affairs of Ire- land -Persecution of the Puritans, Catholics, and Anabaptlsts-Afifairs ofScotland— Morton, as a Murderer of Darnley, executed— Attempts to release the Queen of Scots-Execution of Throckmorton and Arden— Penal Statutes-Execution of Parry— Arrest and Judgment of Arundel— Supposed Murder of the Earl of Northumberland in the Tower- Elkabeth aids the Belgian Insurgents -Treaty with James of Scotland -Elizabeth's Quarrel with Leicester-Intrigues of Morgan and Paget — Babington's Conspiracy— Removal of Mary to Fotherlngay. The assassination of Murray greatly disconcerted the policy of Elizabeth. The wily diplomatist who had such strong reasons for securing her co-operation in detaining the queen of Scots from the throne, being gone, there was a 02 serious danger of the two parties combining, and, by the aid of France, placing Mary, if not on the throne, at least as their head during the minority of her son. The Hamiltons, Maitland, Herries, Huntley, and Argyll were all on the side of the queen of Scots, and Morton and his associates were in no condition of themselves to resist them. They were on the march to secure the castle of Dumbarton and Edin- burgh ; the French were already on the Clyde , the Kcrs and Scots, friends of Mary, had burst across the border, accom- panied by the refugee earl of Westmoreland ; and an emissary from the duke of Alva had arrived, bringing money, and promise of substantial help from Philip. It was necessary to sow instant dissension in Scotland, and for this purpose Elizabeth despatched that subtle intriguer, Sir Thomas Randolph, to that country only three days after 470 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOEY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1570. Morray'8 dcatli, and resolreJ t,) recommend Leaaox, whom tho flamiltJns hated, ns repent. The young king, indeed, was his grandson, and, therefore, he had a natural claim to that position, if his abilities had been adequate to its responsibilities. Fortune seemed to favour Elizabeth. At tho very moment that Cecil was recommending these measures, 1 lord Ilunsdon, the governor of Berwiok, ivrote to inform her that Morton was anxious to -Beoure her support, and that nobleman lost no time in waiting on Sir Henry Gates and Sir William Urury, wio bad arrived on a mission to Murray, ju.-t before he \»aB iilled. He represented that his party trusted to the queen of England not to liberate the queen of Scotland, or the foreigners would soon possess the chief power in Scotland, but to send ihem Lennox as ' regent, and assist them as she had assisted Murray, and they would pledge themselves to pursue the same policy. I Bandolph, on his arrival, promi.-ed them the queen's aid, and encouraged them to refuse any connection with tho Hamiltons, who had womed them to acknowledge no authority but that of the queen. Morton and his friends replied by a proclamation, maintaining the rights of the king, and forbidding any one, on pain of treason, holding communication with the Hamiltons. As they wanted a clever head, they liberated Maitland from tho castle ; and on his declaration of innocence of the murder of Darnley, a notorious untruth, they reinstated him in his old post of secretary, and made Morton chancellor. Randolph assured them of Elizabeth's determination to increase the rigour of the imprisonment of the queen of Scots, and promised them both money and soldiers on condition that thev should take care that the young king-should not be oarried off to Prance ; that they would maintain the -protestnnt religion, and deliver up Westmoreland and ^sorthumberland. These conditions were readily accepted, and letterffwere despatched to hasten the arrival of Lennox. On the queen's side were now ranged the 'whole power of the Hamilton?, the earls of Argyll. Huntley. AthoU, Errol, Crawford, and Marshall ; Caithness, Oassillis, Sutherland, and Eglinton ; the lords Home, Seaton, Ogilvy, Ross, Borthwiok, Olipha-nt. Tester, and Fleming ; Herries, Boyd, Soraerville. Innermeith, Forbes, and Gray ; . but more than all their strength lay in the military abilities of Kirkaldy of Grange, and the diplomatic abilities of Maitland, who was no sooner at liberty than he went over to them. On the side of the king were Lennox, Mar, the governor of his youthful majesty, Glencairn, Buchanan, and the lords Glammis, Ruthven, Lindsay, Cathcart, Meth- vcn, Ochiltree, and Saltoun. It may be ima;;ined what was tho miserable condition of Scotland, torn betwixt these two powerful factions, and with Randolph, on the part of Eliza- beth, fanning the flames of hatred and discord to the utmostof his mischievou!) ability. At the same time that this strange j specimen of Elizabeth's ministers was witnessing the success of his exertions in the mutual ravages, rancours, ' and cruelties of the two parties, he amused hinjself with writing Cecil burlesque descriptions of the leaabetti ; the bishop of Roas, that of Mary. A.D. 1571.] ELIZABETH EXCOMMUNICATED BY TUE POPE. 471 Mary, who had been removed about four months to this palace of the Peak, then one of the houses of the earl of Shrewsbury, her keeper, during these negotiations showed herself a complete nTtch for the deep and practical diplo- matists of Elizabeth; b;it, of course, being in Elizabeth's hands, she was under the necessity of complying with many things which she would never have listened to at liberty. Elizabeth expressed herself quite satisfied ; still, the assent of the two parties in Scotland had to be obtained and that •was not at all likely, so that Elizabeth's offer could appear fair, and even liberal, with perfect safety. Morton, the head of the opponents to Mary, advocated the right of subjects to depose their sovereigns where they infringed the rights of the community — a doctrine which was abomin- able to the ears of Elizabeth, and called forth her unquali- fied censure. On the other hand, the guarantees to be given Joj and on account of the queen of Scots were such as never could be sehtled, from Elizabeth's fears of the resent- ment of Mary if once she became free. Thus the discus- sion was prolonged till Cecil found a way out of it without the liberation of the Scottish queen. He represented that if Elizabeth were to marry a French prince she would almost entirely annihilate any hopes of the English crown in Mary : for, if she had issue, her claims would be superseded ; if she had not, then the French would be directly interested in keeping Elizabeth firm on her throne. The duke of Anjou was the prince this time proposed, and Elizabeth appeared, as she generally did at first, to listen with pleasure to the proposal. No sooner was this scheme entertained than she caused the commissioners on the part of the king of Scotland to be dismissed for the present, on pretence that they were not furnished with sufficient credentials, by which she left herself at liberty to renew the treaty if neces- sary, or to take no further notice of it, if she came to an arrangement with the French prince. No sooner had the Scottish commissioners withdrawn than Elizabeth summoned a parliament, in which she pro- ceeded to the enactment of severities against both catholics and protestants worthy of her father. Whilst Elizabeth was laying waste the realms of her cousin, whom she was holding in stern captivity, pope Pius V. had the folly to cause a bull of excommunication against Elizabeth to be published. This now effete instrument of papal vengeance could only serve to enrage the heretic queen, and to cause her wrath to fall heavily on some zealous unfortunate. The lawyers being amongst those who clung the longest to the old faith, a search was made in the inns of court for copies of the offensive paper. One was found in the chambers of a poor student, who, being stretched on the rack to force a confession from him of the party from whom he had re- ceived it, to save himself from torture, confessed that it was given to him by John Felton, a gentleman living near Southwark. Felton was seized, and confessed to the fact of delivering the bull to the poor student ; and to force a revelation of his accomplices from him he was tortured, but to no purpose — he would confess nothing more. He was committed to the Tower on the 25th of May, and kept till the 4th of August, when he was tried at Guildhall on a charge of high treason, condemned, and executed with the disgusting cruelties of being cut down alive, and then embowelled and quartered, in St. Paul's churchyard, before the gates of the palace of the bishop of London. Felton ■displayed a spirit and a magnanimity in his death which might have shamed his haughty persecutor, and made her think better of those whose only fault was thinking dif- ferently from her. His wife had been maid of honour to Mary, and a friend of Elizabeth's ; and, though thus cruelly treated, Felton drew from his finger, at the place of execu- tion, a diamond ring worth four hundred pounds, and sent it to the queen as a token that he bore no resentment. The same savage spirit was displayed towards a number of gentlemen of Norfolk, friends of the imprisoned duke, who, resenting his treatment, had formed a plan to seize on Leicester, Cecil, and Bacon, by inviting them to a dinner. They intended to demand not only the release of the duke, but the expulsion of the numerous French, Flemish, and Dutch protestants who had recently sought refuge in this country, and who were considered to injure the trade of English catholics here. This design being discovered, they were hanged, drawn, and quartered. The victims were John Throckmorton of Norwich, Thoma.s Brook of Rolesby, and George Redman of Cringleford. In their proclamation they had denounced the profligacy of the court and the domineering spirit of the newly-risen courtiers. In that pro- fligacy Elizabeth was plainly stated by general opinion to have her full share ; and nothing was more positively credited by her loyal subjects than that Elizabeth had had more than one child by her paramour, Leicester. Lodge says that in the August of 1570 a gentleman of the name of Marshaiu was tried in Norfolk, and compelled to lose both his ears, or pay one hundred pounds, for saying that "my lord of Leicester had two children by the queen." On the 2nd of April, 1571, parliament met at West- minster. A sutjsidy of two shillings and eightpence in the pound was granted by the commons, and of five shillings in the pound by the clergy, towards defraying the charges of sup- pressing the rebellion in the north, and of pursuing the rebels and their abettors into Scotland. This obtained, a bill was introduced to make it high treason for any one to claim a right to the succession of the crown during the lifetime of the queen, or to say that it belonged to any other person than the queen. This was evidently aimed at the queen of Scots and her friends, and, probably, was intended to be made use of, though Elizabeth had no right whatever to include the queen of another country under her laws. It went on to say that it was high treason to call the queen a heretic, a schismatic, a tyrant, or a usurper, or to deny that parliament had a right to determine the succession. What is extraordinary was that it enacted that any one, by writing or printing, mentioning any heir to the queen, ex- cept the natural issue of her bodi/, should suffer a year's imprisonment, and for the second incur the penalty of premunire. This phrase, the " natural issue," excited much ridicule and comment, as it implied that the queen either had, or was likely to have, natural issue, which she con- templated making her heir ; and this was the more noticed, because, in the negotiation for the restoration of the queen of Scots, the like phrase had been introduced, and Mary's commissioners had insisted that the word lau-ful^ should be used before " issue," to which Elizabeth's commissioners had strenuously objected, and only at last conceded that it should stand " any issue by any lawful husband," which seemed to imply that, if she had living issue by Leicester, she would then marry him. What still more confirmed the public in this belief was that Leicester himself, in writing to Walsingham, mentioned the queen being in indifferent CASSELL'S nXrSTRATFD HISTORY OP ENGLAND, in health, hsTing bad eereral fainting fits, having been •■troubled with a epioe or show of the motber," which bad, hcwovor. turned out to be not so. Tnily the virgin queen bore a very ill reputation for a virgin in her day, and her court, a£ we Bhall have to show, was anything but the seat of the virtues and of decorum. Whatever, however, were the liberties prevailing at court. Ellziiboth was resolved that very little should remain amoniist her people. A second bill was passed this session enacting that any one was guilty of high treasoa who not merely obtained any bull from, or entered any suit in, the court of Rome, but who was merely absolved by the pope, or by means of any papal instrument ; and that all persons should suffer the pains of premunirc who received any Agnus Dii, cross, bead, picture, which had been blessed by the pope, or any one deriving authority from him ; and their aiders and abettors the same. All persons whatsoever, of a certain age, were bound to attend the protcstant worship, and receive the sacrament as by law established ; and all such as had fled abroad in order to escape this mo.-t despotic state of things were ordered to return within sis months and submit themselves to this crushing out of all conscience or free will, and this under penalty of suffering the for- feiture of all property or rents from land. Nothing more scandalous had ever been attempted in the darkest times — and we must remember that these were the days of Spenser, Shakespeare, Bacon, Sidney, and Raleigh ! Spite of the fanatic zeal of the commons, however, the compulsory enforcement of the sacrament on the catholics was given up as at once impracticable and dangerous. The rest of these intolerable measures were passed. But if parliament was disposed to annihilate all religious freedom in one direction, they were as prompt to extend it in another — that is, towards themselves. A great party bad sprung up in the house nf commons and the nation, already known by the name of Puritans, and destined to become vastly more known hereafter. This sect of severe religionists Elizabeth had done all in her power to force upon Scotland ; but she was by no means desirous of having them herself in England. As Knox in Scotland, so the leaders of the puritans in England, who had been driven out during the persecutions in Mary's reign, had many of them visited Geneva, and imbibed the hard, morose, and persecuting spirit of Calvin. Though they were ready to fight for their own liberties, they were not a whit more inclined to allow any religious freedom to others. Whether in the commonwealth of England, when in power, or in the new regions of America, we shall find them d's- playing, with a'l their virtues, this intolerant spirit. Eliza- beth and the puritans were wide as the poles asunder in their ideas of a reformed religion, though they were of precisely the fame spirit in maintaining those ideas. They were determined as much as possible to have their own ■way. The puritans were for the utmost simplicity in the cxtemiJs of religion. They thought the reformation had stopped halfway. They would have no images, no crucifix. The ring in marriage, the observance of times and seasons, of fe^tiva^s, chanting of psalms, church music, and robes and surplices for the clergy, they declared were the masks and livery of the beast. C)n the other hand, Elizabeth had never gone far out of the regions of popery. Like her father, she rather re- sisted the papal power than the papal spirit. Ilcr cardinal Tlb. 1571. religious tenet was that Elizabeth must do as she pleased in ecclesiastical as in temporal matters. She had alwavs kept the great silver crucifix in her chapel, though she had, in 1559. issued an order for the removal of all crucifixes from everybody else's churches and chapels. She kept candles burning before her crucifix to the end of her life, and was fund of all sorts of gorgeous robes and ceremonies — so that no one would readily perceive the difference be- twixt her protestantism and popery, except that sbe4iad not ubrolutely the celebration of mass. In her hatred of the marriage of the clergy she was a thorough catholic. She never would repeal the statute of her sister Mary for the maintenance of clerical celibacy, and could scarcely behave decently to married clergymen. We have seen how gro8.«ly she insulted the wife of archbishop Parker, after having been hospitably entertained at her table. Though the clergy submitttcd to be brow-beaten and insulted concerning their marriages, their wives regarded as mere concubines, and their children, by the retention uf the statute of Mary, actually bastardised, the puritans showed no such moderation. They spoke out with their usual boldness, denounced the celibacy of the clergy as a rag of the woman of Babylon, and held Knox as a great and shining light, notwitltstanding bis " Blast against the Monstrous Regiment of Women." An ill-feeling grew quickly betwixt Elizabeth and them -. each of them were intolerant, but Elizabeth had the power, and exercised it, with the certain result on such a people of provoking a daring and unsparing retaliation. They attacked with right good will her favourite doctrine of the royal supremacy, declared that the church was in its nature independent of the state, and that the simple presbytorian form of church government was the true one, and not the episcopal, with its proud bishops and dignitaries, in all their semi-popish gear. Thomas Cartwright, the lady Marg.iret professor of divinity at Cambridge, preached vehemently against the anti- Christian institution of bishops, whom he characterised as merely the tools of the state, and against all the papistical rites and ceremonies of the church as maintained by Eliza- beth. And, in these crusades Hgainst the Anglican church, tmdaunted reformers found much secret support from the ministers of Elizabeth themselves, at the very time they seemed to bo conforming most obediently to her model. Bacon. Walsingham, Sadler, Kiiollys, the earls of Bedford, Warwick, and Huntingdon, were all forerunners, in secret, of the puritans. Leicester especially patronised and made uso of them. He was particularly fond of Cartwright, who shouted from his pulpit, in the loudest tones, that "princes ought to submit their sceptres, to throw down their crowns, before the church ; yea, as the prophet speaketh, to lick the dust of the feet of the church." These ministers found it very convenient, when they could not themselves persuade the queen to moderation, to rouso the puritans, who made a popular commotion, and rendered it neccss.iry to draw in. Leicester had no more tfficient means of thwarting any scheme of foreign marringe for the queen than by rousing the dissenters against such popish schemes. The house of commons was almost wholly leavened with the puritan leaven, and this session they brought in no lees than seven bills to carry forward their ideas of the thorough reformation of the church. These projected reforms were BO many attacks on Uie favourite rites, tenets, and eccle- A.D. 1571.] SPIRITED CONDUCT OF THE COMMONS. 47.3 piasticiil pomps of Elizabeth, and she was thrown into- a pa^^sion of amazement by their audacity. William Strick- land, an old sea-captain, was the introducer of these bills. Though they were strongly supported by the house, Eliza- beth, in her rage, sent a message commanding Strickland to cease to meddle with matters which concerned her preriigative as supreme head of the church ; but Strickland replied, " The salvation of their souls was concerned, to which all the kingdoms of the earth were nothing in com- parison." Enraged at this bold conduct, the queen sent for Strickland to appear before her in council, and ordered him to appear no more in the house of commons. But the house was of another temper to that which it had shown in her father's time. It called Strickland to its bar, and demanded what was the reason that he absented himself from his duties. Strickland stated the cause, nothing loth ; and the house then declared tliat its privileges had been invaded in hiS'pcrson ; that such proceedings could not be submitted to without a betrayal of its trust to the people ; that the queen could neither make nor break the laws; and that the house, which had the authority to determine the right to the crown itself, was certainly competent to treat of all matters concerning the church, its discipline, and ceremonies. This was a language which made the unaccustomed ears of royalty and its ministers tingle, little aware that it would one day proceed to order off the head of the monarch of England. The speaker, after a consultation with some of the ministers, proposed to suspend the debate ; but the next morning Stricldand appeared in his place, and was greeted by the acclamations of the house. Elizabeth took the hint, and suffered the matter to pass ; but she did not forget it. On dismissing parliament at the end of the session, she ordered the hird-kceper Bacon to inform the mpiiibers that their conduct had been strange, undutiful, and unbecoming; that as they had fur^iotten themselves, they should be other- wise remembered ; and th.at the queen's highness did utterly disallow and condemn their folly in meddling with things not appertaining to them, nor within the capacity of their understandings. But the example of independence had been shown, and it was not lost. This stern resistance to the will of the monarch in parliament, in fact, constituted a new era. To the spirit of the puritans wo owe the establishment of the supremacy of parliament, and its defence against the encroachments of the sovereign, however powerful ; for the battle that ccmimonoed was continued with various but advancing success, till it terminated in the expulsion of the Stuarts, and the passing of the Bill of Rights. Not the less, however, did Elizabeth rage against it; and if she found parliament invulncr.ahle, she attacked the liberties of the sulject in detail, by her court of high commission, a mere variation of the high court of star chamber. This court consisted of a number of commissioners, with Parker, the primate, at their head, who were empowered to inquire, on the oath of the person accused, and on the oaths of witnesses, into all heretical, erroneous, and dangerous opinions ; into absence from the public worship and the frequenting of conve;iticlcs ; into the possession of seditious books, libels against the queen, her magistrates, and ministers ; into adulteries, and all offences against decency and morals ; and to punish the offender by spiritual censuri'S, by fine, imprisonment, ami deprivation. As there was no jury, it was clearly a breach of Magna Charta, and wholly unconstitutional, and was a species of inquisition liable to great abuses, and to become an instru- ment to the grossest injustice. Its powers were first turned against the catholics, but the sturdy character and acts of the puritans very soon brought them under its notice, and they became ere long the great olijects of its oppressive rigour. This rigour only tended to drive so high-spirited a class of subjects into open schism, and to the conventicles which sprang up fast and far. These Parker attacked with fury. At a meeting at Plumber's Hall more than a hundred persons were seized and brought into the high commission court, and of these twenty-four men and seven women, who refused to confess themselves guilty of any offence, were punished with twelve months' imprisonment. This course was now pursued towards the dissenters everywhere. Thoy were driven out of their meetings, and subjected to insult and imprisonment, some of them for life. Whole families were reduced to beggary for their conscien- tious adherence to their own religious views ; and it has been well observed that there wanted only a little burning to make the days of queen Mary and these precisely alike. Parker, with his bench of bishops and delegates, grew more and more ferocious. He declared that the puritans were cowards, and that they would soon succumb to a strong hand ; but, like many another persecutor, whilst he thought he was destroying, ho was only disseminating the obnoxious principles ; and the cowards, as he called them, in two more reigns, laid the monarch in his blood, and the throne in the dust. Had the primate been a man of any deep insight into human nature, the hardy answer of Mr. Went- worth, one of the most eloquent debaters of the house of commons, would have caused him to reflect. Ho called him before him to interrogate him regarding certain omissions in the Thirty-nine Articles, which the commons had taken upon themselves to make. " He asked me," said Wentworth, "why we did put out of the book the articles for the homilies, consecration of bishops, and such like. ' Surely, sir,' said I, ' because we were so occupied in other matters that we had no time to examine them how they agree with the word of God.' ' What !' said he, 'surely yuu mistake the matter : you will refer yourselves wholly to us therein.' ' No, by the faith I bear to God,' said I, ' we will pass nothing before we understand what it is ; for that were but to make you popes. Make you popes who list,' said I, ' for we will make you none.' " But it is time to leave these persecuting traits in Elizabeth, which were but the natural workings of the blood of Henry VIII. in her, to notice her love affairs, which were always on the fa;)i'5, though they always ended in nothing In January of this year the queen went in great state to dine with Sir Thomas Gresham in the city, who had invited her to open the new Exchange which he had liuilt at his own expense on Cornhill. After the ceremony, she dined with the great merchant at his house in Bishopsgate-street, where she was accompanied by La Mothe Feuelon, the French ambassador. After dinner she indulged herself in her favourite topic in private — that of marrying — though she hated nothing more than to have this subject broa.dud to her in pu'ilic by her parliament. "Among other things," Fonclon says, "she told me that she was determined to marry, not from any wish of her own, but for the satisfaction of her subjects, and also to put an end, by the authority of a husband or by ibe birth of offspring, if it pleased God to give them to her, to 171 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EN'GLAXD. [a.d. 1571. the enterprises nrhich she felt wuuld be perpetually made ogalnft her person and realm if she became so old a woman that there was no longer any pretenco for taking a husband, or hope that she might have children. She added that, ' in truth, she greatly feared not being loved by him whom she might espouse, which would be a greater misfortune than the first, for it would be worse to her than death, and she could not bear to reflect on such a possibility.' " The ambassador, of course, flattered, and recommended to her one of the French princes — the duke of Anjou. Elizabeth was fain to listen to this proposal, because she thought that so long as she could amuse the French court with the project, she should be safe from any movement on its part for the queen of Scots. Yet this could only be tem- porary, for assuredly Elizabeth never seriously contemplated afterwards made him vice chamberlain, and finally lord chancellor. Gray, the poet, has humorously alluded to the fortunes of lord chancellor Ilatton, and their cause, in his " Long Story " — ■' Full oft within the spiclou walb. When be bad flfly winters oer bim, My gr»Te lord-keeper led the br«wl% And seals and macea danced before him, " Bis boshy beard and ahae-strings green, nis bigh-crowned bai and aatin doublet, Moved the stout hearc of England's Qufen, Tboagh pope and Spaniard coald not troable It" So rapid and extravagant grew Elizabeth's passion for the handsome and capering Ilatton, that Leicester could not avoid attempting to ridicule his rival by ofi'ering to intro- duce to her a dancing-master who excelled Hatton in all I g w w \ -c' ^ ifc ^ The First Rojal E-^chaoge, erected by Sir Thomas Gresbam. (See page 473 ) marrying; but a flirtation, either public or private, was to her always an irresistible fascination. Besides Leicester, regarding whom and herself there were the most scandalous stories afloat, she had now another favourite, which ex- cessively stirred Leicester's spleen. This was Christopher Hatton, who, having casually oppeared at the palace amongst the gentlemen of the inns of court at a masque, so charmed the queen by his fine form and fine dancing, that she at once placed him on her band of pensioners, the tallest and handsomest men in England. Soon after she dined with Sir Thomas Gresham she made Cecil lord of Burleigh ; his uncle, lord William Howard, lord privy seal ; the ead of Sussex chamberlain— that office being vacated by Lord William; Sir Thomas Smith principal secretary of state ; and Hatton, who was a lawyer, captain of the guard. Rising, however, in Elizabeth's regard, she [ the dances which he so much charmed her in. But his project was not lucky. Elizabeth, after hearing him, ex- claimed " Pish ! I will not see your man: it is his trade." She gave way to the most ridiculous fondness for her new favourite. She called him all kinds of pet names : her "sheep, ' her "mutton," her " behvether," her " pecora campi," her "lids," meaning eyelids, and often her "sweet lids." They corresponded together in the most fond and foolish style, of which the shelves of the State Paper Office bear heaps of proof. Nothing could be too much or too good to bestow upon him. He fell in love with the house and gardens of the bishop of Ely, on Holborn Hill, then open, and celebrated for its pleasantness and flowers, andElizabeth called on the bishop to give it up. He was not at all inclined to do so, on which the love-sick queen wrote to him in a style rather different to that in which she addressed Hatton . — A.n. 1571.] REIGN OP QUEEN ELIZABETH. 475 IKUL .7 TOE DCRS OF KOIIFOLE. (sEB PAGE 47.0.7 170 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EVGLAND. [a.d. 1571. '• Proi-u Pkklate, — You know what you were before I made you what you now arc. If you do not immediately comply with my request, I will unfrock you, by God ! " ELIZAnKTH." The bishop lost no time in resigning hig pleasant palace and garden:), with the gatehouse of his palace, on Holborn Hill — and several acres of land are since called Hatton Garden — only reserving a right of way through the gate- house, of walking in the garden, and of gathering annually twenty bushels of roses. The royal lover who was now proposed by his mother, Catherine de Mcdicis, to tsupplant the two private lovers, was a youth of sixteen, whilst Blizabeth had arrived at the usually itnooqueUisb age of forty save two. Ilis figure was diminutive, his face eicessively ugly ; ho had a remarkably large nose, aud his face was dreadfully scarred ■with the small-pos. His mind was as deformed as his body — and this was the suit«cipple, instead of a lady of proper paces." At this crisis, when Elizabeth was wreaking her resent. Leia o Bler, who, he declared, would be far more acceptable \ ment on her ungracious royal lover, she was suddenly to Ale whole realm. But Elizabeth was now bent on carry- ing o«. this CDurtshipv at least for a time, and complained to the ladies Oiioton andi Cobham of the opposition of her ministers. Lady Cobhnaa spoke in favour of Anjou, only she observed that it was a pity he was so young. Elii 1 the difference was only ten years, though it ..• nearly twenty. But, unfortunately for EHzaijeEtis vanity, the young Anjou, who was on? of the handsomest princes in Europe, positively refused to have hor, declaring that he would not marry " an ugly old creaiture who had a sore leg." This news of the sore leg he had learned from Fenelon, who had informed his court that, like her royal father, she had been laid np with a sore leg all the summer. From Norris. her ambassador at Paris, Elizabeth obtsined so flattering an account of the beauty and grace of .\njou, that she asked Leicester to contrive that he should make a pleasure cruise on the EentL-^h 'coast, where she would betake herself, and so that they could see each other as by accident : but even this the un- gallant prinoe bluntly refused, for he did not wish to see ' her at all. I Early in April, however, of this year. Gnido (^avalcanti ! nrrircd in England with a joint letter from Charles IX. of startled by Walsingham informing her that Aojoa was actually proposing for the queen of Saot»; that the French court was earnestly seconding it, and that an application was already made to the pope, who hai pwammai. » dis- pensation, lie added that it was deteriaaied, if tilatnaty for the restoration of Mary did not succeed, FnwMPsinnld fit out an expedition and take her from Eugikad bf fiMrec. Elizabeth heard this intelligence with unooatiDlUile mge. Whilst she was affecting to reprimand tke prinas 6r his freedoms of speech regarding herself, Um* Im- alMsld actually show such contempt for her as t»tM wmSug her rival — her captive, whom she could at any vaammab destroy, was a deep stroke t(T her pride. She is said to hasawnaked her mortification on the unfortunate Mary, whose iBwatiaant bcoune seneibly more rigorous and unkind. This treatment was, indeed, so cruel and vindictive, that the king of France ordered his ambassador to intercede on ber behalf: and iu doing this he added a menace which confirmed all that Walsingham had heard. He said " that unless Blizabeth took means for the restoration of the queen of Scotland to her rightful dignity, and in the meantime treated her in a kind and honourable manner, he should send forces openly to her n.ssistance." Elizabeth justified her conduct to Mary by accusing her France and Catherine de Medicis, making a formal offer of of constant plots against her crown and life, not only with the duke of Anjou's hand. ICIizabeth .ippeared to receive the proposal wiih so much satisfaction, that the French ambassador really thought her this time sincere. She ran over, in great self-complacence, all the list of her royal and noble lovers, including the kings of Spain and Sweden, the prince of Denmark, .nd the son of the emperor ; and, alter nil, professed to like the idea of the handsome Anjou best. But the ambassador made demands, in case of marriage, which, had Elizabeth been ever so sincere, would have her subjects, but with France, Rome, Flanders, and Spain ; and, to turn the tables on the French court, she immediately began to favour a proposal of marriage which was made her by the emperor Maximilian for his eldest son, prince Rodolph. About the same time she had an offer, also, of the hand of prince Henry of Navarre, afterwards the famous Ilenry IV. Those offers Elizabeth played off against the French court, but especially that of prince Rodolph, boast- ing that she was about to send to Spain a secret mission. 1572.1 THE DUKE OP ANJOU REJECTED BY ELIZABETH. 477 whose object was an alliance with Philip, based on her marriage with his relative, prinee Rodolph. By these acts she succeeded in alarming the French court, and resuming the negotiation on account of the duke of Anjou. The greater part of this year was consumed in these coquetries betwixt Elizabeth and the court of France; for it could scarcely be said to be Anjou himself, for he continued to make no scruple of his disgust at the contemplation of the connection. His mother, Catherine de Medicis, was greatly disconcerted by this obstinacy of her son. She complained to Walsingham and Sir Thomas Smith, Elisabeth's ambassadors, that she was afraid Anjuu listened to all the scandalous Ftories of the queen with lier favourites, Leicester and Hatton ; and, in truth, these stories were extraordinary, and in every one's mouth. Such was Leicester's familiarity, that he was said everywhere to have two children by her,- and the earl of Arundel, and other nobles at her court, represented tlio freedoms used by Leicester as a disgrace to the crown, and that neither the nobles nor the people at large ought to allow of such pro- ceedings. They charged Leicester with u.^ing his privilege of entre'c into the queen's bed-chamber mo.^t disreputably, asserting that he went in and out there before she rose, and acting even in the place of her lady-in-waiting, and handing to her a g.arment which none but her own maid ought to present. They accuaed him of "kissing her majesty when he was not invited thereto." But whilst Anjou hung back from this great alliance, Elizabeth seemed only the more bent on it. She appeared to forget her pride, and to do all the wooing her-elf. She sent her portrait to the prince, declared her full determination to have him, and that he should enjoy the private exercise of his religion in England. The ungallant Anjou replied that he would not go there unless he could enjoy it publicly too. That he might no longer believe her lame or invalid, she gave over going to the chase in her coach, but rode upon a tall horse. She shot a large stag with her own hand, and sent it to the French ambassador to show how vigorous and robust she was ; and she herself filled her work-basket with fine apricots, and desired Leicester to forward them to the prince, that he might see that Engl.and had a climate fine enough to produce beautiful fruit. But all these con- descensions failed to move the obdurate Anjou, who, though he sometimes iflade fair speeches as a matter of courtesy, steadily recoiled from her offered hand, and would not even come over to England to gratify her with a view of him. At length, perceiving that her attentions were wholly thrown away on Anjou, she broke off the negotiation in disgust, declaring that the prince's adherence to his demand for the public exercise of his religion rendered the alliance impos- sible, and, therefore, the thought of it must be dismissed. The French ambassadors, at the suggestion of Burleigh, hastened to remove her mortification, which was in secret shown to bo excessive, by offering the hand of the younger brother, the duke of Alen^ on ; and Elizabeth, though well aware of his ipean person and as mean mind, pretended to listen to it, and, as wo shall see, commenced a show of negotialion on that subject which lasted for some years ; and, that there might appear no sign of chagrin or resent- ment on her part, sho signed a treaty of perpetual peace and alliance with France on Sunday, the 15th of June, 1572, the duke de Montmorenci and M. de Foix signing it on the part of Charles IX. The course of these love affairs Elizabeth had occasionally diversified, like her father, by taking off a head. In Juno of the last year she oaused one of her most bitter and de- termined enemies to be executed. This was Dr. Storey, who, during the reign of her sister Mary, had strenuously recommended her being put to death as the great root of all heresies and seditions. On her accession he had prudently left the kingdom, and entered the service of Philip, where ho was said to have cursed Elizabeth every day before dinner as the most acceptable part of his grace. He was captured nn board an English ship, in which, for some purpose or other, ha was making his way to England, and was con- demned as guilty of treason and magic. The Spanish ambassador claimed him as a subject of Phdip, to which Elizabeth replied that his catholic majesty was welcome to his head, but that his body should not quit EDgland. A much greater victim was now to suffer the penalty of her resentment. The duke of Norfolk, both by his religion and by his earnest attachment to the queen of Scots, excited her deepest resentment. She had cast him into prison, but even there he was a terror to her. The whole body of the catholics, indeed, was in a state of irritation and disaffec- tion. They were excluded from all places of honour or profit, from the court down to the city corporation, and even to the constable of the most remote and obscure village. This expulsion of them from patronage, at the same time that they were persecuted otherwise for the retention of their faith, was most impolitic. It converted them into one great mass of enemies; and as they had little to do, and were many of them at once men of family, of education, and of narrow means, they were anxious for some revolutionary demonstration, because they could lose little in it, and might chance to gain everything. They might avenge their injuries, and achieve liberty and government employ- ment. If Elizabeth had studied how best .she might add to this spirit of restless fermentation, she could not have hit on a more successful plan than that of introducing the beautiful queen of Scots into the midst of them ns an object of admira- tion for hor person and accomplishments, and of deep sym- pathy on account of her sufferings, her unjust thraldom, and her oppressed religion. She was the very apple of discord which the most calculating enemy would have flung into the centre of the teeming mass of resentments, wounded con- science, crushed hopes, and political abasement. Elizabeth had fixed her there herself by her perfidious and relentlesa detention, and sho now reaped the punishment in perpetual plots and alarms of treason amid her very court. All the disaffected looked still to the duke of Norfolk as worthy, by his rank— being nearly connected in blood with the crown — by his sufferings and affection for the queen of Scots, to bo their head. In the month of April, 1571. Charles Bailly, a servant of the queen of Soots, who was coming from Brussels to Dover, was arrested at the latter place, and upon him was dis- covered a packet of letters which, being written in cipher, created suspicion. The bishop of Ross, Mary's staunch and vigilant friend, who knew vory well whence they came, on the first rumour of their seizure, contrived to obtain them from lord Oobham, in whose hands they were, from a pretended curiosity to read them before they were sent to the counoil. Having obtained his desire, he dexterously substituted others, and very innocent ones, in their place, in a like cipher : but Biiilly, being sent to the Tower and placed on the rack, 478 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [ad. 1572. at length confess.-d tliat he had written the letters from the diotatioQ of RuJjlfi, of Brussels, formerly an Italian banker JQ London, and then had been commissioned by him to convey them to England. lie further confessed that they coctaincd assurances from the duke of Alva of his warm sympathy with the cause of the captive queen, and approved of the plan of a foreign invasion of England ; that if his mister, the king of Spain, authorised him, he should be rjady to co-operate with 30 and 40. Who these 30 and 40 >Tcre Bailly said he did not know, but that all that was «zp?aiued by a letter inclosed to the bishop of Ross, who was requested to deliver them to the right persons. One of these persons was immediately believed to be the duke of Norfolk. When he had been ten months a prisoner Trithout any matter Iiaving been brought against him of more consequence than that of his having desired to marry the queen of Sects, provided the queen of England was willing — which was no treason — and had been brought to ■no trial, he petitioned to be liberated, contending that though he was wrong in not communicating everything • fully to the queen, yet that he had neither committed nor intended any crime, and that his health and circumstances were sufifering greatly from his close imprisonment. In con- fieqnence, he was removed from the Tower, on the 4th of August, 1570, to one of his own houses, under the custody of Sir Henry Neville. He certainly then obtained sufficient Toriety of prisons, but no more liberty, for he was re- peatedly removed from one house to another. He petitioned to be restored to his seat in the council, but was refused ; and, in August of 1571, circumstances transpired which occasioned his return to the Tower. A man of the name of Brown, of Shrewsbury, on the 29th of August, carried to the privy council a bag of money vphich he said he had received from Hickford, the duke of Norfolk's secretary, to carry to Bannister, the duke's steward. The money, on being counted in presence of the 'Council, was found to amount to six hundred pounds. But besides the money there were two papers in cipher ; and on ihis suspicious appearance Hickford, the secretary, was at once arrested and ordered to decipher the notes, which then ehowed that the money was intended to be sent to lord Hcrries, in Scotland, to assist in making fresh efforts on liehalf of Mary. Here was treason, or something like it, if it were true, and the duke was immediately sent back to the Tower in the custody of Sir Ralph Sadler, Sir Thomas Smith, Sir Henry Neville, his old keeper, and Dr. Wilson. The duke denied all knowledge of it ; but Bannister, and Barker, another secretary of Norfolk's, being now appre- hended, as well as the bishop of Ross, the rack was set to ■work to force a confession from them. Of evidence so ob- tained wo all know the value. Sir Thomas Smith, one of the commissioners in the case, writing to Cecil, s-iys : — "We think surely we have done all that at this time may 1)6 done. Of Bannister with the rack, of Barker with the extreme fear of it, we suppose to have gotten all. Bannister, indeed, knoweth little." It appears that before Bannister would confess anything, they were compelled to rack him ; but Birker was terrified at the very sight of the ugly machine. Smith admits, with that candour in such disclosures amongst one another, which, coming to our hands in the State Paper office, have stamped those ministers of Elizabeth with such deserved infamy, thai IhCjf were cooking the evidence thus obtained, to make it tell against the duke. They make Barker say that he had ordered one William Taylor, a carpenter at the White Lion inn, in Aldersgate Street, to bury a bag of the duke's papers, which contained letters from the Scottish queen ; that the duke had not only corresponded with the queen of Scots, but with the duke of Alva on her behalf, through Rudolfi, and with her adherents in Scotland through tlu- bishop of Ross ; and though Smith confessed to Cecil that Bannister had disclosed little, yet they so tampered with the evidence as to make Bannister confirm that of Hickford and Barker. The bishop of Ross, when questioned, stood upon his privilege of ambassador as being no subject of the queen of England; and he strengthened his case by a very unpleasant reminder that when Randolph and Tamworth, the emissaries of Elizabeth, were convicted of actually supporting rebellion in Mary's dominions by both money and counsel, Mary had contented herself with ordering them to quit the king- dom. But Ross had to do with very different people to Mary. Cecil and Elizabeth were not inclined let him off 80 easily -, but he was told that ho must either make a full answer to their questions, or they would force it from him by the rack. Ross was not only terrified by the threat of torture, but was told that his confessions were not intended to criminate any one, but merely to satisfy the mind of Elizabeth. He gave way, and made such revelations, that when the duke of Norfolk, who had hitherto stoutly denied everything laid to his charge, saw the depositions of the bishop, of Hickford, and Barker, he esclaimed that he had been betrayed and ruined by those in whom he put confidence. On comparing the various answers of these men and of the duke, it would appear that several plans had been in agitation for the liberation of the queen of Scots . that Norfolk, though he would confess to nothing of the kind, had taken active part in them ; that the money lately taken from Hickford had been sent from France for the Scotch friends of Mary. But by far most fatal to the duke was the revelation of the mission of Rudolfi, who had. it appeared, been sent by him to Alva, to the king of Spain, and to the pope — or, rather, by Mary, with the cognisance and approbation of the duke. On his return, Rudolfi had found the duke at Howard House, smarting under his restraint, and the refusal of his request to resume his place at the council board. Both Mary and Norfolk, who had waited the issue of the negotiation betwixt her commissioners and those of Eliza- beth for her restoration to no purpose, now deemed it the only chance for her liberation to seek the aid of foreign powers. Ross seems to have been the suggester of the mission of Rudolfi to Mary. He contended that both Philip and the pope must be ready to adopt the same means against Elizabeth which she had always been employin;; against them — the incitement to rebellion amongst their subjects ; that it only wanted the authority of Mary and of Norfolk to succeed. Certain instructions were afterwards exhibited as those furnished by .Mary to Rudolfi , but their genuineness is doubtful, and Norfolk never would set bin hand to any written document of the kind. According t" these instructions Mary declared that all her hopes ot accommodation with her subjects through Elizabeth were at an end, and she appealed to France and Spain for help. She- declared that she could have been happy with Don John ol Austria and that iheofigrvt tue Uukvof ^o^lolktoret«tOlc A.r. 1572.] TRIA.L OF THE DUKE OF NORFOLK, 479 the catholic faith, and to send her son to Spain for security and education, made her marriage with him appear the more advisable. With these instructions, Eoss, Eudolfi, and Barker waited on Espes, the Spanish ambassador, who is described as a Banguine, credulous man, very unfit for his office ; and he, satitfied of their authenticity, gave them letters of introduction to Philip and the dulie of Alva. Alva received Rudolfi at Brussels, but declared that he could do nothing, being only a servant, and that he must see the king himself. The English exiles there, however, gave Rudolfi an enthusiastic reception, and promised wonders. These promises were con- tained in the letters in cipher betrayed by Hickford to the council : and from that moment the spies of Cecil were upon Rudolfi'8 track. From Flanders he proceeded to Eome, avoiding the French court, which at the moment was engaged in the negotiation for the marriage betwixt the duke of Anjou and Elizabeth. The pope placed a sum of money at the disposal of Mary, and accompanied it by a letter to Norfolk, regretting that he could send him no further aid this year. Thence Rudolfi hastened to Spain , and reaching Madrid on the 3rd of July, 1571. he delivered his letters to Philip. Meantime Philip had received letters from both the pope and Alva. The pope urged him to accept the enterprise, and rescue England from heresy. The more astute Alva advised him to have nothing to do with it, for he had no faith in the men engaged in it, nor in the soundness of their plans. Philip, however, listened to the scheme, and was so much impressed by it as to determine to undertake the expedition, and to appoint Vitelli its commander. Eudolfi assured the king that he would find plenty ready to co-operate with his forces in England, that he might calculate on an army of twenty thousand infantry and three thousand cavalry meet- ing his troops on landing, led on by the duko of Norfolk, the earls of \Voroester and Southampton, the lords Montague' Windsor, and Lumley, with many others ; that it was in- tended to despatch Elizabeth whilst on a visit to some country house, and also to destroy with her Cecil, Bacon, Leicester, and Northampton. All this Rudolfi wrote to communicate ; but the scheme was suddenly scattered to the winds by the discovery of his money and letters. The alarm in the country on the rumours which now broke out was intense. The duke of Alva, it was said, was coming with an army to burn down London and kill the queen. The pope was sending over money to carry on the enterprise; and nothing was heard of but the pope, Alva_ the king of Spain, and legions of foreign papists on the way to murder and destroy all good protestants. More bloody and frightful than all the rest was the disclosure of a plot by one Herle. for the assassination of Cecil and others of the privy council. The first intimation of this plot was in a voluntary confession by letter from -Herle to Cecil, dated January 4th, 1572, as follows: — "Of late I have, upon discontent, entered into conspiracy with some others to slay your lordship ; and the time appointed, a man with a per- fect hand attended y u three several times in your garden to have slain your lordship ; the which not falling out, and continuing in the former mischief, the height of your study window is taken towards the garden, minding, if they mif^s these means, to slay you with a shot upon the terrace, or else in coming late from the court, with a pistol." Having made this singular confession, Herle hopes to be duly rewarded for not having done it ! The two miscreants who, he said, were his accomplices, were one Kenelm Barney and Edmund Mather. These men mutually accused each other, and appear two low vagabonds led on by Herle, and who had talked in public-houses that under the existing government nothing could be obtained by any but " dancers and carpet knights," meaning Leicester and Hatton who "were admitted to the queen's privy chamber; " of liberating the duke of Norfolk, and of the promotion to be expected under a new sovereign. Mather swore that ho was on the puint of informing of Herle and Barney, but that Herle had been too nimble for him. The whole affair bore the impression of a sham conspiracy got up by Cecil through Herle, and this became still more clear when Barney and Mather were drawn from the Tower to Tyburn, and there hanged, bowelled, and quartered, whilst Herle was taken into Cecil's service. At length the queen determined to bring Norfolk to the bar. She named the earl of Shrewsbury high steward, and he summoned six-and-twenty peers, who were in the first place chosen by the ministers, to attend on the 16th of .January, 1572, in AV'estminster Hall. Thither Norfolk was brought by the lieutenant of the Tower and Sir Peter Carew; and was ch.irged with having compassed and imagined the death of the queen, and levying war upon her within the realm — 1st. By endeavouring to marry the queen of Scots, and supplying her with money, well knowing that she claimed the crown of England. 2nd. By sending sums of money to the earls of Westmoreland and Northumberland, and other persons concerned in the rebellion in the north, enemies to the queen, and attainted of high treason. 3rd. By despatching Eudolfi to the pope, Alva, and the king of Spain, recommending them to send forces to depose the queen, and set up the queen of Scots in her place ; he himself marrying the said queen of Scots. Norfolk replied by asking for counsel, which was not allowed him, and ho then complained that they dealt hardly with him ; that he had been called on all at once to pre- pare his defence, not fourteen hours being granted him in the whole, including the night, and that totally without books, or so much as a breviate of the statutes. He declared that ho was brought to fight without his weapons. Ho represented himself as an unlearned man, whose memory, never good, had been sorely decayed by heavy troubles and cares. He displayed, however, a memory, a readiness of resources, and a knowledge of the law which astonished his judges. He pleaded that the queen of Scots was no enemy or competitor of his own queen ; that «he had abandoned the title of queen of England, on the death of her husband, Francis II., and so far from Elizabeth treating her as an enemy, she had for ten years been on very friendly terms with her, standing godmother to her child. Thrre- fore, in wishing to marry the queen of Scots, he could have committed no treason. That he had never spoken with Eudolfi but once, when the interview was on account of some banking business; but that Eudolfi did at the same time inform him that he was seeking aid, to obtain the release and restoration of the Scottish queen, but with no intention of hostility to England, as far as he could learn. He denied having sent any aid to Westmoreland and North- umberland during their rebellion in the north, but admitted remitting money since to the countess of AVestmoreland, his own sister, to assist her in her distress ; and that he had in 1«(0 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOBT OF EN'OLAND. [a.d. 1572. Tike manner giren his advice as to the distribution of some money scut by the pope to the English refugees in Flanders, on the same principle. MorcoTcr, that he had received a letter from the pope, which he had resented, having nothing to do with the pope or his religion. From all that could be brought against him, there did not appcir that the duke was guilty of any participation in an attempt to dethrone or even distress Elizabeth, but that ' his sole object was to marry the queen of Scots. That other parties, of whom Rudolfi was the agent, had designs against the government of Elizabeth, there exists no doubt ; but from the duke's character as an honest and loyal nobleman, it is probable that they kept these ulterior views out of his sight. Hut his enemies had determined to •iestroy him, and brought niainst him a number of his , confirm the evidence drawn from him under terror of the rack: but he steadfastly refused, declaring that ho never beard the duke utter a word contrary to his duty and allegiance to his sovereign, and that he would declare this before the whole realm if they brought him up. A letter, said to have been written by the duke to Murray, and one from Murray to the duke, were put in and read, which, if true, certainly criminated Norfolk ; but no evidence of the authenticity of these letters was produced, and there is little doubt that they were only a portion of the many forgeries committed for the purpose of destroy- ing the prisoner. As if all this was not enough, the queen interfered in a direct and most unconstitutional manner to secure his coDdemnation. She sent a message by the iluiwc of Sir Tliomij Greahani, in Biahopsgate Street. (See page 47.'?.) servants and others with prepared charges ; and when he denounced them as false and wicked, the counsel for the crown rudely told him that the evidence of the witnesses on oath was far more deserving of credence than his denial of them. He demanded to have the witnesses brought face to face with him ; but this, with one exception, was refused. The exception was one Richard Candisb, or Cavendish, a tool of Leicester's. When he was brought up, the duke treated him with much ironic severity, saying, "You are an honest man !" reminding him that he had been the bearer of letters betwixt himself, Leicester, and Throckmorton; and that he had intruded himself without invitation to his house in Norfolk, and then gone mysteriously away. The man peeraed to shrink under the scornful eye of the duke, and was glad to get away ; yet the queen's Serjeant pronounced his evidence as good and sufficient. There was next an attempt to get the bishop of Ross to appear in court, and solicitor-general that the ambassador of a foreign prince had communicated to her that the whole of the plot had been disclosed by Rudolfi in Flanders, with the duke's par- ticipation in it ; and that the lords of the privy council had heard it all, and would in secret communicate the particulars to the peers who sat in judgment, as there were names con- cerned which must not there be mentioned. These strange judges retired, and heard this new evidence against the prisoner without communicating a word of it to him ; and then, after an hour's consultation, gave a verdict of guilty Amongst the peers sat Leicester, who had encouraged Norfolk in the project of this marriage, and voted for his death. The lord steward pronounced sentence that he should be drawn from the Tower to Tyburn, there be hanged till half dead, then taken down, his bowels taken out and burnt before his face ; his bead then to be struck off and his body quartered, the head and quarters to be set wherever her majesty pleased. 1572] CONDEAINATION OF NORFOLK. 181 On hearing this barbarous sentence — more barbarous than most of Henry VIII. 's— for he was generally satisfied with beheading his victims — the duke exclaimed, "This, my lord, is the judgment of a traitor ; but (striking him- self hard upon the breast) I am a true man to God and the queen as any that liveth, and always have been so. I do not now desire to live. I will not desire any of your lord- ships to make petition for my life ; I am at a point ; and, my lords, as you have banished me from your company, I ■trust shortly to be in better company. This only I beseech vou, my lords ; to be bumble suitors to the quoon's majesty I against the English one. On his return to the Tower, Elizabeth pressed him by her ministers to confess and dis- close the guilt of his colleagues. Norfolk replied in a long ' letter, which breathes the spirit of a true-hearted and really noble man. Whilst entreating earnestly for his orphan children, he refused to implicate any one else. " The Lord knoweth,' he said, "that I myself know no more than I have been charged withal, nor much of that ; although, I humbly beseech God and your majesty to for- give me, I know a great deal too much. But if it bad pleased your highness, whilst I was a man in law, to >^^^^. X John Fox, the Martyrologist. that it will please her to be good to my poor orphan i children, and to take order for the payment of my debts, and to have some consideration for my poor servants. God knows how true heart I bear to her majesty and to my country, whatsoever this day hath been falsely objected -.xgainst me. Farewell, my lords." He spoke with some passion, as a man incensed at being wrongfully accused and suspected, yet with a oert.ain dignity — in nothing forgetting his station, and his whole bearing that of a man who was a genuine Englishman at heart, who had been fascinated by the charms of the Scottish queen, but had never conceived a treasonable thought 93 have commandoi my accusers to have been brought to my face, although of my own knowledge I knew no more than I have particularly confessed, yet there might, perchance, have bolted out somewhat to mine own purgation, and your highness have known that which is now concealed." He then adds, in regard to the queen's desire to draw from him accusations of others, " Now, an if it please your majesty, it is too late for me to come face to face to do you any service ; the one being a shameless Scot, and the other an Italianised Englishman (the bishop of Ross and Barker) their faces will be too brazen to yield to any truth that I shall charge them with. Though the one was my man. 482 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HlSTOJUr OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1572. yet he will now coant himself my master ; and so, indeed, he may, for he hath, God forgive him, mastered me with his untruth." And again — " Alas ' an if it please your majesty now to weigh how little I can say for your better gervice, and how little credit a dead man in law hath, I hope your highness, of your most gracious goodness, will not command mc tliat which cannot, I think, do you any service, and yet may heap more infamy upon me, un- happy wretch ! which needs not be. for they will report that, for iihjectness of mine, or else thereby to seek pardon of my life. I was contented to accuse by suspicion when I had no other ground thereto." Failing to draw anything from the stanch -hearted noble- man, on Saturday, the 8th of February, Elizabeth signed the warrant for his execution on the Monday ; but late on Sunday night she sent for Cecil — now more commonly called Burleigh — and commanded the execution to be stayed, revoking the warrant, to the great disappointment of the good citizens of London, who had seen all the preparations made for the spectacle. Elizabeth soon after signed a fresh warrant, which, as the time of execution approached, she also revoked. Some historians attributed Eliiabeth's hesi- tation to her feelings and to qualms of conscience — tlie duke, as she said, being so near a kinsman, and of such high honour ; but others, we think, more truly interpreted her proceedings to deep policy. She was determined to shift as much of the odium of Norfolk's death from her as pos- sible, and allow other parties to saddle thfmselves with the responsibility. It was precisely the course which she afterwards pursued in the case of the queen of Scots. As she herself hung back, the preachers and the commons took it up, and demanded the duke's death for the security of both the sovereign and the state. When the public ex- citement had reached its height, then the subtle queen slowly and reluctantly yielded, and issued a third warrant, which she did not revoke, for now it was become the act of the nation rather tlian her own. On the 2nd of June, at eight o'clock in the morning, the duke was brought out of the Tower to a scaffold on Tower Hill, the drawing to Tyburn and all its revolting accompani- ments being remitted on account of his high rank. He was attended by dean Nowel, of St. Paul's, and Fox, the martyrologist, who had formerly been his tutor. He ad- dressed the people, confessing the jostice of his sentence, though he still denied all treason. On being offered a handkerchief to bind his eyes, he refused, saying he was not afraid of death ; and after a prayer, ho stretched his head across the block, and it was severed at a stroke. The people witnessed his death with great emotion, for he was very popular amongst them, being extremely affable and liberal. They looked on him with great respect as the descendant of the hero of Flodden, and the son of the gallant earl of Surrey, whose head fell in the same place five-and-twcnty years before. The death of Norfolk had been pursued with eager avidity ; but it was for the sake of removing him out of the way of the Scottish queen. She was the great object which they dosired to come at, and to put an end to. The minds of the protectant party wore perpetually haunted by fears of the rising of the catholics, of the Scots, of the foreign powers, for the rescue .of Mary ; and both mini.^ters and parliament represented to Elizabeth that there w.is no stability for her throne whilst she lived. Elizabeth, however, re;;lied. with an air of great magnanimity, that she could not find it in her heart to put to death the bird which had flown into her bosom for protection : both honour and con- science, she said, forbade it. But her wily minister, Burleigh, knew that she only wanted a suthoieut pressure from the public ; and he induced the two houses to present strong memorials, urging the neces.Iay, 1571, Charles IX. of France died a miserable death, full of remorse and horror, worn out with consumption, in the twenty-sixth year of his age. By the management of Catherine, the throne was secured by her next son, Anjou, notwithstanding his being absent in Poland. Anjou ascended the French throne under the title of Henry III., detested by all the protestants for his share in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. In the following year a new plot was formed betwixt the protestant council at Millaud in Rovergue and the catholics under Damville, to place Alenfon on the throne — a scheme cordially supported by Elizabeth in favour of her present lover, Alen9on. Alenfon effected his escape from court in September, 1575 ; and Elizabeth, notwithstanding her recent renewal of the treaty of Blois, advanced him money to raise him an army of German protestants. In Februiry, 1575, the king of Navarre also escaped, and the two princes called on Eliza- beth to decl.arc war in their favour ; but the demand was overruled in the council, and Elizabeth offered herself as mediatrix betwixt the king and his brother Alenfon, who was grown jealous of the ascendency of Nararre. On the 2Ist of April a treaty was concluded by which the exercise of the protestant religion was permitted to a certain extent ; the king promised to call an assembly of the states to regulate the affairs of the kingdom, and Alencon succeeded to the appanage of his elder brother, and hence- forward was styled Anjou. This settlement of the differences of creeds was of very short duration. The protestant league of Millaud stimu- lated the catholics to counter-leagues, which entered into obligation under oath to maintain the ascendency of the ancient faith, and to rc-^ist all the encroachments of the pro- testants. Henry III., who beheld his own authority u.surpcd by these leagues, determined to place himself at the head of a great combined league of the catholics, which he did in February, 1577, the deputies of the assemblies of the states, for the most part, following his example, and annul- ling the bulk of the privileges lately conceded to the pro- testants. The consequence was another religious war, followed by as short-lived a peace, by which the privileges revoked were again restored. But our narrative of the French contests betwixt the catholics and protestants has passed ahead of the dis- turbances in the Netherlands. A furious war had been raging there betwixt the protestant and catholic interests, which also represented the interests of the native Nether- landers and Spain. The duke of Alva had waded through oceans of blood to maintain the bigoted and cruel power of his ma8tyet numbers of them were imprisoned, ten of them were sent out of the kinj;d<>m, and two, Peeters and Turwert, were burnt in Smithfield in July, 1575. Again, in 1570, Matthew Hammond, a plough- man, was burnt at Norwich. From the persecutions of the professors of different code.-: we come back to those of the captive queen of Scotland. EKzabeth had long felt the punishment of her faithless and unjust conduct to Mary. By detaining her she had, so far from securing her own tranquillity, surrounded herself with A.D. 1583.] TREATMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 497 porpetuiil disiiiiiets and alarms. Mary, wlin, restored to licr throne and supported there by the powerful co-opera- tion of her English cousin, miglit have eontrihuted to her strength and glory, now existed inevitably as the centre of plots and conspiracies, not only to tlie catholics in England, hut all over the world. Feeling this, added to the exaspera- tion of Elizabeth, increased her severity to the catholics, and, by reaction, roused them to a more determined hatred of her. Elizabeth was never free from alarms and sus- picions of all around her. She was compelled to maintain an incessant and expensive system ille, were also made prisoners. On his examinaitio* forged letters were produced against him, but so palpabfy so — purporting that he meant to invade England with a large army — thirt no overt act could be fixed up«n hriai. Jhtmhh- .■'tandlng, ho was fined ton thousand pounds for attempting to leave the kingdom without license, and for having cor- responded with Dr. Allen, the principal of Douay college, and was detained in severe imprisonment for life. The earl of Northumberland was the next victim. As a catholic, he had long been secretly watched, and had for ten years been forbidden to quit the immediate environs of the metropolis. William Shelley, a frit^nd of the earl's, being arrested on the charge of being nn acoomplico with Throck- morton, something was drawn fmm him which gave a plea foe arresting the earl too, and he was thrown into tiic A.D. 1580.J ELIZABETH INTRIGUES ON THE CONTINENT. 507 Tower. It may be presumed, however, that nothing could be proved against him, aa he was never brought to trial i for, after being kept in close confinement more than a year, he was got rid of in a very extraordinary way. On the 20th of June, 1585, his ordinary keeper was removed, and replaced by one Bailiff, a servant of Sir Christopher Hatton's. The very next morning he was found dead, shot through the heart with three slugs. It was attempted to show that he had shot himself, and evidence was brought forward to prove that he had had the pistol and the slugs brought by one Pantin, and delivered to him by a servant named Price ; but Price, though in custody, was never called to prove this ; and, indeed. Sir Walter Raleigh, writing to Cecil, treats the fact as one well known to them both, that the carl was assassinated by the instrumentality of Hatton. It was, however, diligently propagated by law and other officers of the crown that he killed himself to prevent the confiscation of his property, which would have taken place had he been convicted of treason. The whole transaction bears too many marks of a government prison murder to leave any one in doubt upon the subject, especially from its following instantly the suspicious change of his keeper, as in the case of the children smothered in the Tower. Whilst these persecutions were proceeding at home, Elizabeth was supporting protestantism in her peculiar way abroad. Henry of Navarre had become the next in succession to the crown of France, by the death of the duke of Anjou. Being well known as a protestant, the catholic party in France, with the duke of Guise at their head, reorganised their league, and even compelled the king of France to subscribe to it. The king of Spain, a member of the league, promised it all his support. On the other hand, Elizabeth, anxious to see a protestant prince on the throne of France, sent Henry large remittances, and invited him to make England his home in case his enemies should compel him to retreat for a time, when he could wait the turn of events. In all this there was nothing to complain of. Henry had a clear right to the throne of France, and justice as well as the reformed faith called upon her to support it ; but not so honourable were her proceedings in the Netherlands. There she secretly urged the sub- jects of a power with whom she was at peace to insur- rection, and maintained them, by repeated supplies of money, in it. Sympathising as she did with the oppressed protestants of the Netherlands, her course was open and clear. She could call on Philip to give to them free exercise of their religion, and if he refused she had a fair plea to break with him, and to support the cause of the common religion. But Elizabeth had too much politic regard for the rights of kings openly to support against them the rights of the people ; and, what was still more embarrassing, she was practising the very same intolerance and persecution against her catholic subjects as Philip was against his pro- testant ones. The primate, when appealed to, stated broadly this fact, and declared that Philip had as much right to send forces to aid the English catholics, as Elizabeth had to support the Belgian protestants. When, therefore, in June of this year, the deputies of the revolted provinces of the Nether- lands besought Elizabeth to annex them to her own dominions, she declined ; but in September she signed a treaty with them, engaging to send them six thousand men, and received in pledge of their payment the towns of Brille and Flushing, and the strong fortress of Rammekins. This was making war on Philip without any declaration of it ; but she still persisted that she was not assisting the Flemings in throwing off their allegiance to their lawful prince, but only assisting them to recover undoubted privi- leges of which they had been deprived. But the fact was. that Elizabeth had long been warring on Spain, and it was the fault of Spain that it had not declared open war in return. In 1570 she had sent out the celebrated admiral Drake, to scour the coasts of the West Indies and South America, on the plea that Spain had no right to shut up the ports of those countries, and to exclude all other flags from those seas. Under her commission, Drake and other captains had ravaged the settlements of Spain in the New World -. had plundered Carthagena and Nombre de Dios, and almost every town on the coasts of Chili and Peru. They had intercepted the Spanish galleons, or treasure vessels, and carried off immense booty of silver and other precious articles. But as Drake had received special marks of royal favour — the queenhad dined on board his vessel, the " Golden Hind, " when it lay at Deptford, and she had knighted him for his good services — and as there was no declaration of war, al' these were clear cases of piracy; but Philip was too much en- gaged at home to defend these transatlantic possessions from the daring sea-captains of Elizabeth, and if he did declare war, he at onoe sanctioned Elizabeth's interference both in those seas and in the Netherlands. To carry forward her operations in the Netherlands suc- cessfully, it was necessary to make quite sure of the king of Scotland. Elizabeth had discovered that the only power which would bind James was money. Moral principle, he had none : but as money was the all-persuasive argument, they only were sure of him who gave the most. Elizabeth had already a majority of James's council in her pay, and might have had more if she could have calculated on them, but she found them ready to receive her cash and to betray her. She, therefore, sent thither Wotton to study the movements and movers of the Scottish court, and having made himself acquainted with them, to strengthen her party. A border raid, in which lord Russell, the son of the earl of Bedford, had fallen, enabled Wotton to lodge a complaint, and demand that the asserted instigators of it, Arran and Fernihurst, should be given up to him. James did not consent to that, but arrested them both himself. Whilst the able Arran was thus withdrawn from court, Wotton seized the opportunity to persuade the courtiers in the pay of Elizabeth to seize James and send him to England, or confine him in the castle of Stirling, by which the English faction would possess the chief power. Un- fortunately for Wotton, his plot was discovered, and he fled, but he left behind him trusty friends who, inspired by English gold, contrived to work out his schemes. Arran had returned to power on the disappearance of Wotton, but the partisans of Elizabeth opposed liim, and others return- ing across the border with plenty of English money, they mustered in numbers sufficient to surprise James in Stirling, and recover their influence and their estates. Under the circumstances .Tames found it to his interest to conclude a treaty with Elizabeth, the ostensible object of which was to defend protestantism, the real one — that which both Elizabeth and James had at heart — the firm 508 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [^D. lauB. exclusion of Mary from aiiy hope of liberty, or of receiving any aiJ from abroad. To conduct her campaign in t)io Netherlands, Elizabeth had appointed the earl of Leicester , for since she had discovered his marriage with the counters of Essex, she was sufficiently disgusted with him to bear him out of her sight. The way in which he conducted himself there was not calculated to increase his reputation for honesty or military talent. No sooner did he arrive, than, without consulting the queen, he induced the states to nominate him governor-general of the United Provinces, with the title of excellency, and with supreme power over the army, the stato, and the executive. In fact, his ambition rested frith nothing short of being a king : with nothing but possessing all the title and authority enjoyed by the duke of Anjou. When this news reached Eliaabeth, that he had sent for the countess, and was organising a court fit for a monarch, she flew into a terrible rage, charged him with presumption and vanity, with contempt of her authority, and "swore great oaths that she would have no more courts under her abeyance than one ; " desired him to remember the dust from which she had raised him, and let him know if he were not obediont t-o her every word, ehe would beat hint to the ground as quickly as she had raised him. The unfortunate states, who thought they were gratify- ing the queen of England when they were honouring her favourite, were confounded at this discovery ; but Leicester, as if he really thought that he cou'.d render himself inde- . pendent of his royal patroness, remained lofty, insolent, and silent. Trusting to the position into which he had thus Btepped, he left it to the ministers at home to pacify the queen. He had so long ruled her that he appeared to think he could still do as he pleased. The great Burleigh and the cunning Walsingham were at their wits' end to satisfy Elizabeth : the only letter which they got from Leicester being one to Hatton, so insolent and arrogant that they dared not present it till they had remodelled it. Mean- time, Elizabeth continued to write to the new captain- general the most bitter reproaches and menaces, and to heap npon his friends fiorce epithets which could not reach, or produced no effect on him. Meantime, with all the airs of a great monarch, he progressed from one city to another, receiving solemn deputations, and giving and receiving grand cntertainmenta. In the field his conduct was as contemptible as in the government. He had an accomplished general, Alexander Farnese, the prince of Parma, to contend with, and never did a British general present so pitiable a spectacle in a campaign as did Leicester. His great object appeared to be to avoid a battle, and the only conflict which he engaged in, which has left a name, is the attack upon Zutphen, because there fell the gallant and gifted Sir Philip Sidney, in the twenty -fifth year of hi.i age. As autumn approached, Leicester marched back his forces to the Hague, and was greatly disgusted and astonished to be called to account by what ho pleased to call an .nssembly of shopkeepers and artisans ; — he, the grandson of the rascally extortionate tax-gatherer, Dudley, who had porished for his crimes ! Not the less loudly, however, did the merchants and shopkeepers of the Nether- lands npbraid him with the utter failure of the campaign, with the waste of their money, the violation of their privi- leges, the ruin of their trade, and the extorting of the people's money in a manner equally arbitrary and irritating. In a fit of ineffable disgust he broke up the assembly : the assembly continued to sit. He next resorted to entreaties and promises ; it regarded these as little. Ue announced his intention to return to England, and in his absence nominated one of his staff to exercise the supreme govern- ment. The assembly insisted on his resigning that charge to them ; he complied, yet, by a private deed, reserved it to himself: and thus did this proud, empty, inefficient upstart dishonour the queen who had raised him, the country which tolerated him, and which had long impatiently wit- nessed his arrogance, his lasciviousness, his abuse of the queen's favour, and his murders; and at length, on the approach of winter, obey the call of his sovereign and return home. Scarcely had he quitted the Netherlands, when the officers whom he had left in command surrendered the places of strength to the prince of Parma, and went over to the Spaniards. The campaign was, from first to last, a scandal and a disgrace to our name and government. On the arrival of Leicester, the court and public mind were so engrossed by plots and rumours of plots for the assassination of Elizabeth and the liberation of the queen of Scots, that his faults were to a great degree forgotten in the necessity for all the queen's friends uniting for the determination of the best course to pursue amid accumu- lating perplexities. The amount of truth and falsehood, in the assertion of all the schemes afloat in the great conflict which was going on betwixt the protestant and the catholic parties, it is difficult to determine. There were so many agents on both sides at work, so many of them appeared to be such very dubious characters, apparently on one side, whilst they were in the pay of the other, and the intriguing genius of Walsingham and Burleigh raised up such false appearances, and so confounded the real with the imaginary, whilst they mined and worked in secret below, that it is the most arduous of endeavours to produce a clear detail of the proceedings of this time. The following is the nearest approach to fact or resemblance of it which we can make. Amongst the rumours was one constantly growing of an intended invasion of the kingdom by the king of Spain, for the release of the queen of Scots, the relief of the catholics, and for retaliation for the invasion of his kingdom of the Netherlands, and the excitement of his subjects to rebellion by Elizabeth. As this was not only very justifiable, but not improbable, it gave edge and force to all the other real or imaginary plots which revolved round queen Mary. What tended to make these schemes more palpable was a strong disagreement betwixt Mary's own friends. Morgan and Paget, the commissioners of her dower in France, com- plained that the Jesuit missionaries had made the English government more suspicious and vigilant ; that Persons and his confederates had not only usurped the business of advocating Mary's cause in England, but also at foreign courts ; that by their injudicious zeal they had drawn much attention on their movements ; that they had held communications with Gray, the master of Mar, who had notoriously betrayed Mary's cause, and that, in consequence, her affairs had been revealed by Holt in Edinburgh Castle, by Creighton in the Tower, and by Gray whilst acting officially for Arran and king .Tames at Greenwich. The Jesuits retorted on Morgan and Paget, that they were the men who had betrayed their mistress ; that they were A.D. 1586. nAB[NGT0N-5 CONSPIRACY. 509 notoriously cunnectud with W'alBiughum, and es).eeia4ly Morgan, who seems to have been so tliorough a. traitor as to have excited the suspicions of both parties. Though he was undoubtedly employed by Walsingham, yet Elizabeth had the most mortal hatred of him, since Parry confessed that he had been urged by Morgan to murder her. So intense was her resentment that slie declared she would give ten thousand pounds for his head, and demanded his surrender from the king of France, at the same time she sent him the order of the garter. Henry would not give up the agent of queen Mary, but he confined him in the Bastille, and sent his papers to Elizabeth. This proceeding of Elizabeth's so embittered Morgan that he and Paget tlircw their energies more warmly into the cause of Mary ; Morgan, though shut up, still finding a mode of communicating with his colleague Paget, and employing the silence of his prison to concoct a more deep revenge on Elizabeth. Thus was Morgan earnestly pur- suing a great sohorae for the destruction of Elizabeth, and Walsingham, the great diplomatic spider, spinning, in his bureaucratic corner, his webs for the life of Mary, with far greater genius, and far more numerous ramifications of his meshes. It could not be doubtful which would be tri- umphant in their murderous object. Let us trace a few of the more perceptible lines of Morgan's action. lie applied to Christopher Blount, a gentleman in Lei- cester's service, to co-operate in the scheme for the rescue of Mary ; but Blount declined the office, and recommended one Pooley, a servixnt of lady Sidney, the daughter of Wal- singham. Had Morgan had the shrewdness of Walsingham, he would never have intrusted any communication to such h.ands, as they were sure to reach those of Walsingham. Yet Morgan gave him letters to M.ary ; and Pooley, thus accredited, offered his services to Mary, and was admitted to all the secret plans and proceedings of her friends. Thus did Walsingham make even Morgan play into his hands. The next emissaries that Morgan engaged were still more absurdly selected. They were two English traitors, who having studied in the English catholic seminaries, thus obtained the confidence of the catholic party, and then sold themselves to Walsingham. These men, Gifford and Greatly, were soon convicted of being in the pay of Wal- singham , but they had the hardihood to assert that was purposely to have the opportunity of more effectually and safely serving Mary. Morgan was weak enough to believe them ; though they had become greatly suspected in Eng- land, lie recommended them as most valuable agents to Mary, from whom they received despatches for Paris, and brought back the answers, which they communicated to Walsingham. i A fourth agent in the cause of Mary appeared — an officer named Fortescue, who, on his way to different parts of England, was soon observed, by Walsingham's spies, particularly to visit the families of eminent catholic recu- sants. Walsingham directed one of his most consumm.ately able spies, one Maude, to pay attention to captain Fortescue ; and ho soon discovered, in the garb of Fortescue, the person of .John Ballard, a catholic priest, who was engaged in collecting information of tlie real state and strength of Mary's party, for the use of the exiles abroad. Maude so thoroughly won the confidence of Ballard, that he Ijecaiiio his companion through the north and west of England, in Scotland, and thence through Flanders to Paris. At different points of the journey, Ballard had laid his plans arid statistics before Allen of Douay, Morgan and Paget, and Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador. Mendoza promised to recommend the plan of invasion to Philip, but did not appear warm in the cause ; and therefore Morgan and Paget resolved to attempt a party in England alone, to assassinate Elizabeth and liberate Mary. All this was duly forwarded to Walsingham by Maude. Mary had now been removed, in the early part of this year, to Chartley Castle in Staffordshire, under the care of Sir Amyas Paulet ; and the gentlemen in England whom Morgan and Paget had pitched upon to carry out their plan, were ayoung enthusiastic catholic— Anthony Babington, of Dethick, near Matlock, in Derbyshire — and his friends and companions, all men of fortune, family, and education. Babington had long been an ardent admirer of the queen of Scots, had corresponded with her whilst she was at Sheflield Park, and was ready to devote himself to the death in her cause. At the same time he had that opinion of the peril of meddling with the government of Elizabeth, that ho despaired of accomplishing Mary's enfranchisement during Elizabeth's life. Ballard assured him that Eliza- beth would be taken off; that Savage, an officer, who had served in Flanders, and was exasperated at the death of Throckmorton, had determined to do it; and that the prince of Parma would land simultaneously with that event, and set Mary at liberty. The fact was that Walsingham, to whom all these movements and projects were as well known through Maude, who was always at the elbow of Ballard, throujih Pooley and others, had, instantly on learning the fact that Babington and his friends were to be instigated to this enterprise, conceived the scheme of bringing Mary into the plot through Babington, and thus effecting her and their destruction at once. Pooley was, therefore, put into communication with Babington, as a person earnestly favouring the design ; and Babington declaring that the death of Elizabeth was a matter of too imminent momentto be intrusted to foreigners, recommended Ballard and Savage to engage six trusty accomplices to pledge themselves to the death of Elizabeth, whilst he and his friends laboured for the liberation of Mary. The scheme was resolved upon, and Babington was the link of communication betwixt these two knots of con.spirators. At first ho found his companions averse to embark in an enterprise of 80 much risk, but by degrees his enthusiasm triumphed over their scruples, and they entered into it heart and soul. Walsingham, thus successful, seeing these young gentle- men fall into his sn.are, took the necessary steps (to intercept and possess himself of the whole correspondence betwixt them and Mary. For a long time he had had full command of the correspondence betwixt Mary and her party at large, through the means of Thomas Throckmorton and Gilbert Gifford, already mentioned, both of whom had been recom- mended to Mary by Morgan. Gifford, as we have i-hown. was an unscrupulous traitor, who resided near Burton, received Mary's letters and transmitted them to Throckmorton at London ; Throckmorton receiving those from abroad and forwarding them to Gifford, who sent them on to Chartley by a man of Burton styled •' the honest man." This honest man was in communication with the brewer who supplied the castle of Chartley with beer, and who had agreed to 310 OASSELLS ILLUSTBUTED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1580. carry letters to and from Mary, as it is said by inclosing them in a water-tight little cask, or bottle. wliicK floated inside the cask of beer intended for Mary, whilst the answers were deposited in a hole in the castle wall, which had out- side a loose stone to cover it, whence the brewer took them. The brewer, and probably " the honest man " were all the time in the pay of Walsingbam, and in full understanding with Amyas Paulet, Mary's gaoler. The letters were all broken open, deciphered by Thomas Philips, the celebrated Babington to Mary, proposing in plain terms the murder of Elizabeth, and the liberation of herself, on receiving her unequivocal sanction to those two measures. The impres- sion of this imprudent letter bears all the evidence of having been suggested by Walsingbam himself through his agent Pooley, and this impression is rendered almost certain by the fact that, whilst Babington was transcribing this letter, "an unknown boy " begged an interview with him, and put into his hand a note in cipher, purporting Sir rbilip Sidney. From the original piclaie in the Bedford Collection. decipherer, and re-sealed by Arthur Gregory, a man pre- eminently skilled in counterfeiting seals, or restoring broken impressions. With all this machinery in his hands, Walsingbam patiently awaited the progress of the correspondence, till it should have ripened into sufficient flagrancy to become fatal to his dupes. That it might speed the faster, he seems to have applied various stimuluses through his agent Fooley. About midsummer he had obtained a letter from to be from the queen of Scots herself, complaining of not hearing from him, and requesting him to forward by the bearer a packet for her from foreign parts. The cipher, the knowledge of this packet just received, left not a suspicion on the mind of Babington. He forwarded his letter by the bearer, which, of course, was immediately conveyed to Walsingbam. That wily and unsentimental minister, whose vitals were like those of a piece of machinery, having no more feeling A.D. 1586.] ARREST OP BABINttTON. 511 than the pipes, cjlioders, and pistons of a steam-engine, was, at this grand success, a little excited and thrown off his guard. Hitlierto he had watched his game as a tiger watches his, without a motion or a moment's divergence of his whole attention from his intended prey ; but now he could not forbear hastening with this letter in his hand to the queen. Elizabeth, on whom it camo with a startling suddenness, was so alarmed at the danger which she saw herself in, that it was all that Walsingham could do to prevent her ordering the instant arrest of Babington, Ballard, and all their accomplices. With much ado he succeeded, however, in convincing the queen that the main portion of the game was not yet in their hands ; that Mary had not yet committed herself, and prevailed on her to keep her patience and the secret till they had obtained subject ; but in the deciphered copy, she is made to ask " how the six gentlemen mean to proceed," and to appoint the time when they should accomplish their design. So far as the evidence goes, it would appear that Walsingham was disappointed in her answer in this chief point of all, and that he had the necessary damning paragraph inserted; and that this was the fact was sufficiently proved on her trial, for her own letter was in the hands of the ministers, but they took care not to produce it, but only the deciphered copy. Walsingham was now in possession of all the evidence that he was likely to get, for Babington soon discovered that he had been betrayed by somebody, whom he could not tell ; and though he remained in London as though there were no danger, he made preparations for the escape of Death of Sir Philip SiJaey at the Battle cf /Culp'icn. that. For this purpose he at once despatched Philips, the decipherer, and Gregory, the forger of seals, to Chartley ; for Babington, naturally anxious for the important answer of the queen of Scots, had fixed to be at Lichfield on the 12th of July to receive it. There was some delay, owing to the want of punctuality both in Babington and " the honest man," during which Mary, to her great alarm, recognised Philips as a person who had been strongly recommended to her, and yet here he was visiting Paulet, and received with much hospitality. Xotwithstanding this, Mary wrote her reply, both in English and French, which was put into cipher by her secretary, and conveyed to Babington, having, of course, Iiassed through the hands of Philips. Mary does not appear to have entered at all into the question of Eliza- beth's murder in her letter ; there is not a word on the Ballard to the continent, by procuring him a passport under a feigned name. Every moment might throw fresh light on the dccepticn, and allow the escape of the victims. On the 4th of August, therefore, Babington found his house entered by the pursuivants of Walsingham, and Ballard, who had not got off, was there seized. Babington escaped for the moment, but was arrested on the 7th, and was taken to the country house of Walsingham, but escaped from the servants into whose charge he was given. With his friends and accomplices. Gage, Charnock, Barnewell, and Donne, ho concealed himself in St. John's Wood, till they were com- pelled by hunger to make their way to the house of their common friend Bellamy at Harrow, who concealed them in his outhouses and gardens. But the cunning Walsing- ham had his agents on their trail the whole time, and on the 1 5th they walked into the premises of Bellamy, secured 512 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [k.D. 1586. the conci'»led conspirators, together with their host, his wife anJ brother, and conveyed them, amid the shouts and execrations of the populace, and the universal ringing of bell?, to the Tower, whither also were soon brought Abing- don. Tiohbourne, Tilney, Travers; the only one of the friends of Babington that escaped being Edward Windsor, the brother of lord Windsor. On tho 13th of Si^ptember, Babington, Ballard, Savage, Donne, Bnrnewell, and Tichboume were put upon their trial, charged with a conspiracy to murder Elizabeth, and raise a rebellion in favour of the queen of Scots. They pleaded guilty to one or other of the charges, and seven others pleaded not guilty ; but all were alike convicted, and condemned to the death of traitors. The greater part of them appear to have taken no part in the blacker part of the conspiracy, the design to murder Elizabeth ; and some of thciu, as Tichbourne and Jones, declared that they had taken no part whatever, but merely. kept the secret for the sake of their friends. Bellamy was condemned for merely affording them an asylum ; his wife escaped through a flaw in the indictment. Poolcy, the decoy, was imprisoned as a mere blind, aud then liberated : and Oifford was already in prison iu Paris, where, three years later, he diod. On the 20th and 21st they were executed in Lincoin's- inn-fields, beeaiue they used there to bold their meetings. Elizabeth betzvgred a singular and most unworthy and urHVomanly riDdictiveness in their deaths. She desired that they might be executed, if possible, in some manner more liogering aud excruciating thaa the usual death of traitors ; though chat was horrible enough, in all reason. But, bestdM that this was illegal, there was much sym- pottij ezeited on behalf of the sufferers, who were young mm of a Mipcrior class, and led on by the chivalrous ge««f06ity of youth. Those who suffered the first day ware put to death with the customary barbarity, being ciU down alirc , tlie seven who died the second day were merely hanged till they were dead. Though no mention was mode on the trial, of any partici- pation ' f the queen of Scoti in this conspiracy, nothing was fadfear frwn the intention of Elizabeth and her ministers thaa bar eaeape. The deaths of these gallant but mis- guided young men were but the prelude to the tragedy. They bad already prepared for her death by the bill passed empowering twenty-four or more of the lords of the council and other peers to sit in judgment on any one concerned in attempts to raise rebellion, or to injure the queen's person. To procure every possible evidence for this end, the following stratagem was used. The queen of Scots w«e kept in total ignorance of the seizure of the conspirators, •nd on the copy of her letter to Babington being laid before the council, an order was sent down to Sir Amyas Paulet to selie all her papers, and keep her in more rigorous con- finement. Accordingly, one morning, Mary took a drive in her carriage, accompanied, as was her custom, by Paulet. but with a larger attendance. When Mary desired to return, Paulet told her that he had orders to convey her to Tizall, a house belonging to Sir Walter Aston, about three milcF di.ttant. Astonished and alarmed. Mary refused to go, and declared that if they took her there it should be by force. She must have suspected the design of searching her cabinets during her absence ; but, spite of her protesta- tions and her tears, she was compelled to proceed. There she was confined to two rooms only, was guarded in the strictest manner, and debarred the use of pen, ink, and paper. Meantime Sir William Wade arrived at Chartley, and proceeded to break open her cabinets and take possession of all her letters and papers, as well as those of her secretaries. A large chest was filled with these papers, amongst which were Mary's own minute of the answer to Babington, and the original letter to him composed by Nau. Wade then returned to London with these, and with Nau, Curie, and Pasquier. On the 28th of August Paulet conducted the outraged queen back to Chartley. As she proceeded from her house to her carriage, a crowd of poor people surrounded the path, hoping for her usual alms ; but she seems to have been now quite aware of what had taken plaoe, for she said, "Alas! poor people, I have nothing to give you; all has been taken from me, and I am a beggar as well as you." When she entered her rooms at Chartley, and' saw her violated cabinets, she turned to Paulet, and, with much dignity, said, "There still remain two things, sir, which you cannot take from me ; the royal blood in my veins which gives me the right to the succession, and the attach- ment which binds me to the faith of my fathers." In London there was much deliberation on the mode in which Mary was to be got rid of. Elizabeth was now resolved that the should die. She declared that the Scottish queen had sought her life, and that one of them must quit the scene. No persuasions could move her, and yet she dreaded the public censure of so unexampled a deed. To obviate this, Leicester, who was an adept in poison, recommended that as the safest and least obtrusive : and he even sent over a divine from Holland to prove its law- j fulness. Walsingham and Burlei^, however, would have nothing but a public trial, the sentence of which should bo . ratified by parliament, to lay the burden of responsibility upon the whole nation. I In preparation, her secretaries were called up and repeatedly examined. They were subjected to the terrors I of menaced death, and were called OB to eoiifeiiii kll they knew ; but as this did not include aaf praaf af Mary's ! conspiracy to murder Elixabeth, they were called np again the morning after the execution of Babington and his accomplices, when fear of like punishment was likely to affect them, and an abstract of the principal points in the letter of Babington and the reply of Mary was laid before them, and they were desired to say whether they were correct. They are said to have admitted the fact ; but this we have only on the faith of the council bent on the death of Mary, and at the same time that the real letter of Mary drawn up by Nau, and her own minute for its prepara- tion, were neither produced nor mentioned. These were the documents on which rested the whole charge against Mary — documents which, if they proved tlie charge, would have been triumphantly produced both there and at her trial, and which, not being so produced, is proof positive to the contrary. That this is the fact is clear from the record of the council, which is as follows. Nau is made to enumerate the points in Babington's letter and Mary's reply as they were laid before them, and which they ad« mitted to bo correct :— " Yt is to say : first, yt Babingtoa should examine deeplye what forces as well on foo' • as horseback they might rayse amt. 'em all ; the second, what townes, portes, and havens the; asseur 'eraseWes of, aa well A.D. 1586.] IMPRISONMENT OP MAEY IN FOTHEEINGAY OASTLE. 513 in ye N., W., and S., and so through, as it is before set down at large in the Sc. Q.'b Itre to Babn., and concludeth or signeth his examn. with theis wordes in French : Je certifie le8 choses dessua dict& estre vrayes et par moy deposds. XXI" Sept., 1586. Nau." Curie follows in this manner: — " He sayeth the Itre directd by the Sc. Q. to Babn. had, amongst ors., theis points in it : The first, yt Babn. shold deeplye examine what forces on foote and horseb. ; and so recieteth the cheif points of her letter in ye verie wordes as you have already read them heretofore, and concludeth : ' All theis things above rehearsed I doe •well remember and confesse them to be true.' By me G. 0., the xxith of September, 1586." Here is no mention of Mary's consent to the murder of Elizabeth, the greatest point of all, which we may, therefore, be assured had no existence. Mary was now removed to Fotheringay castle, in North- amptonshire, in preparation for her trial and predetermined judicial murder. It was first proposed to convey her to the Tower, but they feared Mary's friends in the city ; then the castle of Hertford, but that, too, was thought too near the capital; and Grafton, Woodstock, Coventry, Northampton, and Huntingdon were all proposed and rejected, showing that they were well aware of the seriousness of the business they contemplated. Paulet, in executing his removal of Mary, pretended that it was necessary to give her change of air. Mary was by this time a miserable invalid. Her long confinement in wretched and unhealthy half-ruinous castles, with her close confinement and her perpetual anxieties, had changed her from the active and beautiful woman into the apparently aged and decrepit sufferer. This has been strikingly demonstrated by the exhibition of her various portraits made in London whilst these pages have been writing. She was racked and tortured by rheumatism and neuralgia. For months together she was not able to rise from her bed, and had lost the use of her hands. Sadler, who had been employed in his youth to undermine her throne, and of late to act as an extra guard upon her, reports about this time that she was greatly changed ; that she was not able to set her left foot to the ground, "and to her very great grief, rot without tears, findeth it wasted and shrunk of its natural measure." This was the deplorable remnant of that beauteous and buxom woman who had ridden ag.ainst her enemies with pistols at her side, and had stirred tlie hearts of all men — except it were those of the petrified Burleigh and Walsingham — that ever saw her. Paulet had no great danger, therefore, of resistance in now conveying her away ; yet, for fear of her partisans, he had led her by bye-paths and unfrequented places from one gentleman's house to another, till he safely deposited her in lior last abodo, the low and damp castle of Fotheringay. He had in his pocket an order from tlie queen, if there were any attempt at her rescue on the way, to shoot her on the spot ; and this order was renewed on his arrival there, enjoining him, if he heard any noise or disturbance in her lodgings, to kill her at once, and she had a narrow escape by her chimney taking fire one night and occasioning a confusion, during which Paulet, if he had been as keenly thirsting for her blood as the queen and her ministers had been for years, might have murdered her, much to the satisfaction of his superiors. So delighted was Elizabeth to have her victim cooped safely up in the dungeon of her doom, that she wrote this enthusiastic letter, which, as the composition of a woman who had violated every principle of honour, to say nothing of womanly feeling, towards a relative and a sovereign as independent as herself; who had kept her a close prisoner, refused every application for her liberty, and every guarantee for her preservation of the peace with her from foreign powers, and from a large party of her own subject-s ; who had maligned her character and plotted for her life by the most detestable system of spies and bribery, is, %vith all its affectation of piety, perhaps unparalleled in the history of murderous hypocrites : — " Amios, my most faithful and careful servant I God reward thee treblefold for thy most troublesome charge so well discharged." After breaking out into raptures of gratitude and praises of his faithful services, she promises him all sorts of honours and recom- pense. " If I reward not such deserts, let me lack what I have most needed of you," &c. We shall see that very soon she sings him a different strain, when he refuses at her request privately to murder his prisoner. She then goes on : — " Let your wicked murderess know how, with hearty sorrow, her vile deserts compel these orders [namely, to assassinate her, if there bo any attempt to rescue her] ; and bid her from me ask God's forgiveness for her treacherous dealings towards the saviour of her life many a year, to the intolerable peril of my own -. and yet, not content with so many forgivenesses, mutt fault again so terribly, far passing woman's thought, much less a princess; instead of excusing. Whereof not one can sorrow, it being so plainly confessed by the authors of my guiltless death. Let repentance take place, and let not the fiend possess her, so as her better part may not be lost, for which J pray with hands uplifted to Him that may both save and kill. With my most loving advice and prayer for thy lung life, your most assured and loving sovereign, as thereby by good deserts induced, Elizabeth." CHAPTER XT. THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH— (conttaoed.) Mary's Trial at FothorinRay— Refase"! to plead— Consents— Prooh against hi . —Her Defence— Cindemneil -Sentence conflnned hy Parliament- Mary's Last R.quest to Elizabelli— Intercession of tlie Kings of France and Scotland— Elizabeth proposal, tlirough lii'r Ministers, to Paulet, to privately dispatch Mary— Panlet refoses—Thc Dath Warrant dcllrered to Davison, the Queen"! Secretary— Marj'a Death— Elliabeth's Pretended Anger at Davison— Throws him Into Prison and cotflsc.itcs hl» Property —Declares to the King of Scotland that his Mother's Death b not owing to hor— Expeditions of Drake, Hawkins, Cavendish, &c.— Loss of Sluya in Holland- LelcMtor rctorns— The Spanish Armada— Elizabeth at Til- hury— Dispersion of the Armada— Death of Leicester- Trial and Death of the Ejrl of Arnndel -Sufferings cf Catholics and Poritans- The new Favourite, Essex — Expedition against Spain— AtTAirs In France- Ac- cession of Henry IV —Second Exiioilllion against Spsln— Spanish Fleet in the Channel— Peace bjtwlxt Fr:mce and Spjin— Position with Jamea of Scotland— Aff.iirs in Irolard Triil and Dcith of Sir J,.hn Perret— Eebellinn of Tyrone- The Dlsobcdirnce of Essex- His Trial and Death —Victory in Ireland and Submission of Tyrone- Declining Health ol the Queen— Burleigh makes his secret Bargain with James lu anticipa- tion -Death and Character of Elizabeth. The time which Elizabeth and her ministers, Burleigh, Walsingham, and Leicester, had been for years pressing forward to had at length arrived; the great event towards which they had bent all their efforts, for which they had spent vast sums in bribing kings, nobles, spies, and assassins, for the accomplishment of which they had trampled upon every principle of honour, of justice, and of national repute, was now at hand. They had hunted the [unfortunate queen of Scots into their toils ; Sl» OASSELL'S ILLOSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [ad. 1586, had purchased up the secref agency of her subjecta, and of her onlj son, against her ; had heaped every possible injury and indignity upon her, had tortured her in mind, and ruined her in health ; had blackened her reputation, and had contrived by the basest acts and forgeries to stamp upon her that character which belonged pre-eminently to them- selves, that of a murderer. She was prematurely old, stripped of her friends, her attendants, her most secret papers, of her very modicum of money, and even of her last gold chain. Her money amounted only to one hundred and seven pounds two shillings in English coin — five rouleaux of French crowns. They seized also two thousand crowns which she had given to Curie's wife as a marriage portion ; a gold chain and money belonging to Nau. amounting to one thousand five hundred and forty-eight pounds eighteen shillings ; they left only three pounds to pay the wages of some of the Inferior servants. There remained nothing now to complete this most infamous history than to take the royal and infirm captive's life ; and this they had paved the way for by the diabolical means which we have detailed. On the 5th of October, a commission was issued to forty- six persons, peers, privy councillors, andjudges, constituting a court competent to inquire into and determine all offences committed against the statute of the 27th of the queen, cither by Mary, daughter and heiress of James V., late king of Scotland, or by any other person whomsoever. The moment this was known, Chasteauneuf, the French ambas- sador, demanded in the name of his sovereign that Mary should be allowed counsel, according to the universal practice of civilised nations. But Elizabeth sent him an angry and insulting message by Hatton, that "she did not require the advice or f chooling of foreign powers to instruct her how she ought to act ; " and added that the Scottish queen was unworthy of counsel. Thus was refused the neces- sary defence of the accused, which the humblest citizen bad aright to claim ; and that it was determined beforehand to condemn and execute the queen of Scots, was plain by the order of Elizabeth to the commissioners, dated October 7th, not to pass sentence on Mary till they had returned into the queen's presence, and made their report to her, sentence being thus predetermined ; and we find the whole proceedings of this arbitrary, one-sided and outrageous cast. On the 12th the commissioners arrived at the castle. They were the lord chancellor Bromley, the lord treasurer Burleigh, the earls of Oxford, Kent, Derby, Rutland, Worcester, Cumberland, Warwick, Pembroke, and Lincoln; the viscount Montague ; the lords Zouoh, Morley, Aberga- venny, Stafford, Gray, Lumley, Stourton, Sandys. Went- worth, Mordaunt, St. John of Blctsoe, Compton, and Cheney ; Sir James Croft, Sir Christopher Hatton, Sir Francis Wal- singham. Sir Ralph Sadler, Sir Walter Mildmay, and Sir Amyas Paulet; Wray, chief justice of the Common Pleas ; Anderson, chief justice of the Queen's Bench ; Manwood, chief baron of the Exchequer, and Oawdy and Periam, justices of the Comnon Pleas. The next day Mary kept her chamber on the plea of indisposition, but admitted Mildmay and Paulet, with Barker, a notary, who summoned her to attend the court of commission. Mary denied their authority over her, an independent queen, whereupon they produced and handed to her the following extraordinary letter from Elizabeth : — "Queen Elizabeth to Mary queen of Scots. — You have, in various ways and manners, attempted to take my life, and to bring my kingdom to destruction by blood- shed. I have never proceeded so harshly against you, but have, on the contrary, protected and maintained you, like myself. These treasons will be proved to you, and all made manifest. Yet it is my will that you answer the nobles and peers of the kingdom as if I were myself present. 1 there- fore require, charge, and command that you make answer, for I have been well informed of your arrogance. " Act plainly, without reserve, and you will sooner be able to obtain favour of me, Elizabeth.'" Mary read this blunt and dictatorial letter with great composure, and then said to the deputies that she wa^ sorry to be charged by her sister the queen with that of which she was innocent ; that she had indeed endeavoured to obtain her liberty, and would continue to do as long as she lived ; but she reminded them that she was a queen as well as their mistress, and neither subject to her nor their jurisdiction; that as to plotting against the life of their queen, she abhorred all such attempts; on the contrary, she bad repeatedly warned Elizabeth of dangers : that as to the laws of England, she was neither subject to them, nor did she know what they were ; that as to defending herself, even if she were inclined to plead, they had de- prived her of that power, for they had taken her papers, her secretaries, and would allow her no advocates. In a word, she had done nothing against the queen, had excited no man against her, and could only be charged from her own words and writings, neither of which, she was sure, would serve them. The next day Paulet and Barker waited on her again, to know whether she still persisted in ignoring the authority of the court. She replied, "Most certainly;" adding, "There are things which I do not understand. The queen says 1 am subject to the laws of England because I am living under their protection." She denied this protection, de- claring that she came into the kingdom to demand aid and assistance, and had ever since been treated neither as a queen nor a subject, but a close prisoner. Finding that their emissaries did not succeed in moving her, the lord chancellor, Burleigh, and some others obtained admission to her in the hall of the castle, and assured her that their patent and commission authorised them to try her ; that neither her condition as a prisoner nor her state as a queen could make her independent of the laws of the country ; and they protested that if she refused to plead, they would proceed against her without regard to her objec- tions. Mary, though alone against a host of the ablest men and most practised in law, chicanery, and state intrigue, still refused to plead, except it were in a full and free parliament. She knew, she said, that they had passed the statute against her, and desired to take her life ; but she bade them look to their consciences and remember their reputations, for the theatre of the whole world was much wider than the kingdom of England. She complained of the shameful usage which she had suffered in this country, and Burleigh had the hardened assurance to tell her that the queen had always treated her with a rare kindness ! They then sent her the list of her judges, to show her that they were of a high and honourable character ; but she declared that she could not submit her cause to any subjects, and would sooner perish than dishonour her A.D. 1586.] TRIAL OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, 515 ancestors, the kings of Scotland, by admitting herself the Bubject of the English monarch. Burleigh then declared that they would, nevertheless, proceed against her on the morrow as contumacious ; and Hatton added, " If you are innocent you have nothing to fear ; but if you avoid a trial, you stain your reputatiou by an everlasting blot." This remark appeared to have sunk into her mind, for in the morning she consented to plead, provided that her protest against the authority of the court was admitted, and that she were called upon to do nothing derogatory to the pre- rogatives or honour of her ancestors or successors. Bur- leigh asked her if she would plead provided the protest was laid before them in writing without their signifying its acceptance ; and Mary agreed to tliis. In fact, they would, slie saw, try her with or without that consent; and by pleading she could, at least, mako her defencs in some manner. The nest day, the 14th of October, the court assembled in the great hall of Fotheringay, at tlie upper end of which was placed a chair of state with a canopy, as for the queen of England ; and below it, at some distance, a chair without a canopy, for the queen of Scots — thus studiously indicating her inferiority. The chancellor, Bromley, opened the court by informing Mary that the queen of England, having heard that she had conspired against her state and person, had deputed them to inquire into the fact. Upon this Mary entered her solemn protest against their authority, declaring that she had come as a friendly sovereign to seek aid from her cousin, the qneen of Eiq^aati^ aoA had been unjustly detained by her as ft prfeoner ; on that ground she denied their authority to try her. It was permitted to record her protest, together with the chancellor's reply. To use the words of the catholic historian, Lingard — " She was now placed in a position in which, though she might assert, it was impossible that she could prove her innocence, A single and friendless female, the inmate of a prison for the last nineteen years, ignorant of law, unpractised in judicial forms, without papers, witnesses, or counsel, and with no other knowledge of the late transactions than the reports collected by her female servants, nor of the proofs to be adduced by her adversaries but what her own conjectures might supply, she could be no match for that array of lawyers, judges, and statesmen, who sat marshalled against her Yet, under all these disadvantages, she defended herself with spirit and address. For two days she kept at bay the hunters of her life." The charges against her were two : first, that she had conspired with traitors and foreigners to invade the realm, and secondly, to compass the death of the queen. As to the firHt charge, Mary pleaded guilty to it, and justified it. They grounded this charge on far better proof than their evidence for the second, namely, letters — a host of letters intercepted or found in her cabinets, to and from Mendoza, Paget, Morgan, and others. From these it appeared that she had fully sanctioned an invasion on her behalf, and had offered to raise her friends to support it, and especially that those in Scotland should make themselves master of the person of her son, and prevent any aid being sent to the government in England. And what was there in this, Mary demanded, that she had not a right to do ? Was she not the equal of Elizabeth, a sovereign as independent as herself ? By what right did she, then, detain her in her dungeons, but that of unjust and dishonourable force ? She was neither subject to her laws, nor bound by any act or contract to refrain from asserting her own freedom. The laws of nations authorised her to use every exertion to recover her hberty, which was wrongfully withheld. She had proposed all kinds of terms and treaties, and offered all possible securities for observing amity towards Elizabeth's kingdom ; but her offers, her entreaties, her protests, had aU been treated with contempt. Who, therefore, would con- tend that she was not justified in seeking and accepting the services of any friendly powers or private friends to aid in the achievement of her liberty ? When they came to the second charge, the conspiracy to murder Elizabeth, she denied any participation in it totally, indignantly, and with many tears. She called GoJ to witness the truth of her assertion, and prayed him, if she were guilty of such a crime, to grant her no mercy. The proofs produced to establish her approval of this design were— first, the copy of the letter of Babington, in which was this passage : — " For the despatch of the usurper, from the obedience of whom, by the excommunication of her, we are made free, there be six noble gentlemen, all my private friends, who, for the zeal they bear to the catholic cause and your majesty's service, will undertake the tragical execution." Next there was a copy of seven points, which professed to be derived from her answer to Babington, the sixth of which wa-s, " By what means do the six gentlemen deliberate to proceed ? " After these csoas Ike •Mfarions of Nau and Curie, and, finally, reported aJiiwTuSNMM in her letters to her foreign correspondents of having received these intimations of their intention of assassinating the queen, and of having given their assenting caotions and instructions on this point. Thus, if all this evidence wa« bamd on bona fide docu- ments openly produced and fully identified, the ca.se would have been decisive, for Jfau and Curie were made to swear to having seen and mnffriscd these documents. But, unfortunately for the OW« of Ifliiabeth and her ministers, they produced no original document or letter whatever, but only copies, the very non-production of the orig'm.ils being a damning proof that they dare not produce them, but were compelled to go upon copies, or pretended copies, which, if based on real documents, might be, and, from their non-production, undoubtedly were, garbled to suit their deadly purpose. Mary, knowing nothing of the proofs to bo brought for- ward, at first denied any correspondence with Babington ; but she soon saw enough to convince her that they had their correspondence in their possession, and admitted having written the note of the 18th, but not any such answer to Babington, on the 17th of July, as they assorted. She very properly asserted that if they meant only io ascertain truth and fact, they ought to have kept Babington to produce against her, and not have put him out of the w.ay. She demanded the production of the original letters, and the producticm of Nau and Curie face t > face with her, for that Nau was timid and simple, and Curie so accustomed to obey Nau that he would not do otherwise ■. but she was sure that in her presence they would do« veaturc to speak falsely. But neither of these things, no doubt for the strongest of reasons, were consented to. As to her letters, she said, it was not the first time that they had 516 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1586. been garbled and interpolated. It was easy for one man to imitate the writing and ciphers of another ; and she greatly feared that Walsingham had done it in this instance, to practise against the lives of both herself and her son. At this direct charge, AValsingliam arose and called God to witness his innocence, protesting that ho had done nothing unbecoming an honest man. But Walsingham was 80 hardened by long years of duplicity and the practice of the basest acts, that he could no longer judge of what and then rose, ond, after a few words apart with Burleigh, Warwick, Hatton, and Walsingham, she withdrew. On this the commissioners adjourned their sitting from the present time to the 25th of October, and from Fother- ingay to the Star Chamber at Westminster — ominous place, notorious for the perpetration of constant acts of arbitrary injustice. It appears by a letter of Burleigh's that great debate arose on the question after the retirement of Mary, which could only be ended by the adjournment. He Bays Sir Francis Wolairgham. From tbe orgibal Pictnre in the Dorset Collection. was honest or dishonest. His moral sense must have been as dead as the pavement under his feet. Mary, however, desired him not to take offence at what she had said : it was merely what she had been told, and she begged him to give no more credit to those who slandered her than she did to those who slandered him. As her reasonable requests of the production of the original documents and of Xau and Curie were not granted, though Elizabeth was said to offer no objection to the appearance of the secretaries, Mary once more appealed to be heard in full parliament, or before the queen in council. that as the commissioners could not give judgment till the record was drawn up, which would take five or six days, they could not remain there without a dearth of provisions, for they had two thousand people with them. This shows that they went well gu.irded to their wicked work. But Walsingham assigns another reason : that they adjuurncd in consequence of the consideration due to the quality of the prisoner. The real reasons, no doubt, were, that, as wi have seen, Klizaboth had bound them not to pass sentence till they had come back to her; and to this must be added the embarrassing fact that Mary had demanded to see Nau A.D. 1586.] MARY'S CONDEMNATION. 517 and Curie face to face. That wag no more convenient than the production of the original documents on which they pretended to adjudge the queen of Scots. When they did aaeet again, they summoned Nau and Curie before them — a perfect farce, if it were done in consequence of Mary's challenge, because she was now absent, and could not interrogate them, or keep them to the truth by her presence. They called on the secretaries to affirm afresh the truth to inculpate the queen in the design of the conspirators was forged and false, and summoned the commissioners to meet him face to face before God and all Christian kings, where no false evidence could avail, and where he would prove the innocence of his queen — a queen as much as the queen of England. But nothing could influence this body, whose one impulse was fear of their sovereign. They had their work to do Portrait of Dudley, Earl of Leicester. From the Original Painting in the Marquia of Salisbory's collection.. of tiheir depositions. This they did not hesitate to do ; but Nau again maintained, as he had done all along, that the only points in the indictment which could criminate Mary as an accomplice in any design against the life of Elizabeth were false, and substantiated by no real and authentic evidence. Walsingham was highly indignant with the secretary, and endeavoured to browbeat and silence him by the depositions of the conspirators already executed, and by those of some of Mary's serv.ints; but Nau main- tained his assertion that every atom of evidence which went 96 according to her will, and they did it. With the exception of lord Zouch, who objected to the charge of assassination, the commissioners unanimously signed Mary's condemnation, even the earl of Shrewsbury, who did not attend the trial. The sentence was this : — " For that since the conclusion of the session of parliament, viz., since the Ist day of June, in the twenty-seventh year of her majesty's reign, and before the date of the commission, divers matters have beeji compassed and imagined within this realm of England by Anthony Babington and others, with the privity of the 518 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [ajx. 15SG. BAid Mnnr, protending a title to the crown of this realm of England/tending to the hurt, death, and destruction of the royal pers m of our lady the queen ; and also for that the aforesaid Mary, pretending a title to the crown, hath herself compassed and imagined \Tithin this realm divers matters tending to the hurt, death, and destraotion of the royal person of our sovereign lady the queen, contrary to the form of the statute in the commission aforesaid speoifiad." Nau and Curie were declared abettors, so that it was a sentence of death to all the three. To this a provision was added that the sentence should in no way derogate from the right or dignity of her son, James king of Soot- land. The life of Mary was now in the hand of Elizabeth ; she coald have at once signed the death-warrant of her.ad. Tcrsary ; but, though she had the power, she was anxious to be rid of the responsibility, and we are now called upon to contemplate one of the most extraordinary scenes in the history of the world. It is tliat of a woman who, with all the power of a mighty kingdom at her back, h.is pursued her female relative and neighbouring sovereign to the death with a persevering and undying malice of which there is no more shocking example, and who, having now compassed her life-long desire, determines to shift from her the responsibility and to lay it on the whole nation first, and next on all or any indinduals who are in her service, or within her power. In porsuit of this object, the gross hypocrisy, the intense and unmitigated selfishness, the consciousness of the blackness of the crime she was meditating, and of the righteous award of its infamy by all posterity the world over, ^Tith the resolve to make others bear that damnable stigma, by tricks and stratagems to which only the most practised criminals could resort, is a spectacle so awful, so astonishing, and so hideous, that we in vain look for its parallel, not merely in the darkest pages of history, but in the all-prolific villainies of fiction. On the 29th of October — that is, four days after the passing of this sentence — she assembled her parliament. She had summoned it for the 15th, anticipating quicker work at Fotheringay, but prorogued it to this date. The proceedings on the trial were laid before each house, and both lords and commons petitioned Elizabeth to enforce the execution of the queen of Scots without delay. ' Sergeant Puckering, the speaker of the commons, in communicating the prayer of the house, reminded Elizabeth of the wrath of God against persons who neglected to execute JJis judgments, as in the case of Saul, who had spared Agag, and Ahab, who had spared Bcnhadad. Elizabeth replied by feigning the utmost reluctance to shed the blood of that wicked woman, the queen of Soots, though she had so often sought her life, and for the preservation of which she expressed her deep gratitude to Almighty God. She wished that she and Mary were two milk- maids, with pails upon their arms, and then she would forgive her all her wrongs. As for her own life, she had no desire on her own acoount to preserve it ; she had nothing left worth living for; but for her people slie could endure much. Still the call of her council, her parliament, and her people to execute justice on her own kinswoman, had brought her into a great strait and struggle of mind. But then, lest she should have carried this crocodile pre- tence too far, and ahoold be taken at her word, she said she i would oonfide to them a secret : that certain persons had I sworn an oatli within these few days to take her life or be hanged themselves. She had written proof of this, and she muit, therefore, remind thorn of their own oath of associa- tion for the defence of her person. This was followed by one of those awful pretences of piety, and .appeals to the I Divinity, with which this terrible woraan uniformly en- deavoured to cover her worst designs. " She thought it I requisite," she said, " with earnest pr.iyer, to beseech the ; Divine Majesty so to illuminate her understanding, and to inspire her with his grace, that she might see clearly to do i and determine that which should serve to the establishment of his church, preservation of their estates, and ^he proeperity of the comtnjnwealth." J Site seat a message to the two houses, expressing the great oonfiiot which she had had in her own mind, and begging -to know whether they could not devise some means ' of sparing the life of her relative. Both hou>cs, on the 25th, I returned uiswer that this was impossible. Such an answer was what Elizabeth wanted ; it was an additional acceptance of the responsibility by parliament, and gratified her pre- tended desire to avoid such a catastrophe on her own part. j To this declaration of parliament she returned to tliom one of her sphinxean, muddy, enigmatical answers: — "If I should say that I meant not to grant your petition, by my faith, I should say unto you more perhaps than I mean. And if I should say that I me'an to grant it, I should tell you more thaa it is fit for you to know. Thus I must deliver to yon an answer answerless." St) far the game was regabirly and solemnly played out. Council, lord';, and. oomaions had taken full responsibility on thera of this momentous measure, and Elizabeth had carefully tlirnst it from her ami to them. There were other parties with \vhoai the same pcooeas must be gone . through, for the false and selfish qoeeo, whilst she tiiirsted for her cousin's blood, took every }x>38ibl« precaution that I none of it should be spirted upon her own skirts. The next move was to announce to Mary the sentence,' and to see whether she could not draw from her a confes- sion of its justice. For thlj purpose she sent down to Fotheringay lord Buckhurst and Mr. Robert Beale, with a protestant bishop and dean, and a strong body of guards. They were to take advantage of her terror and distress of mind to draw from her this important admission. But in this the messengers signally failed. Mary heard the sentence with an air of composure, protested against its injustice, and against the riglit of any power in England to pass it ; but declared that death would be welcome to her as the only way of escape from her weary captivity. She refused to receive the protestant bishop and dean, and demanded to be allowed the services of her almoner. This wafl conceded for a brief interval ; and during that interval she wrote letters to the pope, the duke of Guise, and to the archbishop of Glasgow, in which she declared her inno- cenc3, her steadfastness in her religion, and called upon them to vindicate her memory. These letters were all safely delivered to their several addresses after her death. This interview took place on the 23rd of November; and' the next day Paulet went into her presence with his hat on, declared that she was now dead according to law, and had no right to the insignia of royalty : he therefore ordered the canopy of state to be pulled down, and also that her billiard-table should bo taken away, because a woman A..D. 1587.] INTERCESSION OF THE KING OF FRANCE. 519 under her circumstances should be better employed thao in mere recreation. On the 6th of December proclamation of the judgment of the commissioners against the queen of Scots was made through London by sound of trumpet, whereupon the populace made great rejoicings, kindled large bonfires, and rang the bells all day as if some joyful event had occurred. They were so fully persuaded that the queen of Scots was at the bottom of all the alleged and real plots for the over- turn of the government, the bringing in of the king of Spain, and the catholic religion, that their exultation was boundless. Thus the people, as well as the parliament and council, had yoked themselves to the responsibility of this act; and Mary, when she heard of it, recollected the fate of the earl of Northumberland, and was so alarmed lest they should assassinate her in private, that she wrote to Elizabeth her last and most impressive letter. In this letter — worthy of a queen stricken with long years of affliction, grown dignifiedly calm under the sense of in- justice, yet careful of her reputation, and mindful of her friends — she requested that her body might be sent to France to lie beside that of her mother ; that she might send her last adieu and a jewel to her son ; that her faith- ful servants might be permitted to retain the small tokens of her regard which she had given to them ; and especially that she might not be put to death in private, lest her enemies should say, as they had said of others, that she had destroyed herself, or abjured her religion. She then thanked God for having sustained her under so much injustice, and told Elizabeth if she had permitted the real letters and papers to have been brought forward on the trial, they would have shown what were the true objects of her enemies. She added, " Do not accuse me of presump- tion if, whilst I bid adieu to this world, and am preparing for another, I remind you that one day you will there have to answer for your conduct, as well as those whom you have sent there before you." Even on the indurated soul of Elizabeth this letter took some effect. " There has been a letter," wrote Leicester to Walsingham, " from the Scottish queen, that hath wrought tears, but I trust shall doe no further herein ; albeit, the delay is too dangerous." The news of the trial of Mary produced a vivid sensation abroad, and Henry III. of France hastened to intercede on her behalf; but, unfortunately, his own affairs were not in that position which enabled him to exert much authority with Elizabeth. At the recommendation of L'Aubespine Chasteauneuf, his resident ambassador, Henry sent an ambassador extraordinary on this mission, M. Bellievre. He was instructed to use the most forcible language, and even menaces, to prevent the spilling of Mary's blood. But the most vexatious obstacles were thrown in the way of the reception of Bellivere. First, he was informed that hired assassins, unknown to him, had mixed themselves with his suite ; and then he was questioned whether the plague had not shown itself in his household. Meantime parlia- ment had supported the commission which condemned Mary, and then, on the 7th of December, she admitted him to an audience at Richmond, seated on her throne and surrounded by her court. Bellievre faithfully discharged his office, by no means mincing the matter ; and Elizabeth, though she had done all in her power to overawe him, was greatly excited. In reply she professed to have had wonderful forbearance, though Mary had thrice attempted her life, and even now recoiled from shedding her blood, but her people demanded it for her own and the public safety. As for his threat that the king of France would resent the death of the Scottish queen, she asked him whether he had authority to use such language. " Yes, madam," replied Bellievre ; " ho expressly commanded me to use it." " Is your authority signed with his own hand ? " asked Elizabeth. " It is, madam," replied Bellievre. "Then," said the queen, "I command you to testify as much in writing." He did so, and then she told him in a day or two he should receiver her answer. Before retiring, however, he spoke many plain things to her. He justified Mary for endeavouring to gain her freedom, for it was notorious, he said, that she had been detained against her will ; and that if she had been driven by despair to call in aid conspirators, Eliza- beth had only herself to thank for it, for it was perfectly natural ; and he warned her not to hope by putting to death the queen of Scots to annihilate all peril from leagues against her, for so unwarrantable an act would justify and sanctify such leagues. How deep the language of the French envoy had sank appeared by the high-toned letter which she despatched to the king of France. She asked whether she was to consider him a friend or an enemy, and said haughtily that she was neither sunk so low, nor ruled so petty a kingdom, as to tolerate such language from any sovereign. She would not live another hour if she were weak enough to put up with such a dishonour. Bellievre waited in vain for his answer, and, after a month's delay and repeated applications, she sent him word she would give an answer to his master by a messenger of her own. When Bellievre was gone, and yet no measago followed, Chasteauneuf made application, and was treated with an indignity which was intended to put an end to all further interference of France in this disagreeable subject. He was assured that a new plot for the assassination of the queen was discovered, and traced to no other place than the French embassy. The ministers pretended to exonerate Chasteauneuf himself from any share in or knowledge of the crime, but they seized and imprisoned his secretary, examined evidence, and produced documents in proof of the plot. This violation of the sanctity of an embassage, especially from a great nation, was too flagrant for toleration. Chas- teauneuf expressed his indignation in the most unsparing terms, and broke off all communication with the English court ; but this did not save him from further insult. Five of his despatches were intercepted and examined in the council. The king of France was enraged to the highest degree by this insolent treatment of his ambassador, laid an embargo on English shipping, and refused all communica- tion with the English court. On being made, however, tc perceive that it was a mere trick to prevent his interference in behalf of the queen of Scots, he sacrificed his own feel- ings of honour to his desire to save Mary, and again des- patched a fresh envoy, but with no better success. Not till Mary was beyond the power of any earthly monarch would Elizabeth admit him, when she freely acknowledged the innocence of Chasteauneuf, made ample apologies, and endeavoured to efface the memory of these gross insults by gross adulation and empty compliments. The French Stt CASSBXL'S ILLUSIEATEtJ HISTORY OP BNGLAND. gorernincDt, however, Jiil not forget the facts, and ViUeroy baa rccorJiHl in hk register the catimuto of Burleigh, Waisioiihani, and their oompanions, in theeo words: — "These five coiiuoillors of England falsitiod, forged, and invented all such doounients ad they thought necessary to bear on their ohjeot. Thoy never prodiioed the original articles of procedure, but only copies, which they added to, or dimiuiehcd, a£ they pleoiied." The revelations of the StAto Paper-Offioo in our timo have only too truly confirmed these assertions. Henry of France not only thus honourably exerted him- self to save the unfortunate queen of Soots, thougli a prince$3 of a house that ho detested — that of Guise — but he endeavoured to stimulate her unworthy son, king James, to the rescue. lie assured him that if he allowed his mother's life to be thus taken, it would draw upon him the most terrible reproaches, and that, moreover, her execution would exclude him from the English throne. This alarmed James, and lie sent to the English court Robert Keith, a young man of no weight, but who was a pensionary of Elizabeth's, like James himself. This did not escape the notice of the public, who concluded that James cared nothing about the fate of bis mother whilst he could send such 0. man, at the time that the chief nobility of Soot- land were in a state of high indignation at the idea of a queen of Scotland being treated like a subject, and a criminal subject, of the queen of England. Many of the chief nobi- lity offered to go and put in the king's protest at their own cost ; yet James, whose resident ambassador at the English court was the notorious Archibald Dougla?, who had been one of the most active of his father's murderers, now added to the wonder by sending that insignificant and bribed emissary. It was proposed to send Franois Stuart, the new earl of BothwcU, a nephew of Mary's, who was bold and out-spoken, but Archibald Douglas managed to prevent that. Oourcelles, the present French ambassador, ■wrote to Henry III., that he augured little from James's appointment of his agents : and truly when Keith appeared before Elizabeth and delivered a remonstrance from James, Elizabeth went into a fury that terrified both of her pensioners, James and his man Keith. The pusillanimous monarch, on receiving the account of Elizabeth's anger, made haste to write a most humble apology, and to send two other envoys who might be more acceptable to the English queen. These were Sir Robert Melville, and Mar, the master of Gray. Melville was a respectable man, but Gray had already betrayed the interests of Mary to the English court, and he had written before he set out from Scotland that she should bo quietly removed by poison, and on arriving he renewed the bait by whispering in the car of Eliz.ibeth that " the dead cannot bite." Another of his agents, Stuart, assured her that James bad only sent them merely to save appearances, and that, whatever he might pretend, he would be easily pacified by a present of dogs or deer. Thus, with the exception of Melville, James's .imbassa- dors were really the paid tools cf Glizubeth, like himself, and came only to sell the life of his mother. Melvillo endeavoured to persuade the queen to allow Mary to be sent to Scotland, engaging for the king that he would keep her safe. On this Elizabeth turned to Leicester and openly expressed the utmost contempt for James and his | proposals. Gray, who appe.ired to fulfil his conunission i [a.d. 1587 whilst he was really bargaining for advantages to himself, now suggested that Mary was willing to resign all her rights in favour of her son, on which Leicester suggested that this merely meant that James should be put in his mother's place in regard to the succession to the English crown. This sore point of the suooession drove Elizabeth into one of her furies, and she exclaimed, " Ha : is that your meaning P then I put myself in a worse case than before. That were to cut my own throat, and for a duchy, or an earldom to yourself, you, or such as you, would cause some of your desperate knaves to kill me. No ! he shall never be in that place." Gray remarked that it was true that James must succeed, in case of his mother's death, to all her claims, and there- fore it appeared useless to csocut; Mary. This only doubled Elizabeth's wrath, and she retired in fury. Gray had made a public advocacy of the queen, which he was well aware would only hasten her fate ; but honest Melville followed Elizabeth and entreated her with much feeling to delay her execution ; but the exasperated woman only exclaimed, " No ! not for an hour ! " and the door was closed behind her. James, on learning these particulars, .appeared alarmed into anxiety. He wrote with his own hand to Gray, com- manding him to speak out plainly and exert himself to save his mother. But Walsinghani, who knew the true chord in James's heart to appeal to, wrote to him express- ing his surprise at his endeavouring to save a mother who had destroyed his father, never had been a mother to him ; and if she, as a catholic, succeeded in escaping, it could only be to exclude him from the throne, and put down the re- formed church. James at once, therefore, obeyed Walsing- ham's hint, whilst he appeared to consult his dignity, lie recalled his ambassadors, .and took the field for the rescue of his mother, not at the head of an army, but by enjoining the Presbyterian clergy to pray for her, an office which he must have been well aware they would never consent to, on behalf of a queen whom they regarded as the enemy of the church. Elizabeth had now thrown the respansibility of Mary's death on the council, the parliament, and the people, and bullied the kings of France and Scotland into silence. What yet restrained her from executing the queen of .Scots ? She had to sign the death-warrant, and she must throw even that on some other party too. The mode in which she went about this is, perhaps, more extraordinary than all the rest. She went about continually muttering to her- self, " Autfer autferi: ne fcriarc fori " — Either endure or strike : strike lest thou be stricken. Instead of proceeding to sign the death-warrant and let the execution take its course, she had it again debated in the council whether it were not better to take her ofl' by poison. Walsinghani, who saw that the responsibility would be certainly thrown on somebody near the queen, got away from court ; and the warrant, drawn up by Burleigli, was handed by liiin to Davison, the queen's secretary, to get it engrossed and presented to the queen for siguiiture. When he did this, she bade him keep it awhile, and it lay in his hands for five or six weeks. But both Loicoster and Burleigh were impatient for its execution ; and directly after the departure of James's ambassadors in February, he was orJjicJ to present it ; and then Elizabeth signed it, bidding him take it to the great seal, "and trouble her no more with it." ijo A.D. 1587.] PRIVATE ASSASSINATION- OF MARY PROPOSED, 521 far from appearing impressed with the seriousness of the act she had performeil, she was quite jocose, tellinp; Davison tliat he might call on Walsingham, who was siek, and show it to him thus signed, which, she said ironically, she feared would kill him outright. Then, as if suddenly recollecting herself, she said, "Surely Paulet and Drury might ease me of this burden. Do you and Walsingham sound their dis- positions." Though the warrant had now her sign.atnre, she much preferred that somebody should murder the queen, whom she would than assuredly have brought to justice, and made herself appear very righteous even. Burleigh and Leicester, to whom Davison showed the warrant, urged him to send it down to Fotheringay without a moment's del.-ty ; but Davison had a feeling that he certainly should get into trouble if he did so. He therefore went on to Walsingham, and after showing him the warrant, they then and there made a rough draft of a letter to Sir Amyas Paulet ami Sir Drew Drury, Mary's additional keeper, proposing private assassination, .as the queen requested. Whilst Walsingham made a fair copy, Davison went to the lord chancellor .and got the great seal affixed to the warrant. On his return to Walsingham the notable letter from the so-called " glorious queen Bess," urging the murder of her prisoner, was ready, and they sent it forthwith. This letter was duly entered by Walsingham in his letter-book, and remains as an everlasting testimony of his and his mistress's infamy. Had he not himself preserved it, it would never h.ave been known. It has been often published. It informed Paulet and Drury that the queen had of late noticed a great lack of zeal in them, and wondered that without any one moving them to it, they had not found out some way to rid her of the queen of Scots. It told them that for their own safeties, the public good, the prosperity of religion, they h.ad ample warrant for the deed. That the satisfaction of their consciences towards ftod, and their reputation in the world as men who had sworn the oath of association, de- pended upon it; and, therefore, she took it very unkind that the;/ cast the burdm upon her, knowing how much she disliked to shed blood, especially the blood of one so near. Davison the next day had confirmation doubly sti-ong that she was watching to entrap him in the matter. She asked him if the warrant had passed the great seal. Ho said it had ; on which she immediately said, "' Why sucli haste P " He inquired whether, then, she did not wish the affair to proceed. She replied, certainly ; but that she thought it might be better managed, as the execution of the warr.ant threw the whole burden upon her. Davison said he did not know who else could bear it, as her laws made it murder to destroy the meanest subject without her warrant. At this her patience appeared exhausted, and she exclaimed, Oh ! if she had but two such subjects as Morton and Archibald Douglas ! These were tlie most hardened assassins of Scotland that the "good queen Bess " longed to employ. Davison was terrified at the gulf on the edge of which he saw himself standing, with the queen ready and long- ing to drag him in. He went to Hatton, and told him that though he had her orders to send off the warrant to Fotheringay at once, he would not do it of himself. They therefore went together to Burleigh, who coincided with them in the demand for caution. He therefore sum- moned the council the next morning, and it was there unani- mously agreed, as the queen had discharged her duty, to do theirs, and to proceed on joint reepoDsibility. That very morning, on his waiting on Elizabeth, she told him a dream she had hail the preceding night, in which she had severely punished him as the cause of the death of the Scottish queen. Though she appeared to jest as fhe said it, there was something in the thing which made the secretary shudder with an ominous sensation. That day, being the 4th of February, the reply of Paulet reached him, and he went with it to the queen. This old puritan officer of Elizabeth's would have delighted to witness the legal execution of Mary, whom he hated for her religion and for the many sharp reproofs which the strictness of his gaoler- ship had drawn from her ; but he recoiled from the com- mission of murder — no doubt with a full certainty, more- over, that such compliance would have insured his instant doom from the perfidious queen. He lamented, he said, in bitterness of soul, that he had lived to see the day when he was required by his sovereign to do a deed abhorrent to God and the laws. His life, his property, he said, were at her majesty's command ; she might take them to-morrow if she pleased ; but God forbid that he should make so foul a shipwreck of his conscience, or leave so great a blot on his name, as to shed blood without law or warrant. On hearing this letter the good queen Bess broke out into a'violent rage, and forgetting in a moment all the fine promises which she had so lately made to Paulet, all the rewards which her profound gratitude for the secure keeping of'MaTy were to draw from her, she called him " a precise .and dainty fellow," and declared that she could point to others who would do that, or greater things for her sake, naming expressly a man of the name of Wingfield. D.avison again dared to suggest that if Paulet put Mary to deatli without a warront.-sho-would have to avow that it waa by her order, in which case the guilt and disgrace woidd bo hers : if she did not, ehc would have ruined her faithful servant. This language was not such as suited the im- petuous and murderous queen : she abruptly rose and left him. But on the 7th of February she oalled for him, and told him of the dangers TritJi which she was surrounded on account of the Scottish queen ; for, in fact, all sorts of rumours of invasion by the duke of Guise, of the burning of London, and murder of the queen, were purposely propa- gated, in order to make the populace frantic for Mary'a death. Elizabeth, therefore, declared that it was high time that the warrant was executed, and bade Davison, with a great oath, to write a sharp letter to Paulet ordering him to be qniok. Bavisou, who knew that the warrant was gone, avoideil the command by saying he did not think it neces- sary, but she repeated that Paulet would expect it, and whilst so saying one of her ladies came to ask what she would have for dinner ; she rose and went out with her, and her unfortunate secretary saw her no more. That very day the order for Mary's d^ath reached Fotheringay, and was probably being announced to her at the moment that Elizabeth was urging its despatch to Davison. The earl of Shrewsbury, who had guarded her so many years, as earl marshal, had now the painful office of carrying into effect her execution. There had been for some time a growing feeling at Fotheringay that the last day of Mary was at hand, for there had been a remark- able coming and going of strangers. When Shrewsbury was announced, his office proolaimed the fatal secret. The 523 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAXD. [k.D. 158T. Scottish queen ruse from her bed, and was dressed to | receive him, having seated herself at a small table with her ' servants disposed around her. The earl of Shrewsbury entered, followed by the earls of Kent, Cumberland, and I>erby, as well as by the sheriff and several gentlemen of the county. Beale, the clerk of the council, read the order for the execution, to which Mary listened with the utmost apparent equanimity. When it was finished she crossed called God to witbess that she had never imagined, much less attempted, anything against the life of the queen of England. The earl of Kent, who appears to have been a bigot and a churl of the rudest description, and whose conduct throughout was brutal and unfeeling in the extreme, cried, " That book is a popish Testament, and, of course, the oath is of no value." " It is a catholic Testament," replied the Ijit Fi-ancb Drake. From the Original Portrait. nerself, bade them welcome, and assured them that she bad long waited for the day which had now arrived ; that twenty years of miserable imprisonment had made her a burden to herself and useless to others ; and that she could conceive no close of life so happy or so honourable as that of shedding her blood for her religion. She recited her injuries and the frauds and perjuries of her enemies, and then laying her hand on the Testament upon her table, queen, " and on that account I prize it the more ; and, therefore, according to your own rea-^oning, you ought to^ judge my oath the more satisfactory." But the earl of Kent only bade her have done with her papistical super- stition, and attend to the spiritual services of the dean of Peterborough, whom her majesty had appointed to attend her. Mary declined the services of the dean, and requested to bare the aid uf Le Pieau, her almoner, the last indolgeoce 1587.] THE DEATH WARRANT READ TO MART. 523 which she had to ask from them. It was refused, on the plea that it was contrary to the law of God and of the land, and would endanger not only the souls but the lives of the commissioners. A long conversation followed this refusal, and Mary asked whether the foreign powers had made no efforts in her behalf, and whether her only son had for- gotten her ; and finally, when she was to suffer. The earl exclaimed, " is Nau's life to be spared, and mine taken ? " And again laying her hand on the Testament — " I protest before God that Nau is the author of my death. He has brought me to the scaffold to save his own life. I die in the place of Nau, but the truth will soon be known." When the door was closed after the earls, her attend- ants burst into an agony of grief, but she bade them dry Mary Qaeen of Scots taking leave of her Attendants. (See page 624.) of Shrewsbury replied, with much emotion, " To-morrow morning at eight o'clock." Mary received this announcement with a calm dignity which awed and even affected the beholders. When the earls had arisen and were about to withdraw, the queen asked earnestly whether Nau was dead or alive. Drury replied that he was still alive in prison, "What!" she their tears, for it was not an occasion to weep on bul to rejoice in. She bade them hasten supper, for she had much to do. Whilst supper was preparing she prayed long and fervently, and, on being called, supped sparingly, as was her custom. Before rising, she drank to all her servants, who pledged her in return upon thtir knees, and with many tears entreated her forgiveness for anything with which, 534 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [ij>, 1587. during their gf rTioo, thoy had prieved or offended her. She forgiiTetheni, and asked their pardoii for any faults towards them, on her part ; and followed this with sooie advice •regarding their future conduct, ariding once more her con- vii-tiou that Nau was the cause of her death. This done she sat down to write, and prepared three letters, one to her eonfe?9f.r, in which she complained of the cruelty of her enemies, who refused her hia as.*istance, and begged his prayers during the night, one to the duke of Guise, and the third to the king of France. She now retired to her closet with her maids Jane Kennedy and Elspeth Curie, iind spent the night in devotion. About four o'clock she lay down on her bed, but did not sleep, her lips still continuing in motion, and her mind evidently being occupied in prayer. At dawn she called round her her household, read to them her will, distributed amongst them her clothes and money ; kissed the women, and gave her band to the men to kiss. She then went into her chapel followed by the whole group, who knelt and prayed behind her, as she knelt and prayed at the altar. Whilst she was thus engaged, the commissioners, attended by the sheriff, and'Faulet and his^uard, making from one hundred and fifty tvriit€a to the king of France against him, she-wxiuld now- write, aa-much in his favour, for she had alvwiyB-latownlumiio bfranian of honour, whom she could trnatwrtk her life, and that she now loved him better than ever. Even poor Des- trappes, whom she had so expressly accused, she now fully exonerated, and sent a fawning message to. Thus could this extraordinary woman, having effected her object, and got rid of the Scottish queen, now shamelessly avow her tricks and calumnies. But as regarded the dead queen, her assertions were the most astounding. As wo fiud the account in Egerton, they were these. She told the ambas- sador that since their last interview the greatest of all calamities had befallen her in the death of the queen of Scots. Of that death, she swore with abundance of oaths that she was innocent. She had determined never to exe- cute the warrant, except in case of invasion or rebellion. Four < r her council — they were there in the room — had played her a trick, which she should never forget. They had grown old in her service, and had acted from the best of motives, o;' by G they should h.avo lost their heads. Br.; -Lhr.t -,,hich troubled her most was the displeasure of the king of France, whom she honoured above all men, whose interest she preferred to her own, and whom sh was ready to supply wrfh men, money, ships, and Gorman mercenari'^s against his enemies. This was so diametrically opposed to all that she had ever done towards the king of France, that L'Aubespine could not help remarking that he wished the .jueen would show her regard for his master by lifer deeds. To send men and ammunition to those who were in arms against him, to hire Germans to fight their battles, to capture French ships, and to treat a French ambassador as she had treated him for four months, were not convincing prooft of friendship and esteem. She replied, she had done nothing to Henry, she had only sent troops to aid the king of Navarre against the duke of Guise. He asked whether to do even that without the consent of Henry, were not to do in a foreign realm what she would suffer no foreign prince to do in hers ? To this Elizabeth replied with amicable professions, and, says the ambassador, " she detained me three gnod hours, having well prepared herself, and I let her say all she pleased." ' In the midst of all her wickedness and hoUowness she displayed her usual ability, and prevented the only thing which she feared — a coalition betwixt Scotland, France, and Spain, to avenge the death of the Scottish queen. James of Scotland was readily checked, being of a pusillanimous character, and more fond of money than the life and honour of his mother. Henry III. of France, Elizabeth well knew, was too much besot by difficulties to be very formidable. His course was now fast running to a close. Civil war -was raging in his kingdom ; and we may here anticipate a little to take a view of his end. His feud with the Guises grew to such a pitch, that to rid himself of them, lie determined to assassinate their leaders, the duke and cardinal, the cousiuB-of the late queen of Scots. For this purpose, neat, tbe close of 1588, he assembled a body of assassins in the castle of: Blois, where he privately dis- tributed to forty-fi.ve of them daggers. The duke of Guise waa inrrted to the fatal feast, and murdered at tha-. v^ryvdaor of the king's chamber. The next day his brother, the cardinal, was also despatched. But thi.s in- famous action only- procured the destruction of Henry himself The catholics, exasperated by the murder of their chiefs, were infuriated. The pope excommunicated the king, and the clergy absolved the people from their oath of allegiance ; and in a few months Henry was assassinated by a fanatic monk of the name of Jacques Clement, whilst besieging hie own capital. But not so readily was Philip of Spain disposed of He was crafty and powerful, and remembered the conduct Of Eliza- beth, who, from the very commencement of her reign, whilst professing friendship and high regard for him, had done all in her power to strip him of the Netherlands. She had supported his insurgent subjects with both money .and troops ; and at this time her favourite, Leicester; at the head of an army, was enjoying the rule of the revolted terri- tory called the United Provinces, as governor-general. Not (mly in Europe, but in the new regions of South America, she carried on the same system of inva.sion and plunder by some of the greatest naval ciptains of the age — all still without any declaration of war. Philip, therefore, did not hesitate to denounce her as a murderer, and excited amongst his subjects a most intense hatred of her, both .is a heretic and a woman oppressive and unjust, and stained with kindred and regal blood. In vain did she attempt to mol- 528 CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1587. lify his resentment by reoalling Leicester from the Nether- [ lands, and alluring a native prince, the prince of Orange, to toke his place. She opened, through Burleigh, negotia- i tions with Spain, and sent a private mission to the prince ' of Parma, in the Netherlands. There was a great suspicion j in the minds of the Dutch and Flemings that she meant to j give up the cause of protestantism there, and to sell the cautionary towns which she held to Spain. But, fortunately for them, Philip was too much incensed to listen to her OTertures, and had now made up his mind to the daring project of invading England. News of actual preparations for this purpose on a vast scale convinced Elizabeth that pacification was hopeless, and she resumed her predatory measures against Spain and its colonies. Sir John Hawkins has the gloomy fame of being the originator of the African slave trade. He made three voyages to the African coast, where he bartered his goods for cargoes of negroes, which he carried to the Spanish settlements in America, and sold them for cargoes of hides, sugar, ginger, and pearls. This traffic, which afterwards increased to such terrific and detestable dimensions, was so ex- tremely profitable that Elizabeth fitted out two ships and sent them under his command. On this his third voyage, how- ever, Hawkins was surprised by the Spanish admiral in the bay of St. Juan de Uloa, a desperate engagement took place, and Hawkins' fleet, with all his treasure, was cap- tured or destroyed except two, one of which afterwards went down at sea. the only one returning home being a Toe Custom House in the rtign of Qieen Elizibetb. To obtain a clear idea of the causes which, independent of the continual attempts of Elizabeth to break the yoke of Spain in the Low Countries, had so exasperated Philip, we must refer to the marauding expeditions of Hawkins, Cavendish, and Drake — men whose names have descended to our time as the types of all that is enterprising, daring, and successful in the naval heroes of England. They were men who, like most of the prominent persons of that time, had no very nice ideas of international justice or honesty, but had courage which shrank from no attempt, however arduous, and ability to achieve what to this day are regarded as little short of miracles. Whilst in Europe they were royal commanders, in the distant seas of America they were, to all intents and purposes, pirates and buccaneers. little bark of fifty tons, called Judith, and commanded by one Francis Drake. Elizabeth, of course, lost her whole venture in the slave trade. But this Francis Drake, destined to win a great name, could not rest under the defeat in the bay of Uloa and the loss of his booty. He obtained interest enough to fit out a little fleet, and also made three voyages, like Hawkins, to the Spanish American settlements. In the logic of that age, it was quite right to plunder any people of a particular nation in return for a loss by any other persons of that nation; and Drake felt himself authorised to seize Spanish property wherever he could find it. In his two first voyages he was not eminently successful ; but the third, in 1572, made him ample amends. He took and plundered the A.D. 1587.] DRAKE CIRCUMNAVIGATES THE GLOBE. 529 town of Nombre de Dios, captured above a hundred little vessels in the gulf of Mexico, and made an expedition inland, where, ascending a mountain in Darien, he caught eight of the Pacific, and became inflamed with a desire to sail into that sea and plunder the Spanish settlements there. He captured in March of 1573 a convoy of mules laden with gold and silver, and in October reached England with his booty. This success awoke a correspondent cupidity in his countrymen. Elizabeth embarked a thousand crowns in a meet and intercept him at the straits ; and Drake, becom- ing aware of it, took the daring resolution of sailing to the Moluccas, and so home by the Cape of Good Hope. The hardihood of this determination we can scarcely at this day realise, for it implied the circumnavigation of the globe, which had never yet been accomplished, Magellan him- self having perished on his voyage at the Philippines. He reached Plymouth safely November 3rd, 1580, after a voyage of three years. The dangers and hardships which he had endured in this unprecedented exploit may be con- Portrait of the Earl of E'sex. From the Original Painting. fresh expedition, which was supported by Walsingham, Hatton, and others of her ministers. In 1577 Drake set out for the Spanish main with five ships and a hundred and sixty men. In this voyage he pursued steadily his great idea of adventures in the Pacific, coasted the Brazils, passed the straits of Magellan, and reached Santiago, from which place to Lima he found the coast unprotected, and took the vessels and plundered the towns at will. Amongst his prizes was the Cacafuego, a Spanish merchantman of great value, which he captured in the spring of 1579. By this time, however, the Spaniards had sent out a squadron to 97 ceived from the fact that only one of his five vessels reached home with him ; but that vessel contained .i treasure of eight hundred thousand pounds. Elizabeth was in a great strait. The wealth which Drake had brought, and of which she expected an ample share, was too agreeable a thing to allow her to quarrel with the acquirer ; but the ravages which he had committed on a power not openly at war with her, were too flagrant to be acknowledged. For four months, therefore, Drake remained without any public acknowledgment of his services, further than bis ship being placed in the dock at »30 0A88BLL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1587 Plymouth, as a trophy of his bold oircumnaTigation of the riobe. At length, however, the queen coasented to be prceent at a banquet which Drake gave on board, and she there broke from her duplicity hv knighting him on the spot. A tithe of the enormous amount of money was dis- tribated as prize amongst the officers and men ; the Spanish ambaaaador, who had laid claim to the whole as stolen pro- perty, was appeased by a considerable sum, and the huge remainder was, according to report, shared by the queen, her favourites, and the fortunate commander. It was not long before Sir Francis Drake was placed in commission and sent out as the queen's own admiral against Spain. In 15S5 he sailed for the West Indies with a fleet of twenty-one ships, where he took and burnt down the town of St. Jago, ravaged C.irthagena and St. Domingo, and committed other mischief. The following year Thomas Caveniijsh followed in Drake's track with three ships whicli he had built out of the wreck of his fortune, and reaching the Spanish main, committed many depredations. In 15S7 he secured the freight of gold and silver of a large Manilla merchantman, and returned home by the new route which Drake had pointed out. These terrible chastisements of the Spanish colonies had embittered the mind of Philip and his subjects even beyond the warfare of the Netherlands ; and he was now steadily preparing that mighty force and that host of vessels by which he vowed to prostrate the power of the heretic queen, and reduce the British islands to the Spanish yoke and to the yoke of the catholic church. Elizabeth, having endeavoured in vain to arrange a peace, bnakled on the armour of her spirit, and determined to meet the danger with a fearless front. She despatched Drake with a fleet of thirty vessels to esamin3 the Spanish harbours where these means of invasion were preparing, and to destroy all that he could come at. Xo task could have delighted him more. On the 1 8th of April, 1587, he entered the roads of Cadiz, and dis- covering upwards of eighty vessels, attacked, sunk, and destroyed them all. He then sailed oat again, and mnning along the coast as far as Cape St. Tinoent, demolished above a hundred sail of vessels, and besides other injaries, battered down four forts. This Drake called " singeing the king of Spain's beard." In the Tagus he enconntered the grand admiral of Spain, Santa Cruz, bat could not bring him to an engagement, owing to the orders which he had received ; but he captured, in the very teeth of the admiral, the St. Philip, one of the finest ships of Spain, and laden with the richest merchandise. Santa Craz took it so much to heart that he was not permitted to engage Drake, that he is said to have died shortly afterwards of sheer mortification. When Drake returned from this expedition he was received by the public with acclamations ; but Elizabeth was per- fectly frightened by the extent of the calamities inflicted, believing that they would only rouac Philip to more invete- rate hostility — and in that she was right. She made actually an apology to the prince of Parma, Philip's general in the Netherlands, for the glorious deed of Drake, assuring him that she had only sent him out to guard against any attacks on herself. Famesc replied that he could well believe anything of the kind of a man bred as he was in piracy, and professed still to be ready to make peace. But Philip was in no peaceful mood. He was now eagerly employed in forwarding his huge preparations ; and the same of the Spanish Armada began to be a familiar sound in England. He prevailed on the pope to issue a new bull of excommunication against Elizabeth, and to advance him large sums of money for this holy enterprise, which was to restore these rich but recreant itilands to the holy see. He collected his best vessels into the Spanisb ports ; he went on industriously building others in all the ports of Spain, Portugal, and those portions of the Netherland belonging to him. He collected all the vessels that his Sicilian and Neapolitan subjects C'^uld furnieh, and hired others from Genoa and Venice. In Flanders he prepared an immense shoal of flat-bottomed boats to carry over an army of thirty thousand men to the coasts of England, under the command of the prince of Parma. The time appeared to have arrived which was to avenge all the injuries and insults which, during twenty years, the English queen had heaped upon him. She had, in the first place, refused his hand ; she had year after year incited and encouraged his subjects in the Netherlands to rebel against his rule ; she had supplied them first secretly, then openly, with money; she had hired mercenary troops against him ; and, finally, sent the earl of Lei- cester to assume the position of a viceroy for herself- Whilst this state of intolerable interference on land had been growing, she had sent out men with the character of pirate? and with the courage of demons to attack and plunder his colonies, intercept his treasure ships, and chase from the high seas the merchant vessels of his nation. All this time she had been with an iron hand crushing the t church which he believed the only true one, and had ended by patting to death a qaeen who was regarded as the , champion of that chorch in Britain. We are apt, in think- [ ing of tlie Spanish Armada and the attempt of Philip to invade this kingdum, to overlook these provocations, which were certainly sufficient to ronse and justify any monarch to such i an enterprise. ' Whilst carrying matters with eo high a hand, Elizabeth's parsimony had prevented her making those preparations lor defence which such an enemy dictated. In the month of November of this year the danger had grown so palpable that a great council of war was summoned to take into consideration the grand plan of defence, and the mode of mustering an adequate force both at land and at sea. It was well known that the dock-yards of Antwerp, Newport, Gravelines. and Dunkirk had long been all alive with the building of boats, anl that the forest of Waes had been felled to supply material. Farnese, reputed one of the ablest generals in Europe, had at his command, besides the forces necessary to garrison the Spanish Netherlands, thirty thousand infantry and eighteen hundred cavalry ; whilst the Spanish fleet consisted of one hundred and thirty-five men-of-war, prepared to carry over eight thousand seamen and nineteen thousand soldiers. Both in Spain and in the Netherlands the enthusiasm of volunteers for the sorvioe had been wonderful ; and not only the members of the noblest families had enrolled themselves, but the fame of this expedition, which was to be n second conquest of England, yielding far more riches and glory than that of William of Normandy, had drawn adventurers from every comer of Europe. What had England to oppose to all this force and ani- mating spirit of anticipation P It was discovered that the whole navy of England amounted to only thirty-six sail. As to the army, it did not amoont to twenty thousand men, A.D. 1567.] PREPARATIONS TO RECEIVE THE ARMADA. 531 and those ohiefly raw recruits, the order for the mu3ter of the main budy of the forces even having been only issued in June. Courage Elizabeth undoubtedly possessed in an eminent degree ; but never was a nation less indebted in a momentous crisis to the foresight and providence of its sovereign. Such was her parsimony, that, though the army which was to serve under Leicester was ordered to assemble in June, that which, under lord Hunsdon, was to foIlo'-' particularly the movements of the queen, did not receive orders for enrolment till August. What was to be done with such raw recruits against the disciplined and tried troops of Parma and his military experience ? It was the same as regarded the sailors to man (he fleet. In the autumn of 1586 she ordered a levy of five thousand sea- men ; but in January she thought more of the expense than the danger, and insisted on two thousand of them being disbanded. The rumours of growing danger, however, enabled the council to dissuade her from this impolitic measure, and even obtained an increase to seven thousand. In the war council held in November of this year. Sir Walter Raleigh earnestly advocated what his quick genius had seen at a glance : that the defence of the country must depend on the navy. The enemy must not be suffered to land. At sea, even then, England was a match for almost any amount of force ; and never did she possess admirals who possessed more of that daring and indomitable cha- racter which has for a;:;es distinguished the seamen of this country. Sir Walter Raleigh prevailed : and at once was seen that burst of enthusiasm which, on all occasions when Great Britain has been menaced with invasion, has flamed from end to end of the nation. Merchantmen offered their vessels, the people fitted them out at their own expense, and very soon, instead of thirty-six ships of war, there were 191, of various sizes and characters, with not 7,000 but 17,400 sailors on board of them. To the thirty-six govern- ment ships of war were added eighteen volunteer vessels of heavy burden, forty-three hired vessels, fifty-three coasters. The Triumph was a ship of 1,100 tons; there was another of 1,000, one of 900, two of 800 each, three of GOO, five of 500, five of 400, six of 300, six of 250, twenty of 200, besides numbers of smaller size, the total amount of tonnage being 31,985. But the main strength, after all, was in the character of the men who commanded and animated this fleet. Supreme in command was the lord-admiral, lord Howard of Effing- iam, a man of undaunted courage, and of firm and inde- pendent resolution, and very popular with the sailors. Under him served the earl of Cumberland and the lords Henry Seymour, Thomas Howard, and Edmund Sheffield, as volunteers ; and the want of experience in these aristocrats was amply overbalanced by the stanch men whose fame was world-wide — Drake, who was lieutenant of the fleet, Hawkins, Frobisher, and others of those marine heroes who had made themselves a terror to the remotest shores of the earth. The neighbouring .and protestant states, who were naturally called on to aid in this struggle, which was not so much for the conquest of England as for the annihilation of the reformed church, were Scotland and the Netherlands. But James of Scotland was the worst possible subject to depend on in such an emergency. No noble or daring passion ever animated his heart. His only philosophy was what he called his kingcraft — that was, how he could make the most of any event, without any reference to its moral value as bearing on the good of the nation or the advance of civilisation, and that at the least cost of money or exer- tion. He waited to see whether Philip or Elizabeth were the highest bidder, not intending to help either of them. Philip was advised to secure him and to land a Spanish army in Scotland ; but Philip knew his man too well. Elizabeth, on the contrary, put forth all her power to move him, but in vain : he continued t^ilking of his claims on account of the death of his mother, hackstering for the greatest possible gain out of it, till he had made his bargain, and even then never offered his services with an air of earnestness till the danger was over and his aid was not needed. The progress of this royal miserable's pro- ceedings in the negotiation is curious. In the autumn lord Hunsdon, who was instructed to pacify him for the death of his mother, reported to the queen, " that if she looked for any amity or kindness at his hands she would find herself deceived." In April lord Hunsdon was authorised to satisfy him for his mother's death ; it was unavailing, and the danger from the Armada growing, Mr. Ashby was sent to him in June, and in July Sir Robert Sidney. It was all unavailing ; the aspect of Spain was still more terrible, and the price was not large enough. The English ministers called earnestly on the Scotch ministers in their pay to urge the necessity of his co-opera- tion on James. All was in vain, till the Spanish Armada received a heavy blow on the 30th of July from the tempest at the mouth of the Scheldt, when James hastened to accept Ashby's proposal that in return for joining the queen ha should receive an Eaglish dukedom with suitable lands, an annuity of five thousand pounds a year, and the pay for a guard of one hundred and fifty men. The Spaniards were then in full flight along his own shores before the triumphant English ; and James, with a burst of generosity which any one could estimate, forbade his subjects to assist the Spaniards, and offered all the resources of his kingdom to Elizabeth, who had no longer occasion for either him or them. Very different was the conduct of the so-called phlegm- atic Dutch. Though Leicester had wasted their wealth in useless campaigns, abused their confidence, abridged their privileges, encumbered their trade, and insulted their honour ; though Elizabeth had appeared quite ready to sell them to Spain, and in their distress had called upon them to raise a hundred thousand pounds to p.iy for fresh soldiers, or declared she would abandon them ; — yet, know- ing that it was not Elizabeth or the worthless Leicester they had to support, but the very existence of that faith for which they had fought so long and so bravely, and for their country, which, if England fell, must fall inevitably too, they at once "came roundly in," says Stowe, " with three score sail, brave ships of war, firm and full of spleen, not so much in England's aid as in just occa- sion for their own defence, foreseeing the greatness of the danger that must ensue if the Spaniards should chance to win the day and get the mastery over Ihem." They engaged to block up the mouth of the Scheldt with ten ships of war, and sent the others to unite with the English fleet. That fleet was dispersed to watch as much as possible all points of approach, for rumours confounded the people by naming a variety of places on which the descent was to be made. Lord Howard put the division of the fleet immo- S92 OAfiSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [A.D. 1587. diataiy under his commaad in three squadrons on the I they were instructed to lay waste the country before him, ^fMtem coast; Crake was stationed in the direction of i to harass his march day and night by hanging on his skirts, Ushant ; Hawkins, a regular adventurer, who had not long ' and obstructing his way -. and as not a town would have ag.i offered his services to Philip and had been rejected, now thirsting for revenge on liim, cruised betwixt the Land's End and the Scilly Islee : Lord Henry Seymour scoured tlie coast of Flanders, bUickading the Spanish pprts to prevent the passage of Parma's army ; and other com- manders sailed to and fro in tho channel. On land there was at first a haunting fear of the catholics. Their oppression had been of a character which was not thought likely to nourish patriotism ; and the very invasion was professedly an invasion for the relief and avengement of the catholics. But the moment that the common country was menaced with danger, tbe catholics forgot all but the ccmmon interest. There was no class whioh displayed more xcal for the national defence. Yet to the very last moment their loyalty was tried to tbe utmost. Few oould believe that they would not seize this opportunity to retaliate tho'ic severities which had been practised upon them ; and there were those who even advised an English St. Bartho- lomew, or, at least, the putting to death of the leading catholics. This bloody project ElUabeth rejected ; but the catliohcs were, nevertheless, subjected to the most cruel treatment out of fear. A retorn was ordered of those sus- pected of this religion in London, who were found to amount to seventeen thousand. All such as were convicted of re- cusancy were put in prison. All over the country tbe old domiciliary searches were made, and thousands of catholics of every rank and class, men and women, were dragged off to gaol to keep them safe, whilst the protestant clergy inveighed in awful terms against the designs of the pope and the terrible intentions of the papists. All commands, with few exceptions, amongst which were those intrusted to tbe lord admiral Howard and his family, were placed in the hands of protestants ; yet this did not prevent the catholics offering their serrioes, and gentlemen of family and fortune serving in the ranks, or as common sailors at sea. The peers armed their tenants and servants, and placed them at the service of the queen ; and gentlemen even fitted out vessels and put protestants into command of them. The ministers themselves, in the famous "Letter to Mcndoia," whioh they published in almost every language of Europe, confest^ed that they could see no difference betwixt the catholics and the protestants in their enthusiasm for the defence of the country. They mention the viscount Montague, his son, and grandson, appearing before the queen with two hundred horse which they had raised to defend her person, and add that the very prisoners for their religion in Ely signed a memorial to her, declaring that they were ready to fif;ht to the death for her against all her enemies, whether they were pope, priests, kings, or any power whatever. After this Elizab.'th and her ministers, had they had n spark of magnanimity or good policy, would have flung open every prison door, put arms into all catholic bunds, and let the great wound rankling in the body politic hetil at its leisure. But how far was this celebrated queen from having learned BO salutary a lesson ! Meantime tbe muster throughout the kingdom bad brought together one hundred and thirty thousand men. True, the greater part of them were raw recruits without discipline and experience, and could not have stood for a moment before the veterans of Parma, had he landed ; but surrendered without a violent struggle, the event, with tho dogged courage and perseverance of an English popula- tion, could only have been one of destruction to the invaders. This great but irregular force was dispersed in a number of camps on the cast, west, and southern coasts. At Slilford Haven were stationed two thousand two hundred horse ; five thousand men of Cornwall and Devon defended Plymouth ; the men of Dorset and Wiltshire garrisoned Portland ; the Isle of Wight swarmed with soldiers, and was fortified at all points. The banks of the Thames were fortified under the direction of a celebrated Italian engineer, Federico Giambelli, who had deserted from the Spaniards. Graves . end was not only fortified, but was defended by a vast assemblage of boats, and bad a bridge of them, which at once cut off the passage of the river, and opened a constant passage for troops betwixt Essex and Sent. At Tilbury, opposite to Gravesend, there was a camp of twenty-two thousand foot and two thousand horse, under the command of the earl of Leicester, and lord Hunsdon defended the capital with an army of twenty-eight thousand men, sup- ported by ten thousand Londoners. Such were the preparations for the vaunted Invincible Armada. With all the apparent courage of Elizabeth, however, she continued to negotiate anxiously for peace to the very last minute, and to the great chagrin of Leicester and Walsingham,,who assured her that such a proceeding was calculated to encourage her enemies and depress her own subjects. Burleigh with his more cautious nature supported her, and even so late as February, 1587, she sent commissioners to Bourbourg near Calais to meet the commissioners of Philip, and they vainly continued their negotiations for peace till the Armada appeared in the channel. And now tbe time for the sailing of this dread fleet had arrived. The kmg of Spain, tired of delays, now ordered its advance. It was in vain that Providence appeared to suggest the wisdom of further postponement, by taking away his experienced admiral Santa Cruz, and his excellent vice-admiral the duke of Paliano ; he immediately gave the command to the duke of Medina Sidonia, a man wholly without such experience, and the second command to Martinez dc Ricaldo, a good seaman. In vain that tbe duke of Parma entreated that he might reduce Flushing before he carried such a force out of the country, and Sir William Stanley, who had deserted to Spain from the Netherlands army, recommended the occupation of Ireland before the descent on England. The pope had delivered his bull for the deposition of Elizabeth, had collected the money wh\ch he promised to advance, had made Dr. Allen a cardinal, and appointed bis legate in England to confer on Philip the isvestiture of the kingdom, tho fleet was at anchor in the Tagus, and he commanded it to put forth. This famous Armada consisted of one hundred and thirty vessels of different sizes. There were forty-five galleons and larger vessels of from five hundred to one thousand tons each : twenty-five were pink-built ships, and thirteen were frigates. It carried two thousand four hundred and thirty-one guns of different calibres, and twenty thousand troops, exclusive of the crews which worked the vessels, of whom two thousand were volunteers of the highest families A.D. 1££8.] THE AEMADA ENTERS THE CHANNEL. 533 in Spain. The Engliaii fleet outnumbered tlie Armada by about sixty vessels, but its entire tonnage did not amount to half that of the Armada. On May the .30th, 1588, this formidable and long prepared fleet issued from the Tagus. The spectacle was of such grandeur, that no one cuuld behold it without the strongest emotion.? and the most flattering expectations uf success. But these were of very brief duration ; one of those tempests which in every age, since the Norman conqgest, as if indi- cating the steady purpose of Providence, have assailed and scattered the fleets of England's enemies, burst on the Armada off Oape Piaisterre, scattered its vessels along the coast of Gallicia, ran three large ships aground, dis- masted and shattered eight others, and compelled the proud fleet to seek shelter in Oorunna, and other ports along the coast. The damages to the ships were so considerable, that it occasioned the admiral a delay of three weeks at Oorunna. No sooner was this news announced in London, than Elizabeth, amid her most warlike movements never for- getting the expense, immediately ordered the lord admiral to dismantle four of his largest ships as if the danger were over. Lord Howard had the wise boldness to refuse, declar- ing that ha would rather take the risk of his sovereign's displeasure, and keep the ves.'jela aflaat at his o .vn cost, than endanger the country. To show that all his vessels were needed, he called a council of war and proposed that they should sail for the Spanish coast, and fall on the fleet whilst it was thus disordered. At sea they saw and gave chaoa to fourteen Spanish ships. The wind veered and became at once favourable to his return, and also to the sailing of the Armada. He turned back to Plymouth, lest some of the Spanish vessala should have reached his unprotected station before him. The event proved that hLs caution was not vain. He had scarcely regained Plymouth, and moored his fleet, when a Scotch privateer, named Fleming, sailed in aftar him and informed him ha had discovered the Armada off the Lizird. Most of the officers wero at the moment playing at bowls on the H!oe, and 0rake, who waa one of them, bade them not hurry themselves, but play out the game and then go and beat the Spaniards. Tlie wind, too, was blowing right into harbour, but having with great labour warped out their ships they stood off, and the next day, being the 20th of July, they saw the Spanish fleet bearing down full upon them. They were drawn up in the form of a crescent, the horns of which were seven miles apart, and a nobler or more imposing sight was never seen on the ocean. Lord Howard deemed it hazardous to measure strength with ships of fuoh superior size and weight of metal, and he was soon relieved from the necessity, for the duke of Medina, on perceiving the English fleet, called a council of his officers, who were impatient to attack and destroy the enemy at once, and showed them his instructions, which bound them strictly to avoid all chance of damage to his vessels by a conflict before he had effected the main object of seeing the Flemish army landed on the English coast. The grand Armada, therefore, swept on in stately magnificence up the channel, the great galeasses with their huge hulk, their lofty prows, and their slow imposing motion, making a brave show. To the experienced eyes of the English sailor.s, however, this immediately communicated encouragement, for they saw at once that they were not calculated like their own nimbler vcssehj to tack, and obey ihe helm like their lighter craft. On, therefore, swept the Armada, and with vigilant eyes and growing hopes followed the British ships bearing such men as Drake, Hawkins, aad Frobisher. And now began, ad it were, a strange chace of the mighty Armada by the lesser fleet. The duke of Medina pressed on with all sail to reach Dunkirk, and make a junction with the fleet of flat-bottomed boats of the Duke of Parma, which were to carry over the army ; but some of bis vesaela soon fell behind, and spite of his signaliiag for tliem to como up, they could not do that before the nimbler English vessels wero upon them, aud hied into tliem with right good will. Tlie Disdain, a pinnace commanded by Jonaa Bradbury, was the first to engage, and was speedily seconded I by the lord admiral himself, who attacked a great galleon, and Drake in the Eevenge, Hawkins in the Victory, and ^ Frobisher in the Triumph, closed in with the othera. j Eicaidez, the rear-admiral, was in this affray, and eucour- j aged his men bravely, but it was soon found that the Spaniards, though so much more gigantic in size, had no chance with the more manageable English ships. Their heavy artillery, from their uncommon height, fired over the enemies' heads, and did little mischief, whilst the undaunted English tacked about and hit them fi.rst in one place and then in another. Drake justified his fame by boarding a great galleon, the mast of which was shot away, and taking her with fifty-five thousand ducats on board. The duke of Medina was compelled to heave-to till the jeopar- dised squadron could come up ; but night set in and there was seen another of the great galleons blazing on the water, having, it waa said, been purposely set on fire by a Flemish gunner, whom the captain had accused of uowaidico or treachery. In the confusion the neighbouring vessels ran foul of each other, there being a heavy sea, and a third vessel waa separated from the fleet, and was captured near the French coast. Lord Howard on the 2:jrd again came up with tha Armada off Portland. He was now reinforced by forty fresh sail, and had on board this accession Sir Walter Raleigh. The weather was still adverse to tha advance of the Spaniards, and the English kept them well enga^d by pouring in ever and anon a broadaide, and then dropping out of range. Sometimes the wind lulling they were compelled to stand the full fire of the great siiipa, and in one of these encounters Frobisher was surrounded in the Triumph, and had to sustain an unequal combat for two hours. By direction of the admiral, however, a number of vessels moved to his rescue, aud reserving their fire till they were close in with the enemy, they poured such a broadside into the Spaniards as turned the scale. Many of the Spanish ships wero completely disabled in this day's fight, and a Venetian argosy and several transports remained in their possession. The next day the English fleet could not renew the action, for they had burnt all their powder. This wretched management wjis the result of the same par.-imony of the queen which would before have discharged a considerable portion of the fleet. The day, a day of the utmost raomont to prevent the junction of Medina with Parma, was totally lost. The next, the 25th, having in the meantime procured a fresh supply of ammunition from shore, the admiral renewed the fight off the Isle of Wight, where Hawkins took a largo Portuguese galleon, and the duke of Medina's 534 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1588. ship bad its mainmast shot away, and was much shattered ; bat in the midst of the engagement the powder of the English again failed, and they were obliged to draw off. Fortunately the Spanish admiral also found that he had expended his heavy shot, and sent to the duke of Parma to hold himself in readiness and send him back some shot. On the 26th the Armada held on its way with a fair breeze up the channel, and Howard, who had received fresh ammunition, besides continual reinforcements of small Tessels and men from the ports as they passed, directly pursued. In the straits of Dover he expected to be joined by a strong squadron under lord Henry Seymour and Sir Thomas Winter, and, therefore, he reserved his fire. On the following day, the duke of Medina, instead of making at once for Dunkirk, as he wished, was prevailed on to cast held in readiness for the word of command, in expectation of the arrival of the fleet ; but that Laving been so long delayed, their provisions were exhausted, the boats which had been built in a hurry with green-wood, had warped and become unseaworthy, and with the hot weather fever had broken out amongst his troops. Were he, however, other- wise able to stir, there lay a force of Dutch and English vesseb at anchor enough to send every boat to the bottom. Under these circumstances there was nothing for it but to make for Dunkirk, force the blockades at the mouth of the Scheldt, and effect the junction with Parma. But now the expected junction of Winter and lord Henry Howard had taken place with the lord admiral's squadron, and the Spaniards found themselves closely hemmed in by one hundred and forty English sail, crowded with sailors and Wreck of oce of llic ArmdUd Ve^eLi on the IrUh Coist. (See page 636.) anchor before Calais. It was represented that there was a Dutch and English fleet blockading Newport and Dunkirk, the only outlets for Parma's flat-bottoms, and that the Armada would then be inclosed betwixt the two hostile fleets. It was necessary first to beat off the fleet which hung on his rear, and he had already found it impracticable with his huge unwieldy vessels. He, therefore, despatched a messenger to the duke of Parma over land, urging him to send him a squadron of his fly-boats to beat off the English ships, and be ready embarked that he might land in England under his fire, as soon as he could come up. But Parma sent him the discouraging word that it was impossible for him to move or even to transport his troops till the grand fleet came up to his assistance. Fourteen thousand troops, he informed him, had been already embarked at Newport, and the other division at Dunkirk soldiers eager for the fray, and there was clearly no avoiding a general engagement. This being inevitable, the Spaniards placed their great ships in front, anchored the lesser betwixt them and the shore, and awaited the next morning for the decisive battle. But such captains as Drake and Hawkins saw too well the strong position of the Armada to truEf to their fighting, and they determined to threw the enemy into confusion by stratagem. They, therefore, prepared eight fire-ships, and the wind being in shore, they sent them under the management of Captains Young and Prouse, at midnight, down towards the Spanish lines The brave cflScers effected their hazardous duty, and took to their boats. Presently, there was a wild cry as the eight vessels in full blaze, and sending forth explo- sion after explosion, bore right down upon the Spaniards. Remembering the terrible fire-ships which the Dutch had A.D. 1588.] REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. 535 QUEEN ELIZABETH AT TILBURY. (SKK I'AOE 537-) 536 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF BNQLAKD. [a.d. 1588. formerly tent amongst them, the sailors shouted — "The tire of Antwerp ! the fire of Antwerp '. " and every vessel was put in motion to escape in the darkness as be^t it might. The confusiun became terrible, no ship knew which course to steer, and were continually running foul of each other. One of the largest galeasses had her rudder carried away by oomlng in contact with her neighbour, and floating at the mercy of the waves was stranded. When the tire-ships bad exhausted themselves, the duke of Medina fired again to recal his scattered ships ; but few heard it, flying madly as they were in fear and confusion, and when morning dawned finding themselves scattered along the coast from Ostend to Calais. A more terrible night no unfortunate creatures ever passed, for a tempest had set in, a furious gale blowing from the soath-weet, the r.iin falling in torrents, and the pitchy gloom being only lit up by the glare of lightning. A loud cannonade in the direction of Gravelines, announced that the hostile fleets were engaged there, and it became a signal for the fugitives to draw towards, but uU aloD^ the coast, the active English commanders were ready to receive them, and Drake, Hawkins, Raleigh, Frobisher, Seymour, and Cumberland, vied in their endeavours to win the highest distinction. Terrible scenes were presented at the different stranded galeasses. That off Calais after a desperate engagement was boarded, its crew and troops cut to pieces or pushed overboard, and fifty thousand ducats were taken out of her. One great galleon sunk under the English fire ; another, the San Matteo, was compelled to surrender; and another, dismantled and iu miserable plight, drifted on shore at Flushing and was seized by the sailors. Some of the battered vessels foundered at sea, and the iaka calling a council proposed to return home. This was vehemeutly opposed by many officers and the seamen, who had fought furiously and now cried for revenge ; but the admiral held that it was impossible long to hold out against such an enemy, and gave the order to make for Spain. But how." The English now awanned in the narrow seas, and the issue of the desperate conflict which must attend the attempt the whole way wa.s too clear. The only means of escape he believed to soil northward, round Scotland and Ireland. Such a voyage, through t«mpestuou8 seas and along dangerous coasts, to men little, if any acquainted with them, was so charged with peril and hard^^hips, that nothing but absolute necessity could have forced them to attempt it The remains of the Armada, no longer invincible, and already reduced to eighty vessels, was now, therefore, seen with a favourable wind in full sail nortiiward. With such men as Drake and the rest it might hare been safely calculated that not a ship would ever return to Spain. A titrong .''<)uadron despatched to meet the Spanish fleet on the west coast of Ireland, and another following in pursuit, would have utterly destroyed this ;;reiit naval armamenJi. But here again the parsimony of Elizabeth, and tlie strange want of pro- vidence in her government, became apparent. Instead of pursuing, the English fleet returned to port on the Sth of August for want of powder and shot ! and, as if satisfied with getting rid of the enemy, no meas'iires whatever were taken to intercept the fugitive fleet. "If," says Sir William Monson, " we had been so happy as to have followed their course, as it was both thought and difcoursd of, wc had been absolutely victorious over this great and formidable navy, for they were brought to that necessity that they would willingly have yielded, as divers of them couf sscd that were shipwrecked on the coast of Ireland." This great piece of misgovernment occasioned much dis- appointment amongst the brave seamen, both officers and men, a few ships only being able to follow the Spaniards as far as the Frith of Forth. Walsingham, in a letter to the lord chancellor at the time, said, " I am sorry the lord admiral was forced to leave the prosecution of the enemy through the want he sustains. Our half doings doth breed dishonour, and leaveth the disease unourej." But the winds and waves did for the English what they themselves left undone in a great measure. A terrible tempest assailed the flying Armada to the north of Scotland, and scattered its unhappy ships amongst the iron-bound islands of the Orkneys and Hebrides. To save themselves if possible, the Spaniards threw overboard their horses, mules, artillery, and baggage, and in many instances to no purpose. On many a wild spot of the shores of the Western Isles, and those of Scotland and Ireland, you are still told, " Here was stranded one of the great ships of the Invincible Armada." How many summer tourists bear this at Tober- mory, in the Isle of Mull; and how many visitors to the Q-iant's Causeway are shown the terrible cliffs of Port-na- Spagna, still bearing the name from the awful catastrophe which occurred there. More than thirty of these vessels were stranded on the Irish coast ; others went down at sea, every soul on board perishing ; and others were dciren to Norway, and stranded there. Never was there so fearful a destruction ; and well might the triumphant protestants esult in the idea that the wrath of an avettj^iug deity was let loose against this devoted navy. No mercy was shown to the wretched sufferers in general who escaped to land. In Ireland the fear of their Joining the native catholics made the government scanda- lously cruel. Instead of taking those prisoners who come on shore, they cut them down in cold bluod, and upwards of two hundred are said to have besa thus mercilessly butchered. Some of the scattered vessels were compelled to fight their way back down the English channel, and were the prey of the English, the- Dutch, and of French Huguenote, who had equipped a number of privateers to have a share in the destruction and plunder of their hated catholic ei*mie8. The duke of Medina eventually reached the port of St. Andero in September, with the loss of more than half his fleet, and of ten thousand men, those who survived looking more like ghosts than human beings. Philip, though he must have been deeply mortified by this signal failure of his costly and ambitious enterprise, was too proud to show it. He received the news without a change of countenance, and thanked God that his king- dom was so strong and flourishing that it could well bear such a loss. He gave fifty thousand crowns to relieve the sufferers ; forbad any public mourning, assigning the mishap, not to the English, but the weather ; and wrote to the duke of Pnrma — whom the English government ha, as the prince of Orange had done of the protestant ones — to thank him for his readiness to have carried out his design, and to assure him of his unshaken favour. In following the interesting fate of the Spanish fleet, and the bravery and address of England's naval com- manders, we have left unnoticed the less striking proceed- A.D, 1688.] QUEEN ELIZABETH AT TILBURY. 637 ings of the army on shore. In the dispoeition of this force Elizabeth had shown far more of the weak woman than of the so much vaunted great queen. The chief camp at Til- bury, wliich would have cjme first into conflict with the Spanish army had it effected a landing, was put under the command of her favourite, Leicester — a man who had been tried in the Netherlands, and found wanting in every quali- fication of a general. To such a man had the boasted Elizabeth confided the destinies of England, and to the son of his wife, the earl of Essex, now rising also in favour with this lover-loving queen. Had Parma landed, it assuredly would not have been the talents or the bravery of the commander- in-chief which would have repelled him. Elizabeth her- self talked loudly of taking the field in person, and, no doubt, would not have flinched there ; but Leicester wrote her a very loving and familiar letter for a subject, declaring that he could not allow " her person, the most dainty and sacred thing in the world," to be exposed to danger; but that she might, if she pleased, draw to her house of Havering Bower; and he added, "To comfort this army and people of these counties, you may, if it please you, spend two or three days to see both the camps and forts. And thus far, but no farther, can I consent to adventure your person." Accordingly, Elizabeth lay still whilst the real danger continued, with not only this army at Tilbury, but the thirty-five thousand men under lord Hunsdon pro- tecting her "most dainty person." But when the danger was over, namely, on the 9th of August — the Armada at the time being in full flight, and the English fleet returned to port the day before — she went through the mock-heroic part which had been prepared for her, and which, put forth with all assiduity by her ministers, has ever since been copied by loyal historians, and her speech repeated with so much enthusiasm by schoolboys at their examinations. She rode through the camp on a white palfrey, with a light cuirass on her back and a marshal's truncheon in her hand, whilst the army of raw recruits rent the air with acclama- tions, and expressed their sorrow that the Spaniards had not allowed them an opportunity of beating them. At Tilbury the scene was still more dramatic. Leicester and the new stripling favourite, Essex, led her bridle rein, whilst she is said to have delivered this harangue : — " My loving people ! we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery ; but I assure you I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear ! I have always so behaved my- self that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my sub- jects ; and, therefore, I am come amongst you at this time not as for my recreation and sport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die amongst you all — to lay down for ray God, for my kingdom, and for my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust. I know that I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart of a king, and a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma, or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm : to which, rather than any dishonour should grow by me, I myself will take up arms — I myself will be your general — the judge and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I already know by your forwardness that you have deserved rewards and crowns ; and we do assure you, on the word of a prince, tliey shall be duly paid to you. In the meantime my lieutenant-general shall be in my stcnd — than whom never prince commanded a more noble or more worthy subject ; nor will I suffer myself to doubt that, by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and my people." This speech was a capital ad capiandum oration had it been delivered in the moment of danger, and it was pro- bably got up by the ministers for that occasion ; but if delivered, as the dates show, when all danger was over, it would have been a most ridiculous burlesque. Lingard does not even insert the speech in hie history, observing that he does not believe that it ever was delivered, for that "she certainly could not exhort the soldiers to fight after the enemy was gone, and when she had resolved to disband the army directly." So far, indeed, was the British Amazon from "herself taking up arms," from " leading them to the field," from "laying her honour and blood in the dust," that she ordered the disbanding of the army, and went home to dinner. To God and the pluck of Englishmen, rather than to any able management of queen or govern- ment, the country owed its rescue from this imminent danger. The bestowal of " rewards and crowns " to the soldiery appears to have been quite as much a myth as the fighting of the queen, and the laying of her blood in the dust. On lord Howard, as admiral of the fleet, rewards and favours were conferred ; but neither he, nor the other heroes of his immortal contest at sea, received a tithe of the honour of Leicester, who had done nothing but write a Inve-lcttcr ta the queen from Tilbury camp. Nothing that she had done or could do appeared adequate to his incomprehensible merits. She determined to create a new and most invidious office in his favour ; and the warrant for his creation of lord-lieutenant of England and Ireland lay ready for the royal signature, when the remonstrances of Biir'.eigh and Hatton delayed, and the sudden death of the favourite pnt an end to it. In ten days after the queen's visit to the camp he had disbanded the army, and was on his way to his castle of Kcnilworth, when he was seized with sickness at Cornbury Park, in Oxfordshire, and died on the 4th of September, with every symptom of being poisoned. He had discovered or suspected a criminal connection betwixt his wife, the countess of Ess' x, and Sir Christopher Blount. He had attempted to assassinate Blount, but failed ; and his countess, profiting by his own instructions in getting rid of her former husband, is supposed to have administered the fatal dose. Leicester appears to have been the most thorough and accomplished scoundrel of that age — by no means famous for moral principle. His fine person and courtier-like manners placed him above all his rivals in the affections of Elizabeth. The cotemporary authorities detail the extra- ordin.iry scandals of their intercourse. There is no doubt of Elizabeth havingpromisedhim marriage; and the despatches of the bishop of Aquila, still preserved in the archives of Salamanca, testify to the fact that both Leicester and Elizabeth, whilst he was ambassador in England, importuned him to obtiiin the approbation of Philip of this marriage ; and Aquila finally informs that sovereign thatthiy had been privately contracted at the house of the earl of Pembroke. S3S CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. 1590. Tbe world at the time gare them credit for havlag several cbildrcD. lu his written correspondence Leicester affected a religious etjle. Xaunton, in his " Fragmenta Regalia," eaye, "I nerer yet saw a style or phrase more seemingly religious, or fuller of the strains of devotion ; " and his letters remain- ing bear out the assertion ; but in his life he was one of the most haughty, rapacious, and cold-blooded villains existing. His murder of his first wife, Amy Kobsart ; his desertion of the second ; his poisoning of the earl of Esses, and adultery with his wife before ; his recommenda- tion of despatching the queen of Scots with poison ; and his ready use of poison or steel where any one stood in the way of his ambition, sufficiently stamp bim as a scoundrel of the first magnitude. Only two of the ladies about the court, married or single, are said to have remained unoor- rupted by him .- and this could only be through his person and address ; for, as a general or a statesman, he was con- temptible. Elizabeth showed violent sorrow for his loss ; but she soon recovered sufficiently to look after money which, she said, he owed her. and for which she ordered a I and endeavourinff to escape out of the kingdom. For a I time preceding the coming of the Armada, his imprisonment I had been relaxed through a bribe of his countess to the lieutenant of the Tower. It was, however, suspected that I Elizabeth was perfectly cognisant of this connivance, and that the increased liberty was intended as a trap, for he was allowed to go into the coll of an imprisoned catholic priest, where he heard mass, and occasionally met two others of tbe same faith, Gerard and Shelley. He was now examined on the charge of having prayed for the success of the invaders; and every endeavour was used to induce Bennet, Gerard, and Shelley to give evidence against him. Though much force and menace were used, the result was not successful ; yet he was condemned to die. He requested, before his death, to be permitted to see bis wife and child, but was not permitted. He was not, however, executed, but allowed to live till 1595, with the expectation that every day or hour his sentence might be put in force. He then died, as it was supposed, of poison — a mode of getting rid of him, after ten years' confinement, which many imagined was employed because Elizabeth had executed his father, Tilbniy Fott, on ths Thames. • sale of his effects. Besides, the youthful Robert Devereaux, the earl of Essex, was fast seizing on the matronly queen's still youthful imagination, and greatly curtallei' the period of her bereavement. The first use which Elizabeth made of her victory was to take vengeance on the catholics — not because they had done anything disloyal, but because they were catholics, and of the same religion as the detested Spaniards. All their demonstrations of devotion to the cause of their coimtry and their queen during the attempted invasion went for nothing. A commission was appointed to try the catholics already in prison ; and six priests, three laymen, and a lady of the name of Ward, for having harboured priests, four other laymen, for having been reconciled to the catholic church, and fifteen persons, all charged with being connected with them, in all thirty individuals, were, within three months, condemned as traitors, and executed with all the cmbowelling and other atrocities attending that sentence. Their only crime was the practice of their religion, or succouring their clergymen. The queen's attention was next turned to a victim who bad long been suffering her severity as a prisoner. This was the earl of Arundel, who, after enjoying Elizabeth's favour, and leading a gay life at court, was imprisoned in 1588 for having turned catholic, and shrank from the odium of executing the son also, with- out some more clearly-established cause. The rancour with which, for some unknown offence, Elizabeth pursued this nobleman, she transferred after his death to his wife, who was not allowed, during the queen's life, to enter London, except for medical advice ; and if the queen camo to town during such a visit, lady Arundel 'eceived orders to quit London immediately. The rage of persecution which now distinguished the queen, continued the greater part of her life; old age alone appearing to abate her virulence as it dimmed her faculties and subdued her spirits. Sixty -one catholic clergymen, forty-seven laymen, and two ladies suffered death for their religion under this paragon of a queen. The fines for recusancy were levied with the utmost rigour, twenty pounds per lunar month being the legal sum, so that many gentle- men were fleeced of their entire income. Besides this, they were liable to a year's imprisonment and a fine of one hundred marks every time they heard mass. The searches for concealed priests were carried on with great avidity, because it gave occasion for plunder, and on conviction of such concealment, forfeiture of the whole of their property, followed with ample gleaning to the informers. The poorer recusants were, for some time, imprisoned ; but the prisons becoming full, officers were sent through the country, visit- 1589.] NAVAL EXPEDITION AGAINST SPAIN. 539 ing all villages and remote places, and extorting what they been patronising Dun AntoDio, prior of Crato, au iilegiti- could. No condition can be conceived more desperate than that of the catholic population under Elizabeth. They appeared to have lost all the liberties and privileges of .subjects, and were liable, on one plea or another, to extor- tiou and imprisonment at will. As Elizabeth grew in years she more and more resembled her father, and persecuted the puritans as zealously as the catholics. In these refoi-mers, however, she found a sturdy class of men, who would not sit down so quietly with her oppressions as the catholics did. Hume blames the noncon- formists for not setting up separate congregations of their own ; but he forgot the twenty pounds a month, which would have been levied on every individual that could pay, and the imprisonmonts and harassing of others. Where, | however, the nonconformists could not preach, they printed. Books and pamphlets flew in all directions ; and there was ' Bet up a sort of ambulatory press, which was conveyed ] from place to place, till at length it was hunte;! down and ] destroyed netir Manchester. In 1590 Sir Richard ICnightley, Hooles, of Coventry, and Wigmore and his wife, of War- wick, were fined, in the Star Chamber, as promulgators of a book called 'Martin Marprelate," the first, £2,000, the second 1,000 marks, the third 500, the fourth 100, and to be imprisoned during the queen's pleasure. In 1591 Udal, a nonconformist minister, was condemned to death for publishing a book called " A Demonstration of Discipline," but died in prison. Mr. Oartwright, fellow of Trinity College, Oambridge, for pointing out defects in the system of the charoh, was deprived of his fellowship, ex- pelled the university, and in 1591 was summoned before the ecclesiastical oommission with some of his friends, and committed to priuon because they would not answer interro- gatories on oath — a practice clearly contrary to law. In 1593 Barrow, Greenwood, and Penry, Independent ministers, or Brownists, were put to death for writings said to reflect on the queen. In fact, the whole of the reign of Elizabeth, with the exception of her few last years, when she was failing, and the fear of the presbyterian king of Scotland as her successor, began to awe the persecuting magistrates and officers, was a scene of such intolerance and oppression of her subjects, as gives ns strange ideas of this royal champion of protestantism. As we shall have occasion, however, to notice these matters in our review of the century, we here pass on to other topics. In the spring of 1589 parliament and convocation assembled, and Elizabeth laid before them a statement of the heavy expenses incurred in beating off the Spaniards. She had already levied a forced loan, to which the recusants had been made to contribute heavily, and she now received most liberal grants from both parliament and convocation. Having given this freely, the house of commons prayed the queen to send out a strong force and take vengeance on the Spaniards for their attack on this country. Elizabeth was perfectly agreeable that they should punish Philip to their hearts' content, but not out of the supplies they had mate branch of the royal family of Portugal. This pre- tender was now sent out in this fleet in royal state, and the expedition was directed to land in Portugal, and call on the people to throw off the Spanish yoke, and rcstcire their government under a native, and, as Elizabeth boldly a.-.serted, legitimate prince. If the Portuguese would not receive Don Antonio, the fleet was then to scour the roads of .Spain, and inflict on the territory of Philip nil the damage possible. The fascination of this expedition under so renowned a commander as Drake, seized on the youthful fancy of a young noble, who had now succeeded to the post of Lei- cester as Elizabeth's princo favourite — the carl of Essex. This was the son of the countess of Essex whom Leicester had seduced, and, after poisoning her husband, married. Leicester introduced the young earl to Elizabeth, who, for a time, hated him on account of his mother, who had committed the great sin in Elizabeth's eyes — not of being accessory to her husband's murder, but of marrying her favourite. However, some time before Leicester's death, the graces and lively disposition of the young carl had made a desperate impression on her capacious heart or head, and she lavished blandishments on the handsome boy in public, even in the face of the camp at Tilbury, which must have been eminently ludicrous. After Leicester's death he became installed as the chief favourite, and she could scarcely bear him out of her sight. Her consternation was great when she found that he had slily eloped, and had set off after the fleet bound for Spain. She immediately des- patched the earl of Huntingdon to stop him and bring him back; but though the fleet had weighed anchor, Essex, who had glory or plunder before him, and debts to the amount of twenty thousand pounds, and the caresses of a nauseous and nauseating " old woman," as he invariably called her, behind him, had got off after the royal fleet in a ship of war, that, luckily, bad lingered for some cause behind. Huntingdon, finding the bird had flown, sent a copy of his instructions to the commander of the fleet to hasten the truant back— an order to which Drake or the young man appears to have paid no attention. Drake made first for Cornnna, where he seized a number of merchantmen and ships of war, made himself master of the suburbs or marine part of the town, with great stores of oil and wine, but failed to take the town itself, though he succeeded in making a breach in the wall, at tlie cost of many lives. Norris, meantime, attacked the forces of the conde d'Andrada, posted at the Puente de Burgos, and drove them before him for some miles ; but sickness, and the old complaint in Elizabeth's fleets— shortness of powder —compelled them to embark again. Drake and Norris, as famous for their bulletins as Napoleon in our day, wrote home that they h.ad killed a thousand of the enemy, with the loss of only three men ! but lord Talbot, writing at tho same time to his father, said that they bad lost a great number of men, quite as many as the Spaniards. Fic;a Corunna they coasted to Peniche, about thirty miles north granted. She said there were great demands on her ex- * of Lisbon. At Peniche the young earl of Essex, who kept chequer ; that she could only furnish ships and soldiers, i out at sea till the commanders could say in their despatches and they must pay the cost. The proposal of retaliation | that they had heard nothing of him, was the first to spring was so much to the taste of the public that an association ! on shore, and showed great gallantry. They quickly took was formed under the auspices of Drake and Norris, and ' the castle, and the fleet then proceeded along the shore to tho very soon they had a fleet of a hundred sail at Plymouth, ' Tagus, whilst the army marched by land to Lisbon through carrying twenty-one thousand men. Elizabeth had long Torres Tedras and St. Sebastian. sto CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [ad. 1589. The earrison in Lisbon was but weak, and Essex knocked at the gates, and summoned the commander to surrender ; but the Spaniards had taken the precaution to lay waste the neighbourhood and destroy all the provisions, or carry them into the city, so that famine, fever, and want of powder soon compelled the English to retire. They found ■ that their pretender, Don Antonio, was everywhere treated | men, spite of their brags, they had lost one half. Out of the eleven hundred gentlemen who accompanied the expe- dition one third had perished. Elizabeth secretly gruntbled at the expense and loss, but publicly boasted of the chastise- ment she had given to Philip. Essex, on his return, fnund his post of favourite occupied by two gay cavaliers. Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Charles Destruction of the Spanish Armada. (See page 633.) tf a pretender — not a man would own him ; and they marched to Cascaes, which they found already plundered by Drake and his squadron. They there embarked for England, but were soon dispersed by a storm, and reached Plymouth in straggling disorder, one of the sections of the fleet having, before leaving Spain, plundered the town of Vigo. It was found that out of their twenty-one thousand Blount. Sir Walter was a gentleman of Devonshire, who, besides his handsome person and courtly address, had really much to recommend him, had already, as we have seen, distinguished himself under lord Gray in Ireland, and since in the attack on tlie Armada. Though with all his talent, which we shall notice in another place, and the smallest of which gifts was not that of flattery, Sir Walter united an A.D. 1591.] Rn'ALRY BETWEEN ESSEX AND THE CECILS. 541 ambition by no means scrupulous, he never took that rank [ in the queen's favour which made him a dangerous rival to a youth of Essex's gay and passionate character. He was soon dismissed to look after his fourteen thousand ■' acres in the south of Ireland and Sir Charles Blount, who ■was the second son of lord Mountjoy, and a student of the Inner Temple, was not much longer his antagonist. Their 1 matual jealousy occasioned them to fight a duel, in which Essex was wounded in the thigh , and Elizabeth, highly flattered by two such knights fighting the quarrel of her Salisbury. The queen, who never would appear to fijrgive and do justice to Davison, secretly favoured Burleigh's son, and not to refuse Esses, conferred the office on Burleigh himself, at the same time letting him know that he could give his son the post in effect by employing him in it as bis deputy. Esses was very violent on the occasion, and 1 heaped liberal abuse on " the old fox," as ho styled Bur- j leigh, which that cold-blooded minister remembered to his cost. Essex was impatient to get once more from court, and aff'airs in France opened a way for him. Sir Walter Kaleigh. Fiom (lie original Picture. ueauty — for she still thought herself h.andsome— made them shake hanls, and they soon after became great companions. In a short time Esses married the widow of Sir Philip Sidney, the daughter of Walsingham, which gave great offence to his royal mistress, who never could endure that her favourites should show preference to another ; but she soon appeared to forget it, and grew more absurdly fond of Esses than ever. In 1591 he endeavoured to get justice [ for the unfortunate secretary, Davison. Walsingham died on the 6 th of April of that year, and Esses strongly recom- mended him as his successor , but Burleigh had long calcu- lated on the office for his son Rjbert, afterwards earl of The feud betwixt Henry III. and the duke of Guise, tho head of the ultra-catholic party, continued to rage more and more violently. To cope with his domestic enemies, Henry gathered by degrees a considerable number of troops into Paris ; but the Guise party, detecting the object, soon roused the populace to resistance, who rose on the 22nd of September, cut off the communication betwixt the different quarters of the soldiers by barricading the streets, and placed the duke of Guise in possession of the capital. To rid himself of so troublesome a subject, the king summoned an assembly of the states in November at Blois. There his partizans despatched the duke of Guise on his way ti 512 CASSELL-S ILLrSTBATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1593. the rovaJ charabor and the next day execii(''d the sanie royal Tonj^iuice on hU brother the cardinal and threw the cardinaJ of lJ-'ur>«on and the other chiefs of the party into prison. Uenrt thought bo had now triumphed by death and the Jungi'on OTor the tmubleeome faclionisCs whom he could by no other means coniroi. but be was deceived. The populacs roAC at the news in Paris, demanding ren- geance for the murdered noblemen, whom they pronounced the martyrs of the popular cau.«e. The third brother of Guise, the duke of Mayence, who was af Lyons, obeying the call of the infuriated multitude, hastened to Paris, assumed the command under the title of goveraor, aad maintained the city against the IdDg. Henry had not the vigour to foUoir up the blow he bad given. Ho allowed the insurgents time to fortify and strengthen themselves every way . and finding himself unable to cope with them, made common cause with the king of Xavarre, and their united forces invested the capital. Within the city the most furious spirit raj;cd against the king. The doctrine of deposing and punishing sovereigns wa; then coming into fashion ; it had been openly declared in Scotland, taken up by Goodman and Languet, and was now adopted by the university, the preachers, and the parliament of Paris. It was declared that Henry, by his crimes, had forfeited his crown ; that he was a murderer and an .ipostate ; and that the highest act of patriotism aad religion was to free the country of such a wretch. It was not long before a fanatic was found t<} put in practice this levelling principle. This was a young Dominican friar of the name of Jaques Clement. On pretence of a message from the president of the parliament, and by means of a forged letter in his name, he obtained access to the king, and stabbed him. At the outcry of the king the attendants rushing in, despatched the murderer, but by that means prevented any discovery of his accomplices or instigators. On the death of the king, Henry of >favarre, a lineal descendant of St. Louis, by his youngest son Robert, count of Clermont, assumed the cro\vn as Henry IV. But Henry's known protestantism placed hira in extreme difficulty, even with those who had hitherto supported himself or the late king. The catholic followers of that monarch insisted that he should sign an engagement to maintain the catholic worship, and that to the exclusion of every other, except in the places in which the protestant form was already established. They bound Henry to hunt out and punish the murderers of the late king ; to give no offices in the state, in cities or corpor- ations, except to catholics ; and to permit the nobles of the catholic league to defend to the pope their proceedings. But by conceding these conditions, he mortally offended the protestants, who had hitherto faithfully adhered to him, and who refused any longer to fight under the banners of a prince who had thus, as they deemed it, abandoned their cause. Nine regiments deserted his standard, whilst a regiment of catliolics on the other side, not sufficiently sati>'fied with the concessions thus dearly purchased, also marched out of his camp. Such wiis the extent of the disaffection, that instead of being able to take Paris, he was compelled to raise the siege and retreat into Normandy. Thither the duke of Mayence and his fanatic rabble hotly pursued him, but Henry encamping his little army, which did not amount to a fourth of the enemy, on an advantageous slope oppo.-site to the castle and village of Arques, a few miles from Dieppe, defeated his v^sailants with great slaughter. The battle was fought on the 21st of September, and the spot is now marked by a lofty column. On die heels of this victory came a most timely aid from Elizabeth of England, of twenty thousand pounds in gold and four thouund troops under Lord Willoughby. Henry now retraced his steps to Paris, where he made himself master of the suburbs on the left bank of the Seine, and continued to act on the offensive during the remainder of the year. At the commencement of 1591 the English army was dismissed, having suffered great losses, and displayed great bravery. But they only returned home for Henry to solicit fresh as.sistance -, the Spaniards and the duke of Mercoeur put in claims for the province of Brittany, and united their forces CO obtain it. Elizabeth, who profcjsed to desire the pro- testant ascendancy in France, yet sorely rued the expense of supporting that interest, and her old and cunning minister, Burleigh, threw his weight into the scale of par- simony, because he delighted to see France depressed. But now that the hated Spaniards had actually landed in that country over against her very coasts, she was roused to do something. She advanced a fresh loan and sent oyer a small reinforcement of three thousand men. Essex was impatient to have the command of this force, but the queen, listening to BurleigJi, gave it to Sir John Norris, and Essex quitted the coprt in a pet. Fresh forces were, how- ever, solicited, and Essex, to his great delight, received the appointment. In August he hindcd at Dieppe, and finding Henry engaged in the distant Champagne, he pitched his camp .at Arqoes, near the scene of Henry's triumph, and remained there for two months doing nothing but knighting his officers to keep tliem contented. His whole force con- sisted only of three hundred horse, three hundred gentle- men volunteers, and three thousand infantry. On the king's arrival the siege of Souen was begun, where the English army suffered terrible hardships, and in the spring of 1592, the siege having been raised on the approach of the prince of Parma, Essex left his troops with Sir Rnger Williams, having lost his brother, Walter Devereaux, in the campaign. This unsatisfactory state of things in France continued till the midsummer of 1593. Henry was continually de- manding fresh aid, fresh advances of money, fresh troops, which he did not employ, as was stipulated with Elizabeth, solely ag-ainst the Spaniards, but against his rebellious catholic subjects. Elizabfth was greatly enraged at bis breach of faith, but still found it impos.sible to refuse him, lest the Spaniards should get the upper hand, and Henry, calculating on this, vrent on doing with her troops just what he plcwed. Elizabeth was greatly disconcerted, and went into the worst of tempers on this account, and for this cause not only dealt sharp words, but heavy blows about her on her attendants. But worst of all came the n"ws that Henry IV. was about to embrace the catho- lic faith. The fact w^is ho saw that it was impossible otherwise to maintain himself on the thwne. She s-nt off a strong remonstrance composed by Burleigh, but before it arrived the deed wa-s done, nor is it to be supposed that its arrival would have prevented it, Elizabeth's limited aid could not enable him to overcome the tre- mendous opposition arrayed against him. On the 15th of July, 1593, Henry publicly abjured the prute8t«ot A.D. i5o:i.] PLOT TO POISON QUEEN ELIZABETH. oJ3 and embraced, if not the catholic faith, the profession of it. On hearing that this was done, Elizabeth burst into one of her violent passions, and heaped on her old ally her choicest terras of abuse. She wrote to him after fjur months had somewhat abated her fury, but still in a strain of high remonstrance : — "Ah, what grief! ah, what regret! ah, what pangs have seized my heart, at the news which Morlant has communicated ' My God ! is it possible that any worldly consideration could render you regardless of the divine displeasure ? Can we reason- ably expect any good result can foUow such an iniquity ? How could you imagine that He whose hand has sup- ported and upheld your cause so long, would fail you at your need ? It is a perilous thing to do ill that good may come of it. Nevertheless, I yet hope that your better feelings may return, and in the meantime I promise to give you the first place in my prayers. Esau's hands may not defile the blessing of .Jacob," &c. This would have been glorious language in the British queen had she not done the very same thing from state necessity, not only during the reign of her sister Mary, but for six weeks of the commencement of her own. She was so troubled in mind, however, by this untoward occurrence, that she is said to have fallen into very low spirits, and entered on a course of theological studies to regain her peace of mind, studying the fathers, consulting the archbishop of Canterbury, and finally reading Boethius's "Consolations of Philosophy," of which she translated the first five books. It would have been a result worthy of such studies if she had really obtained a true idea of the benign and liberal spirit of Christianity, and ceased her persecu- tions of opinion. These persecutions, which in both England and Ireland had been continued against the catholics, kept up a ran- corous spirit against her; both at home and abroad. In foreign countries it was represented that she had murdered Mary of Scotland because she was the heir to her throne, and the sufferings of the persecuted were diligently dissemi- nated, with prints of their barbarous deaths. It is no wonder, therefore, that there were fanatics found ready to assassinate her, as there were to perpetrate the same crime on Henry IV. of France and Philip of Spain. The archives of Simancas retain proofs of these designs against Philip, the most catholic of monarchs, and one of the most terrible persecutors of the protestants. Elizabeth, in a letter to Henry IV., congratulated him on his escape from the young madman Chalet, but hinted that poison would probably be the next means resorted to. Little did she dream that she was in imminent danger from this secret agent herself about the same time. Walsingham, the grand detective of the English govern- ment, was dead ; and Burleigh, who now in his age saw younger men usurping the queen's favour, took up his deceased colleague's particular function of maintaining spies and poisoners, on the principle of set a rogue to catch a rogue. As there was a constant rivalry betwixt Essex and the Cecils, whom he cordially detested, he also gave himself great trouble to discover any attempts of a traitorous kind. Burleigh, old, sly, and unprincipled, was generally in the advance of Essex, and when the latter brought forward some discovery, he was mortified to find it perfectly well known to Burleigh and the queen. At length, however, fortune favoured him. Antonio Perez, the favourite secretary of Philip, had lost the favour of his master, and was a refugee in England. From such a man it was obvious that immense discoveries might be drawn by the application of the usual means, but Elizabeth took it into her head to treat him not as a useful tool, but as a traitor, with whom she wou'd have nothing to do. Bur- leigh, instead of using his accustomed acumen, and engaging Perez privately, imitated his royal mistress, and treated him with neglect. It was a grand political blunder, and Essex instantly availed himself of it. He took Perez into his pay and patronage, and soon learned from him that Roderigo Lopez, a Jew physician, who had acquired such hold on Elizabeth, that though a prisoner at the time of the Armada, she had ever since retained him in her service, was actually in the pay of Philip, as a spy and something worse. On hearing such a charge from Essex, Elizabeth at first refused to believe, and, no doubt, was confirmed in that feeling by the Cecils. But the importunity of Essex prevailed to have a commission of inquiry opened, in which the Cecils were conjoined with him. With such associates Essex might have calculated that he would fail, and he did so. They proceeded to the house of Lopez, searched it for papers, and cross-questioned him, but made out nothing corroborative of the charge. The Cecils triumphantly reported that there was no ground for suspecting Lopez, and Elizabeth sharply reprimanded Esses for bringing so iniquitous a charge against an honourable and innocent man, who, by the bye, had presented her with a rich jewel which Ibarra, the governor of the Netherlands, had sent to him as a bribe. She called Essex a rash, temerarious youth, and the petulant youth quitted her presence in high dudgeon, shut himself up in his house, and refused to come back at her repeated solicitations, till she had by much soothing and coaxing appeased his ofi'ended dignity. Meantime, however, stimulated by this conduct of the queen, and his hatred of the Cecils, he was pursuing the inquiry against Lopez, and soon came upon a real secret. Two followers of Don Antonio Perez, named Louis and Ferreira, swore to the treasonable practices of Lopez. Ferreira made oath that, at the instigation of Lopez, he had written to Ibarra, the Spanish governor, and Fuentes, the commander-in-chief, in the Netherlands, ofl'ering to poison Elizabeth for a reward of fifty thousand crowns ; and Louis declared that he had been sent out to see that the scheme was executed. Whether this was a charge drawn from these parties by the rack in the Tower, or the real truth, it succeeded in convincing Elizabeth, who exclaimed that Providence alone had preserved her. Lopez admitted that he had carried on a secret correspondence with the Spanish court, but stoutly denied any intention of injuring the person of the queen. All three were found guilty, but Ferreira was saved by the influence of Essex, who afterwards took him with him to Cadiz. Lopez and Louis were executed on the 7th of June, 1593. The most important discovery resulting from the inquiry, was that of letters revealing a plot to burn the English fleet. Elizabeth, after getting over her resentment against Henry IV. on account of his lapse to Catholicism, found it convenient to m-ake a league offensive and defensive with him against Philip. The consequence was that the Spaniards speedily poured into France from the Nether- lands. Velasco, the constable of Castille, penetrated into Stl 0AS3ELL-3 ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1596. Cbampagoe, and directed his attack agaiost Franche- Cumtc. Fucntes marched into PicarJy, defeated Ilenry's armr. took Uourlcns and Cambr.iy, and threw the king of France into the greatest alarm. In vain he sent to demand aid of Elizabeth : she bad beard of preparations in tb« Spanish ports for a second invasion of ber kingdom ; and so far from aiding Henry, she withdrew her troops from Bsittany, complaining dreadfully of all the money and nea which she had foolishly wasted on the apostate monarch of France. In Miroli, 1590, the archduke Albert, who had become governor of the Netherlands, suddenly marched on Calais, pretending that his object was to raise the siege of La Fere. By this ruse he was already under the walls of Calais with fifteen thousand men. The outstanding forts were soon won, and as Elizabeth was one Sunday at church at Greenwich, the distant report of the archduke's cannonade on the walls of Calais was plainly heard. Elizabeth sprung up in the midst of the service, and vowed that she would rescue that ancient town. She sent off post-haste to order the lord mayor of London to immediately impress a thousand men, and send them on to Calais -, but the fit of enthusiasm was soon over, and the nest morning she countermanded the order. When Henry's ambassadors urged her for assistance, she coolly proffered it on condition that she should garrison Calais with an English army. When the proposal was made to Henry, he was so incensed that he actually turned his back on her ambassador. Sir Robert Sidney, saying he would rather receive a bos on the ear from a man than a fillip from a woman. In a few days — namely, on the 1 1th of April — the town ^vas carried by storm, and Elizabeth had the mortification of seeing the Spaniards in possession of a port so calculated to enable them to invade England. Henry, on his part, was execs- 8ively enraged at her duplicity and selfishness, and spoke in no sparing terms of her. Nevertheless, his necessities soon compelled him to lower his tone, and even to condescend to flatter her in the most outrageous manner. He well knew how fulsomely her courtiers incensed her vanity, and that no adulation, how- ever gross, was unacceptable to her, and he adopted this absurd extravagance to move her to his assistance, which was duly reported to her by Unton, her ambassador ; who was no doubt prevailed upon purposely to do it. " He asked me one day," wrote Unton, " what I thought of his mistress, the fair Gabrielle, and was so impatient for my opinion that he took me into a private comer of his bed-chamber, betwixt the bed and the wall. I answered very sparingly in her praise, and told him that if without offence I might speak it, I had a picture of a far more excellent mistress, and yet did her picture come far short of her perfection of beauty. 'As you love me,' said Henry, 'show it me, ifycm have it about you.' " Unton, after making some difficulty, showed him the portrait, on which he went into transports, as though he had never seen a portrait of her before, and as though she was not then in her sixty-third year. " Henry," Unton continues, " beheld it with passion and admiration ; saying, I had reason, Je me rends ; protesting that he had never seen the like. He Idssed it, took it from me, vowing that he would not forego it for any treasure ; and that to possess the favour of the original of that lovely picture, he would forsake all the world." They then began to talk of business : " But I found," continues the ambassador, " ttiat the dumb picture did draw out more speech and affection from him, than all my be:>t arguments and eUxjacDoe." Suoli was the effect of this most gross flattery that we soon find Elizabeth senduig her portrait as a pretended present to Henry's sister, and Henry capping his acting by seiiing it, and keeping it, which was dome at a hint from lord Sheffield ; and Henry crowned all by sending her word thai he felt sure she must have meant it fur him, aad could not find it in his heart to pxrt with it. The upshot of this amusing farce wjis, that two thousand troops were sent to garrisun Boulogne and Montreuil, and thus protect them from the Spaniards. The hostile prepanrtions in the ports of Spain at this tim* occupied all the attention of Elizabeth and her government, and the more so as daring the past years she had loet her two famous commanders, Drake and Hawkins. They had been sent out on one of their predatory expeditions against the Spanish settlements in Sooth America and the West Indies. Bui circumstances in these quarters had become greatly cbaagod. The colonies had acquired population and strength ; the former ravages of these commanders had put the people and the government on their guard. Wherever the English fleet appeared, it found the ports and coasts well guarded and defended. Their attacks were repulsed, and such was the deplorable failure of the expedition, and the contrast to their former profitable and spendid exploits, that both commanders sunk under their anxiety and mortification, and died. The surrivors only returned to experience the anger of the queen, who felt with equal sensibility the los8 of reputation and the accustomed booty. The lord Howard of Effingham, the brave high admiral who had ao successfully commanded the fleet against the Armada, recommended at this crisis Chat the British govern- ment should adopt the advice which he had given on the former occasion, to anticipate the intentions of Spain, and attack and destroy the menacing fleet ero it left the port. In this counsel he was ardently seconded by Essex ; who loved above all things an expedition of a bold ond romantic character, and the more so, because it was directly opposed to the cold and cautious policy of his enemies, the Cecils. He prevailed, and a fleet of one hundred and thirty sail was fitted out to carry over an am>y of fourteen thousand land forces. The fleet was confided to the command of lord Howard, the army to E»ex ; but to put some check on his fiery enthusiasm he was required to take the advice of a council of war on all great occasion*, con- sisting of the lord admiral, lord Thomas Howard, Sir Walter Raleinh, Sir Francis Vere, Sir George Carew, and Sir Coniers Clifford. Sir Walter Raleigh had been for some years in disgrace. He had seduced Elizabeth Throckmorton, one of the queen's maids of honour, and had been banished from the court, suspended from his commission of captain of the ro^al guard, and put into confinement in charge of Sir George Carew. In this eclipse he had sought by oot- Heroding all the rest of the courtiers in their preposterous and barefaced flattery of the queen, to recover his position. Seeing Elizabeth pass on one occasion in ber barge on the Thames, he affected to become frantic, and endeavtmred to force his way out to approach the adorable queen of sixty- three. Whilst attempting to restrain him, he pulled off Sir George Carew's new wig, and they drew their 1596.] THE SURRENDER OF CADIZ. 515 daggers, and were with difficulty parted. On another oecasioa he heard that the queen was setting out on one of her favourite progresses, and he broke out in loud lamenta- tions mixed with praises of the old laiy in this style: — "llow can I live alone in prison whilst yhe is far off ? I who wa« wont to behold her rldii^g like Alexander, hunting like Diana, walking like Venus, the gentle wind blowing her fair hair about her pure cheeks like a nymph, sometimes sitting in the shade like a goddess, sometimes singing like an arjgel, sometimes playing like Orpheus. But one amiss hath bereaved mo of all i All tho<(e past times, the loves, the sighs, the sorrows, the desires, can they not weigh down one frail misfortune ? Cannot one drop of gall be hidden under such heaps of sweetness ? ' But this wild anil Impudent syophancy was so much the staple of the court address, that it failed to soften the obdurate royal Venus and female Orpheus, and well had it been fur Esses, had Raleigh not at length been allowed to accompany the expedition. The Cecils secretly opposed the enterprise, and threw the queen into a very undeter- mined state of mind, a state into which she fell on the eve of almost all serious undertakings. At length consenting to the sailing of the fleet she composed two prayers, one to be daily used in the fleet during the expedition, the other for herself. The letter for the fleet was sent to Essex by Sir Robert Cecil, who took the opportunity of adding this piece of almost blasphemous flattery, making himself sure that from Essex it would soon reach the queen : — " No prayer is so fruitful as that which proceedeth from those who nearest in nature and power approach the Almighty. None so near approach his place and essence, as a celes- tial mind in a princely body. Put forth, therefore, my lord, with comfort and confidence, having your sails filled with her heavenly breath for your forewind." On the 1st of June the fleet issued from Plymouth water, and being joined by twenty-two ships from Holland, it amounted to a hundred and fifty sail, carrying fourteen thousand men. On the 20th the fleet cast anchor at the mouth of the harbour of Cadiz, and there discovered fifteen men-of- war, and about forty merchantmen. The next morning a fierce battle took place which lasted from seven in the morning till one o'clock at noon. The English sailed right into the harbour, spite of the fire from the ships .and the forts, and the Spaniards finding the contest going against them, attempted to run their vessels ashore and burn them. The galleons got out to sea, the merchantmen, having reached Puerto Real, discharged their cargo, and were burnt by order of tine duke of Medina. Two large ships with an argosy were taken, and much booty fell to the captors. The carl of Essex displayed the utmost gallantry. Instead of remaining with the army, he went on board and fought in the thick of the danger. The sea-fight over he landed three thousand men and marched upon Cadiz. A body of horse and foot was posted to oppose his progress, but fled at liis appro.ach ; and finding that the inhabitants in their terror had closed the gates, they made their way over a ruinous wall, and the English without delay followed thera. Spite of the fire kept up from the tops of the houses, Essex led his men to the market-place, where they were speedily joined by the lord admiral, who had found his way through a portal. The city capitulated, paying 1 20,000 crowns for the lives of the people, the town and all its wealth being abandoned to the plunder of the troops. Through the whole of the conquest Essex was the real hero. He not only led the way regardless of danger, but when the place was won, whilst others were engrossed only by the accumulation of booty, he was busy exerting himself to check the cruelties of the invaders — to save the lives and the honour of the inhabitants. Ho succeeded so well that never was a city tiiken with so little insult or injury to the people. The soldiers were restrained from shjdding blood wantonly — from treatinir the women with contumely; and so far was the moderation of the conquerors carried, that about three thousand men were sent away to the fort of St. Mary under guard, ijeing permitted to carry with them all their jewels and apparel. The conduct of Essex in all this drew applause from th" very enemy, the king and the iufanta, his daughter, joining in it. Essex proposed to strike a great blow whilst the panic of their victory paralysed the country. Ue recommended that they should march into the heart of Andalusia; and such was the destitution of disciplined troops from the great drain which the wars of France and the Netherlands had occasioned, such the discontent of the nobles and the disaffection of the Moriscoes, that much mischief might have been done before they could have been successfully opposed. The plan, however, was resisted by the other commanders, and Essex then offered to remain in the Isle de Leon with four thousand men, and defend it against the whole force of the enemy. But the other leaders would hear of nothing but hastening home. They had laid the town in ruins, with the exception of two or three churches; they had nearly annihilated the fleet, had collected a vast booty, .and inflicted on the Spaniards a loss of twenty million ducats. The conquerors returned home, having dealt the severest blow on Spain that it had received for generations. They had r.aised the prestige of the English arras, amply avenged the attempt at the inT.osion of their country, and sunk the reputation of Spain in no ordinary degree. Foreigners regarded the exploit with wonder, and the people raised thunders of acclamations as the victorious vessels sailed into port. But the gallant and magnnnimous deeds of Essex had been gall and wormwood to the Cecils, and they had neglected no rae:in8 of injuring him in his absence. Essex had succeeded ever since the death of Walsingham — that is, for six years — in preventing the dearest wish of Burleigh's heart, to see his son. Sir Robert, established in his post. Whilst Essex was away he carried this point with the queen; and the courtiers, now auguring the ascendancy of the Cecils, united in defapiing Essex to win favour with them. They talked freely of the vain-glory, rashness, extravagance, and dissipations of Essex. They represented the fall of Cadiz as entirely owing to the nava.' victory, which they ascribed to Raleigh ; and we are sorry to s.ay that Raleigh, who had beheld with envy the heroism and generousniagnanimity of Essex, was only too ready to join in the base design. Raleigh was not always as liberal of his encomiums iinhis cotemporaries as he was on the queen; and even towards her his language was very different the moment she was dead. Then, in his mouth she was everything that was old, ugly, me.an, avaricious, hcadstron^r, and unjust. In Osborne and Sir Lewis Stukely may be seen the language which he used towards Elizabeth after her death. " However," he said, " she seemed a great and good mistress to him in the eyes of the world, yet she was 510 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTOET OP EVGLAND. [a.d. 1590. trrannical enough to lay many of her oppressions on him, be^ilfs seizing the best part of everything he took at sea for herself," ic, 4c. Such is the hollowness of court ByC''>phants. On this occasion, though Raleigh had done bravely in his ship, the Warspite — for, with all his faults, he was no coward — yet his jealousy led him to oppose the plan of Esses for attacking the merchant fleet ; and whilst they wore wrangling, the duke of Medina got them unladen and burnt. Esses, who ought to have been received by the queen as one of the most brilliant and successful generals that she ever had— by the arts of the Cecils and their partisans, was thus met, not only by cddness, but severity. Elizabeth told him that he had been doing his own pleasure, nnd she would now take care that he should do hers. Xo time ^ for him, there came the news that the Spanish treasures from the Xew World had just arrived safely in port with twenty millions of dollars. This put the climas to Eliiabeth's ' exasperation ; and Esses, who, since his return from the espedition, as if to take away every ground for the censure of the courtier.', had assumed a totally new character, and was no longer the gay and ple.asure-seeking young noble- man, but the grave and religious man ; who lived at home with his countess, attended her to church, and exhibited the most pious demeanour ; who. instead of his haughty and irritable temper, bad displayed the utmost patience and forbearance under the galling examination of the ! council, now broke out at once with the declaration that he had done everything in his power to persuide his col- leagues to permit him to sail to Tercera to intercept this Essex House, in the Strand. From Hollar's Vi- w of L-ndon. was lost by the Cecils in letting her know that though the fleet had come home almost sinking with treasure, nothing was left to her share but to bear the cost of the espedition. Then the fierce ire of the Tudor Mazed out. Avarice was one of hc-r most besetting sins, as it had been that of her father and grandfather. She summoned Esses and the lord- admiral before her ; and refusing even to Esses any oppor- tunity of private explanation, she made them account to the privy council for their conduct, and assured them that, as they had allowed the booty to be divided without reserv- ing a fund for the payment of the soldiers and sailors, they might pay them themselves, for she would not ; that the expedition had cost her fifty thousand pounds, and she ' looked to them, who knew where the booty was gone, to refund it. Day after day she subjected Essex to the scrutiny and croBS-questioiuDg of bis enemies in the council, till, luckily very fleet ; that the creatures of the Cecils had opposed bcoj resolutely, defeated the enterprise, and robbed the queen of this princely treasure. Instantly the whole current of Elizabeth's feelings under- went a ch.inge. The anger which bad been directed towards Essex was launched at Burleigh, and Esses stood restored to bis wonted favour. With the favour of the queeU; back rolled the tide of courtier sycophancy towards Esses ; and such was the feeling eshibited, that even " the old fos,'' Burleigh himself, thought it safest to take part with Esses. When Elizabeth, having lost this great treasure in imagina. tion, demanded that the hundred and twenty thousand pounds paid by the people of Cadiz for their ransom should be made over to her as her right, Burleigh decided that it belonged to Esses as the captor of the city. We may regard so gross a political blunder as this a clear proof that the "old fox's " cunning was failing him : for, as it was certain to A.D. 1596.] COURT BROILS. 517 do, it roused all the queen's choler. who poured on her ancient minister the flaming epithets of 'miscreant and coward- more afraid of Essex than herself." The con- founded Burleigh retired from her presence in great con- fusion and distress, and wrote a pitiful letter to Essex, saying that, having had the misfortune to incur his dis- pleasure as well as that of her majesty, he was worse off than those who sought to avoid Scylla and fell into Elizabeth soon gave a proof that she did not place much confidence in the diplomatic talents of Essex. The warden- ship of the Cinque Ports became vacant, and though Es.=es strove hard for it, she gave it to his competitor, lord Cob- ham ; whereupon Essex, in his usual way. huffed, left the court in a pet, and had to be coaxed back again by the post of master of the ordnance. That, however, did not satisfy him. He still insisted on the place of secretar? of Henry of Navarre (afterwards Henry IV. of France). From an old Engraving of thai period. Cbarybdis, for he had fallen into both. He talked of " obtaining leave to live as an anchorite, as fitted for his age, his infirmities, and his declining influence at ctiurt." But his decline was rather before his own son than Essex, for the queen put little faith in Essex's political caution and judgment ; for these she looked to Sir Robert Cecil, who had all his father's cool, ."elfish caution, with the vigour of youth which had departed from his father. state, which Sir Robert Cecil held in name of his father-, and when it was refused him, insisted that it shotdd be given to Sir Thomas Bodley. the founder of the Bodleian library, at Oxford. But Elizabeth was not to be turned from conferring it on Cecil. Essex, with all his prctencea to piety and reformation, could not help faUing mto his old gallantries. There was a Mrs. Bridges, the most beautiful of the queen's maids of honour, with whom he was soon 646 CASSBLI/S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [A..0. 15a7. convicted of cu-rrin^ on an intrigue, in which they were Moouraged br u Mre. Ru.'tseU. On its coming to Elizabeth's ears, the sent for tlie huiy culprits, and not only sculdc J tliem soundly, but admimstcred asuond beating with herown royal banlv, and dismissed them They were nbliged to seek an asylam for three ni;;ht8 at lady Stafford's, whence, on bumbling themselves and promising reformation, tbc-y were received back again. There needed some public cxcitemeot to put an end to these ridiculous scenes at court, and that soon came in the ambition and revenge of Philip of Spain. The late capture of Cadiz and destruction of his fleet at once mortified and roused him. He burned for retaliation, and in this be was encouraged by the active catholic party, which had made use of Mary queen ol Scots so long as she lived, and now found in Philip the likeliest instruments of their plans. The leading members of this party were Par.-oua the Jesuit, Dr. — now carJinal— Allen, the Jesuits Cress well and Holt, Owen and Fitzpatrick, Sir f^ancis Englefield and Sir Francis Stanley. There could not be • more zealous champion of their religion than Philip, and they formed a scheme for placing him or bis line on the throne of England. Philip had, in his struggles \Tith Henry IV., indulged the hope, if he succeeded in conquering him, of placing his daughter, the infanta Clara Eugenia, on the throne of France, spite of the Salic law. That vision had departed ; but these zealous apostles of Catholicism per- suaded him that it would be no difficult matter to make her queen of the British isles. Elizabeth, by her hatred of the very idea of a successor, had, to a certain degree, favoured their views. The statute, forbidding any one, under pain of treason, ever speaking of it, tended to leave the question in ignorance and incertitude till the qneen's death, when a number of competitors might spring np. There was a feeling on the part of the catholics that Sir Robert Cecil had a design of marrying Arabella Stuart, and advocating her right to the crown. The Jesuits, to pre- vent this, wrote a treatise called, "A Conference about the next Succession to the Crown of England, had. in 1593. by fi. Doleman." This book was said to be the work of various hands, but revised and edited by Parsons. It denied the divine right of kings, declared that the succession to a crown must be decided by fitness, and by positive laws ; that a people can lawfully put down a sovereign for abuse of his power ; and that a false religion creates an insuperable bar to the throne. It then pointed out the claim of the Infanta as the descendant of John of Oaunt, the son of Edward III., who was of the true religion. It is curious that from such a source — from the most conservative of all churches, the catholic — should have come that doctrine which overturned the dynasty of the Stuarts — a race 8<5 attached to Catholicism — and became the foundation-stone of protestant ascendancy. This book was largely quoted and reprinted in the dispute with Charles I., was made great use of by Bradshaw, in his speech for tlie condemnation of Charles, and again furnished the material for most of the argnmenta used for the d^osition of James II. Philip determined to strike one more blow for the con- quest of England and the achievement of this groat object. He again prepared a fleet, and gave it into the command of the adelantado of Castile. It seems that the catholic party bad some hope that Eaaex might be induced to favour this scheme, which was probably strengthened by the aJmiratinn Essex had excited by bis conduct at Lisbon. Tiiey bad dedicated the book to him, and now sent a deputation to sound him. The petu'ance and occa- sional quarrels of Essex with the queen might induce a belief that he would be ready to oppose her; but they who cherbhcd this notion, could know little of his real character. It brought him under the resentment and eevere reprehen- sion of Elizabeth, who sent for him on the publication of the book, and was closeted with him for some hours ; and such had been the lecture which he received, that ho went away pale and flurried, and kept his bed for above a week. At the time, however, that it was deemed necessary to send out an expedition to Spain to hunt up the hostile fleet and destroy it as before, Essex stood undoubted in the queen's confidence, and she gave him the command of the fleet for this purpose, with lord Thomas Howard and Sir Walter Raleigh under him. This time there was no sub- jection to a council of war. On the 1 1th of July, 1597, the fleet set sail, after many delays, owing to the queen's parsi- mony, ts well OS to contrary winds, which were now sup- posed to change owing to the publication of a prayer com- posed by Elizabeth in her peculiar style, which rivals that I of Thomas Carlyle of our own day. It began tlius — ' God, olmaker, keeper and guider, inorement of thy rare- seen, unused, and seeld-heard-of goodness, poured in so plentiful sort upon us full oft, breeds nowthis boldness to crave thy large hand of helping power, to assist with wonder our jost cause, not founded on pride's motion, or begun on malice' stock." The effect of the royal prayer and the favourite's piety, however, was very transient, for the fleet had not sailed more than forty leagues when it was driven back by a tempest, which raged for four days. Essex him- self disdained to turn back, but, with his utter contempt of danger and dogged obstinacy, he, to use his own words, beat up his ship in the teeth of the storm, till it was actually fulling asunder, having a leak which obliged them to pump eight tons of water per Jay out of her ; her main and fore- mast cracked, and most of her beams broken and reft, besides the opening of all her seams. The gentlemen volunteers were so completely satisfied with sailing with such a man, that on reaching land at Falmouth they all stole away home. But Essex himself was as resolved as ever to prosecute the voyage, though the queen would ad- vance nothing more for refitting the fleet. He got as many of his ships into order as he could, and on the 1 7th of August was enabled to sail a;;ain, though the men by this time bad consumed most of their provisions. He made now, not for the coast of Spain, but the Azores, where they took Fayal, Graciosa, and Florcs — useless conquests, as they could not keep them, and which led to immediate quarrels, for Raleigh, with his indomitable ambition, took Fayal himself without orders, which Es.scx very properly deeming an honour stolen from him, resented greatly. He ordered several of the officers concerned to be arrested ; but when he waa advised to try Raleigh by a court-martial, he replied '• So I would had ho been one of my friends." Such \Ttte Essex's high feeling of honour, that he would not risk his proceedings against the offender being attributed to malice or pique. What was worse than this dispute, however, was tbit the Spanish treasure vessels returning from America, which Elizabeth had expressly ordered them to l.iy wait for. had escaped into Tercera, and they were obliged to return with A.D, 1508.] PEACE COyCLUDED BETWEEN FRAXCE AN'D SPAIN'. 549 tho capture of three Spanish ships and other plunder, valued at one hundred thous.anj pounds. - In the meantime the adelantado had sailed from Fcrrol and menaced the British coast. He contemplated seizing the Isle of Wight, or some town on the Cornish coast, which he might retain till the next spring, so as to favour the landing of the grand fleet, which was then to sail. Ess^-x was already returning, and approaching this Spanish fln ha'i laid a strict injunction upon him, in conversation, which was, that he should not give the command of the cavalry, as he wished, to his friend and the friend of Shakespeare, the carl f Southampton, with whom Eliznheth had the old cause of quarrel, that of presuming to marry without her consent. In March, 1599. Es.-ex marched out of London, surrounded by the flower of the young nobility, and followed by the acclamations and good wishes of the p'>pulac?, of whom he was the idol for bis military reputation and bis frank and generous disposition. No sooner did he arrive in Ireland than he set at defiance the orders of the queen, and placed Southampton at the head of the horse. Ellaabeth sent an angry command for his removal, and Esses reminded her of the terms of his commission, and wished to know whether she meant to revoke it. It was not till after a very warm correspondence, which on the part of the queen became most peremptory, that the headstrong Esses gave way. This was precisely the conduct that his enemies at home had, probably, foreseen, and certainly rejoiced in. Sir John Harrington w.»3 sent out by the queen with Esex pleaded on his knees, having his papers in his hat on the floor beside him. Thus he was kept for eleven hours, only being allowed, after a long period, to arise and stand, and as he grew fatigued in the latter part of the day, being permitted to lean against a cupboard. Sir Edward Cuke, Yelverton, Flemming, and Sir Francis Bacon were the crown lawyers employed against him. Bacon has been taxed with ingratitude for his suffering himself to appear against his benefactor. It is but justice to the great lawyer and still greater philosopher, to say that he had repeatedly endeavoured to soften Elizabeth and prevail upon her to forgive Essex, but finding that he was on the point of losing her favour by his zealous advocacy of his friend, he was not martyr enough to give his own fortune for his friendship. The result of this trial was that Essex was condemned to forfeit every office which he held by patent from the crown and to remain a prisoner at the royal pleasure. . Elizabeth trusted that now she had broken the proud spirit of the lord deputy, and that the sentence of the court would bring him humbly to sue for forgiveness. But the great failing of Essex was his high spirit, his indignant sense of wrong. ' and obstinate refusal to surrender his own will when ho ; felt himself right ; though there was no other way of appeasing the determined mind of his equally self-willed sovereign. But no such thing ; he only begged to be dis- missed, and that she " would let her servant depart in peace." He declared that all the pleasures and ambitions of the world had palled upon his mind ; that he saw j their vanity, and desired only to live in retirement with j his wife, his friends, and his books in the country. Had that been real, few men were better qualified, by their refined and elevated taste, and their love of literature, to have adorned such life ; but Essex, if he really longed for private and domestic life, did not know himself, for be was one of those restless and quick spirits of whom the poet said " quiet is a hell." However, on the SOth of August he was released from custody, but informed that he must not appear at court. Elizabetli now appointed lord Mountjoy, one of the most intimate friends of Esses, lord deputy of Ireland in his place ; and though Mountjoy endeavoured to excuse him- self, she would not hear of it. Though she kept up much appearance of gaiety, and went much a hunting at Oatlands and in the New Forest, she wa.< obsi'^rved to be very melan- choly, at the same time that she showed no disposition to relent towards Essex. She was greatly offended at this time by Hayward's history of Henry IV. of England, in which some passages concerning the unworthy favourites of Richard II. appeared to her to have reference to herself. She demanded of Bacon whether he could not find that in the book which might be construed into treason. "No treason," said Bacon, " but many felonies." " How felonies ? " asked the queen. "Mixny manifest thefts from Cornelius Tacitus," replied Bacon. She then proposed that Hayward should be put on the rack and forced to confess whether he were the real author or not. " Nay," said Bacon ; " never rack his person, but rack his style. Give him pen, ink, and paper, and let him continue the story, and I will undertake to dis- A.D. 1000.] THE REBELLION OF ESSEX. 557 cover, by comparing the styles, whether he be the author or not." Essex, once at largo, cast off his pretences of retirement and contempt of the world, and petitioned the queen for a continuation of his patent for a monopoly of sweet viincs. Elizabeth replied that phe would fir.^t inquire into the value of this privilege, which she understood was worth fifty thousand pounds per annum. She accompanied this mes- sage with an ominous remark that when horses became unmanageable it was necet^sary to stint them in their corn. Accordingly, she refused his request, and appointed com- missioners to manage the tax for herself. Essex now became beside himself. Hitherto he had lived in privacy, but now he came to Essex House, in the Strand, where ho gave free entertainment to all sorts of people. His secretary Cuffe, and other dangerous persons, encou- raged him in the belief that by his popularity with the people it would be no difficult matter to force Cecil, Raleigh, and his other enemies from office ; and that once removed from the queen, all would be right. He therefore kept open house, and was soon surrounded by crowds of military men and adventurers, by catholics and puritans. His military friends formed themselves into a sort of guard; and it was remarked that many of the nubility also visited him, as the earls of Worcester, Southampton, Sussex, Rutland, and Bedford. There were daily preachings in his house, and he proposed to some of the theologians the question whether it were not lawful, in case of mal-administration, to compel a sovereign to govern according to law. He moreover sent to the king of Scotland, assuring him that there was a design at court to exclude him in favour of the Infanta of Spain, and urged James to send an ambassador to demand a distinct declaration of his right to the succession. James, who was in great anxiety on this head already, appears to have listened to the advice of Essex, and to have taken measures to act upon it. Essex wa^ now stimulated by his passiona into a most perilous position. Ho was actively engaged in dangprous courses ; and though some pains were taken to conceal his real designs, by the chief coadjutors in the conspiracy meeting at the earl of Soutliarapton's, and communicating should enter the city with Essex during sermon time, and assembling at St. Paul's Cross, where the lord mayor, aldermen, and companies were wont to attend, to call upon them to accompany them to the palace to assist in obtaining the removal of the pernicious advisers of the crown. When they were on thepoint of executing this plan, they were interrupted by a visit from the lord keeper Egerton, the earl of Worce8t,-r, Knollys, the comptroller of the household, and the lord chief justice. Essex ordered them to be admitted through the wicket, but without any of their attendants, except the purse-bearer. When tlie officers of the crown found themselves in the midst of an armed company, Egerton demanded what was the meaning of it ; on which Essex replied in a loud and excited tone, "There is a plot laid for my life. Letters have been counterfeited in my name ; men have been hired to murder me in my bed. We are met to defend our lives, since my enemies cannot be satisfied without sucking my blood." " If such be the case," said the lord chief justice Popliam, •• let it be proved. AVc will relate it fairly, and the queen will do impartial justice." " Impartial ju.-tice !" said the earl of Southiimpton ; " then why is it not done on lord Gray f " Gr.ay bad attacked Southampton in the Strand with a number of followers on occount of an old grudge, Southampton having only a foot-boy with him, whose hand was struck off, and Southampton himself was in great danger, till a number of people with clubs came to his help. Popham replied that Gr.iy was imprisoned for the offence -, and Egertun desired Essex to ixplain his grievances in private, when there was a cry of " They abuse you, my lord ; they are undoing you ; you lose yout time ! " Egerton put on his cap, and commanded every man, in the queen's name, to lay down his arms and depart. The crowd outside continued to shout, ' Kill them, kill them : Keep thim for hostages ! Throw the great seal out of the window ! " The queen's officers, being shown into a back room guarded by musketeers, Essex begged them to have patience for half an hour, and, locking the door upon them, left them. Sir John Davis, Sir Cilly Mtrrick, Francis Tresham, and Owen Salisbury were left in charge of them. Then Essex, ru>hing into tlie street, drew his sword, and privately by letter with Essex, the proceedings could not i fuUowed by Southampton, Rutland, Sondys, Mountcaglo, escape the lynx vision or the ever-open ears of Cecil and his party. The conspirators had concluded that the safest thing to do in the first instance was for Sir Christopher Blount, Sir John Davis, and Sir Charles Davers to head three parties, and take possession of the palace gate, the guard, and the presence chamber, whilst Essex threw him- self on his knees before the queen, and refused to rise till she had complied with his petiti'jn, and dismissed the obnoxious ministers. But whilst they were planning, Cecil and his friends acted. The secretary, Herbert, arrived with a summons for Essex to appear before the council. He replied that ho was too unwell to attend ; and whilst he was thus evading the summons, he received an anonymous note, warning him to escape as he valued bis life ; and this was immediately followed by the intelligence that the guard had been doubled at the palace. It was high time now to act, as his arrest was certain. In the night he despatched messages to assemble his friends ; and it was re.solved that the next morning, which w,as Sunday, the 8th of February, 1001, the earls of Southampton and Rutland, the lords Sandys and Mounteagle, and about six hundred gentlemen. and most of the knights and gentlemen, ho made for the city. They were joined on the way by the earl of Bedford and lord Cromwell with two hundred others. At Ludgate the guard suffered them to pass, Esses declaring that he W08 endeavouring to save his life from Raleigh, Cobham, and their accomplices. To their great disappointment, they found nobody at St. Paul's Cross, the queen having sent and warned the corporation to keep away, and see that the people kept within their houses. Essex rode along shout- ing, " For the queen, my mistress ! a plot is laid for my life : " and called upon the citizens to come and fallow him. He had relied on his popularity with the masses , but ho now found himself miserably deceived. The common people shouted " God bless your honour ! " but no man joined him. He had placed much dependence on Smith, one of the sheriffs; but on reaching his house he found him away, and then felt that his whole scheme was abortive. He became greatly agitated and confounded, and remained a long time in Smith's house, uncertain what to do. In the meantime there had been great terror at the palace. The ministers were afraid of the friends of Essex declaring 558 CASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXQLAND. [a.d. 1601. in hia favour and admitting him or the people. They | therefore had the guards mustered, every avenue to the ■ palace closed, and the streets barricaded with carriages ' and chairs. The queen alone had shown any courage. About two in the afternoon, lord Burleigh, with a herald, and the earl of Cumberland, with Sir Thomas Gerard, pro- ceeded to the city in different directions, prooluiuud whom he had placed the utmost trust, Ferdinando Uorges, had liberated the lords of the council and escorted them to court, as the price of his own pardon. Captain Owen Saliibury, with better faith. Lad stood out, and was wounded as he looked out of a window, so that he died the next day. Essex set about fortifying the house ; but it was pre- sently surrounded by a military force with a battering train- ^«t The UeconciUatioa between Qawn EL'zabeih and the Earl (f Esjtx. (See page 555.) Essex a traitor, and offered a reward of one thousand pounds for his apprehension, with a pardon for all his associates who at once returned to their allegiance. Essex, at the same time, was endeavouring to return towards the Strand, when he met lord Burleigh, who fled at the sight of him. The guard at Ludgate now resisted his return, and he returned to Queenhithe, whence he went by water to Essex House. There he found that a man in and not a soul rose in his defence. The case wa£ hopeless, and about ten o'clock at night Essex and Southampton held a parley from the top of the house with Sir Robert Sidney, and surrendered on promise of a fair trial. They were conveyed for the night to Lambetli Palace. The next day, Essex and Southampton were committed to the Tower, And the other prisoners to different gaols in London and West- minster. But the first victim of this insane insurrectiop A.D. IGOI.] REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. 55b CONFESSION OF THE C0DNTES3 OP HOTHNOIIAM. (See page 561.) cao CASSELLS 1U.UST11ATED IIISTOBY OP EXGLAXD. [x.v. leoi ma a soldier of fortune named Thomas Lee, who, on the eTening of Essex's arrest, had offered his services to Sir Robert Cecil ; but was reported to have said a day or two after that if Essex's friends meant to save his life, they should petition the queen in a body, and not depart till their prayer was granted. For this trivial expression of opinion he was arrested as he stood in the throng at the door of the presence-chamber whilst the queen was at sapper, and, in spite of his protestations of innocence, was accused of a design to murder the queen, and was con- demned and executed at Tyburn as a traitor. On the l»th of February, Essex and Southampton were arraigned before a oommi.. within the court of the Tower. The most careful measures had been concerted to prevent access to him by any but those hostile to him, and firmly in the interest of govern- ment. Neither his wife, his mother, nor any of his rela- tions or friends were suffered to see him after he went to the Tower, or have any conimunicaion with him. It was industriously published by the court, that the earl especially desired to have a private execution ; but the fact 'was, that the ministers took all means to prevent the earl speaking on the scaffold except just what they wanted. The day before the execution, Cecil, Egerton, apd Ruckburet wrote to lord Thomaa Howard, constable of the Tower, for- bidding him to admit a single individual except such as they furnished with an order ; some seven or eight noble- men, they informed him, her majesty wished to be there whom she would name, and two " discreet " divines, who would bring an order from the archbishop of Canterbury. The constable and lieutenant were to take all possible care and circumspection that tho earl should confine himself exclusively in his speech to his confession of his trcaaon, his offences to Ood, and his repentance. If he attempted to break off into any other particulars they were at once to stop him. There are amply su6Bcicnt proofs that tho earl's confession was not his free and honest declaration, and that it was in his power to say things most damning to the queen and government. When Elizabeth's ambassador informed Henry IV. that Essex had petitioned to die in private, he exclaimed, " Nay, rather the contrary, as he desired nothing more than to die in public.'' Being thus gagged, the earl was allowed to say that his offence was a great, bloody, crying, and infectious sin, and to ask pardon of God and the queen, and his head was severed at three strokes from his body. His body was buried in the Tower chapel, near those of the duke of Norfolk and the earl of Arundel. Raleigh says, be witnessed his execution from tho armoury, as he did also those of Sir Christopher Blount and Sir Charles Davcrs on the 17th of March, and Sir Walter made a very profitable merchandise in the pardons of others of Essex's followers. Essex was only thirty -three years old at his death. The character of this extraordinary man — for such he was, both in his virtues and defects — essentially unfitted him for a court. He had all the impulses and aspirations of a hero, lie was generous, impulsive, and open in his disposition. Nature inspired him with the noblest sentiments, the most disinterested spirit, and unconquerable thirst of glory. As a commander, or even a statesman, in better times, he would have made tho most distinguished figure. In all his military commands he was restricted by colleagues, carefully chosen, to restrain his impetuosity, or he vras tied down by the caution of a court most grovelling in its policy ; yet, in almost every instance, ho at once carried all opposition before him by the rapidity and enthusiasm of his actions, and won tho respect and admiration of his enemies by his justice and magnanimity. The very glory which he acquired by his victory and his nobility amimget the Spaniards whom he v.inquishcd, deepened the serpentine jealousy of his mean rivals at home. In Ireland he went to conquer by the sword, but saw at once that the natives needed not crushing but conciliating. "The Irish," he said, "are alienated from the English as well for religion as govern- ment. I would achieve pacification there by composition rather than by the sword." But this, by the court which he served, which could not understand aims of policy so elevated, was treated as a crime, and was punished as such. He was, in that most intolerant age, a firm friend to religious toleration. Catholic or puritan were alike in his eyes Christians, and were welcomed to his house and his councils as men sincere in their own views, and, therefore, trustworthy. " The catholics," says Carte, " venerated him for his extreme aversion to put .any one to death on account of his religion." His literary genius and taste were of a high SC2 CASSELL'S ILLrSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAXD. [a.d. ICOl. order, and make us regret that he did not rather cultivate them than the more ordinary ones of diplomacy in a period when diplomacy was one of the meanest and most dis- honest of crafts. Those who would form a true estimate of his writings should consult Ellis's ' Original Letters." The greatest men of his age. Shake-'pearc and Bacon, were his friend.'*. lie wis the man who first took the great revolutionist of scionoe. the great and little-minded Racon. by the hand, to receive from that hand a deadly blow in his last days of mortal peril. Southampton, the friend of Shakespeare, was his most intimate associate, and risked death on his account. In per.=on he was not distinguished by his grace or dignity : he stooped forward, danced awk- wardly, and despised the elegancies of dress ; yet, by the fire and brilliancy of his mind and conversation, he cap- tivated the queen of many lovers, when age was creeping over her frozen bosom and her deadly and unforgiving dis- -positioD. The temper of Essex, like that of many men of genius, was extremely sensitive, he felt keenly and resented deeply. The sense of unadmitted wrong drove him into rash measures, which his cool and calculating rivals are said to have artfully stimulated by their spies ; and he fell where such a man could only fall, because, hating disguise, he was open to attack ; despising meanness, he was certain to excit« its hatred. In a nobler arena Essex would liave burned forth one of the fairest lights of history. As it was, the people felt and acknowledged his rare merits — those of a high-hearted, honest, and honourable man, far before his period in the breadth of his moral horizon. They seemed to desert him at the last hour because his attempt was liopeless ; but they remembered him with affection, and with him departed the waning popularity of the queen. When she appeared again in public she was no longer followed by acclamations, but by a moody silence ; and her ministers, who had laboured so zealously for the destruction of her noblest servant, were pursued by the undisguised scorn and abhorrence of the people. The government endeavoured to put down all expression of such feeling ; and on the last day of February a young man named AVoodhouse was hanged for speaking against the apprehension and treatment of Essex. On the 13th of March, Cuffc, the false secretary, and Merrick, the steward of Essex, were butchered at Tyburn in the usual horrid manner, as traitors. Sir Charles Davers, or Danvers, was beheaded on Tower-hill on the 18th, dying with great courage ; and as soon as his body was removed, Sir Christopher Blount. Essex's step-father, suffered the same fate. Sir John Davies received a year's imprisonment ; Baynham purchased his life of Sir Walter Raleigh for a large sum : Lyttleton paid a fine of ten thousand pounds, and surrendered an estate of seven thousand pounds per annum, and then only received the mitigation of being removed from Newgate to the King's Bench prison, where he died in about three months. Southampton was impri- soned during Elizabeth's life, as was also Sir Henry Neville, who took no active part in the conspiracy, but, according to his own account, condemned the only discussion of the conspirators that he had heard, and then set out on his embassy to France. The king of Scots had appointed a deputation, consisting of the carl of Mar, and Bruce, the abbot of Kinross, to visit London and ascertain what were the position and prospects of Essex and his party. He had already expressed his readiness to co-operate with them : but, with his usual caution, be was bent on knowing what were really the chances of the insurrection. His deputies were instructed to act according as they found things. If there was a strong party amongst the people, and a great probability of a successful rising, they were to hold out strong hopes of assistance, but still to keep fair with the queen and court. If, on the contrary, the government was strong, and the people not inclined to disturb it, they were to show all honour and affection to the queen, and to press her for an increase of his salary; and if she refused them, to speak plain, and say that the time might come when there would be no bar betwixt him and the crown, and then the base sycophants who deprived him of her kindness by their misrepresentations would be called to account ; but that she was to be well assured that as he never had been, so he never would be concerned in anything detrimental to her peace or interests. They were to hint to the ministers that the time could not be long ere they would find it to their interest to have made a friend of him. They were to go into the shires and to appoint secretly good sowers, who would zeal- ously prepare the people for his succession, whicji, he said, must be soon, unless "the old lady meant to last as long as the sun or the moon." Whilst James, with his usual scheming and double-faced- ness, which he dignified with the name of kingcraft, was thus tampering with the subjects of Elizabeth, it is supposed that she was by no means unaware of his proceedings, and had a hand in a transaction which remains to this hour one of the mysteries of history. James being at Falkland, and spending much time in hunting, was about to mount his horse and start for the chase on the 5th of August, when he was accosted by Alexander Gowrie, the brother of the earl of Gowric. This Alexander Gowrie and his brother, the earl, were the sons of the earl of Gowrie who was beheaded, in 1584, for seizing and detaining James at his castle of Ruthven in what was called the Raid of Ruthven. They were also the grandsons of that old Ruthven who figured prominently in the murder of Rizzio. The present Cowries had always had the reputation of belonging to what was called the English party, or those who favoured the plans of Elizabeth, and were generally in her pay. It may be supposed that James would look with suspicion on this Alexander, who suddenly appeared before him j but the business on which he announced himself, and the man's manner, if we are to credit James's own account of the affair, were still more suspicious. He drew the king apart, and informed him — but with his eyes fixed on the ground — that the day before he had discovered a large pot of money — gold pieces of a large size — which a man near Perth had concealed under a wide cloak ; that he had apprehended the roan, and now entreated the king to go with him and see the man, and decide upon the gold. A more improbable story could scarcely have been invented ; but whoever did invent it knew well James's unfailing cupidity. James, who was one of the most timid of mortals, says that he at first refused to accompany the man ; but the pot of gold running in his head as he rode to the chase, he called the man and told him that as soon as they had run down the buck he would go with him. The chase ended about eleven o'clock, and then James kept his word and rode off towards Perth with Gowrie, followed at a little dist.ince by some of his attendants. As he went along, fears and sua- A.D. 1601.1 CONDUCT OF THE KING OF SCOTS. S(t3 piciona came across his miod, and ho begau to suspect some trea8onat)le device. Tlie wonder is that, under the circum- stances, he went on ; but the gold waii a strong bait. On approaching the house of the earl of Gowrie, he was met by the earl, attended by about eighty armed followers, James's attendants being only fifteen, and unarmed. This added to .James's terror. He was assured that the earl had only just been apprised of the honour of the king's visit, and had risen suddenly from the dinner-table to meet him. In consequence James and his retainers had to wait an hour before dinner was served to them, and then it was of a very meagre kind. During dinner, James's alarm increased from suspicious circumstances in the conduct of the earl ; and after it James and Alexander proceeded to the man who was said to have the pot of gold. James observed that Gowrie carefully- locked every door. behind them till they came into a little closet, where stood a man with a dagger at his girdle. Xo sooner was the door shut and looked than Alexander Gowrio altered his whole demeanour — clapped on his hat, and, draw- ing the dagger from the man's girdle, pointed it at the king's breast, declaring the king to be in his power, and that he was sure his conscience was troubled with the murder of the earl his father. James exclaimed against the monstrous crime the man was meditating, and assured him that if he spared his life he would forgive him, and not a creature should know. On this Gowrie appeared to relent, and said the king's life should be safe, but he must go and speak to the earl. He left the king looked up with the man, who trembled from head to fo)t, and protested that he had no idea what he had been placed there for. Alexander Gowrie soon returned, declaring now that the king must die, and that the earl had sent away his servants on the assurance that the king had ridden away from tlio postern. He seized James, and tried to tie his hands with a garter ; but James says that he snatched away his hands, laid one on the sword which Gowrie was already drawing, and with the other seized the villain by the throat. Tbey thus struggled, James managing to drag the man towards an open window, where he shouted witli all his might " Murder ! " His servants happened to be passing at the moment, and rushing up stairs found James still struggling with the ruffian, whom they despatched, and also the earl. The news of this strange incident was received witli great incredulity by James's subjects. The clergy would not even read from the pulpits the order of council, giving an account of " The unnatural and vile conspiracy." But there appears no great reason to doubt the fact. James had incurred the resentment of the Gowrics by the death of their father. The clergy were vexed at their death, for they were stanch supporters of the presbytcrian cause ; and that party being in close alliance with the English government, there were sufficient reasons why there should be means used to divert James from any participation in Essex's schemes at that moment. It was probably the intention of the Gowries to keep James in durance for a time, and that his terrors made him imagine they intended to kill him. That this was tiie real meaning of the plot was confirmed by the man with the dagger, who turned out to be Andrew Henderson, the steward of the earl of Gowrie, who on examination repeated that he had been placed in the closet, for what be did not know. It was, moreover, ascertained that the earl of Gowrie had been in Paris, and in communication with Sir Henry Neville, the queen of England's ambiussador; and it was remembered that an English ship had for some months been cruising in the moush of the Frith of Forth. Still further confirmation was given by the two youngor brothers of the Gowries fleeing into Englan 1 after the affair at the earl's house, where they remained under protection of Elizabeth, From the constant employment of such intrigues by the government of Elizabeth, there appears nothing incredible or improbable in this view of the matter. When James's ambassadors arrived in London they found the conspiracy of Essex at an end, and the earl and his accomplices in the Tower. James, therefore, con- templated some difficulty in business with the court, but they were ordered to congratulate her majesty on her escape from so daring a plot. It must have required all the assur- ance of tried diplomatists to offer these felicitations, knowing the real position of James in the affair ; but that did not deter them from making them, and from pressing on the English government ; and to thjir agreeable surprise they encountered no obstacle at all. Cecil, who saw clearly that the queen's health was declining, was only anxious to secure the good-will of James, who must to a certainty, ere long, become master of the English throne. The only thing was to open and conduct an understanding with him without detection by Elizabeth, which would cost him his head. But Cecil, who was as cunning as he was selfish, contrived to man.ago the matter with James's ambassadors in the deepest secrecy. He let Jamos know by them that he had a warm friend in him, who was watching to serve him and to guard the succession from all intruders for him. He promised an increase of two thousand pounds to James's pension ; and lord Henry Howard, who saw equally that the moon was .about to descend and the sun to arise, was taken into the secret. It was p'anned that the necessary correspondence should be carried on in his name, and not in that of Cecil, with Bruce and M.ir in Scotland. James was delighted with the turn affairs had taken, and was so confident of the sincerity and zeal of Cecil, for ho knew that all his interests were engaged in the scheme, that though urged the following year to send a special ambassador to Elizabeth, he refused, saying nobody could serve him so thorouglily as Cecil was doing. At'the same time Raleigh and Cobham, not being let into the secret, failed to make good their interest with the heir-expectant, and being evidently secretly hated by Cecil and Howard, who call them "those wicked villains," they were set down by James OS his enemies, and remcmbored duly when he came into power. Meantime Cecil ontinuod to serve Elizabeth with his usual hollow fl itteries, and to appear, if either, more inclined to the claims of Arabolla Stunrt than of James- Elizabeth was so little aware at this time of Cecil's treason, that she often amused herself with ridiculing his pigmy person. One day, observing the young lady Darby wear- ing something about her neck suspended by a cord, she Snatched it froiu her, and found it a miniature of Cecil. She then, to make fun of the lovers, tied the portrait on her own shoo, and walked about wiih it there ; and then she removed it and pinned it to her elbow, and wore it there some time. Lord Mountjoy, the friend of Essex, though advanced to the deimtyship of Ireland, knew that Elizabeth had become aware of his offer to attempt a release of Essex from his confinement before his last rash outbreak, and 56 i OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORV OF EXQLAyi). [a.d. IGOl. he was prepared to escape to the Continrnt on the first symptom of an attempt to arrest him but to his agreeable surprise he received a very gracmus letter from Elizabeth, in which she stated that the defection and death of Essex had caused her deep grief, but his. Mountjoy's. loyalty and fiiccess in Ireland had hcen a comfort to her. This had been done at the suggestion of Cecil, who represented to her that Mountjoy's loy.alty might be secured by not seem- in" to doubt it, and it was of great consequence to have so nhle a general in Ireland, as the Spaniards were now medi- tating a descent on the coast of that island. In September, indeed, four thousand Spaniards landed at Kinsale, under Don Juan D'Aguilar, fortified the town, and called on the people to join them against the heretic and excommunicated queen of Engknd, their oppressor. Whilst Mountjoy marched his forces to Kinsale and shut up the Spaniards ■within their own lines, Elizabeth in England summoned monstrous abuse. Scarcely a man about her biit had one or more of these monopolies in his hand, by which the price of all sorts of the necessities of life was doul)led, or more than doubled. Sometimes the patentee exercised the monopoly himself, sometimes ho farmed it out to others, whose only object was to screw as much as possible out of it. Such was the national economy of this much boasted queen, that no kingdom ever showed a more miserable condition of the people, who were the prey of a host of harpies, who fluttered in the court, paying the most outrageous and even blasphemous adulation to this rain old woman, whilst their talons were deep in the very intestines of the population. M'ine, salt, vinegar, oil, starch, steel, coals, and numbers of other commodities, were monopolised and dealt out at starvation prices by these base and contemptible flatterers. The members for counties and boroughs had been ^■-= An Irish Tro:>per. From an old Manascript. her last parliament. She opened it in person on the 27th of October, but she w.as now so enfeebled that she was actually Rinking under the weight of the robes of state, when the nobleman who stood nearest to her caught her in his arms and supported her. Notwithstanding this exhibition of her weakness, her determined will enabled her to rally and to go through the ceremony. The session was a very stormy one. The great object of calling it together was to obtain money. Money, the House of Commons expressed its willingness to grant, "but at the same time called for the abolition of a number of monopolies which were sapping the very vit^als of the nation. These monopolies were patents granted to her courtiers, for the exclusive sale of pome article of commerce. It waa a custom which had commenced in the seventeenth year of her reign, and by the greediness of her favourites had grown into a repeatedly called on by their constituents to demand the abolition of these detestable abuses ; but they had been as often silenced by the ministers, on the ground that such things were matters of prerogative, and that the queen would highly resent any touch of her prerogatives. . - ,»^ On the 13th of November a motion to this effect was made, which received the regular ministerial answer, with the addition that, it was useless to proceed by bill to endeavTOf to tie the royal hands, because, even if it were done by both bouses, the queen could loose them at her pleasure. Cecil said that the speaker was very much to blame to admit of such a motion at the commencement of a session, knowing that it was contrary to the royal command. But, nothing daunted, the members of the commons replied that they had found, however useless it was to petition for the re- moval of these grievances, that the remedy lay in their own A.D. 1601,] OPPOSITION TO MONOPOLIES. 565 hands, and the patentees were such blood-suckers of the I reign ; and " the artful dodger " of the time, Cecil, found commonwealth, that the people would no longer bear the it necessary to seem to give way, not meaning to give way burden of them. When the list of the monopolies was read an inch. On the 2.5th, therefore, the queen sent for the over, a member asked if bread were not amongst them, speaker, and addressed him, in the presence of the council. The house appeared amazed at the question. " Nay," said i in one of those grandiloquent speeches which were put into he, " if no remedy be found for these, bread will be there ' her mouth on all such occasions, full of high-sounding pro- Tho Death cf Qu»en Elizabeth. (Se; page 568.) before next parliament." Bacon and Cecil still talked loudly of prerogative, but the house went on with so much resolution, that the favourites began to tremble, and Raleigh, who had a monopoly of tar and various other com- modities, saw such a storm browing that he offered to give them all up. For four days the debate continued with such an agitation as had not been witnessed through the whole 100 I fessions of her love of her people, and her determination to spend her heart's blood sooner than anybody should hurt them. A hundred and forty members attended with the speaker, and the queen said that she would redress all I their grievances, and was most thankful that they had brought to her knowledge "the harpies and horse-leeches " I which infested her beloved people— as it sho had not known 500 CA5SELLS ILLTSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d, 1601. and heard of them again and again for years ! " I had rather." she said. " that my licart and hand ehould perish than that cither heart or hand should allow suvli privileges to monopolists as may be prejudicial to my people. The gplendonr of regal majesty hath not so blinded my eyes that licentious power should prevail with me more than justice. The glorv of the name of a king may deceive tho.se powers that know not how to rule, as gilded pills may deceive a sick patient ; but I am none of those princes, for I know that the commonwealth is to be governed for the good and advantage of those that are committed to me, not of myself, to whom it is intrusted, and that an account is one day to be given before auuther judgment-seat. I think myself most happy that, by Goil's assistance, I have hitherto so prosperously governed the commonwealth in all respects, and that I have such Eubjects that fur their good I should willingly lose both kingdom and life." Every one who has looked carefully into the real facte of this reign must be aware that every word in thi^ speech was a flagrant fUsehood. Elizabeth, by a very cheap sort of coin — smiles and pleasant words — when she appeared abroad, had won a popularity with the people which the glaring despotism and many acts of arbitrary injustice, added to these crushing monopolies, had not been able entirely to destroy. The falsehood of her professions both to foreign prinoes and her own people, the law'.ess violation of the rights of subjects in any case that was opposed to her lofty self-will, the imprisonments, the persecutions for religion, the sanguinary executions of nobles and of people, including the great crying injustice and death of the queen of Scots, would, under any other sovereign, have produced the most fearful execration and abhorrence. But, added to these, the kingdomgroaned, as we shall have to show anon, i under such a curse of poverty, panperism, and crime, as i determine the question at once of the real merit of Eliza- beth's government. Yet, after all the like impositions which had been practised upon them, the commons were , willing to be deceived once more : though the populace , pursued the carriage of Cecil with curses and menaces ' whenever he appeared abroad, so great were their suffitr- : ings, yet the members of the lower house returned the most adulatory th.inliS to the queen for her most ^^racious pro- mises, and V. ted her the unexampled.gtant of four subsidies, and eight tenths and fifteenths, ilfae parliament onee dis- ' missed, not a further thought was given to the redress of i the evils complained of: nay, Elizabeth, in dismissing them, could not refrain from exercising a little irony at the expense , of the leaders of this agitation, and Cecil regarded it as a feat worthy of his highest self-estimation to have cajoled the representatives of the people, and conceded to them nothing. Whilst these events had l>een taking place in parliament, Hountjoy had defeated the queen's enemies in Ireland. He had united his forces with those of the president of Muntter, and kept the Spaniards shut up in Kinsale. On Christmas-eve the earl of Tyrone advanced to the assist- ance of the besieged, with six tliousand Irish and two liundrcd fresh Spaniards, who had landed at Castlchaven under the command of Ocampo. His pl.an was to surprise the English before daylight, and to have a second division of his army ready with a supply of provisions to throw into the town. But Mouritjoy was already aware of his approach, which was delayed by the fears of Ocampo— only too well founded — of the fatal want of discipline amongst the natives, and by his endeavours to bring them int-j same regularity. Mountjoy surprised these wild hordes as they were crossing a stream, and thoroughly routed them. The Spaniards, left on the field alone, surrendered, and Tyrone retreated north waids with the remnant of his army. Abont five hundred Irish were killed. The Spaniards in Kinsale yielded the place on this defeat of their allies, on condition of being allowed to return home with their arms and ammunition. Tyrone was then pursued by Mountjoy with great vigour, and after a number of de- feats, retired still more northward. Munster was reduced, and Tyrone offered to submit on favourable terms ; but Mountjoy could obtain no such terms from the queen ; she insisted on unconditional surrender. Her ministers strongly advised her to concede and settle the state of Ireland, which was now costing her three hundred thousand pounds a year to defend it against the natives. Sometimes she appeared disposed to comply, and then again was as obstinate as ever; and matters remained in this position till 1C03, when Mountjoy, hearing that the queen was not likely to live long, agreed to receive Tyrone's submission, to grant him and his followers a full pardon, and restore the whole of his territories with some few exceptions. Tyrone then accom- panied Monntjoy to Dublin, where they heard of the death of Elizabeth ; and Tyrone burst into tears and regretted his too hasty surrender. The deed, however, was done, and tranquillity insured to Ireland for a short time. The last warlike demonstration of the reign of Elizabeth was an expedition to the coast of Spain to prevent the passage of fresh fleets to Ireland. Admirals Levison and Monson proceeded thither with a fleet ; but, tempted by a ' carrac of immense value in the harbour of Sesimbria, they seized it and returned home. This was such a desertion of their duty in compliance with their greed of prize-money, that in Elizabeth's days of vigour would have cost the com- manders dearly. Whilst they were guarding their treasure homewards the {Spanish fleet might have made sail. No time was lost in sending back the fleet under Monson, who found six Spanish ^Ueys out, and stealing along the French coast. Before he could pursue them they were met by a squadron of Dutch and English ships, and after some hard fighting three of them were sunk, and three escaped into Sluys. The jeign of quem Elizabeth was now drawing to a clos". -She 'WHS approaching her seventieth year, and till lately had still listened to the voice |of flattery as if she were yet in the s'ory of her youth. But nature had begun to give her stern warnings, and the failing of her strength brought deep melancholy. However, in the pride of her strength and the terrible energy of her will she had intrigued for the disturbance of foreign thrones, or imprisoned and put to death such as she chose at home, when the shadows of life's evening began to close around her, and the judg- ment of that power who knows no partiality, and calls for a just account from prince as well as private individual, grew over her like a gigantic gloom, then her conscience rose above the flatteries of her courtiers and the colourings of her own p.assions, and she grew moody, restless, and miserable. At one time she affected an unnatural gaiety ; at another she withdrew into solitude, and was often found in tears. One of her household says in a letter — " She sleepeth not so much by day as she used, neither taketh A.D. 1G03 ] THE QUEEN'S LAST ILLNESS. 3 07 reet by night. Her delight is to sit in the dark, and some- times with shedding tears to bewail Essex." Yet she still strove against the advancing infirmities of age. She would insist to the last on making her annual progress and on hunting. Only five months before her death lord Henry Howard wrote to the earl of Mar — " The queen our sovereign was never so gallant many years, nor so set upon jollity." The earl of Worcester wrote also — " We are frolic here in court : much dancing in the privy chamber of country dances before the queen's majesty, who is exceedingly pleased therewith." She had a new favourite also — the young earl of Clanricarde — as if on the brink of the grave she was in a mood for dalliance with young men. He was said to resemble the earl of Essex, and the courtiers all paid much attention to him because they thought it would please the queen ; but she affected not to like him because he reminded her of Essex, and renewed her sorrow. But we may well suppose that there were deeper sorrows than the death of Essex. A strange story is told of her calling for a true looking-glass, saying for twenty years she had not seen one ; and on beholding her withered and wrinkled face, fell to cursing her flatterers so fie rcely that they dare not come into her presence. The fact was that the courtiers had rudely stripped away the delusions with which they had so long mocked her. The time which she had always had a terror of — that in which they should quit her to pay court to the rising sun — had arrived. The confessions of Essex hud revealed to her the fact that her very chief minister, who still continued one of a very small number who paid her the same daily attentions, was sworn to her successor, and was in close correspondence with _him. A letter of April 7th, 1602, says — "The queen walks often on Richmond Green with greater show of ability than can well stand with her years. Mr. Secretary sways all of importance, albeit of late much absent from the court and about London, but not omitting in his absence daily to present her majesty with some jewel or toy that may be acceptable. The other of the council or nobility estrange themselves from court by all occasions, so as, besides the master of the horse, vice-chamberlain, and comptroller, few of account appear there." When Cecil was present it required all his art to con- ceal his correspondence with the king of Scotland. One day a packet was delivered to him from James in the> queen's presence. She ordered hira instantly to open it, and show its contents to her. It was a critical moment, and none but a long-practised diplomatist could have escaped the exposure which it would probably occasion ; but recollecting her excessive dislike of bad smells and terror of contagion, he observed as he was cutting the string that " it had a strange and evil smell," and hinted that it might have been in contact with infected persons or goods. Elizabeth immediately ordered the cunning minister to take it away and have it purified, which no doubt he did of any dangerous contents before displaying them to her majesty. Meantime, not only Cecil and Howard, but another clique was busy paying court to James. These were Raleigh, Cobham, and the earl of Northumberland. They met at Durham House, and kept up a warm correspondence with James ; but they were as zealously counteracted by Cecil and Howard, who warned James of all things not to trust to them, Howard declaring that as for Raleigh and Cobham, " hell did never spew up such a couple when it cast up Cerberus and Phlegethon." Whilst these self-seeking courtiers were thus anxiously labouring to stand first with the heir, Elizabeth was sink- ing fast into a most pitiable condition. She was weighed down by a complication of complaints, and her mind waa affrighted by strange spectres. She told some of her ladies that " she saw one night her own body, exceeding lean and fearful, in a light of fire." This was at Whitehall, and as her astrologer, Dr. Dee, had bade her beware of White- hall, she determined to remove to Richmond, which slie did on a very wild and stormy day, the 14th of January^ 100.3. She had a severe cold before setting out, and no doubt increased it. Her melancholy rapidly increased, and she spent the whole of her time in sighs and tears, or in talking of the treason and execution of Essex, the proposed marriage of Arabella Stuart witli the grandson of the earl of Hertford, or the rebellion of Tyrone. On the 10th of March the physicians gave her up, and strong guards were posted about the palace, to prevent any attempt to interrupt the accession of the king of Scots, all suspicious-looking persons being taken up and committed to prison, or shipped off to Holland. To what a condition this great queen was now reduced we may imagine from what that condition was more than a year before. In October of 1001, Sir John Harrington says she was wonderfully altered in her features and reduced to a skeleton. Her food was nothing but manchet bread and succory pottage. She had not changed her clothes for many days. Nothing could please her ; she was the torment of the ladies who waited on her. She stamped with her feet and swore violently at the objects of her anger. For her protection she had ordered a sword to be placed by her table, which she often took in her hand, and thrust with violence into the tapestry of her chamber. Now she was so terrified at apparitions that she refused to go to bed •, and remained sitting on the floor on the scarlet cushions taken from the throne, for four days and nights. No one could persuade her to take any sustenance or go to bed. The archbishop of Canterbury, Cecil, and the lord admiral endeavoured to persuade her, but in vain. When the lord admiral urged her to go to bed, she said, " No, no ; there were spirits there that troubled her ; " and added, that, "if he were in the habit of seeing such things in his bed as she did in hers, he would not try to persuade her to go there." Cecil hearing this, asked if her majesty had seen any spirits. At this she cast one of her old light- ning flashes at him, and said, ' I shall not answer you such a question." Cecil then said she must go to bed to content the people. "Must," she said, smiling scornfully, " must is a word not to be used to princes ; " adding, " Little man ! little manl if your father had lived you durst not have said so much, but you know I must die, and tliat makes you so presumptuous." She now saw that man's real character, and ordering him and all the rest except the lord admiral out of her chamber, she said, " My lord, I am tied with a chain of iron round my neck." He endeavoured to dissipate the idea, but she only said, " I am tied ! I am tied : and the case is altered with me." " The queen," says lady Southwell, "kept her bed fifteen days, besides the three days she sat upon a stool, and one 30» OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 16fl3. day, when, being pulled up by force, she obstinately stood ' and energetically condemned in her own profeeeions, and upon her feet for fifteen hours." What a most miserable scene which when applied to herself, she characterised in was the deathbed of this extraordinary women ! Surely true terms, as dastardly, unroyal, and sometimes deyilish. nothing was ever more melancholy and terrible in its mixture ; Her support of protestantism both in England, Scotlacd, and of mental decay, dark remorse, and stubborn, indomitable hardinees and self-will. At the same time around Iier bed were men urging her to take broth, to name her successor, and to hear prayers. The kings of France and Scotland were named to her, but without eliciting the slightest notice ; but when they named Beauchamp, the son of the earl of Hertford and lady Satherine Gray, one of Eliza- beth's Tictims, she fired up and exclaimed — " I will have no rascal's son in my nest, but one worthy to be a king ! " At length they persuaded her to listen to a prayer by the archbishop of Canterbury, and when he had once begun she appeared unwilling to let him leave ofi" ; half hour after half hour she kept the primate on his knees. She then sunk into a state of insensibility, and died at three o'clock in the morning of the 24th of March, 1603, in the seven- tieth year of her age and the forty-fourth of her reign. JJobert Carey, afterwards earl of Monmouth, was anxiously waiting under the window of Elizabeth's room at Richmond palace, for the first news of her death, which lady Scrope, his sister, communicated to him by silently letting fall, aa a signal, a sapphire ring, afterwards celebrated as " the blue ring," which he caught, and the moment after was gallop- ping off towards Scotland to be the first heraB of the mighty event to -the expecting James. Three hours later, that is, at six in the morning, Cecil, the lord keeper, and the lord admiral were with the council in London, and it was resolved to proclaim James VI. of Scotland, James I. of England. The character of Elizabeth has, till of late, been taken on trust from the extravagant eulogies of the corrupt writers of her time. She had had a traditionary reputation as " the glorious queen queen Bess ; " but the researches into of her reign, as preserved in the State Paper Office, in our day, oblige us to modify greatly the gorgeous por- traiture of her own courtiers and dependents. To judge her strictly by the purer and higher moral code of to-day : on the Continent was by every means which protestantism now abhors and denounces — by the utter suppression of religious liberty, by setting subjects against their rulers, and in the ease of Mary queen of Scots, by the violation of the Christian principle of doing as you would bo done by, of hospitality, common faith, and regard to the just rights, the liberty, and the life of an independent sovereign. Much allowance must be made for her in all these cases, however, from the fact that the statesmen who surrounded her were of a class in whom cunning, intrigue, and con- tempt of honour and justice usurped the place of elevated genius and exalted principle. There are no arts, however contemptible or scandalous, by which pettifoggers and swindlers nowadays reach their object, which were not then practised on a national scale as the most golden rules of diplomacy. Even when the queen's conscience and sense of riglit rose above her conventional notions of rule or the hurricane sweep of her passions, these men cajoled her by flattery, or terrified her by assertion of plots against her life or her kingdom into their dark and sinister mea- sures. As to freedom under Elizabeth, there was little or none. She haJ all the overweening notions of the Tudors of divine right. She constantly told her parliaments, like her father, that she had no occasion for them, but called them together not as a matter of right, but of courtesy ; and as to the lives of her subjects, she held them as so many balls in her hands, which she tossed away at pleasure. The heads of the dukes of Northumberland and Norfolk, of the earls of Arundel and Essex, and of Mary of Scotland, besides those of numbers of lesser men, and the hundreds of people Bess," "the good ' who perished at Tyburn and other places for their religion, the actual records testify to the lawless nature of her royal will. Of the foibles of her character we say little. Her vanity, her irresolution, her belief in astrology, her thousand dresses which were discovered at her decease in her ward- robes, her being painted up in her old age, face, neck, and would be evidently unjust. By that standard she would ! arms, her numerous heads of false hair, or even her ours look a monster of guilt, of licentiousness, of despotism, and of murder. But all monarchs that preceded, and most of those contemporary with her, had so much of the same character, that a very low, corrupt, and dishonest scale of conduct was deemed udmissible, and almost inseparable from royalty. Crimes were permitted to them which would now excite horror and execration through every civilised nation. Nevertheless, virtue is virtue, and justice, justice in all times ; the nature of truth is immutable and eternal; and judged by that, the character of Elizabeth, with all concessions to the general character and maxims of the time, must be admitted to be of a very mixed texture, and far below that assigned her in and long after her time. In a few plain words, she was a bold, clever, successful, bid woman. That she maintained protestantism and defended England against a host of enemies is a great fact, for which we owe her much ; though neither her maintenance of the one nor the defence of the tther was conducted on principles which any moralist would now undertake to defend. With a high and defiant bearing, she condescended ing, swearine, and beating with her own lusty fists her maids of honour and her very ministers, may be passed over. But the licentiousness in which she is known to have lived, whilst calling herself a maiden queen ; the licentiousness which, in consequeniee of her example, pervaded her whole court ; the corruption of her courts of justice ; the flagrant mischief of the monopolies by which she allowed her favourites to fleece her people ; and the paoperism and crime which abounded under her rule, are matters of far graver moment, and stand based on such indisputable proofs, that Elizabeth can never moro be held up as a model queen to this nation. That she has not been misrepresented as to the licentiousness of her life, we could prove by ample quotations from a host of original letters, despatches, and memoirs of the time ; but we may satisfy ourselves with a sentence or two in which Lingard has condensed these evidences. "To her first parliament she expressed a wish that on her tomb might be inscribed the title of ' the virgin queen. But the woman who despises the safeguards must be con- to arts in weakening foreign nations, which she continually tent to forfeit the reputation of chastity. It was not long A.D. 1603.] CHARACTER OP QUEEN ELIZABETH. 589 before her familiarity with Dudley provoked dishonourable reports. At first they gave her pain ; but her feelings were soon blunted by passion. In the face of the whole court she assigned to her supposed paramour an apartment con- tiguous to her own bed-chamber ; and by this indecent act proved that she was become regardless of her character, and callous to every sense of shame. But Dudley, though the most favoured, was not considered as her only lover. Among his rivals were numbered Hatton, and Raleigh, and Oxford, and Blount, and Simier. and Anjou ; and it was afterwards behoved that her licentious habits survived even when the fires of wantonness had been quenched by the cliill of age. The court imitated the manners of the sovereign. It was a place in which, according to Faunt, 'all enormities reigned in the highest degree;' or, ac- cording to Harrington, ' there was no love but that of the lusty god of gallantry, Asmodeus.' Faunt afterwards added in another letter — ■' The only discontent I have is to live where there is so little godliness and exercise of religion ; so dissolute manners and corrupt conversation generally, which I find to be worse than when I knew the place first.' " We may quote two more paragraphs from the same historian in proof that we have taken no singular view of the real cha- racter of Elizabeth and her reign : — " The historians who celebrate the golden days of Elizabeth have described with a glowing pencil the happiness of the people under her sway. To them might be opposed the dismal picture of national misery drawn by the catholic wi"iters of the same period. But both have taken too contracted a view of the subject. Religious dissension had divided the nation into opposite parties of almost equal numbers — the oppressors and the j oppressed. Under the operation of the penal statutes j many ancient and honourable families had been ground to j the dust ; new families had sprung up in their places ; and j these, as they shared the plunder, naturally eulogised the ] system to which thoy owed their wealth and their ascend- ency. But their prosperity was not the prosperity of the nation, it was that of one half obtained at the expense of the other. " It is evident that neither Elizabeth nor her ministers understood the benefits of civil and religious liberty. The prerogatives which she so highly prized have long since withered away. The bloody code which she enacted against the rights of conscience has ceased to stain the pages of the statute-book; and the result has proved that the abolition of despotism and intolerance adds no less to the stability of the throne than to the happiness of the people." Autogtapli of Quceu Elizabeth. CHAPTER XVI. THE PUOGEZSS OF THE .V.\TIOX. The century of which we have juit traced the events was a period marked by vast progress, and by changes which were the springs of still more wonderful progress in after ages. Though the character of the Tudors was essentially despotic, no dynasty since the days of Alfred and. of Magaa Charta, wrought out such revolutions in the constitution of England. These revolutions were effected by the very efforts of the Tudor monarclis to establish their own power and gratify their own self-will. They were wrought by Providence : and Providence works in liis great scheme of the world's progress by bendiiiu: the stiffest spirits and the most tyrannical aspirations uuder the weight of those influences of the universe which are at the moment pre- dominant. These revolutions extended not only into the political constitution of the n.ation but into its religious one; into its literature, its philosophy, and its morals; and that simply because the spirit of the age was of that tone and strength, that though outward powers could agitate it. nothing but its own momentum could direct its tendency. Henry VII.. with an indifferent title, succeeded to the crown because the nation was weary of the long conflicts of the York and Lancaster monarchs, and lunged for peace, which his disposition promised. Cold, cautious, and penurious, he took care not to raise a fresh race of power- ful barons in place of that which the Wars of the Roses had destroyed, but hoarded up money ; and beyond the in- justice practised in its collection, left his people to pursue their trades and their agriculture, and thus renew their strength. Henry VIII., violent, passionate, sensual, and intensely arbitrary, but fond of parade, and in his youth boastful of his prowess, gratified the pride of the nation whilst he ruled it with a rod of iron. In the gratification of his lusts he did not hesitate to renounce allegiance to that great spiritual power which for above a thousand years had ruled haughtily over Europe and all its kings and warriors. By this act he set free for ever the mind and conscience of this nation. In vain did he endeavour to bind them down in a knot of his own making. Though he hurled his fiercest terms against those who instantly claimed a liberty which he intended only for himself, he had broken the mighty spell of ages — a power and a mystery before which the world had bowed in impotent awe ; and no chains which he could forge, no creed which he could set up, no hier- archy which he could frame, could possess more than the strength of the fire -scorched flax against the will of the en- franchised people. He had let loose the flood of religious desire, which had age-long been dashing moodily against the old mounds of superstition ; and he might as well have attempted to stem the current of the Thames with a hurdle as to re-imprison the public mind. It had tasted that sweetness which never again dies from the palate ; it had breathed that air which makes the memory of the dungeon atmosphere intolerable. And though he struck lustily right and left whenever the miliiou-headed apparition of free- will showed itself; though he gave full and hearty em- ployment to the headsman, the hangman, and the bigot with his fiery stake, he succeeded only in teaching the national will to seek shelter from the passing tempest, well assured that it must blow over. He only deluded himself; his triumph wasfaollo w and unreal. Beneath the hushed root CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 570 and the closed shutters of the dwellings of the people, out- | wardly wearing an aspect of obedience, there lived unbroken ; and glowed uncrippled the freedom of the heart and the reso- I lution to be free. The moment that he perished, the sonl of the nation showed itself alive. The very reformers around his throne, who had cowered beneath the fell and deadly ire of the tyrant, rose, with Cranmer at their head, and under the mild auspices of the religious Edward, gave j free vent to the spirit and the doctrines of the reformation. [a.d. 1485 her death, shattered the throne of her successor, and gave to the world the unheard-of spectacle of a king decapitated for treason to his people. The grand underlying impulse of the forward movement of this age was that of the general progress of the world in knowledge — knowledge of its rights and the powers in- herent in popular association. The restoration of classical literature, and especially of the Greek, had rekindled the lofty and independent sentiments of antiquity , but still more. Tomb of Queen Elizabeth in Wej'.minster Abbey. The return of theologic despotism under Mary only added force to the spirit of reform, by showing how terrible and bloody was the animus of ancient superstition. The fires of Smithficld lit up the dark places of spiritual tyranny to the remotest corners of the nation, and gave the blow to the tottering Bastile of rcstringent faith in this country. Elizabeth, with all the self-will of her father, lived to see, both in people and parliament, a spirit that made her lion- heart shrink with awe, and own, however reluctantly, a power looking already gigantically down upon her own. She felt more than once, in the pride of her power, the terror of that national will which, in less than half a century from the knowledge of the doctrines, principles, and promises of the Bible, which had been disseminated amongst tlie people by the reformers, had spread like a flame amongst them, and had given them totally new ideas of human prerogative and dignity. Henry VIIL, after being induced to mako public the Scriptures, saw so clearly their effect that he withdrew the boon as far as was possible, and pronounced the most severe penalties on any of the common people con- sulting that divine fountain of truth and freedom. Through- out the civilised world, far even beyond the countries in which the reformation had established itself, the stimulat- ing boon of this knowledge diffused itself, and gave a perilous TO 1603.] CAUSES CO-OPERATING TO RAISE THE POWER OF TEE PEOPLE. and uneasy feeling to the most slavish nations and despotic sovereigns. But in England many other causes had co-operated to raise the power and condition of the people. The long civil wars had, by the time of the accession of Henry VII., reduced the old nobility to a mere fragment. Such extraordinary specimens of baronial wealth and dominion as the Warwicks, Beauchamps, Shrewsburys, no longer existed. In Henry VII. '.s first parliament the peers amounted to only twenty-eight; in that of Henry VIII. they had risen only to thirty-six. With their extinction had lapsed their vast estates to the crown, and had in part 571 added fresh influence to the throne. The old nobles looked with a jealous and disdainful eye on the new ones ; the new ones repaid the scorn by an equal scorn of imbecile antiquity, and by the most assiduous endeavours to rise in affluence and official dignity to a parity with tliem, and even an ascendency over them. This predominance of the crown once established, Henry VIII. proceeded to a still more startling blow to a power hitherto equal and often paramount to that of the crown — the church. To the terror and astonishment of the whole of catholic Christendom, he stretched his hand nr.t only n?a"n=t the supreme rule but the vast property of A Trial fyr High Treas n, in Westminster Hall, duiiug tlic Tu lor perioJ. been 'sold to defray the costs liy which it had maintained its struggles against various claimants .and their factions. { Henry, as we have said, carefully kept down this haughty ; class to the limits into which it had fallen. His son, Henry ' VIII., like him, pursued the policy of Edward IV., who had established a system of fine and recovery to cut off entails ; and by liberal use of attainders, with their conse- quent forfeitures of title and estate, made the nobility entirely subservient to the crown, which augmented its wealth and power on their ruin. By conferring their estates in part on new aspirants to the peerage from the | families of the lesser gentry, and in many cases— as those j of Wolsoy and Cromwell— from the ranks of the common { people, he divided the aristocracy against itself, and thus ' that august and tinie-lionoured institution. In 1532 he .abolished the annats, or first-fruits, before that time paid to the court of Rome— an act in itself proclaiming his inde- pendence of that court. In the following ye.ar he declared by act of parliament that bis subjects might discuss the claims and condemn the .acts and opinions of the pop© without incurring any eluarge of heresy. Another year and he caused himself to bo proclaimed " Supreme head of the Cliurch " in his own realms ; and prohibited not only all payments to the pope, but all appeals to or recognition of his authority. In l.'jS.O, the very next year, he confiscated the property of the lesser monasteries ; and this course, once begun, never stopped till he had made himself master of the whole vast demesnes of the monasteries, the collegiate 572 CASSELI/8 ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF HNGLAXD. [a.d. It85. ohnrche*. hospitals, and houses of the order of the Knights of St. John of Jcrosalem ; the bulk of which he appropriated to hij own use, turning adrift a hundred and fifty thousand monlu, priests, and nuns into the world. So daring a sweep of ceolesiastical property, power, and privilege never was made by any other man or in any other era of the world ; and nothing cou! 1 hare emboldened even this impious and lawless monarch to so astounding a deed but the clear con- sciousness that the spirit of the age was with him, and that there was a host of eager candidates for the spoils of this ancient corporation, who would do battle to the death for bis object, whic'i was still more their own By this unexampled coup-d'i'tat Henry made himself master of 611 conrents, 90 colleges, 2,374 chantries and free c'lupeb, and 110 hospitals; the whole of which, with very trifling exception, was speedily conveyed to the vast swarm of hungry parvenus, the Russells, the Brownes, the Soymours, &c., who rapidly bloomed into aristocratic great- neee, and constituted an army of invincible defence against any restoration of this great and affluent but corrupt eccle- siastical princedom. These new men, in their turn, were necessitated to sub- divide a portion, more or less, amongst their followers, t) establish their own position : and other great extents of lands were sold in minor amounts to the successful mer- chants and traders, so that by this means there grew up a new power in the country ; that of small but sturdy freeholders, who. at ones independent of the crown and the aristocracy, sooa made their might felt in the community ; and added to the bouse of commons that papular infusion of authoritative life which speedily electrified the govern- ment by its tone, and prostrated it by its measures. That a largo number of such men of substance, whose wealth was the produce of industry, existed at the period, is an indication that the nation had grown rich by trade, and had also advanced in population. When we talk of the England and other countries of Europe of former ages, we are soarcely aware of what extremely different coua- tries they were, both in regard to the cultivation of their lands, the arts, aspects, and habits of their cities, their general knowlL-Jge, their polish of speech, and their amount of popu- lation. It will scarcely be credited, that at the close of the Wars of the Roses, the whole population of England and Wales did not exceed two millions and a half — about the present population of London. But in 1-575. that is in the 17th year of Elizabeth, the men fit to bear arms alone amounted to 1,172,674, and the entire population to not less than five millions. Harrison in his " Description of Eng- land " at this time, says, that " Some do grudge at the great increase of people in these days, thinking a necessary herd of cattle far better than a superfluous augmentation of mankind. They laid," he said, "the cause upon God, as though he were in fault for sending such increase of people, or want of wars that should consume them -, affirm- ing that the land was never so fall." So little did they comprehend, that the multitude of people, properly em- ployed, were the strength and wealth of the nation. But we shall have occasion to notice that with this wealth (ind strength there also oo-existed rauc;h poverty ; owing to the derangements of society in the diys of Henry Vlli., and to the great tendency to leave the land in pas- ture to supply the great growth of wool necessary for the large demand for the Netherlands, and the rapidly growing one at home, where the manufacture of both coarse and fine cloths had been increasing from the time that Edward III., at the instigation of his queen. Philippa of Hainault, invited the weavers of fine woollens over from that country. Still the rise in the value of all kinds of articles of life, in- cluding wages, during the whole of this period, is a proof of the enlarged demand both for skilled workmen, and the capacity to pay much more than formerly, which could only be the case with augmented means in the bulk of the population. At various times, as in 1196 and 1511, acts were passed with the vain object of keeping do^vn wages, attempts which, though they show very little progress in political economy, show wit^i equal clearness that employers were more numerous than they had been in proportion to labour. In 1500 the wages of a master mason were 6d. a day; in 1575 they were doubled ; aud' in 1590 they bad reached Is. 2d. The wages of common labourers had risen from 6d. a day to lOd. In 1511 the salary of a domestic priest was £3 i3s. Sd. . in 1545 it bad risen to £4 lis. 6d. In 1544 the wages of sailors were advanced from Ss. per month, in the royal navy, to Os. 8d., and all other trades and professions exhibited the like advance of payment. This, of course, was the result of the like advance in the prices of provisions, rents, and clothing ; another proof that the people had become not only more numerous, but more luxurious, and, therefore, exigent of better diet and aocom- modation. Wheat, the great staple of the people's food, had .advanced from 3s. 4d. a quarter in 1165 to 17s. in 1589 ; £2 2s. in 1506 ; and £1 73. in 1599. It is true the price of wheat varied a great deal in this period, but except in a very few seasons it never approached the low price of the previous century ; and in 1587, a year of scarcity, it rose to £5 4s. In 1500 a dozen pigeons were Id., in 1541 they were lOd., in 1590 they were Is., and in 1597, a year of scarcity, 4s. 3d. In 1500 a hundred eggs could be had for 01, in 1541 they were Is. 2d., and in 1597 they were 3s. A good fat goose in 1500 was only 4d., but in 1541 it was 8d., in 1589 it was Is. 2d. A fat sheep in 1500 was Is. 8d., in 1549 from 2s. 4d. to 4s., and in 1597, the dear year, it could not be had under 14s. '5d. In 1500 an ox could be purchased for Us. or 12s., in 1511 its price had advanced to from £1 to £2 ; in 1597 a single stone of beef was 2s., and a whole fat ox upwards of £5. In " Stafford's Dialogne." published in 1581, all the speakers agree in respect to this advance of prices in their time. " I am fain," says the capper, " to give my j jurney- men two pence in a day more than I was wont to do, and yet they say they cannot sufficiently live thereon." " Such of us," says the knight, " as do abide in the country, still cannot with two hundred a year, keep that house that we might have done with two hundred marks but sixteen years past. Cannot you, neighbour," he adds, addressing the farmer, " remember that within these thirty years I could in this town buy the best pig or goose that I could lay my hand on for Id., which now costeth 12d.. a good capon for 3d. or Id., a chicken for Id., a hen for 2d., which now costeth me double and triple the money ? It is like- wise in greater ware, as in beef and mutton. I have seen a cap for 13d. as good as I can get now for 23. 6d. ; of cloth ye have heard how the price is risen. Now a pair of shoes costs 12d., yet in my time I have bought a better for 6d, Now I can get never a horse shoed under lOd. or 12d., when I have also seen the common price was sixpence." TO 1603.] THE POWER OF THE NOBLES BROKEN. in This steady advance of prices of all articles is a sufficient test of the progress of the nation in general wealth and in notions of comfort and style of living ; for though un- doubtedly a vast mass of pauperism existed during this period, no people could go on paying higher and higher rates for everything, who had not the means of doing so. A poor nation might have suffered distress or scarcity, but could not have raised the means of living to such a degree as is here shown, if they had not had the money to purchase on such a scale. But we have abundant other means of demonstrating the progress of wealth in the nation from the splendour maintained by the court, the cost in dress, jewelry, horses, and household- establishments, the amount of taxation and revenue, the extent of shipping, of foreign commerce, and the rank and influence which the nation had assumed in Europe. We now proceed to notice these tokens of advance under their different heads. CONSTITUTION AND LAWS. The Tudors were a race who had the highest possible idea of their power and prerogative. Under Henry VIII. especially, the sentiment of Louis XIV. of France was thoroughly realised, though the phrase was not yet coined, "L'itat c'est moi ! " I am the state. By him the constitu- tion appeared if not utterly annihilated, yet reduced to a mockery and a mere maohino which moved only at his will. Yet in truth, paralysed as the nation appeared then, under the terror of the axe and the gallows, its spirit only waited, it was never extinguished, and under his successors it showed itself again unmistakably. It has been asserted by a modern author that the people in Henry VIII.'s time were most cowardly, for that he had no means of maintain- ing his arbitrary course against them, as he had no standing army. But this is not altogether true, for though he had no actual standing army, he had that authority over the minds of both aristocracy and people, that as we have seen on all occasions in which the people revolted, chiefly on account of religion, and when they were instigated and supported by the catholic nobles, he speedily mustered sufficient forces to put them down, and punish them severely. In contemplating the strange mystery of the base submis- sion of the parliament and people to the wild and reckless caprices and the bloody despotism of Henry VIII., we must ever bear in mind that the whole nation was rent into two most antagonistic parts by the schism in religion. The catholics feared the loss of their estates, the protestants were eager to secure them. Of the few noblemen remaining in the country, from the sanguinary decimation of the civil wars, some of the wealthiest remained stanch catholics, and were watched with greedy eyes by the host of poor but ambitions adventurers, who were ready to second every scheme of spoliation meditated by the monarch. When the ancient church was going to the ground, with all its proud establishments and enormous estates, the nobles who belonged to it felt the very earth shaking under their feet, and saw no means of safety but in the most implicit obedience. On the other hand, the numerous swarm of courtiers, whose only law was the word of the prince, and their only real creed the belief in plunder and in the acqui>ition of the lands of nobles, prelates, abbots, and chantries, as the reward of subservience, were ever ready to rush to arms or to the execution of the most fierce and un- constitutional orders of the king. No mercy was shown ; by the members of one family to one another, where the j terror of the monarch and the hope of his favour inter- vened. And at that day, when the country swarmed with I vagabonds, who had no home and no ties, who had been increasing ever since the abolition of villenage, there was no difficulty in mustering any number of soldiers, where there was the chance of liberal pay and more liberal plunder. This state of things, this facility of drawing forces to the field on the shortest notice, and on the most certain basis, was particularly provided for by Henry VII. Ho not only took care to save money by all means, and hoard it, 80 that though no man was more reluctant to t-pend it, and none ever incurred so much odium by his parsimony where the military fame of the nation was concerned, yet he bad the reputation of ample means, and the credit for a disposition to punish promptly and severely any disloyalty or adverse claims on his crown. He moreover passed two express statutes for the purpose of bringing bis nobles and dependents rapidly to his standard on any emergency. By the acts 2 Henry VII. C..18, and 19 Henry VII. c. 1, every one who possessed any office, fee, or annuity, by grant from the crown, was required to attend the king whenever he went to war, under penalty, in case of failure, of forfeiture of all such grants. There were, of course, certain exemptions. Some obtained the king's license, for an efiuivalcnt consideration, to remain at home, and such as could prove any disqualifying infirmity were excused. The clergy, as a matter of course, were exempt, also the judges and principal officers of the law ; and by the latter act this privilege was extended to the members of the king's council, to such persons as had bought their patents for a certain sum, and to all persons under twenty and above sixty years of age. The exemptions extended to comparatively a small number of persons, the fear of forfeiture applied to the majority. To render this more effectual, Henry VII., as we have seen, was rigorous in prohibiting a large array of retainers by the nobles, whilst he was strenuous to enforce the attendance of the feofees of the crown. To break the power of the nobles, he enacted in the fourth year of his reign the Statute of Fines, in fact, a renewal of the law of Edward IV., by which entails could be cut off at pleasure, and thus the great land-owners were enabled to divide their estates amongst their children, or to bequeath or sell them. This was a powerful means of breaking down those enormous estates which had hereto- fore maintained the overgrown barons, to the danger and continual disturbance of the throne. This process was carried farther, by the free use of attainders, by Henry VIII., by which, at will he struck down thomostwcalthy and exalted nobles, and appropriated their demesnes ; so that eventually there was not a foot of land in the kingdom nor an individual life which was not held at the king's mercy. But still more tKan the statute of fines, and the possing of attainders, were the lives, liberties, and property of the people submitted to the will of the king, by the instltutioo of the court of La Oliambre dfs Estaycrs, or drs Eilcils, tha Star Chamber. This court set aside all other courts at will, and by abandoning the use of juries in it, laid Magna Oharta, and the life and fortune of every man, at the feet of tlie throne. Prom the moment, in fact, that th:s court was forraallv erected by the 2 Henry VU., H87 there was 574 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. IISJ •n end of the constitution, the privilege of Habeas Corpus was suspended, and piirliamcnt legislated in vaLn. The king was the state, and ruled in this arbitrary court by the officers of his privy council. This court was so called, it has been generally supposed, from the stars which ornamented the ceiling of the room in -which it met, but these would seem to have been originated by the name, not the name from them. It was the place ^here the Jewish contracts were deposited by Richard I., and which were called starra or stars, a corruption of the Hebrew word shitar. No star was deemed valid except it ■was found in that depository, and they remained there till the banishment of the Jews by Edward I. This royal tribunal had been employed by monarchs previously to Henry, but he was enabled to make it legal by act of parliament, during the depressed condition of both parlia- ment and aristocracy. This court became speedily the ^rcat instrument of the oppression and extortion of the subject, the terror of the whole realm, and from this time till it was abolished in the 10 Charles I., 1G41, it became the scene of the most frightful injustice and iniquity. The judges, the members of the royal council, amounted to from twenty-six to forty-two, the lord chancellor having the casting voice. It became the Inquisition of this country in the long coiifliot of religious opinion, when the government summoned, tortured, tried, and condemned at pleasure any man whose opinions, political or religious, were opposed to the regal despotism, or whose wealth was an incentive to judicial violence or murder. Bishops as well as judges sate in this court, but the lord chancellor, the treasurer, and privy seal wore the chief authorities till the 21 Henry VIII., ■when the president of the council was added to them. Henry VII in his original enactment plainly avows his reason for establishing this court to be, that he may reach and punish such persons as by one means or another escaped sentence in the ordinary courts through the bribery or remissness of juries. That is, that where juries were too independent to condemn the innocent at the royal pleasure, the royal pleasure could remedy that defect, and bring the offender into this safe tribunal where it reigned paramount. Once established, there was no waiting for any other court, but all such persons as the king or council thought fit, ■were at once summoned by writ or privy seal, and dealt ■with and punished, as, Siiys the act, " they ought to be, if they were convicted by due order of the law." This convenient creed being established had but one inconvenience ; it necessitated the bringing of offenders to the capital. To obviate this and extend the Star Chamber over the whole kingdom, in the 2 Henry VII. a statute was obtained, empowering all justices of assize and of the peace to hear and determine without a jury all offences, except treason, murder, and felony, which were perpetrated against any statute unrepealed. The object of this was to subject every one who was possessed of property to the arbitrary demands of the crown. Informers overran the country, and few who had wealth escaped being charged with the violation of some obsolete statute. It was this act which enabled Dudley and Empson to prosecute their horrible exactions, to the signal enrichment of the crown and of themselves, till their oppressions rendered the people clamorous in their outcries, and compelled Henry \'lll. to repeal the act, and hang the two vile tools of his father's cupidity. In the reign of Henry VII. the privilege of boncfit of clergy was greatly modified. This privilege, which origi- nally exempted all clergymen from the authority of lay tribunals, had become extended to all such laymen as could read, and were, therefore, capable of becoming clerks. To restrict this abuse, Henry ^"II., iu the fourth year of his reign, enacted that such privilege should be allowed to laymen only once ; and afterwards, when a man had mur- dered his master, a statute was passed to deprive all mur- derers of their lords and masters of benefit of clergy. Where it was admitted, the culprit, if a layman, did not entirely escape punishment, for he was burnt with a hot iron in the brawn of the left thumb. The statutes in this reign were drawn up in English, and printed as they came out, by De Worde, Pynson, an i Faques, a signal step in progress towards a public know- ledge of the laws. Under Henry VIII. the principle of arbitrary government arrived at its culmination. The freedom from restraint which his father had prepared for him, the passionate and imperious nature of this prince led him to exercise to the utmost. By the means which we have described — the terror of death to those who offended, and the participation in the spoils of nobles and the church, and in new honours to those who served him regardless of law or conscience — he put himself above all control of parliament or statute, and ruled as royally according to his own fancy as any eastern despot. Out of this monstrous evil came, never- theless, much good to the nation. Tyrants do that by a single volition, a single blow, which constitutional monarchs attempt in vain. By his own daring act he broke up the ancient system of the church, with all its accumulated wealth, superstitions, and abuses, and cleared the ground for a new and more liberal state of things. By the distri- bution of this property he founded a new and influential class of freeholders, and enabled the affluence of trade to flow into land, and to give to the mercantile class a new status and iDflueuce. His motive was his own selfishness, but the result was the public good. Amongst the useful statutes which he passed may be mentioned the Statute of Uses and the Statute of Bank- ruptcy. By the former he put an end to a most mis- chievous practice of conveying property for the use of certain parties or corporate bodies, which had been intro- duced to evade the statute of mortmain. So many secret modes of conveyance, so many legal fictions, had been intro- duced into the transfer of this property, that it became diSicult to ascertain the real owner ; and creditors thus became defrauded, widows were deprived of their dowers, and husbands of their estates, by the curtesy. But above all, and that which really moved the king to interfere, the great feudal lords were equally defrauded of their dues on wardships, marriages, and reliefs. By an act of the twenty- seventh year of his reign it was decreed that whoever was found in the possession of such property should be deemed its l/ondjide owner, and liable to the charges leviable upon it. By this means the dubious and fraudulent practice of uses was abolished, and the lawyers were compelled to resort to the simpler and more tangible theory of trusts. The nature of the tenure still remained the same, for the use was but a trust ; but it was simplified and brought more into the region of common sense and common observation. By the preamble to the Statute of Bankruptcy, we find TO '603.] EXTRAORDINARY LEGISLATION OF HENRY VIII. 575 that the progress of commerce had led to great frauds. Men by means of credit got the property of others into their hands and absconded with it. In the 31 and 35 of Henry VIII., therefore, it was enacted that the chancellor, or keeper of the great seal, with the lord treasurer, lord president, privy seal, and others of the privy council, and chief justices, or any three of them — the chancellor, keeper, treasurer, president, or privy seal being one — should have power to constitute a court, before which, on complaints from a party aggrieved, they should summon the defaulter, should take possession of all property in his possession, should hear all necessary evidence on oath, and should make a distribution of his effects amongst the creditors according to their claims. Persons concealing effects of the offender were to forfeit double their value ; and claim- ants making fraudulent claims were to forfeit double the amount demanded. This was the first outline and foundation of our court and law of bankruptcy, the main principles of which are still in force, but considerably modified by the greater development of the action of trade, and a spirit of increased enlightenment and humanity. The bankrupt is no longer treated necessarily as a criminal, but as one who has suffered from misfortune ; and where he is innocent of dishonest conduct, is discharged from such obligations as he has no means of fulfilling, and the way opened for future enter- prise. The laws of Henry VIII, regarding gaming were strict and rational, and afford a striking contrast to those of the so called moral princes of Germany in our own day. No person, by himself, or his servant, or other person, for his gain, hiring, or living, was to keep any house, alley, or place of bowling, quoits, tennis, dicing-table, cards, or any other unlawful game, under penalty of forty shillings per day, and of six and eightpence to every such person playing. All justices, mayors, and head officers, were empowered to enter any house and search for such offenders, and commit them till they gave security not to oft'end again. Officers were to make a strict search once a month, or were themselves to suffer a penalty of forty shillings. Workmen, apprentices, and husbandmen were only allowed to play at such games during Christmas, and then only in their masters' houses or presence. Another statute of this reign mtroduces the earliest notice of a singular people — the gipsies. It was eu.icted in the 22 of Henry VIII. that persons calling themselves Egyptians, who had lately come into the country, used no trade, and practised no handicraft, but wandered from shire to shire in great companies pretending to tell fortunes, and committing many felonies and robberies, should be allowed sixteen days to depart, and if found in it after that time, should be imprisoned and deprived of all their goods and chattels ; and all sheriffs and justices of the peace were commanded to seize all such Egyptians thereafter coming into the country, if they did not depart within fifteen days, and appropriate their effects to the king's use. The continuance of this nomadic tribe on our heaths and commons to the present day decides that the statute of Henry took no effect upon them. But the laws of Henry were rarely so rational or inno- cent as these. We have soen, in tracing the events of his reign, that, to atop the mouths of his subjects regarding his many criminal deeds, tlie cruel calumnies on and divorces of his wives, followed by their execution, and the perpetra- tion of fresh marriages equally revolting, he was continually creating new species of treasons, and loading the statute- book with the most atrocious specimens of legislation which ever disgraced the annals of any nation. Christian or pagan. The first of these extraordinary enactments was the statute 25 Henry VIII. c. 22, passed on the occasion of his divorce of Catherine of Arragon, and his marriage of Anno Boleyn. In this he declared that any one who dared to write, print, or circulate anything to the prejudice of this marriage, or the queen herself, or the issue of such mar- riage, should be guilty of high treason. The same was to be the fate of any one who endeavoured to di.'^pute this alliance by advocating the validity of the former marriage with Catherine, and every one was to take an oath to obey this act fully ; and if any refused to take such oath, they were to be also guilty of misprision of treason. As, how- ever, the tyrant could not prevent people thinking, and even speaking their minds in private, the next session he got from his pliant parliament a fresh act, forbidding all persons to even speak or think a slander against the king ; for if they thought, they could have the oath put to them, and must cither deny their very thought, or be found guilty of treason. But by the twenty-eighth year of his reign the fickle despot had out off the head of this very queen, with the most outrageous slanders on his own part, against whom nobody had on any account been allowed to whisper the slightest fault, on peril of their lives. The marriage with her, as well as that with Catherine, was declared utterly void, and never to have been otherwise ; the issue of both was pronounced illegitimate, and the same penaltie? were enacted against every one who called in question the present marriage with Jane Seymour. Thas, on every occasion that this royal sensualist thought fit to destroy or divorce a wife .and marry another, did he compel the whole of his subjects to swear and for- swear at his pleasure ; to perjure themselves over and over — to sanction the thing they had lately condemned, and to condemn the thing which lately it was death by his decree to call in question. He thus utterly vi'.'lated and desecrated everything in the human mind that was holy and sincere, debauching both intellect and conscience, and laying waste every landmark of honesty or principle. In a word, as he now proceeded to place him'Self in the place of the pope, he also assumed to himself the sanction if not the attri- butes of deity. In a statute of the thirty-first of his reign, c. 8, ho clearly enunciated that doctrine of divine right which the Stuarts, his successors, wielded to their perdition. It is worthy of note, too, that by abolishing the authority of the pope, to serve his own selfish ends, he let loose the human mind from its long thraldom, and prepared the way — a necessary sequence — for that political rebellion which was certain to be assume! by a people who had once triumphed in a religious one. Thus was political freedom the consequence of this lawless monarch's attempt to crush it, as much as the reformation was that of his rejection of the papacy for the gratification of his passions : a triumph of omnipotent Proviikno; over the blind selfish- ness of despots, which should teach us never to despair of the darkest times. It is needless to follow Henry VIII. through the still 576 OASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. U.Tt. \ifi5 repeated progress of those contradictory oaths as he slew or wedded fresh wives. It was the same in the divorce of Anne of Clcves, on the decapitation of Catherine Howard ; but growing perfectly frantic with wrath and shame on finding himself married to an unchaste woman whom he had proclaimed an angel, he went a step further, and de- naunced the terrors of high treason against any woman who should dare to marry him if she had been incontinent before marriage, and against all such persons as should know of this and should not warn the king in time. When to these unexampled statutes we add that of 31 Henry A'lII. o. H, irhich abolished all " Diversity of opinions," and that of 34 and 35 Henry YIII., c. 1, for the " Advancement of true religion and abolishment of the contrary," we have exhi- bited the most perfect example of what a man may become by the intoxication of unlimited power. In the instance of Henry VIIL, his bloated egotism had become so monstrous tkat he was not content without endeavouring to trample lives of the people were entirely in the hands of the crown. A trial seems to have been nothing more than a formal method of signifying the will of the prince, and of display - ing his power to gratify it. Tlie newly-invented treasons, as they were large in their conoeptioa, and of an insidious import, by giving a scope to the uncandid mode of inquiry then practised, enlarged the powers of oppression beyond all bounds." To the honour of Edward VI. and his counsellors, all these arbitrary acts of his father were abolished by him ; the law of treason was restored to its state under the statute of 25 Edward III. ; religion was again set free, and pro- clamations by the king in council were declared to hare no longer the force of acts of parliament. A few years, how- ever, introduced queen Mary, and a reversal of the stato religion and all its laws. That dreadful persecution which we have narrated, and which is one of the darkest spots in the history of the world, was carried on to force the human The Star Chamber. Out of a whole nation every spark of freedom, both of body and of soul, ignorant that recoil from such a strain must result in a liberty as large. Besides particular laws, Henry VIII. erected two new Courts of justice— the Court of the Steward of the Marshal- sea, for the trial of all treasons, murders, manslaughters, and blows by which blood was shed in any of the palaces or houses of the king during his residence there ; and the Court of the President and Council of the North. This latter court was established in the thirty-first year of his reign to try the rioters who had risen against his suppression of the lesser monasteries ; but it included all the powers vested in the king's own council, and not only decided such civil cases as were brought before it, but was armed with authority, by secret instructions from the crown, to inquire into presumed illegalities, and to bring before it alleged offenders against the prerogatives of the king; and was made such oppressive use of by Strafford in the time of Charles I. as led to its abolition in the sixteenth year of that reign. As to the actual administration of the laws under the great Tudor despot, Eeeve, in his history of the laws of England, says : — " If ■we are to judge of the criminal law in this reign by the trials which have come dewn to us, it appears that the mind into its former thraldom ; and an attempt was made by the Spanish power, which was then introduced, to restore arbitrary rule by a singular suggestion. Charles V. of Spain presented, through his ambassador, a book to the queen, in which the principle was laid down that as she was the first queen regnant, none of the limitations which had been set to the prerogative of her ancestors the kings of England, applied to her, but to kings only ; and that by consequence she was free and absolute. This book Mary showed to Gardiner and asked his opinion of it, which was that it was a pernicious book, and could work her no good. Thereupon Mary threw the book into the fire ; and Gardiner, on the plea of defining and establishing her authority, brought in an act, which, giving her the same powers as the kings before her possessed, consequently restrained her within the same limits. Mary confirmed the act of her late brother, confining the law of treason to the statute of the 25th of Edward III. ; nor does she seem to have created fresh treasons, except in one instance — making it treasonable to counterfeit not merely the coin of the realm, but also such coins as circu- lated there by royal consent. Once more the reformed religion was restored on tho TO leo.i.j THK OOUfiT OF HIGH COMMISSION. S77 accession of Elizabeth ; and, like her father, she was not only declared supreme head of the church, but she assumed all his claims of supreme authority in the state. She fre- quently told her parliament that it existed entirely by her will and pleasure; and when themembers'entercdon matters ilisagreeablo to her, she snubbed them in language which Founds oddly enough in these d.ays of high parliamentary privilege. By the very first statute passed in her reign, she proceeded to set up a new court, ignored everything like Magna Charta and the right of jury, making her own will the entire law, and placing every subject, with his life and property, at her mercy. This was the Court of High j that it could on occasion bo employed against them- selves, as Laud and Strafford afterwards demonstrated to I their children. This inquisitorial court was armed with [ authority to employ torture to effect the necessary confes- : sions, and its jurisdiction was extended to the punishment : of breaches of the marriage vow, and all misdemeanours and disorders in that state. It was, therafore, sanctioned in forcing its operations into the very bosom of social and domestic life, and presents an aspect most fearful, and cal- culated effectually to lay the subject prostrate at the feet of the sovereign. Elizabeth indeed was fuliy as arrogant aad despotic as VillLam T-sTidjlo. Commission, which assumed all the pretensions of t'le Star Chamber, but was directed more especially to ecclesiastical affairs. The queen was empowered to appoint by letters patent, whenever she thought proper, such persons, being aaatural-born subjects, as she pleased, to execute all jurisdic- tion concerning spiritual matters, and to visit, reform, and ! redress all errors, heresies, schisms, abuses, offences, &c., ^ ■which by any ecclesiastical authority might be lawfully 1 ordered or corrected. The reformers were only too eager ] to put this formidable engine into her hands, because it ! was to crush the Romish hierarchy ; but they did not reflect her father ; and nothing but her lion-like rc.»olutiin, heP choice of able and unscrupulous ministers, and the cunning of her government, could have enabled her to maintain her sway so successfully as she did. The homage due to her sex no doubt also contributed essentially to this result. Yet not all these circumstances could prevent her clearly perceiving that her power was silently and even rapidly waning before that of the public. She frequently had to tell persons that they dared not have done or said certain things in her father's time. She had repeatedly to concede the point to the pertinacity of her parliament ; especially so when, to« 101 578 OASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [A.D. U85 wardg the end of her reign, the hou«e of commons called bo boldly upon her to abolish the monstrous list of monopolies which had been granted to her favourites, commencing from the seventeenth year of her reign. Amongst these monopolies were those for the exclusive sale of salt, cur- rants, iron, powder, cards, calf-skins, felts, poledary (a kind of canvas), ox shin-bones, train-oil, lifts of cloth, potash, anise-seed, vinegar, eca-coal, steel, aqua-vitse, ("') Brand'ng Iron. brushes, pots, bottles, saltpetre, lead, acoidencee for books of the rudiments of Latin grammar), oil, calamine stone, oil of blubber, glasses, paper, starch, tin, sulphur, new drapery, dried pilchards ; the exportation of iron, ham, beer, mid leather j the importation of Spanish wool and Irish linen ; and, in fact, such an astonishing list, that when it was read over in the commons in 1601, but two years before her death, a member in amazement asked, as already stated, whether bread was not of the number. These grants had been obtained from her by her courtiers through the weak side of the woman ; but in the expenses of her government, considering the aid she had to render to her protestant allies in Scotland, France, and the Kether- lands, and the enemies she had to contend with, necessi- tating expensive armaments and navies, her a'l ministration shows most favourably. She would never incur debt, but paid off that incurred by her predecessors, Edward and Mary. Instead of debasing the coin, like her father, she increased its purity ; and the annual outlay of her govern- ment averaged only about sixty-five thousand pounds per .annum. In fact, the more we recede from the personal history of Elizabeth, which no sophistry now can render fair, and ap- proach her great political measures, the more we perceive the true evidences of her glory. She was courageous, beyond the power of a world in arms to terrify her : she was moderate in her demands on her subjects, though vain in her person and showy in her court ; shrewd in her choice of ministers, though weak in her indulgence of favourites ; she was ambitious of the reputation of her country, though staining her own character with the darkest crimes ; and she rendered to the labouring people their birthright in the land, which her father had stripped them of in levelling the monastic institutions, by enacting the Poor Law, the cele- brated statute of the forty-third of .her reign, on which yet rests the whole fabric of parochial right to support in age and destitution. In nothing did she display her govern- mental sagacity so much as in her repeated declaration that money in her subjects' purse was as good as in her own exchequer. It was better, for there it would be growing ten-fuld in the ordinary augmentation of traffic, ready to yield the state proportionate interest on any real emergency. RELIGION AND THE CHCTSCH. We have so fully in the preceding chapters related the great struggle betwixt the papal hierarchy and the increas- ing protestant power both in England and Scotland, that we may here pass cursorily over the subject. There are, however, some features of the great crisis which demand placing in greater prominency, in order to a complete understanding of the causes in operation. And, in the first place, we must remark that complete and terrible as was the overthrow of the ancient hierarchy in these realms, it came at last with a rapidity which astonished even the friends of the change. From the time of Richard II. the new doctrine had been afloat amongst the people, and even in his day had availed to shake the throne, and fill the public mind with prognostics of papal decay. Yet reign after reign had passed, and the church had not only main- tained its position, but had seemed to crush with a success- ful hand the protestant schismatics. The fires which consumed the more (Jaring advocates of the new opinions seemed to scare the rest into obscurity. The triumphant church of Rome still presented a front of determined strength, and lorded it over the land with a magnificence Ptrmnnent Pillcjy. which seemed destined to endure for ever. The oppressed Lollards cried in their hiding-places, "0 Lord! how long, how long ? " and the hearts of the most sanguine beat with TO 1003.] POWER AND GRANDErR OF THE PAPAL CHURCH. 57 9 the heavy pulses of despair. Never did the day of the downfall of the papal church in England appear more distant than in the reign of Henry VII., and for above twenty years of the reign of his eon, the destined over- tlirower. Henry VII. was a firm upholder of the catholic hierarchy. " Ue advanced churchism,' says Bacon; " he was tender A Fria-. of the privileges of sanctuaries, though they did him much mischief; he built and endowed many religious foundations, besides his memorable hospital of the Savoy ; and yet he was a great alms -giver in secret, which showed that his works in public were rather dedicated to God's glory than his own." The fact was that Henry VII. was too cautious u man to become a reformer. He was too fond of money to risk its loss by the most distant chance of an unsuccess- ful enterprise, and he was too recently placed on the throne of a vanquished dynasty to venture on so bold a measure of ecclesiastical revolution had he been thus inclined, which he ■was far enough from being. On the contrary, his ministers were almost all great and able churchmen. Cardinals Bourchier and Morton, archbishops Deane and Warham, were the accomplished churchmen who conducted the gov- ernmental aflfairs of Henry ; and when the public outcry against the worldly and dissolute lives of the clergy, both secular and regular, became too loud to be disregarded, these clerical ministers of the king endeavoured with one hand to reduce the corruption by advice and remonstrance, and to check the progress of heresy by the stake and fagot Henry VII. permitted this mode of extinguishing opinion by destroying the entertainers of it; and in the ninth year of bia reign Joan Boughton was burnt in SmithBeld, and this auto-da-fe was followed by a number of others ; as William Tylsworth, at Amersham, whose daughter was compelled to set fire to the pile which destroyed her father ; Laurence Guest, at Salisbury, and others ; besides numbers who were burnt in the cheek, imprisoned, and otherwise oruelly treated. These atrocities, as usual, so far from diminishing the heresy, only excited the abhorrence of the people, and weakened their attachment to the church. Henry VIII. continued the persecuting practices of his father with unabated rigour. In his earlier days he ap- peared determined to do honour to the church beyonl mos; of his predecessors. He raised up and created in cardinal Wolsey such a colossus of ecclesiastical pomp and greatness as the world had rarely seen in its most catholic ages and its most splendid courts. The simple son of a butcher at Ipswich, this man had entered the church and found his way to court under Henry VII. From the moment that he attracted the attention of Henry VIII., his upward ascent was like that of a rocket. In 1313 he was mado bishop of Tournay, in France ; in 1514, bishop of Lincoln and archbishop of York ; in 1515, the king's almoner, car- dinal, and lord high chancellor of the kingdom ; in ISl-? he became the pope's legate d latere, bishop of Bath and Wells; in 1.521, abbot of St. Albans; in 1323, bishop of Durham, in exchange for the bishopric of Bath and Wells . and in 1529, bishop of Winchester, in exchange fur tho bishopric of Durham. Besides all these dignities, he had pensions from the king of France, the emperor of Germany, the pope, and other princes. The whole power of the king- dom was in his bands ; for Henry, so far from feeling any jealousy of his greatness, only felt himself the greater for having a servant who in pride and splendour rivalled tho greatest mouarchs. The state with which we have seen, in the course of our narrative of Henry VIII. 's reign, thia meteor of priestly eminence and affluence blazing along its course, would lead us to believe that the church had reached a still higher pitch of power and grandeur than ever in this country. His palaces were more gorgeous and crowded with more evidences of enormous wealth than those of kings. The retinue of servants and attendants. I many of the latter being nobles or the sons of nobles, was ' something inconceivable. It was only at Hampton Court that the whole train of his servants and the crowd of his visitors, including the nobility and ambassadors of foreign I courts, could be, suitably lodged and entertained. His secretary. Cavendish, says that his establishment consisted of a thousand persons. His "cheine roll," he says, was of itself eight hundred persons, besides the servants of visitors. There was his steward, a clergyman ; hia treasurer, u knight ; his comptroller, an esquire. His master cook presided in his kitchen clad in velvet or satin, and wearing a gold chain, besides two under cooks and their six labourers ; yeomen, and grooms of the larder, thi Sa-.^iu,iry, Westminster. scullery, the ewry, the buttery, the cellery, the chandlery, and the wafery. He had a master of the wardrobe, and twenty assistants ; yeomen and grooms again of the laundry, the office of purveyance, of the bakehouse, tlin wood-yard, the barn, of his gate, his barge, his stables, h's sso OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP BNOLAJTO. [a.d. 11 8 farriers, his yeoumn of the etirrup, his maltster, with alt their umier grooms, horses, &c. There wns Chen thd dean and sub-dean of his ohapel ; rejwater of the chuir, the gospeller, the epistler, the maater of llie singers, with his men and cliildren. In his proces- sions were seen forty priests, all in rich capes and other vestments of white satin, or scarlet, or crimson. The altar in his chapel was corercd with ma$sy plate, and blazed with Pulp-t Hour glass, time of Edward VI. jewels and precious stones. In hie privy cliamber he had hie chief chamberlain, vice-chamborlain, and two gentlemen ushers; six gentlemen waiters and twelve yeomen, and at their head nine or ten lords to attend on him, each with their two or three servants, and some more, to wait on them — the earl of Derby having five. Three gentleman cup-bearers, gentlemen carvers and servers, forty in number ; six gen- tlemen ushers, and eight grooms. Attending his table were twelve doctors and chaplains, clerk of the closet, two clerks of the signet, four counsellors learned in the law, and two secretaries. Besides these there were his riding-clerk, clerk of the crown, clerk of the hamper and chaffer, clerk of the cheque for the chaplains, clerk for the yeomen of the chamber, fourteen footmen garnished with rich running coats whenever he had a journey ; a herald-at-arms, sergeant-at- arms, physician, apothecary, four ministrels, keeper of the tents, an armourer, an instructor of his wards in chancery, •' an instructor of his wardrop of roabes," a keeper of his chamber, a surveyor of York, and clerk of the green cloth. " All these," says his secretary. Cavendish, "were daily attending, down-lying and up -rising ; and at need he had eight continual boards for the chamberlains and gentlemen- ofiBcers, having a mess of young lords and another of gen- tlemen, every one of which had two or three others to wait upon him." This was bis state at home. When he prepared to attend term ut Westminister Hall, he was attired in his cardinal's robes, and was followed by all his retinue. His upper \ vesture was of scarlet or crimson taffeta, or crimson satin, , ingrained ; hie pillion scarlet, with a sable tippet about his neck. Ho had in his hand an orange, which having the 1 inside taken out, was refilled with a sponge and aromatic I vinegar, lest in the crowd he might imbibe ony pestilence. j Before him were carried the great seal of England and the ! cardinal's hat, by " some lord or gentleman right solemnly." ' On entering his presence-chamber his two great crosses were borne before him, and the gentleman ushers cried, " On, masters, on, and make room for my lord." On de- scending to the hall of his palace, he was preceded by addi- tional officers, a sergeant-at-arms with a great silver mace, and two gentlemen bearing great plates of silver. Arriving at his gate, he mounted his mule, trapped all in crimson velvet, with a saddle of the same, and thus he proceeded to Westminster — Pold-ftxc and pillar borne before his fsc«. — Hoile. his cross -bearers, and pillar-bearers all upon great horses, and in fine scarlet, with a train of gentry, footmen with battle-axes, itc. When he went to the court at Qrcenwich, he went in his barge in equal state, and when he proceeded to the Continent on great embassages, with far more. He astonished the people abroad by the actually regal splendour with which he travelled, attended by such a retinue of knights, nobles, and prelates, amounting to four thousand horsemen or more, with his cardinal's hat carried before him on a cushion, as had never been seen in the proudest days of the church, except in the pontiffs themselves. And this ostentatious parade was only in keeping with his sub- stantial power. For a long course of years the whole government of England was in his hands. The king did nothing without him ; and as prime minister and lord chancellor of England, archbishop of Y'ork, and chief judge in the court of Star Chamber, there was no man or his estate that was not in his power. His revenues from a BitU'.ip uF the Ke'oruicd Cburcb. hundred sources were immense, and such was the magni- ficence of his position and influence, that well might he for- get himself and utter the famous words of unporolleled egotism — " Ego it rtx meus," TO 1603 ] INFATUATED CONDUCT OF THE CLEKUy. 581 Who could have deemed that the catholic church was near its end as the state religion of this country, whilst the king thus delighted to honour its dignitaries: But all •was hollow splendour, the last burst of splendour before the light expired, the lightning befure death, the glorious sunset on the verge of the deep dark night. The very great- ness of Wolsoy hastened the fall of the church as well as of himself. The envy born of such towering grandeur ■watched to avenge itself upon it. The arrogant demeanour, the rapacity, and the frequent injustice of the proud minister made him, and the church through him, deadly enemies. " For," says Strype, "he disobliged not only the inferior sort by hia pride and haughty behaviour, but by laying his hands upon tlie rights, privileges, and profits of the gentry and clergy, he made them his implacable enemies too. He took upon him to bestow benefices, though the real right of patronage lay in others. He colled all offending persons before him, whether of the laity or clergy, and compelled theui to compound as his officers thought fit." But this swollen apparition of mortal grandeur was but the creature of the most violent and capricious of men. A breath had made hun, and a breath unmade. A single word and he fell headlong, assuredly sliaking In his fall the great hierarchy of which he had seemed the most gorgeous pillar and ornament ; for the whole system was corrupt and rotten to the core. The wealth of the monastic orders had especially demoralised them. Both the regular and secular clergy were accused of not only spending their time in taverns and gambling houses, but of abandoning in such resorts the very costume which distinguished them from the laity ; of wearing daggers, gowns, and hoods of silk and embroidery, and Idtting their hair grow long and fall on their shoulders. The interiors of the monastic houses were described as very dens of licentiousness, both in monks and nuns. We have it on the evidence of one of the letters of reproof addressed by arciibishop Morton to the abbot of Sc. Albans, that that famous abbey was filled with every species of vice and sensuality. The abbot is declared to have turned out all the nuns of two nunneries under his charge and filled tliem with women of scandalous character, and that both he and his monks led the most vile lives amongst them. That they besides this kept concubines, who are especially named, and indulged in still more monstrous excesses. He charges them with cutting down the w^oods, wasting and embezzling the property of the church, stealing the plate, and even picking out the jewels from tlie shcine of the patron saint. Wiiilst sucli was the corruption of the clergy, a corrup- . tion so complete tliat no warnings nor censures availed to produce amendment ; tlioiigh the criminal horde was well aware that everyday tlie reformers were growing in numbers and noting their enormities with vigilant eyes ; these infatuated men fell to quarrelling amongst themselves, thus giving the last sign of a falling house, the being divided against itself. The most remarkable cir- cumst.ance, moreover, in this schism is, the very question which has just recently furnished such a fiery theme of discussion in both cathulio and protestant churches, the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin. The Franciscans, or Grey Friars, were the champions of this doctrine ; the Dominicans assumed tlie oppo.site position, admitting, however, that the Virgin became entirely purified in her mothcr'a womb - so that the difference of opinion was so littlo that it might have satisfied any but ecclesiastical combatants. But these two parties divided the whole catholic community, and thus threw the public into a very blaze of animosity. In vain did the pope himself endeavour to conclude the strife by stepping forth as the champion of the immaculate dogma. The feud burned on ; but the Fran- ciscans, by the sanction of the Vatican, carrying the people with them, the Dominicans resorted to one of those pious frauds so frequent in the church of Rome, and produced an image of the Virgin, which, besides moving her eyes, shedding tears, rising up and sitting down, also denied the immaculateness of her conccp ion, and declared the Fransiscans impostors. The people, overcome by this miracle, at once abandoned the Franciscans ; who, however, too well versed in such mysteries, seized the image and exhibited to the public the springs and machinery by which it had been worked. This fatal exposure being made, the four Dominicans who bad been most active in the trick, were delivered over to their enemies, the pro- vincial of the order being one of them, and were burned at the stake. The Franciscans triumphed, but the church received a mortal wound. With the blind tenacity which often induces falling bodies to assert their prerogatives with an .arrogant obsti- nacy, the church, in the fourth year of Henry VIII., com- menced a daring opposition to the government, in defence of the benefit of clergy. Henry VII., as we Lave stated, had limited this much abused privilege, by his statute ordering such laymen as claimed it undercharge of murder to be burnt in the brawn of the thumb with the letter M. Henry VIII. had a bill introduced into parliament for the purpose of still further limiting this mischievous right, and denying benefit of clergy to all murderers and robbers whatever. This the clerjiy opposed in parliament, and preached against in the pulpit. The lords and commonf were unanimously in favour of the bill as well as the pulilie at large, but the clergy determined not to give way. Whilst the public mind was in a ferment on this subject, a tailor of London, of the name of Hunne, was brought into conflict with the incumbent of his parish, on account of mortuary dues ; and being sued in the spiritual court, with a boldness which marked the rising spirit of the times, and which the clergy ouglit to have noted seriously, he took out a writ of prasinunire against his prosecutor, for appealing to a foreign jurisdiction, the spiritual court, but still under the authority of the pope. Enraged at this audacity they threw tlie tailor into prison ou a charge of heresy, where he was found banging and dead. A coroner's inquest found the officers of the prison guilty of murder, and it appeared that the bishop of Loudon's chancellor, the sumner and bell-ringer had perpetrated the crime. This threw the deepest odium on the clergy, and greatly alienated the people from them ; yet they did not cease to prosecute their claim of privilege, and afcer much contest, Wolsey prayed the king to refer the matter to the pope. But even at this early period Henry showed that he was tenacious of his own power, and t:ave a striking foretaste of what he would one day do. He replied, " By permission and ordinance of God, we are king of England ; and the kings of England in times past hath never had any superior, but God only. Therefore know you well that we will maintain the right of our crown, and of our temporal ?82 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EN'GLAXD. [i.v. 185 iurisdiction, as well in this as in all other points, in as ample a manner as any of oar progenitors have done before jur time.' This was the first growl of the lion, which required only further provocation to burst forth into that full roar which shook down the Roman hierarchy in this island, like mere dew-drops that hung upon his lair. as completely reinstated popery, and with a series of horrors which stamped terror and aversion of catholic ascendancy for ever deep in the spirit of this nation. The number of persons who died in the flames in that awful reign, for their faith and the freedom of cotiscience, is stated to be two hundred and eighty-eight; but lord Burleigh estimated Lutber decouDcirg tha RoinUb Ritnal. The narrative of the events which attended the transi- \ those who perished by fire, torture, famine, and imprison - tion from the catholic to the protestant church in England, i mcnt at not less than four hundred. Besides these, vast V/nlcs, and Scotland, we have necessarily traced in detail- ' numbers suffered cruelly in a variety of ways. " Some inp the civil and military aff.iirs of these kingdoms. Wliilst of the professors," says Coverdale, " were thrown int<; Eaward VI. thoroughly established protestantism, Mary dungeons, noisome holes, dark, loathssme, and stinking 1603.1 PERSECUTION OF THE REFORMERS. 563 corners ; others lying in fetters and chains, and loaded dale, the translator of the Bible, bishop of Exeter ; Horn, with so many irons that they could scarcely stir. Some dean of Durham ; Knoi, the apostle of Scotland ; and Fox, tied in the stocks with their heels upwards ; some having ; the martyrologist. Besides these eminent men, there were their legs in the stocks, with their necks chained to the wall with gorgets of iron ; some with hands and legs in the stocks at once ; sometimes both hands in and both lege out ; sometimes the right hand with the left leg, or the left hand with the right leg, fastened in the stocks'with mana- cles and fetters, having neither stool nor stone to sit on to ease their woful bodies ; some stand- ing in Skevington's gyves (com- monly called ' Skevington'B daugh - ter ') — which were most painful engines of iron — with their bodies doubled ; some whipped and scourged, beaten with rods, and buffeted with fists ; and some having their hands burned with a candle to try their patience, and force them to relent; some hunger-pined, and some miserably famished and starved." The chief reformers fled out of the kingdom, chiefly to Frankfort and to Swit- zerland ; and eight hundred or more lived to become the heads of the restored church Destruction of tlic Cross in Clioapside. Sir John Cheke, the famous Greek scholar. Sir Anthony Cooke, and Sir Francis KnoUys, afterwards Elizabeth's vice- chamberlain. ' ■• On Elizabeth's accession to the throne she restored protestant- ism, but reluctantly. She even inado overtures to the pope for amicable relations, if not the reunion of the churches ; but the pope most impolitically denied her legitimacy, and thus threw her irrevocably into the arms of the protestants. Still she was by no means disposed to go so far as her brother Edward had gone, much le!-s as far as the refugees, who now flocked back again from Geneva, would have carried her. They had imbibed all the rigid independent notions of Calvin and Zwinglius, and that probably before their departure "~ from England — a circumstance which, there is little doubt, di- rected their course to that quar- ter; for the reformers who re- sorted to Frankfort were much standard : that standard very much of her fatlier. She renounced all under Elizabeth ; amongst these were Poynet, bishop of ' nearer to her Winchester ; Grindal, afterwards bishop of London, and | the same as that finally primate of England ; Sandys, afterwards archbishop i allegiance to the pope and the church of Rome, though she of York ; Ball, bishop of Ossory ; Pilkington, afterwards ! hesitated to declare herself the supreme head of the church bishop of Durham ; Bentham, afterwards bishop of Lich- till it was conferred on her by parliament. She issued Punishment uf ike I lilury. field ; Scorey, bisliop of Chichester, and afterwards of orders to restrain the zeal of the protestants, who began Hereford ; Young, afterwards archbishop of York ; Cos, ' to pull down the images and to restore the service to ita afterwards of Ely ; Jewel, afterwards of Salisbury ; Cover- state in king Edwards time. She gave directions that 5S1 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP E^{GLANU. [a.d. 1485 a part of the service should bo read iu liuglish, aud fur- bade the ek-votioa of the liost ; but at tliu auiue tiiue she suspended all preaching. Parliament, on meeting, passed an act asserting the supreiuncv of the crown over tlie church, revived the acts of Heury VIII. which abolished the power uud jurisdiction of the pope in England, ahd authorised the use of king EJw.ird's Bovk of Common Prayer, with some alterations, chiefly in the communion service. Thus they cast off the catholics who would not conform, but did not go far enough for the more zealous reformers. The oath of supremacy was preicnced to the bishops, and it had the effect of clearing the church of all hut Kitchen of St. Asaphs. The inferior clergy, however, were not so stiff for their religions views, and only sis abbots, twelve deans, twelve archdea- cons, fifteoa heads of cjUcgea, fifty prebendaries, and eighty rectors refused compliance. The monks returned to secular life, but the nuns mostly went abroad. The clergy were ordered to wear the habits in use in the latter part of king Edward's time ; and their marriages, against which the queen showed a strong repugnance, were put under stringent regulations. The press also was laid under the most rigorous restrictions, and no book was to be printed or published without the licence of the queen, or of six of her privy council, or of her ecclesiastical commissioners, or the two archbishops, the bishop of London, the chancel- lors of the universities, and the bishop and archdeacons of the place where it was produced. All persons were com- manded to attend tlieir parish churches under severe penalties. In 1562 the articles of religion of king Edward were reduced from forty-two to thirty-nine — the number still remaining. In 1571 they underwent a further revision, and were made binding on the clergy before they could be admitted to orders. Thus Elizabeth, though she threw off the yoke of Rome, imposed her own yoke on the minds of her subjects as rigorously. She had no idea whatever of the freedom of the press, or the liberty of conscience. In this respect she was as arbitrary as the catholic church ; and the church of England, still adhering to her canons, as impli- citly demands from its adherents the surrender of their judgments to its judgment as prescribed in the thirty-nine articles. Like her father, the longer she lived the more resolute she became to enforce her own dogmas on the whole body of her subjects. In the twenty-third year of her reign the penalty for non-attendance of the established church was raised to twenty pounds per month. In the same year another act was passed, declaring it high treason to attempt to draw any one to the church of Eome ; and the persons thus drawn were equally guilty of treason, and all their aiders, afcettors, and concealers wore made guilty of misprision of treason. Those arbitr.ary laws against the freedom of opinion went on increasing in severity. In 1595 an act was passed, which made traitors of all Jesuits and other pipiah priests who hod been ordained abroad, and all sub- jects whatever educated in catholic seminaries who did not immediately return home and take the oath of supremacy. The receivers of any such persons were declared felons without benefit of clergy. Whoever sent money to any foreign Jesuits or priests were liable to prajmunire ; and parents sending their children to school abroad without licence from her majesty, -,vero liable to a nenalty of one hundred pounds. Fresh acts were added in 1 jfcl aud loilS, the former to make void all conveyances of property by popish recusants, with the object of esoa[>iug the penalties imposed upon them, aud to decree that the penalty of twenty pounds a month, for non-attendance at church, should bo levied by distress to the extent of all the ofienders' goods and two- thirds of their lands ; the latter ordered all popish recusants above sixteen to repair to their proper places of abode, and never more to go more than five miles from them without special licence from the bishop of the diocese or lieutenant of the county, under penalty of forfeiture of their goods and of the profits of their lands for life ; those having no goods or lands to be deemed felons. Under these fearful acts the catholics were, from the year of their first enactment to the end of the reign, hara.ssed in the manner we have described in preceding chapters, and a number of them almost every year sent to the gallows, ten being executed at one time, including tlie celebrated Jesuit Conipian. But if the atrocities committed by the catholics in the reign of Mary, and the fears of their recurrence should they regain the power, afforded some plea for these persecutions, what is to be said of the same rigours applied to the reformers, who simply desired to form their reUgious opinions on the sacred volume — the divine charter of humanity ? Thousands of these, from the earliest days of the reformation, had claimed this privilege as their plain birth-right ; and many of those who came back from the Continent on the termination of the Marian persecution were no little surprised and discouraged to find themselves equally excluded from the exercise of their own judgments by a protestant queen. The same law of absolute conformity was applied to them as to the catholics. They were required to att^d the preaching of those against whose doctrines they protested, and suffered the same monstrous fines if they absented themselves. Instead of that "glorious liberty of the gospel " which they had promised themselves, they found themselves required to accept with all homage the cut out and prescribed pattern of opinion dictated by an individual woman, who made a desperate stand against the removal of images from the churches, and practised many popish ceremonies in her own private chapel. Instead of the form of service which the English refugees had esta- lished at Gcneviv, in which there w-os no Litany, no responses, and scarcely any rites or ceremonies, they were commanded to adopt a form which appeared to them little removed from popery. The Genevan refugees, who, from their demand for the utmost purity and primitive simplicity in worship, were styled puritans, would, had they been permitted, have planted a church far more like the church as it came to exist in Scotland than that which was and is established for England. They opposed the claims of the bishops to a >upcrior rank or authority to the presbyters ; they denied that they possessed the sole right of ordination, and exercise of church discipline ; they objected to the titles and dignities, which had been copied by the Anglican church from the Roman, of archdeacons, deans, canons, prebendaries ■, to the jurisdiction of spiritual courts ; to an indiscriminato admission of all persons to the communion • to many parts J of the liturgy, and of the offices of marriage and burial, including the use of the ring in marriage ; they repudi- ated set forms of pr.ayers, and the use of godfathers and godmothers ; to the rite of confirmation ; the observance of Lent and holidays ; to the cathedral worship ; to the use TO 1603.] THE COMMENCEMENT OF NONCONFORMITY. 585 of the organ ; to the retention of the reading of apocryphal books in the church ; to pluralities, non-residence ; to the presentation of livings by the crown, or any other patron, or by any mode but the free election of the people. Doing renatice in a Church. In short, they were far in advance of the queen, and would have swept away at a stroke all those corruptions which remain to the present day to obstruct the usefulness of the state church, and to scandalise foreigners. Especially they recoiled from the sign of the cross in baptism, from kneeling at tho sacrament, from bowing at the name of Jesus, from the marriage-ring, and from the wearing of the square cap, tippet, and surplice. But in that age no conception of religious liberty was entertained. The puritans were as resolute in their ideas of conformity to their notions as Elizabeth was to hers ; and had they had tho power, would have used tho same com- pulsion. Knox exhibited that spirit of exclusiveness to the extreme in Scotland, even calling for the deposition of the queen as a " Jezebel " and " an idolatress," because she would not adopt his peculiar tenets and view of things. The puritans exhibited the same spirit long after in America, where they put to death the quakers for the exercise of tlieir faith. In fact, the great and divine principle of the entire liberty of the gospel was too elevated a principle to be arrived at suddenly after so many ages of spiritual despotism, and required long and earnest study of the spirit and example of Christ ; severe struggles, and bloody deaths, and incredible sufferings in those who came to see the sublime truth, before the battle of religious freedom was fought out, and all parties could admit the plain fact which had revealed itself to Charles V. after his abdication of the throne, when ho amused himself with clock-making : that as no two clocks can be made to go precisely alike, it is folly to expect all men to think pccisely alike. "Both parties," says Neal, in his "Uis^tory of the Puritans," speaking of these times, " agreed too well in asserting the necessity of a uniformity of public worship, and in using the sword of the magistrate for the support and defence of their respective principles, which they made an ill use of in their turns whenever they could grasp the power in their bands. The standard of uniformity, according to the bishops, was the queen's supremacy and the laws of the land ; according to the puritans, the decrees of provincial and national synods, allowed and enforced by the civil magistrate : but neither party were for admitting that liberty of conscience and freedom of profession which is every man's right as far as is consistent with the peace of the civil government he lives under." Elizabeth, having the power, compelled all those clergy- men who conformed sufficiently to accept livings and bishoprics, not only to conform, but more or less to perse- cute their brethren. Even men like Parker and Grindal, naturally averse to compulsion, were obliged to do her bidding, till Grindal rebellefP and was set aside ; but their places were supplied by Sandys, who had himself fled from pofiish compulsion, and by Whitgift, who rigour- ously enforced the laws. Sandys actually sentenced the anabaptists who, in 1575, were burnt at the stake by order of tlic queen — for to this pass it came : Hammond, a ploughman, being burnt at Norwich in 1579, and Kett, a member of one of the universities in the same place, ten years afterwards, under Elizabeth. Such was the state of the protestant church at the termi- nation of the period we are now reviewing. The queen discouraged preaching and instruction of the people, allowing many bishoprics, prebends,, and livings to be vacant, and receiving their incomes. She declared that one or two preachers in a county was enough, probably fearing the prevalence of the more advanced opinions. Parker in his time had been ordered to enforce strict com- pliance with tho rubric, and numbers of the most eminent and ehiquent clergymen resigned their livings and travelled over the country, and preached where tiiey could, " as if,"' says bishop Jewell, " they were apostles ; and so they were with regard to their poverty, for silver and gold they had none." Being, however, continually brought before the authorities and fined and otherwise punished, they determined to break off all connection with the public churches, and form themselves into an avowed separate communion, worshipping God in their own way, and being ready to suffer for his sake. Here, then, commenced the great cause of Nonconformity, and the formation of all those sects which from time to time have since appeared, Cathedral of Geneva. each claiming— and justly— the right to worship God and to regulate their particular church as seems conformable to their understanding of the Scriptures. These separate assemblies, however, were stigmatised as conventicles, and many from this time became the laws passed to put them 58C CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1485 doiro, as we shall hereafter find. Amongst the noncon- formists a mo9t zcaloui and resolute sect arose called Brownists, from Robert Brown, a preacher in the diocese of Norwich, a man of good family, and said to be a relative of lord Burleigh, His followers soon acquired the name of Independents, which thej still retain, from their denial of all ecclesiastical dignities and authority whatever, assert- ing that each congregation constitutes a complete church, with the right to nominate their own minister and conduct their own affairs. This body of Christians, at this day so extensive and respectable, of course felt the especial weight of the persecution of the established church, with which it refused to hold the slightest communion ; yet to sucli a degree did it flourish — a proof of the onward spirit of the time — that Sir AValter Ralei^ declared in parliament that there were before the death of Elizabeth not less than twenty thousand members of that body in Norfolk, Esses, and the neighbourhood of London. In the narration of tlie struggles of this period in Scot- land we hate sufficiently traced the persecution of the pro- bishops, declared that episcopacy was unscriptural and unlawful — a dictum which the parliament fully ratified in 1S92, establishing the presbyterian church as the national one, with general assembly, provincial synods, presbyteries, and kirk sessions. In 1597 the parliament admitted certain representatives of the clergy to seats in it, to which the general assembly assented at its next meeting : and thus was completed the system of church government in Scot- land at that time. LITERATORB, SCIESCB, AND ART. The present centennial produced as great a revolution in literature and science as in religion. We still look back to this era for some of the greatest names and greatest works which have adorned and enlightened not only our own country but the whole civilised world. When we enumerate Sir Thomas More, lord Surrey, Roger Ascham, Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney, Shakespeare, Marlowe, Bacon, Buchanan, Gawin Douglas, Dunbar, and Sir David Lyndsay, we remind our readers that we are moving amid Arms of Geneva. lestante by the catholic church— the martyrdom of Patrick Hamilton, George Wishart, Walter Mill, and others ; the murder of cardinal Beaton, and the final triumph of Knox and his compeers, from which period the expulsion of Catholicism and the organisation of the protestant church of Scotland went on rapidly. In 15G0 the lords of the congregation entered Edinburgh in arms ; and parlia- ment assembling, abolished for ever the pope's jurisdiction, abolished the celebration of mass, and authorised " The Confession of the Faith and Doctrine beheved and professed by the Protestants of Scotland." An act also was passed to pull down all cloisters and abbey-churches still left standing : and the church, not waiting for any further enactment of the parliament or crown, went on exercising its own proper functions as an independent church, go- rerned, not by the state, but by presbyteries, synods, and general assemblies. In 1580 the general assembly, after having at various times diminished the power and rafik of a constellation of genius, than which time has scarcely any brighter. But in the two words, Shakespeare and Bacon, we pronounce the name and glorious births of dramatic and philosophic genius, which have placed this country on the summit of intellectual fame, by works never since surpassed in any nation, and by discoveries in science and art which I have flowed from the " NoTum Organum" of Bacon as from ! an eternal and ever strengthening fountain. True it is both these great men belong by their published works , rather to the succeeding period than to the present, and in that we shall more fully review their works ; but Bacon had long before the death of Elizabeth sketched out the I plan of his immortal work, though he had not dared to publish it ; and Shakespeare had not only written his poems, but had also written and acted in many of his most brilliant and original plays. By these great writers the English language was established as a great classical lan- guage ; and though it has since extended and connected TO 1003.] FOUNDATION OF NEW COLLEGES AND SCHOOLS. &87 itself with the progress of Isnowledge and most astonisliing and I varied discoveries, we can produce no purer, no stronger nor more eloquent specimens of it than from the pages of Shakespeare, which continue to be read and listened to on our stage, the genuine speech of Englishmen — some- what quaint occasionally, but always musical to the ear, familiar to the sense, and animating as old wine to the spiri'. The mass of men and topics with which we have to deal in this department of our subject is so great, that we must take but a cursory view of what can only be fully discussed in a history exclusively devoted to our literature and art. Our business is to sketch the great outlines of our progress the reader must seek the details in the works and biographies belonging to the different subjects. The violent changes and spoliations of the reformation (lid not check the foundation of new colleges and seminarios of learning — the fountains, under a more liberal order of things, certain to produce noble results. Even Henry VIIL, in his wholesale destruction of endowed property, and though college property was included in the acts which ho procured from his obsequious parliament, for the most part spared the resources of education. The reign of Henry VIII. was distinguished by the foundation, in Oxford, of Brazennose College, in 1511, by Sir William Smith, bishop of Lincoln, and Sir Eichard Sutton, of Pres- bury, in Cheshire. Old Eicbard Fox, bishop of Wipchester, who had been prime minister of Henry VII., and still vran of the council of luB son, in 1.517 founded Corpus Christ!. The only exception to Henry VIII.'s patronage of the colleges occurred in those founded by Wolsey — his Cardinal College at Oxford, and his college at Ipswich, which both fell with him. In 1545 Henry himself founded Christ Church instead of that of Wolsey, which he then dissolved. In l.'i54 Trinity College was founded on the basis of Dur- ham College by Sir Thomas Pope. In 1557 Sir Thomnp White, alderman and merchant tailor of London, founded St. John's College, on the site of Bernard College. These were in the reign of queen Mary. In Elizabeth's time rose .Tosus College, in 1571, from funds furnished by Dr. Hugh Price, and augmented by the queen herself. la Cambridge three collcgi^s arose during the reign of Henry VII. — the only educational endowments of .any note during that period. In 1490 John Alcock, bishop of Ely, founded JesuB College ; 1505, Margaret, countess of Rich- mond, mother of Henry VII., founded Christ's College, and also in 1506, very shortly before her son's death, fit. John's College. In 1519 Edward Stafford, duke of Buckingham, commenced the college of Magdalen — ^now called Maudlin ; but as he was executed for high treason in 1531, lord Audley, the lord chancellor, completed it. Henry VIII. founded Trinity College in 1536, and at the same time four new professorships in the university ; namely, for theology, law, Greek, and Hebrew. Henry was proud of his learn- ing, and had the good sense to support, with all the imperative force of his character, the now study of Greek, when it was violently assailed by the church and professors. Dr. Caius founded the c illegc named after him, and popularly pronounced "Keys," on the basis of the old hall of Gon- ville in 1557 — the only extension of Cambridge university under queen Mary. In Elizabeth's time. Sir Walter Mildmay founded Emanuel College in 1584, and in 1594 Sidney- Sussex College was founded by lady Frances Sidney, widow of Ratcliffe, earl of Sussex. The universities of Scotland were greatly extended during this period. That of Aberdeen was founded in 1494 under tlie name of King's College, James IV. having procured a bull for that purpose from pope Alexander VII., thuogh the bishop was the main benefactor. In 1593 Marischal Col- lege, in the same university, was erected by George ear Marischal. At St. Andrews the new college of St. Leo- nard's was established in 1512 l>y archbishop Stuart an d John Hepburn, tlie prior of the metropolitan church. This was afterwards united with that of St. Sulvator. and took the name of the L'nited College. St. Mary's, in the same university, was founded, in 15.37, by archbishop Beaton. In 1582 James VI. founded the university of Edinburgh, [n Ireland queen Elizabeth founded in Dublin, in 1091, the university of Trinity College. Contemporaneous with these colleges and universities rose a great number of grammar-schools, designed to extend the knowledge of Latin to the mass of the people ; and amongst the magnificent endowments, since too much withdrawn, by the influence of wealth, from the poor and the orphan, for whom they were designed, and devoted to the u.se of the affluent, for whom they were not designed, and who ought to educate their own children at their own expense, we may name St. Paul's school, London, founded by dean Colct in 1509 ; that of Christ Church, London, founded by Edward VI. in 1553, the year of his death ; Westminister school, established by Elizabeth 1500; and Merchant Tailors school, founded by that guild in 1508. In Scotland, the High School of Edinburgh wa8 founded by the magistrates of that city in 1577. It is a curious fact that the revival of the Greek lan- guage and literature was coincident with the Reformation. Widely opposed ns the spirit of Christianity and of the Greek Mythology are. in the purity of the one and the licen- tiousness of the other ; in the doctrine of one sole and supreme God, and the host of deities of the Grecian system, yet in one particular they are identical, that is, in breathing a spirit of liberty and popular dominance which were not long in showing their effects in this; country. Whilst the Scriptures were now translated and made familiar to the people at least by means of puritan preachers, and were thus proclaiming that God had made of one blood all the nations of the earth, and that ho was no respecter of persona tliereby laying the foundations of eternal justice in the public mind, and teaching, as a necessary consequence, that the end and object of all human government was not tlie good of kings or nobles, but of the collective people— the poets, the historians, the dramatists, and philosophers of re- publican Greece were brought to bear all the force of their fiery eloquence, their glowing narratives, and their subtle reasoning upon the same theme ; presenting not only argu- ments for general liberty and a popular polity, but examples (.r the most sublime struggles of a small but glorious people against domestic tyrants and the vast hordes of barbarism without, of noblest orators thundering against the oppres- sions of the mighty, of awful tragedians steeping their stage In the imaged blood of tyrants and of traitors, of patriots perishing in joy for the salvation of their country. The very New Testament was in that superb language ; and whilst it brought " life and immortality to light, " on the surest and divincst evidence, in the same tongue Socrates and Plato were asserting the same immortality and stimu- lating to the same virtue and devotion of soul. S8S CASSELLS ILLDSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. H85 It was not to be \roadered at that on the bursting of these novel cleinenta like a sudden and stron;; torrent into the arena of human life, there should arise a fearful struggle and combat betwixt the old intellectual ideas and the new. The duplex inundation pouring from the hills of Palestine and of Greece, and in united vastness deluging Europe, threatened to destroy all the old landmarks of the school- men, and to drown Duns Scotus and Aquinas amongst the owls and bats of the monkish cells and somnolent dream chambers. It was soon seen that this new language was the language of the very book from which the reformers drew their words winged with the fire of destruction to the been taught in England was the new foundation of dean Colet, St. Paul's school, where the celebrated scholar William Lilly, who had studied in Rhodes, was the master. Wolscy introduced it into his new colleges, and llonry VIll. being at Woodstock and bearing of a furious harangue made at Oxford against the study of the Oreek Testament in the university, immediately ordered the teaching of it, and established a professorship of it also in Oambridge. Notwithstanding, a violent opposition arose against the study of Greek in consequence of the authority it gave to the new doctrines of the reformers, rendering an appeal to the original text invincible, and Erasmus informs us that Clir ,-t's llospil.I, tiUiiilid In- EilwarJ VI. ancient slavery of popular ignorance and popular depen- dence on priests and popes, and no time was lost in denouncing it as a gross and new-fangled heresy. It was a heresy from which not only freedom in church but in state ■was to spring ; the seed from which grew, in the next age, ijur Hampden?, Marvels, I'yms, Prynnes, Cromwells, and >liitons. Yet it is only due to Henry ^"111., to his ministers Wolspy, Fox, and More, and to other eminent dignitaries — amongst them Cardinal Pole in queen Mary's reign— to state that they ■were zealous advocates and promoters of the Greek learning. The very first public school in which Greek is said to have the preachers and declaimers against his edition of the Greek Testament, really appeared to believe that he was by its means attempting to introduce some new kind of religion. The book was prohibited in the university of Cambridge, and a heavy penalty decreed for any one found with it in his possession. Erasmus attempted to teach the Greek grammar of Chrysoloras there, but a terrible outcry was raised against him, and his scholars soon deserted his benches. As the contest went on, however, the universities, both here and abroad, became divided into the factions of the Greeks and Trojans, the Trojans being those who were advocates for Latin but not for Greek. The Greeks, how- TO 1603.] LEARNED LADIES AT COURT. 58* ever, victorious as of old, expelled the works of the famous Duns Sootus from the schools ; they were torn up and trodden under foot ; and the king sent down a commission, who altogether abolished the study of this old scholastic philosophy which had had so long and absolute a reign. Yet the new knowledge appears for some time after the first excitement to have made less progress in the schools than at court and amongst the aristocracy. On the sur- face of the age, therefore, it appeared a very learned one. All the great churchmen on both sides the question in the reigns of Henry VIII. and Edward VI. — Wolsey, Fox, Gardiner, Cranmer, Ridley, Tunstall, Cardinal Pole — were men of great acquirements. Henry was a fine scholar, and, with all his harsh treatment to his wives and children, he gave to the latter educations perhaps superior to those of any princes or princesses of the time. Edward was actually compete with the princess Elizabeth. That she spoke and wrote Greek and Latin beautifully ; that he had read with her the whole of Cicero, and great part of Livy ; that she devoted her mornings to the New Testament in Greek, select orations of Isocrates, and the tragedies of Sophocles, whilst she drew religious knowledge from St. Cyprian and the •' Common -places " of Melancthon ; that she was skilful in music, but did not greatly delight in it. With such examples, no wonder that there were such learned ladies at court, as lady Jane Gray, hidy Tyrwhit. Mary countess of Arundel, Joanna lady Lumley, and her sister Mary, the duchess of Norfolk — all learned in Greet and Latin, and authoresses of translations from them. Tha two daughters of Sir Thomas More, and the three daughters of the learned Sir Anthony Cooke — one of them the wife of the all-powerful statesman, Burleigh, another the mother ' of the illustrious Francis Bacon, and the third, lady Kil- Shakespiare'a biruii.ia> ,-, ;u st-a lVird-oii-A\ui Kteeped in learning, to the injury, no doubt, of his over-taxed constitution. Mary and Elizabeth were both accomplished linguists, speaking Latin, French, and Spanish fluently; and Elizabeth adding to these Greek and Italian, with a smat- tering of Dutch and German. Mary was studiously in- fitructed in the originals of the Scriptures, and made a translation of the Latin paraphrase of St. John, by Erasmus, which was printed and read as part of the church service, till it was ordered to be burnt by herself in her own reign with other heretical books. She was deeply read in the fathers, and in the works of Plato, Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, and selected portions of Horace, Lucan, and Livy. Elizabeth was a poetess of no mean pretensions, and besides her knowledge of the classical and modern lan- guages, read by preference immense quantities of history. Roger Asoham, the instructor of lady Jane Gray, says — "Numberless honourable ladies of the present time surp.iss the daughters of Sir Thomas More," but that none could 102 liprew. a famous Hebrew scholar, as well as profound in Lntin and Greek. Whilst such splendour of erudition rested on the court, and especially on the ladies of it, and some of them rising to the power and renown of thrones, it is extraordinary that learning should, under these very accomplished women, have languished in the schooh and amongst the people. Yet such appears to hive been the fact, and is accounted for by the violent and continual changes which were taking place in church and state. A great part of Henry VIII.'s reign was agitated and engrossed by the conflict with tho cniu-t of Rome regarding his divorce from Catherine, and then by his stupendous onslaught on the monastic and cathedral property. As no man at the universities could tell where promotion was to come from in the church under a man who equally took vengeance on catholic and protestant who dared to diflFcr from him, and os it was equally uncertain whether, in some new fit of anger or 9^v OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP E^JGLAKD. [AB. 1465 caprice, he might euppress the colleges as he had suppressed monasteries, minsters, aod chantries, it is nothing wonder- ful to hear Latimer exclaiming, " It would pity a man's heart to hear what I hear of the state of Cambridge. There be few that study dirinity, but so many as of necessity must fomifh the college." Under Edward YI. things became far worse. Then it was a scramble amonj»st his courtiers who should get the most of the property devoted to religion or learning. Bishoprics, good liTings, the remainder of the monastic lands which yet remained with the crown, did not suffice. These cormorants clutched at the university resources. They appropriated exhibitions and pensions, and, says Warton, in his " History of English Poetry," " Aschara, in a letter to the marquis of Northampton, dated 1550, laments the ruin of grammar-schools throughout England, and predicts the speedy extinction of the universities from this growing calamity. At Oxford the schools were neglected by the professors and pupils, and allotted to the lowest purposes. Academical degrees were abrogated as anti- Christian. Reformation was soon turned into fanaticism. Absurd refinements, concerning the inutility of human learning, were superadded to the just and rational purgation of GhristiaQity from the papal corruption." He adds that the gOTemment visitors of the university totally ^stripped the public library, established by Humphrey, duke of Qlonces- ter, of all its books and manuscripts ; and Latimer, in one of his sermons about that time, declared his belief that there were then ten thousand fewer students than there bad been twenty years before. Classical literature did not fare better during the perse- cuting reign of Mary, though cardinal Pole was a warm friend of the introduction of Qreek, notwithstanding the use made of it by the protestants. When he urged Sir Thomas Pope to establish a professorship of that language in his new college of Trinity, Sir Thomas replied, " I fear the times will not bear it now. I remember, when 1 was a young scholar at Eton, the Greek tongue was growing apace, the study of which is now a-late much decayed." Nor was it likely when Elizabeth discouraged preaching even, saying that " one or two preachers in a county were enough," that classical studies would be much encouraged. In fact, nothing could be lower than the condition into which both learning and preaching had fallen in Elizabeth's church. The bishop of Bangor stated that he had but two preachers in all his diocese. Numbers of churches stood vacant, according to Neal, where there was no preaching, nor even reading of the homilies for months together, and in many parishes there could be found no one to baptise the living or bury the dead ; in others, unlearned mechanics, and even the gardeners of those who had secured the clerical glebes and income, performed the only service that there was. Such was Elizabeth as a nursing mother of the church. But no doubt this afforded good scope to the puritans, who had now the Bible in English, Cranmer's Coverdale's, and Parker's, or the Bishops' Bible ; and these zealous men, spite of the crushing penalties, would find constant opportunities of diffusing their knowledge. In Oxford there were only three divines in 1563 who were considered able to preach a sermon, and these three were puritans. The knowledge of the classics was fallen so low, that all that archbishop Parker required of the holders of his three new scholarships in Cambridge, in 1 567, was that they should be well instructed in grammar, and be able to make a verse. The classical qualifications in the two uni- versities were below contempt even. It is a satisfaction to turn from this humiliating state of things to the great lights of genius and learning which were burning brightly amid this thick darkness. Here meet us the illustrious constellation of names of More, Ascham, Puttenham, Sidney, Hooker, Bacon, Barclay, Skelton, Sackville, Heywood, Surrey, Wyatt, Spenser, Shakespeare, Marlowe, 4c. — names which cast a lustre over this period in which all its faults and failings become dim. Of the prose writers Sir Thomas More is one of the earliest and most famous. He was equally remarkable for the suavity of his manners, his wit, his independence of character, and the eloquence and originality of his writings. We have seen how he served and was served by Henry VIII. Erasmus, who staid somo time at his house, says, " With him you might imagine yourself in the academy of Plato. But I should do injustice to his house by comparing it to the academy of Plato, where numbers and geometrical figures, and sometimes moral virtues, were the subjects of discussion. It would be more just to call it a school, and an exercise of Christian religion. All its inhabitants, male and female, applied their leisure to literal studies and profitable reading, although piety was their first care. No wrangling, no angry word was heard in it, no one was idle ; every one did his duty with alacrity, and not without a temperate cheerfulness." More's chief work is his " Utopia," and it may be pro- nounced the first enunciation of a system of socialism since the apostolic age. It may surprise many, bat More, in fact, was the forerunner of Proudhoa and Fourrier. His Utopia describes an island in which a commonwealth is established completely on socialistic principles. No one is allowed to possess separate property ; because sach posses- sion produces an unequal division of the n«e«Mariee of life, demoralising those who become inordinately rich, and, in a different direction, depraving and degrading those who are obliged to labour incessantly. What is remark- able. More in his imaginary commonwealth admits the fullest toleration of religious belief, though he fell so for in practice as to join in the persecutions of his time. His principles were too noble for his practice ; yet with this one flaw he was one of th; most admirable men who ever lived. His Utopia was written by him in Latin, but was translated into English in 1551, afterwards by bishop Burnet, and in 1808 by Arthur Cayley. Besides this, he wrote a life of Richard III., and various other compositions in Latin and English, besides a number of letters which have been published in his collected works. As a specimen of the prose style and state of the language in the early part of Henry VlII.'s reign, we may quote a short passage from a letter to his seconj wife, Alice Middleton, in 1529, on hearing that his house at Chelsea was burnt down — "Maistres Alyce, in my most harty wise I recommend me to you ; and whereas I am enfourmed by my son Heron of the losse of our barnes and of our neighbours also, with all the come that was therein, albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is grit pitie of so much good come loste : yet sith it hath liked hym to sende us such a chaunce, we must and are bounden, not only to be content, but also to be glad of his visitacion. He sente us all that we have loste ; and sith he bath by such a chaunce taken it away againe, his pleasure be fulfilled. Let us never grudge ther at, but TO 1603.] THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE PERIOD. sor take in good worth, and hartily thank him, as well for adversitie as for prosperite ; and peradventure we have more cause to thank him for our lease than for our win- ning ; for his wisdome better seeth what is good for us then we do our selves. Therefore I pray you be of good chere, and take all the howshold with you to church, and there thanke God, both for what he hath given us, and for that he hath taken from us, and for that he hath left us, which if it please hym he can encrease when he will. And if it please hym to leave us yet lesse, at his pleasure be it. " I pray you to make some good insearche what my poore neighbours have loste, and bid them take no thought there- fore ; for and I sliold not leave myself a spone, there ehal no poore neighboure of mine here no losse by any chaunoe happened in my house. I pray you be with my children and your household mery in God." Not less remarkable as a preacher was the vener.ible Hugh Latimer, than More as a writer and a statesman. Latimer was the son of a Leicestershire farmer, and rose to be bishop of Worcester, and to the far higher rank of a martyr for his faith. Latimer has been pronounced by writers of this age as a good but not a great man. To our mind he was a very great man. Not in worldly wisdom, for he was simple and unambitious as a child ; but he was a genius, true, racy, original, and inspired. He was made, as his sermons show, for a preacher to the people, rather than to princes, though to them he bore a bold and un- blenching testimony. But to the people he was a prophet and an awakener. He had been amongst them ; he knew their deepest feelings, their most secret thoughts, their language, and their desires ; and he addressed them from the pulpit with the loving and picturesque familiarity, which he used at their firesides. There is occasionally much rudeness in his discourses, his images are often bizarre, his allusions grotesque ; but there is a life that kindles, there is a poetry that warms, a spirit that arouses, a bold aggressive truth which must have made his hearers look into their souls, and think. We take a short passage from a sermon preached before Edward VL in 1549; twenty-one years after the composition of More just given, yet how much more old fashioned is the language. After telling the king that so plain was his preaching that it liad been called seditious, and that his friends, with tears in their eyes, assured him he would get into the Tower, he says : " There be more of myne opinion than I. I thought I was not alone. I have now gotten one felowe more, a companyon of sedytyon, and wot ye who is my feh)we ? Bsaye the propheto. I spake but of a lytle preaty shyllynge ; but he speaketh to Hiorusalem after another sorte, and' was so bold to meddle with theyr coine. Thou proude, thou covetous, thou hautye cytye of Hierusalem, argentum tuum versum est in scoriam ; thy sylver is turned •Into what ? into testyers. .Sconam— into drosse. Ah sedi- ciouse wretch, what had he to do wyth the mynte ? Why should not he have lefte that matter to some master of policy to reprove ? Thy sylver is drosse, it is not fine, it is counterfeit, thy sylver is turned, thou haddestgood sylver. What pertayned that to Esaye ? Mary, he espyeth a piece of divinity in that policie ; he threatened them God's vengeance for it. He went to the rote of the matter, which was covetousness. He espyed two poyntes m it : that eythere it .came of covetousnepsc, whych became hym to reprove ; er els that it tended to the hurte of the pore people, for the naughtyness of the sylver was the occa- sion of dearth to all thynges in the realme. He imputeth it to them as a great cryme. He may be called a maystcr of sedicion in dede. Was not this a sidicyouse varlet to tell them thys to theyr beardes, to theyr face ? " Amongst writers of this age who tended to purify and perfect the language were Sir Thomas Wilson, and Putten- ham, who wrote the " Art of English Poesy," which w.is published in l.')32. Wilson wrote his "Art of Rhetorique " thirty years before, only four years earlier than the sermon of Latimer's just quoted ; yet what a wonderful advance of both style and orthography. " What maketh the lawyer to have such utterance? Practice. What maketh the preacher to speake so soundly? Practice. Yea, what maketh women go so fast awai with their wordes ? Murie, practice, I warrant you. Therefore in all faculties, diligent practice and earnest exercise are the only thynges that make men prove excellent." Contemporary with Wilson and More, was Sir Thomas Elyot, whose treatise called 'The Governor," is a fine example of vigorous English. Cranmer and Ridley were not less distinguished for their fine style than for their liberal principles ; and Roger Ascham, the instructor of lady Jane Gray and queen Elizabeth, was equally distin- guished for his fine caligraphy, his musical talents, his pro- ficiency in the new learning— Greek— for his classical Latin, and his English composition. To relieve the severities of study he practised archery ; and wrote his " Toxophilus, the Schole of Shootingc," to recommend that old English art. In it he strongly advocated the old English language, and the abstinence from foreign terms, a recommendation which succeeding generations have wisely declined, to the vast enrichment of the language. But Ascham was a genuine Englishman, and advised his countrymen to follow the counsel of Aristole, and " speak as the common people do, but think as wise men do." His next principal work was the " Scholemaster : a plaine and perfite way of teaching children to understand, write, and speak the Latin tong." A work which has become more known than any other of his, because in it he mentions bis visit to lady Jane Gray at Bradgate Park, near Leicester, where he found her deep in Plato's " Phxdon -hilst the rest of the family were hunting. But besides these works he wrote on the affairs of Germany ; and Latin poems, Latin letters, and his cele- brated Apology for the Lord's Supper, in opposition to the mass. As a prose writer of this period too, Edmund Spenser, the author of the " Faerie Quene " must be mentioned for his " Discourse on the State of Ireland," which contained many judicious recommendations for the improvement of that country, and presents in its serious statesman-Uke views a curious contrast to the allegorical fancy of his great poem. But far greater as prose writers of the latter portion of this period stand forth Sir Philip Sidney and "the judicious Hooker." Sir Philip Sidney, who was cele- brated as the most perfect gentleman of his time, or as. in the phrase of the age, " the Mirror of Courtesy," was killed at the age of thirty-three at Zutphen, in the Nether- lands. Yet he left behind him the " Arcadia," a romance ; the "Defence of Poesie," and various minor poems and prose articles, which were published after his death. The person and writings of Sidney have been equally the theme 303 OASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1185 of nnbonnded panegyric. A writer in the " RctrospaofciTO Review " davs : — " i->> '"^^ ^ gentleman finished and ooin- plete, in whom mildness was associated with oourngo, erudition mollified by refinement, and oourtliuess dignified by truth. He is a specimen of what the English charnoter was capable of producing when foreign admixtures had not destroyed its simplicity, or politeness debased its honour." In his own day he was the object of the most onthusiustio praises, and has been lauded in the most vivid terms by writers of every period since. Near his own times Xash, lord Br*dke, Camden, Ben Jonsos, Naunton, Aubrey, Milton, and Cowley, were his eulogists ; Wordsworth and the writers of our own day are equnlly complimentary. Perhaps, after so continuous and high-toned a hymning, a modern reader, taking up his " Arcadia " for the first time, would find it stiff, formal, and pedantic. He might miss that fervid spirit which animates the fictions of the great masters of our own age. and wonder at the warmth of so many great .luthoritics upon what failed to warm him. In fact, it must be confessed that it is a noble speci- men of what pleased the taste of the time in which it was written. It displays imagination, though often on stilts instead of on wings, and breathes the spirit which ani- mated its author, of a refined nature, a chivalrous tempera- ment, a generous heart, and the instincts of the perfect scholar. Of that period it is a noble monument ; in this it is a unique work of art, which, however, strikes us ,as fair, mild, and antiquated. "The Defence of Poesic," with much of the same mannerism, is worthy of a poet, and of a man whose life was the finest poem, from its genernus patronage of talent, its high literary taste, and the soKliefs death, in the very agonies of which he gave from his own scorched lips the draught of cold water to the dying soldier at his side. The list of the great prose writers of this period presents no more honourable name than that of the great champion of the church of England, Richard Hooker, whose compusi- tion is as remarkable for its cogent reasoning and grave but elevated style, as Sidney's is for fancy and grace of sentiment. Hooker's "Ecclesiastical Polity," in eight books, is justly regarded as the most able defence of church establishments that ever appeared. From the breadth of its principles it drew the applause of pope Clement VIII. as well as of the royal pedant James I. To those who study it as an example of the intellect, learning, and language of the time, it presents itself, even to such as dissent from its conclusions, as a labour most honourable to the country and ago which produced it. A still greater man was yet behind. Bacon was figuring as the great lawyer, the eloquent advocate and senator ; but under the duties of these arduous offices lay concealed the master who was to revolutionise philosophy and science ; the father of the new world of discovery, and the the most marvellous career of social and intellectual ad- vance. To this period he is the sun sending its rays above the horizon, but not yet risen. His speeches, his " Essays Civil ,ind Moral," and ".Maxims of Law," already pre- dicated the fame which was ere long to dawn. A very different writer was John Lyly, the Euphuist. Lyly was a poet and dramatist of repute ; but in 1 J79 he published " Euphues ; or, Anatomy of Wit;" which was followed, in 1.581, by a second part, called "Euphues and his England," In this, like Carlyle in our day, he in- vented a stylo and phraseology of his own, whit:h seized the fancy of the public like a mania, and set the court, the ladies, the dandies, and dilettanti of the day speaks ing and writing in a most affected, piebald, and fantostio style. Sir Philip Sidney, in his " Arcadia," ridiculed it, not without being in a oonsidocablo degree affected by it himself. Shakespeare, ia " Love's Labour Lost." and Sir Walter Soott, in his Sir Pieroie Shafton, in " The Monas- tery," have made the modern public familiar with it. Yet, after all, probably, Lyly was only laughing in his sleeve at the follies of others, and was, us has been asserted, aiuting at the purification of the langua^ ; for in bi« dramas, to which we shall draw attention, his diction is simple enough, considering the taste of the age. If so, he must have been astonished at finding such a flood of still greater folly burst from his intended ridicule. Amongst the rising writers was also Sir Walter Raleigh ; but his literary reputation belongs rather to tlio age that was coming. On tlie whole, the period from the reign of Henry VII. to the end of that of Klizabeth was a period more kindred to our own than any which had gone before it. It produced prose writers whose minds still hold com- munion with and influence those of to-day. Its philosophy had assumed a more practical stamp, and was become preg- nant with the elements of change and progress. Its poetry, which we have now to consider, reached the very highest pitch of human genius. The earliest poet who has left any name of note is Stephen Hawes, whose principal work wsva the " Pastimes of Plea- sure," which was printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1517. It is an allegorical poem formed on the model of Lydgate, in which Grand Amour goes through the town of Doctrine, where he meets the Soiences, and falls in love with La Bell Purcel, whom he marries, and with whom he spends his life. It is said by the author "to contitin the knowledge of the seven sciences, and the cause of man's life in this world." It would be in vain to look for poetry in such a subject aocording to our notions . yet, from Chaucer and Lydgate to this time, Hawes was about the only man who had done anything to arouse the imagina- tion of a combative people and to improve their language. Hawes was a native of Suffolk, had travelled much, and by his proficiency in French and French literature, acquired the favour of Henry VIL, who had spent so many years of liis life in France. Another poem, " The Touiple of Glass,'' has been ascribed to Hawes, but is most probably Lydgate's, who, Hawes tell us, composed tuch a poem. Next to Hawes comes Alex;inder Barclay, the author of numerous works in prose and poetry, as " The Cajstell of Labour." wherein is " Rychesse, Vertue, and Honour," an allegorical poem, translated from the French ; " The Shyp of Poles of the AVorlde," translated from Sebastian Brandt's German poem, "Das Narren Scliiff;" " Kgloges, or the Miseries of Courts and Courtiers ; " a treatise against Skelton the poet; a translation of Livy's "Wars of Jugurtha;'' " Lift) of St. George," io. ic. The work, however, which has handed down his name to posterity is the •• Ship of Fools," which, by interspersing with original touches on the follies of his countrymen, he made in some degree his own. But the chief merit of the poem in our time is the evidence of the polish which the English longuiige had acquired, and to which Barclay probably contributed, for he had travelled through Germany, Holland, France, and TO 1003.] THE WORKS OF SK ELTON. 593 Italy, studying diligently the best authors of those countries. His Ijirth-place is unknown ; liis name would pi,int towards Scotland ; but Warton, the historian of our poetry, says he was of Gloucestershire — in which county there is a place of his name — or of Devonshire. He was successively a prebendary of the college of St. Mary Ottery, a Benedictine monk, vicar of Great Barlow, in Essex, of Wokev, in Somersetshire, and rector of All Hallows, London, termi- nating his life at Croydon. A stanza or two will suffice to show the state of the language at the close of the reign of Henry VII. A man in orders is speaking : — Eclie ij not tettrtd that uowc is made a lorde, Nor eclie a clerke tbat liutli -J. buuelice : They are not all lawyers that plees do reoorde, .\I1 that are promoted arc not fully wise. On .-uch chaunce uowe fortune tin owes her dice. That, though one knowe but CUe Yrlslie game. Vet would he have a gentleman's name. I am like other clerkes which so frowardly thorn gyde, That after they are once come unto promotion, They give them to pleasure, their study set aside, Their avarice covering with falned devotion. Tet daily they preachc. and have great derttiou Against tile lude lay men, and all for covetise, Though their own conscience be blinded with that vice. The reign of Henry VIII. was distinguished chiefly by satirists ; and it says much for the courage nf pnets that they were almost the only men in that terrible period who dared open their mouths on the crying sine of government. Skelton, Heywood, and Roy wore men who amusnd them- selves with the follies and vices of their contemporaries : when the sun of poetry rose in a more glowing form in Surrey, the ferocious king, so ready with the headsman's axe, quenched it in blood. What you would by no means suspect from his verses, Skelton was a clergyman. He was educated at Oxford, and that with high distinotion. Erasmus, a good judge of erudition and genius, declared him to be Britannicarum Literarum Lumen et Decus — the light and ornament of Britain. He became rector of Diss, in Norfolk ■. but as Sterne, at a later day, in his parsonage in the AYolds, so Skelton in his was overflowing with humour and satire rather than sermons, and so fell under the resentment of Nykke, bishop of Norwich. He lashed, with all the wonderful power of his merry muse, the licentious ignorance of the monks and friars ; and, soaring nt higher game, attacked the swollen greatness of cardinal Wolsey in a strain of the most daring invective. The incensed cardinal endeavoured to lay hold on him, and assuredly he would not have escaped soathless out of his hands, but the venerable John Islep, abbot of Westminster, opened the sanctuary to him ; and there Skelton lived secure for the remainder of his days, neither stinting his stinging lushes at the c.irdinal, n(ir suppressing his overflowing humour, which welled forth in a torrent of the most wild, sparkling, random, and rhodomontading character. Ris amazing command of language, his never-failing and extraordinary rhymes, remind us only of one man, and that of our own day — Hood. The airiness and irregu- larity of his lyrical me.isures equally suggest a comparison with that most untranslatable Swedish poet, Bellman. His friend Thomas Churchyard, in an eulogium on him, enumerates a number of poets of that and preceding times, some of them now little known : — r*irs Plowman was full plainc, And Chnacer's sprect was great; Earl Surrey had a gootlly veine. Lord y&uz the marke did beat. And rhaer did bit the piicke In thing) be did translate. And Edwards hod a special gift; And divers men of late Have helped our English tongue, That first was b^se and brute. Oh: aUali 1 leave out Skeltoa's Dtme!— The bloosom of my fruit ! The works of Skelton were published under the title of " Pithy, Pleasant, and Profitable Works of Maister Skel- ton, Poet Laureate to Henry VIII." They contain " The Crowne of Laurell," by way of introduction ; " The Bouge of the Oourte," in which this unique poet laureate attacks the vices of the court without mercy ; " The Duke of Albany," a poem equally severe on the Scots ; " AVarc the Hawk," a castigation of the clergy ; " The Tunning of Eleanor Eumming," a wild, rattling string of rhymes on an old ale-wife and her costume ; and " Why come ye not to Court P " an unsparing satire on Wolsey. There is no part of the cardinal's history or character that he lets escape. His mean origin, his puffed-up pride, his sensuality, his lordly insolence, bis covetousness and cruelties, run on in a strain of loose yet vivid jingle that was calculated to catch the ear of the people. His gentlest word of him is tbat— He tegoTdeth lords No more than potsherde ; Be Is in such elatloD Of bis exaltation Of oar sovereign lord TItat Ood to record, He roleUi all at will. Without reason or aklii ; Uowbcit they be primordial Of his wretched originul And bis t>a»o progeny, ADd Ilia greasy goneaiofy. Be came ol ilic sink royal Tliat wafi cost out of a butcher's stoli But however he was bom. Uen would iiave ilie less scorn U he could consider Bis birth and room togclher. He tells ue that the king, Of his royal mind. Thought to do a thing That pcrtaineth to a king — To make ui> one of nought, And made to him bo brought A wretched poor man, With his living wan. With planting leeks. By the days and by the weeks; And of this poor vassal He made a king royal — who soon showed nothing but Presumption and vain.glory, Envy, wrath, and lecticry, Covetise and gluttony. Slothful to do good. We cannot afford space for the wild riot of Skelton's de- scription of old Eleanor Ramming — Droupy and drowsy. Scurvy and lousy, Uer face all bnwsy; Comely crinkled. Wonderfullv wrinkled, Like roast pig's ear. Bristled with hair— so extraordinarily bcdizMiod — When tho goeth out Herself for to show. She drivetli down the dew With a pair of heels A3 broad as two cart wbeala : S04 CASSELLS ILLDSTBATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1485 William Sbakcspeaie. She hobbles as a goose If ith bcr blanke: hose ; Her «booQ >meu'eJ kith ^ow, Like ber face callow. But whilst ruDDing fiercely a-muck at fat cardinals, and old crabbed ale wives, Skelton has shown that he could pen strains worthy of the fairest and noblest, and buoyant with miuic of their own. Such is his canzonet to UISTKESS MAKGARrr HUSSET. Merry M argaret As mldaummer flower. Gentle u faTcoo, Or hawk of the tower. With 40lace aad Kladnas, Mirth and no madness. All good and no badneat; So joyOQS'if, So iDaldenly, So womanly, Her demeanour In ererythlDc F.ir, far paaalng That I can Indite, Or tafflce to write Of merry Margiret, As midsDmmer flowir. Gentle a> falcon. Or hawk of the tower, &c. But a far more grave and not less vengeful satirist of Wolscy and the clergy, was William Roy, the coadjutor of Tyndal in the translation of the Bible. He was originally a friar, but joining the reformers, he wrote a poem against Wolsey, who had ordered the burning of Tyndal's New Testament ; it is called — *' Rede me, and be not wrothe. For I saye no tbynge but Irothe.'' In this work he placed on the title a coat of arms for Wolsey in black and crimson, with a description in verse at the back of the title, of which the following stanza, alluding to the deaths of the duke of Buckingham (the Bwan), and the duke of Norfolk (the white lion), may serve as a specimen : — Of the pronde Cardlnall Ihb Is the tbelde, Borne up betweenetwo angels of Sath.m. The slxe bloody axes In a bare lelde Sbewetb the cruelty of the red man, TO lfi03.] RISE OF THE REGULAR DRAMA. 595 Which hath devoured the beautiful swan, Mortal enemy of the white lion, Carter o( York, the vile butcher's sonne. The burning of Tyndiil's New Testament nounced by Eoy in many verses of the bitterest every stanza repeating his indignation at the un fact. miserable monster, moet malicious Father of per versitie, patron of hell I terrible tyrant, to (Jod and man odious, Advocdte of antichrist, to Christ rebell ; To thee I speak, O caytife cardinall so cruell, Canselcscliuri:ynge by tliy coursed cummandmont To burne Goddo'a worde, the wliolly Testame:.t. is de- feeling, hallowed the church passed away these grotesque performaocea called religious ; and the drama, freed from the manacles of the church, quickly expanded in all its fair proportions before the eyes of the public. Shakespeare arose, and tho dates of the appearance of his plays show us that they were many of them, produced before 1C03, the close of the reign of Elizabeth. In fact, Shakespeare seems to have retired from ihe stage in the very year of Elizabeth's death. Before him, however, a number of dramatic writers hod appeared ; but as the greater part of them overlived the termination of Elizabeth's reign, or their works began after that period to take thoir due rank, we propose to defer the RoprestnLiug tliaktspeare's Plajs iu llii: UuU i/f tto Middle Temple. Besides these satirists there was John Heywood, in the time of Henry VIII., Edward, and Mary, who wrote " Six Centuries of Epigrams," of a pious nature, a considerable number of plays, and an allegory, called " Tho Spider and the Fly," in which the catholic party represented the victim fly, and the protestant one the spider. Of course, he was a favourite with Henry and Mary, and is said to have been more amusing in his conversation than in his booka. Heywood has the honour commonly assigned him of being the first author of interludes ; the stepping-stones from the old Mysteries and Moralities to the regular drama : in fact, during this period the regular drama rose from the chaos of tho mystery plays of the catholic church. With full consideration of the dramatic authors till the next centennial. We may hero, however, mention the chief of these dramatic writers. Heywood had been preceded by Skelton in the line of interlude, whose strange interlude of ■' Nigromansia " was printed by Wynkyn de Worde as early as 1505. Heywood ■wrote various interludes, but his chief one was the "4 P's," namely a Palmer, a Pardoner, a Poticary, and a Pedlar. On the heels of this appeared tho first regular comedy, " Gammer Gurton'a Needle," written by John Hill, and printed in 1551. Ten years aftev appeared the first English tragedy, " Gorboduc," written by Thomas Norton and the celebrated poet Thomas SackviUc, afterwards lord Buckhurst and earl of Dorset. 9S6 CAS6ELLS ILLDSTBATED HISTORY OF BNGLAXD. [a.d. U3 Passing over the " Damon and Pythias " of Richard Edwards, the " Pn mos and Cassandra " of Qeorgo Whetstone, which, borrowed from an Italian novel, con- t«iBs the rude outline of Shakespeare's " Measure for Measure," we come to Robert Greene, who with Kyd, Lylj. Peelc, Xash, author of " Queen Dido," and Marlowe, constituted a remarkable constellation of genius. Qreene's chief plays are "Friar Bacon and the Friar of Bungay," and a " Looking Glasse for London," written in conjunction with his friend Thomas Lodge. He also wrote much poetry. The principal dramas of George Peele are " David and Bethsabe, with the Tragedy of Absolon," written in 1579. which is a real Mystery Play, and the " Famous Chronicle of Edward I., ' " The Old Wives' T«le, • comedy," Ac. Lyiy, the Euphuist, wrote nine plays, amongst them " Alexander and Campaspe," " Sappho and Phaon," " Midos," " Gallathea," too. Lyly, as it will be seen, was fond of Greek subjects, but he could »lso enjoy English comedy, as in " Mother Bombic," and others; which are regular comedies, divided into acts and scenes, and inter- spersed with agreeable songs. Oontempcrarv with the preceding, as well as witn Shakespeare. M;u-lowc is the greatest name which precede? tliat of the supreme dramatist. We can do no more here than name some of bis chief tragedies, for Marlowe was essentially a tragedian. These were "Tamburlaine the Great," in two parts, "The Massacre of Pwis," " Edward II.," including the fall of Mortimer and G-aveston, "Doctor Faustus," "The Eiob Jew of Malta," and "Lust's Dominion, or the Lascivious Queen." Marlowe was, moreover, a beautiful lyrical poet, as is evident by his charming madrigal " Come live whh me and be my love," given in Walton's Angler. Greene, Peele, Marlowe, Nash, and that whole company were extremely dissipated in their lives, and lived and died in deep poverty. To these we must add, as dramatic poeta of this era. but whom it will be essential to our contmuous VKw 01 the progreH of the drama to dismiss with the rest. Decker. Kyd, «nllior of " Jeronimo," and the 'Spanish Tragedy;" Lodge, author of "The Wo»u»de of Civil War," Ac. ; Gascoine ; Chapman, also the celebrated author of the translation of Homer : Jasper Hoywood, son of John Heywood ; Weston . Marston, ic. So mnoh was the drama now advanced in estimation, that even Elizabeth's lord chancellor Hatton was in part author of the tragedy of " Tancred and Sigismunda," founded on the story of Boccaccio. Amongst the lyrical poets, the reign of Henry VIII. presents us with a remarkable trio, -who were associated as well by their genius as their position and fate. These were Sir Thomas Wyatt, the early lover of Anne Boleyn, her brother George Boleyn, afterwards the unfortunate earl of Rochford, and the equally nnfortunate Henry Howard, earl of Surrey, the last victim of the sanguinary Henry VIII. Surrey was the cousin-german of the Boleyn« Wyatt was their early neighbour and plavfellow ; together they all figured amongst the most accomplished courtiers two of them lost their heads, the third only narrowly escapmg ; and their poetry was printed together in one ' volume. Sir Thomas Wyatt (called the elder, to distinguish him from his son of the same name, who -was execute.) for re- toeUion in the reign of qneen Mary) was one of the most distinguished men of the court of Uenry VIII. Hia country-house was Allington C.istle, in Kent, and its vicinity to the residence of the Boleyns made him a youthful companion of Anne and her brother and sister. He became attached to Anne, but was obliged to give way to the passion of the king, not without some danger. After that he was long employed abroad in embassies to Franco, Spain, Italy and the Netherlands. Incurring the king's displeasure for aiding Cromweil in the promotion of the marriage with Anno of Cleves, he prudently withdrew from court to his castle in Kent. He had never ceased writing poetry even when engaged in his diplomatic missions, and he now more than ever cultivated the muses. Uis amatory verses are poiiBfaed and elegant, but his satires display more vigour, and arc remarkublc as containing the earliest English version of " The Town and Country Mouse." Besides his poems he has left letters, in which he not only gives OS many ineighte into the state of the courts where he re- sided, bat various particulars regarding the fate of Anne Boleyn, and some addressed to his eon, which place him in I a most favourable light as a man and a father. His prose has been greatly admired. A short lyric, which we may give, addressed to Anne Boleyn. when her creation of marchioness of Pembroke warned him tliac be saw in her ' the future queen, clearly informs us that iie had been her accepted lover. For««t sot jet tlic tried intaat Of ftucli a U'Uth as I hare I Mr gnai traTsU to gladly i forget not y«t. Fiir««t not ret iihta tnt Ix^n Ttae weary litv ye knoir; aince wkan Ttie eul;, the eenicc none Icll caa. Forget asty«. Forget not ret tlie great aMaye, Tbe cruel -vrruajts, the scornful ways, Tlie painiol patience, .ind delays, Farget not yet Fotgvt not. : forget not ttiW, How limg a^o liad been and u Tbe l0Ta tliat never meant amiss. Forget not yet Forget not now tbine own approved, Tlio wblcb so constant hsili tbee lorad, Wboao ateadfaet Caltb liatb nercr moTed. Forget not yet His friend George Boleyn was, perhaps, a more spirited put'C than himself, and is said to have sung the night before his execution a lyric which had been printed some time, along with the poems of Wyatt, called, "Farewell, my lute," the refrain of which was too strikingly applicable to his .situation :— Farewell, my late, this la the last Lsboar that flu ii and I shall waste, For ended Is that we beRan ; Now la the soof; both tung and peased; My late, be still, for I have dune. But most iUustrious of these was the carl of Surrey. Like his friend Wyatt, he had travelled in Italy, and brought home a high .idmiration of the great Italian poete. Dante, Ariosto. and Petrarch, on whoee model he formed his taste. Like his ancestor the conqueror of Flodden, he was brave and high-spirited, but seems to have had a facility for getting into scrapes, both with his ovm family and the government. Something like our present marquis of Waterford, he was fond of traversing the streets and astonishing the quiet citizens by shooting stones through TO 1C03.1 INTRODUCTION OF BLANK VEHSE INTO THE LANGUAGE. 597 their windows with his cross-bow, by which he got into trouble. Aa a gay courtier, however, he was greatly admired by the ladies, and still more by people of taste for his poetry, which went throuj^h four editions in two months, and through seven more in the thirty years after their appearance. They are supposed to have strongly influenced the taste of Spenser and Milton. The great theme of his lyrics was the fair Geraldine, but who she was precisely neither critics nor historians have quite determined, though believed to be a lady of the Irish family of Fitzgerald. A single stanza may indicate the spirit with which he pro- claimed her beauty : — Give place, ye lovers, here before That spent your boosts and brags in vain t My lady's beauty paaseth more Tlie best of yours, I d^re well say'n, Than dotti the sun thu candle-lli^he, Or brightest day the darkest night. But the most important fact in Surrey's poetical history is his introduction of blank verse into the English language, a simple but, in its consequences, most eventful innovation, liberating both the heroic and the dramatic muse from the shackles of rhyme, and leading the way to the magnificent works of Shakespeare and Milton in that free form. There has been much dispute amongst the critics as to whether Surrey invented blank verse, or merely copied it from some other language ; but the only wonder seems that some one of our poets had not attempted it before. What so likely as that Surrey, in translating the first and fourth books of the jEneid, should adopt the blank verse in which the original was written, not precisely the hexameter, but a measure more suitable to the English Linguage P All the verse of the ancient Greeks and Romans is of this blank species ; and it is extraordinary that men well versed in these speeches had so long omitted tlie experiment ; especially as the Italians, the French, and the Spaniards had tried it Gonsalvo Perez, secretary to Charles V., had translated Homer's Odyssey into blank verse ; and in 1 528, Trissino, in order to root out the terza rima of Dante, had published his "Italia Liberata di Qoti " — Italy delivered from the Goths — in blank verse. In the reign of Francis I., two of the most popular poets of France, Jodelle and De Baif, wrote poems in this style. Now Gawin Douglas, bishop of Dunkeld, had already translated the jEneid into Scotch metre, and it would seem as if Surrey, in trying his hand on two books of the same poem, had been induced to make the essay of blank verse at the same time. Whatever was the immediate cause, nothing could exceed the success of Surrey's experiment. His verso flows with a stately dignity full of music and strength. Wc take a specimen from the fourth book of the jEneid, where Dido, who has vowed never to marry again, perceives her new passion for ^Eneas, and discloses her pain to her sister : — Ne to ber lyrames care grauntath quiet rest. The next morrowe with Phoebus lampe the ertha Alightened clere, and elie the dawning daye, The sbadowc danke can from the polo remove. When all aosownd her sister of like minde. Thus spoke she to : Oil, sister An, what dremes Be thefe that me tormanten, thus afraide ? What newcomo gest unto our realm ys come ? What one of chere ? How stowt of harto in arras ! Trnelle I think, ne valne ys my beliefe. Of goddiahe race some of springe should he seeme. Cowardie noteth liarts swarved owt nf kindo He driven, lord, with how hard d<'stinle! What battells eke atohieved dUI he tell I .\nd but my nilnde was fixt immovablle Xever with wight in wcdlucke for t j ioiue, Sithe my first love mi lefte by deth di>!ieverld, Yf bridal bowndee and bed me lo;hed not, To this one fftwtt percbaonce yeet might 1 yeld; For I will gramt sith "retched Syche's dcthe, My spouse and hawse wlih brother sliaahter stained. This onley man hath made my seni«s bend. And prkkelh fonha tlis mind that gan to sUd«: Feelinglie I taste the stepper of mine old flame. Bat first I wl-he the erih me swallow dovne. Or with thunder the mighty Lord me send To the pale gosles of hell and darkness depe, Or 1 tliee stayne thamclastness, or the lawes. If we turn to Sackville's " Gorboduo," acted before queen Elizabeth in 15G1, we shall see how thoroughly blank verse had asserted its freedom of the language. Even Green, in his Friar Bacon, in 1594, has passages that in their rich and harmonious diction display the wonderful power of blank verse. The true vehicle for the deathless dramas of Shakespeare was established, and already he had taken pos- session of it with some of his noblest imaginings, for Nash, as early as 1589, alludes to "Hamlet." But, before coming to Shakespeare, we must add another word regarding Sackville. In 1359 he had published " The Mirrour for Magistrates." He was then a mere youth, but the poetical preface to this work, which he called "The Induction," and the "Complaint of Henry, Duke of Buck- ingham," displayed the most remarkable powers of poetry, and at once arrested the public attention. The work it«elf was a mere series of the lives of personages prominent in English history, supposed to be an imitation of Lydgate's " Fall of Princes;" but expanded by the loftier genius of the author, and the induction so illustrated by allegory, as to give rise to the belief that Spenser was greatly indebted to him. Edmund Spenser, the greatest of our allegoric poets, was born in East Smithfield, in London, mid was educated at Pembrokie-hall, Cambridge. He had the good fortune to secure the friendship of the all-powerful earl of Leicester, of Sir Philip Sidney, and Sir Walter Raleigh. By their introduction to queen Elizabeth, he obtained an annuity of fifty pounds a year ; and besides being employed by Leicester on a mission to France, went to Ireland in 15S0, with lord Grey da Wilton. We have noticed bis "Views on the State of Ireland " under the head of the prose writers of this period, and for that able work, aswell as forother services, hereceived a grant of the abbey and manor of Enniscorthy, in Wexford, which the same year, probably under pressure of necessity, he transferred to a Mr. Lynot. The estate, at the time of Gilbert's survey of Ireland, was worth eight thousand pounds a year. Afterwards, he obtained the grant of the Castle of Kiloolmon, in the county of Cork, part of the estate of the unfortune earl of Desmond, with throe thousand acres of land. On this property Speaser went to live, and his dear friend Sir Philip Sidney being just then killed at the battle of Zutphen, he wrotu his pastoral elogy of " Astrophel " in his honour. Ha also wrote his great work the " Faerie Queen " there; but in 1597 he wa.s chased by the exasperated Irish from his castle, which was burned over his head; bis youngest child perishing in the cradle. He reached London, with his wife and two boys and a girl, and thus broken down by his misfortunes, he sank and died at an inn or lodjjing- house, in King-street, Westminster. Bon Jonaon says " he died for lake of bread, yet refused twenty pieces sent to him by my lord of Essex, adding ho waa sorry be had not time to spend them." 59S CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. HS5 It has been asked bow he could die of " hjck of bread " with an annuity of £80 u year. Tlie thing is very possible. Burleigh was his life-long enemy. He hated him as the commonplace soul instinctively hates the man of genius, and this hatred was aggravated by his being patronised by Leicester, Essex, ond Knleigh, all men who were detested by him. Nothing was, therefore, easier than for Burleigh to withhold the dying poet's pension, or his son Robert Cecil, who now possessed his power, for Burleigh was in hij last days, and Cecil inherited all liis meanness. At all events he closed his days in wretchedness and grief. Spenser has recorded the malice of Burleigh in various places. In his " Ruins of Time " he says : — The rugged foremoit that with grave foresight Wields kiDgdoms' cansc) and affairs of state, Uf looser verse, 1 wot, dotli sharply wite For prabiog love. And at the close of the sixth book of " The Faerie Queene," he declares there is no hope of escaping " his venomous despite.'' Spenser's verses in " Mother Hubbard's Tales," describing the miseries of court dependence, have often been quoted : — Fall little kDowest thoa that bast oot tryed Wbat hell it is In suing long to byde ; To lose good diys that might be better .spent ; To waste long nights In pensive discontent; To speed to.day, to t)e put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine \vith fear and sorrow; To have tliy prince's grace, yet want her peeres'; To bare thy asking, yet wait many years; To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares; To eat thy heart with comfortless despairs ; To fawn, to croach, to wait, to ride, to run, To spend, to give, to want, to be nndooe. The minor poems of Spenser beside the " Astrophel," are the " Epithalamion " on his own marriage ; four " Hymns to Lore and Beauty ; " " Sonnets ; " " Colin Clout come Home again ; " "The Tears of the Muses ; " " Mother Hubbard's Tales," which refer to court characters of the time ; "The Ruins of Time; " " Petrarch's Visions," " Bellaye's Visions," itc. In all these there is much beauty and fancy, mingled with much that is far-fetched and fantastic, the inevitable fault of that age. The "Faerie Queene" rises above all these as the cathedral over the lesser churches of a great city. It was written in a stanza which from him has ever since been called the Spenserian, a stanza so capable of every grace, strength, and harmony, that there are few poets who have not essayed it: Thomson's ''Castle of Indolence," Beattie'fl "Minstrel," Mrs. Tyghe's "Psyche," Campbell's "Gertrude of Wyoming," and Byron's " Childe Harold," have made it the vehicle of many immortal thoughts. To the modern reader, nevertheless, the " Faerie Queene" would prove a tedious task in a continuous perusal. It is of a fashion and a taste so entirely belonging to the age in which it was written, that of courtly tourneys, of parade of knighthood, at least in books, and of a fondness for high- flown allegory, that it unavoidably strikes a reader of this more realistic age as visionary, formal in manner, and descriptive not of actual human life, but of an impossible style of existence. It is dedicated to queen Elizabeth as " The Most High, Mightie, and Magnificent Empresse," and in a letter to Sir Walter Raleigh he explains its plan. Following the example of Ariosto in his " Orlando," he en- deavours to exalt worthy knighthood, by portraying prince Arthur before he was king, under the "image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve private moral virtues, as Aris- totle hath devised, in which is the purposeof these first twelve books." This is sufficiently romantic and artificial, but the knights of the story are contrasted with many noble and beautiful ladies, of whom Gloriana, he tells us, is glory in general, but the queen Elizabeth in especial. Belphebe, Britomart, "fair Una with her milk-white lamb," ifcc, ore still more charming creations ; but the interminable adven- tures of his knights and damsels in interminable forests, and amid enchanted castles, with an ample supply of satyrs and " salvage men," are no more dige.stible than scores of other romances of chivalry. It is not in the story that we must seek the real merits of Spenser, but in the won- derful music of his versification, the beautiful snatches of wild landscape, the sensibility to all the charms and magnificence of nature, and the exquisite episodes, in which the perfection of allegory is displayed in pictures of human nature and of life which no time can destroy and no fashion of literature can render obsolete. Such are his portraitures of "Error," "Hypocrisy," "The House of Pride," " The Palace of Mammon," " The Cave of Despair," &c. From the arguments of "Despair" to "The Red- Crosse Knight," we may take our specimen of the " Faerie Queene." '•Who travailes by the wearle, wandcMog way. To come unto his wished home in haste. And meets a flood that doth his passage stay. Is not great grace to help him over past. Or free his feet that in the myre sticke fast t Most envious man that grieves at neighbour's good. And fond, that joyest in the woe thou hast, Why wilt not let him pav, that long hath atooi Upon the bancke, yet wilt tbysclfe not pas the flood t "He there does now enj >y etemall rest. And happy eiae, which tbou dost want and crave, And further from It dally wanderest : What if some little paync the passage have, That makes frayle flesh to feare the bitter wavet Is that not payne well borne, that bringes long eaae. And lays the soul to sleepc In quiet grave ? Sleepe after toyle, port after stonnle seas, £a(e after warre, deathe after life, does greatly please." The knight mnch wondered at his suddeine wit. And sayst, " The terme of life la limited, Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it; The soldier may not move from watchful steed, Kor leave his stand, nntill his captalne bid."* " Who life did limit by almigbtie doome," Quoth he, *' knows best the terms established ; And I e that points the centenel his roome. Doth license his depart at sound of morning droome. " Is not his deed, whatever thing Is done. In heaven and earth T Did he not all create To die agalne 7 All ends, that was begoune. Their times In his eternall booke of iiite Are %\ritten 6ure, and have their certain dale. Who, then, can strive with strong nccessltle ? That holds the world In its still changing atate, Or shunne the death ordayned by desilnee t When hourc of death is come, let none aske whence nor wliy. "The longer life, I wote, the greater sin ; The greater sin, the greater punishment. All those great battles wliiih thou boasts to win, Through strife, and bloodshed, and avengement. Now prAysed, hereafter dearethou shalt repent — For life must life, and blood must blood repay. Is not enougli thy evill life fore^pent T For he that once hath missed the right way, The farther he doth goe, the further he doth stray." The language of Spenser must not be held to be the language of the time; he purposely used an antiquated diction to give a quaint and piquant tone to his romance. A modern critic has denied that the language is thus treated TO 1603.] THE POEMS OF SHAKESPEARE. S«9 by tho poet ; but it muat be allowed that Sir Philip Sidney, living at the moment, was .^ competent judge of thi:^ fact, and in his " Defence of Poesie " he complains of this very circumstance in the "Faerie Queene." AVe arrive now at the last name which wo intend to introduce in our review of the literature of England at this period, and it ia the greatest ; perhaps the greatest which has yet diffused its glory over this or any other country. The genius of Shakespeare appears to penetrate into all departments of human knowledge, and his instincts to possess a universal acourocy. Whether he describes the beauties of nature at large, or enters the haunts of busy life, high or low, royal, noble, or plebeian, or sends his all- searching glance into the depths of the human mind, or the strange intricacies of human nature, we are equally astonished at the clearness of his perceptive faculties, and the justness of his conclusions. We shall not here discuss the various guesses, for such to a great degree they .are, which have been indulged in by his host of critics and biographers, regarding his little known life. It is sufficient that we know that he was bora at Stratford-on-Avon in 1564 ; that his father was in the Town Council, and a man of property; his mother connected by birth with the family of John Hampden, the illustrious patriot ; that the Shakespeares, therefore, were of gentle blood, and bore a coat of arms. That William was said to have been apprenticed to a butcher, or that one of his father's trades was that of a butcher. That at the age, it is said, of eighteen, but probably not till later, for some cause he went to London, where he became connected with the theatre, and so early as 1589 we find that he had written "Hamlet," if no other of his dramas, though none of them appear to have been published till 1597, eight years after- wards. The first of his poems, " Venus and Adonis," was printed in 1593, four years earlier, and the " Rape of Lu- crece " in the following year. Prom that time to 1 003, the year of the death of Elizabeth, a considerable number of his dramas were published, but " Lear," " Macbeth," " Cymbe- line," "The Winter's Tale," the "Tempest," " Troilus and Cressida," " Henry VIII.," " Ooriolanus," "Julius CsBsar," and " Anthony and Cleopatra," would appear to have been the glorious products of his ten or thirteen years of leisure in his native town. One of the first labours of his retirement appears to have been the collection of his sonnets, for they were published in 1609. We mention these facts here merely as historical data ; because it will be necessary to notice the whole of the plays in the next centennial period of our history, in connection with the drama at large ; but we shall confine our notice of Shakespeare on this occasion solely to his poetical cha- racter. The poems of Shakespeare are "Venus and Adonis," "The Rape of Luorece," "Sonnets," "A Lover's Com- plaint," and " The Passionate Pilgrim." The poems for the most part, if not altogether, " The Passionate Pilgrim," and some of the sonnets excepted, would appear to have been his earliest productions. He dedicates " Venus and Adonis" to Lord Southampton, and styles it "the first heir of my invention." Both it, "The Rap^ of Lucrece," and the " Lover's Complaint," bear all marks of youthful passion. They burn with a voluptuous and even sensual fire, and would, had they been printed in this age, have subjected their author to all the censure which " Don Juan " brought down on lord Byron. Yet they are at the same time equally prodigal of a masterly vigour, imagination, and the faculty of entering into and depicting the souls of others. They as clearly herald the great poet of the age, as a morning sun in July announces what will be its intensity at noon. The language, in ita purity and eloquence, is so perfect that it might h ive been written, not in the days of Elizabeth, but of Victoria, and presents a singular contrast to that of hia contemporary, Spenser. "The Passionate Pilgrim " is an extraordinary production ; it has no thread, even the slightest, of story or connection, and seems to be merely a stringing together of various passages of poetry, which he had struck off at different moment* of inspiration, and intended to use in hig dramas. Some of them indeed we find there. It opens with a commencement of the legend of " Venus .and Adonis," apparently his first rude sketch of the poem he afterwards wrote more to his mind. It then break* sud- denly off with those well-known lines beginiUAg — Crabbed age and joaXh Cannot live together ; soon after as suddenly changes into — It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three ; as abruptly gives us those charming stanzas openiog with — Take, lake those lips away That so sweetly were forsworn ; and presents us with a number of disjointed passages which are found in " Love's Labour Lost." But the sonnets are the most interesting, because they give us glimpses into his own life and personal feelings. Many of them are plainly written in the characters of others ; some express the sentiments of women towards their lovers, but others are unmistakably the deepest senti- ments and feelings of his own life. From these we learn that Shakespeare was not exempt from the dissipations and aberrations incident on a town-life at that time, but his true and noble nature led him to abandon the im- moral city as early as possible, and retire to his own domestic roof in his own native place. We may select one specimen of these sonnets, which probably was addressed to his wife, and which at once betrays his dislike of his pro- fession of an actor, and his regret over the influence which it had had on his mind, and the stigma which it had cast on his name ; for the profession of a player wa« then so low as to stamp actors as "vagabonds." Oh, for my sake do yon with Fortune chide. The guilty ^oddea^ of my harmful deeds, Thai did not better for my life provide Than public means which iiut>llc manners breeds ; Thence camo it that my name receives a brand. And almost ttience my iiatara ia subdued To what It works in, like the dyer's hand. Pity me then and wish 1 were renewed ; Whilst, like a willing patient, 1 will drink I'otions of eysell • 'gainst my strong infection. No bitterness that 1 will bitter think, Nor double ptnance to correct correction, nty me the i, dear friend, and I assure ye, Kven that your pity is enough to cure roe. But if the great dramatist and inimitable poet ehruok with disgust from the profession of acting, from the esti- mation in which the actor then wa'" held, and the pollutions which surrounded the stage, he held a very different opinion of the vocation of the dramatist. In the peaceful and vir- tuous retirement of his country residence ho still occupied • vinegar. (500 OASSELLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EN'GLAKD. [a.d. 1485 himself with the composition of the noblest dramas of all time ; and whilst he was go free from the petty egotism of a email mind that he lefl scarcely any record of himself, he boldly avowed his assurance of the immortality of hb fame ; — Now with the drop? of this most bilmy time Ur lore looks freoh, ■nd Death to me sat}ecrit>e8; * Since, spite of him, I'll lira la this poor rhyme. While be iDttiUi o'er dall and speechless tribes : And then Id this Shalt ftad thy monument. When tyrants' crests and tombs of brsss are spent. We shall have occasion to show that Shakespeare had much to do in shaping and raising the drama out of that chaotic state in which he found it, and the wonder has always been, that with his apparently imperfect education he could accomplish so much. But there is no education like self-education ; that was William Shakespeare's, and fais genius was of that brilliant and healthy kind that gave him all the advantages of such a tuition. In history and in society he found the materials of the drama, but the wealth and power of the poet he found in the great school of English poets were knovm and acknowledged. James I. called Chaucer and Gower " his maisters dear." Henryson, a succeeding poet, even wrote a continuation of Chaucer's "Troilus and Cresseide," under the names of the "Testa- ment," and the " Complaint of Cresseide ; " and Gawin, or Gavin, Douglas, the famous bishop of Dunkeld, of whom we have to speak, pronouncing his rernacular tongue barbaroos, declared that rather than remain silent through the scarcity of Scottish terms, he would use bastard Latin, French, or English. A still greater and later poet, Dunbar, expresses repeatedly his admiration of " Chawcer of Makar.« flowir," of "the Monok of Berry," " Lydgate," and " Gowyr." Yet if we use the very language which he did to utter bij admiration in, we find no advance towards the polish of these poets : reverend Ch«wc;r, rose of retbooils dl. As in oar toun; the flowir ImperlsU, That ever raise In Brittane, quha relds richt. Those biers of maiiars the triampbs ryall. The fresche enamallit termes celestlall; This matter thoa couth half llamlnt brtcht Globe Theatre, Baiikside. nature, where in his youth he rambled, every object around him falling on his quick and sensitive mind, never again to be lost, till it was thrown out in the shape of some thought, some image, some simile, which as "a thing of beauty," was to be "a joy forever : " and hence the innumerable beauties of his poetry, scattered like the glittering dews of a glorious summer's morning over all his works. In Scotland the language had remained much more sta- tionary than in England. In this period we find the chief Scottish poets writing in a diction far more unintelligible to the English reader than Chaucer or Gower were in the middle of the fourteenth century. Two of the Scotch poets of that period, Barbour and king James I., wrote in English, and, therefore, in a language far in advance of Gawin Douglas. Dunbar, and Sir David Lyndsay in the sixteenth century. One great reason of this probably was the constant strife and enmity betwixt the nations, which ma'le the Scotch cling in confirmed nationality to their own language and customs, for the works and merits of the • Sabmlls. Wis thon not of oar Tnflu all the lieht ' SurmoantlnK'erery toang terrestlall. As far as May Is fair morning do«s midnif;ht O morale Gower and LIdgate Isareat, Zonr sQggnrat tonsgs and lipps anreat Bene till oar elrs cause of gtit delyte. It is curious that Dunbar calls this English and not Scotch. He also enumerates a long list of Scottish poets who were deceased, as Sir Hew of Eglintoun,Etrick, Heriot, Wintoun, Maister John Clerk, James Afflek, Holland, Barbour, Sir Mungo Dockhart of the Lie, Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventures of Sir Gawayn, Sir Gilbert Gray, Blind Harry, and Sandy Traill, Patrick Johnstone, Mersar, RowU of Aberdeen, and RowU of Corstophine, Brown of Dun- fermline, Robert Henryson, Sir John the Ross, Stobo, Quinten Schaw, and AValter Kennedy. Of these little is now known, except of Henryson, and that chiefly for his ballad of " Robert and Makyn, " given by bishop Percy in his " Reliques of English Poetry." Gawin Douglas was the third son of the celebrated fifth earl of Angus, called Bell-the-Cat, lived a troubled life TO 1603.] SCOTTISH POETS OF THE PERIOD. 601 in those stormy times, and died a refugee in London, of the plague, in 1.522. He was warmly patronised by queen Margaret, sister of Henry VIII., and richly deserved it, for his learning, his genuine virtues, and his genius. He was most celebrated in his own time for his translation of Virgil's jEneid, the first metrical version of any ancient classic in either English or Scotch. He also translated Ovid's " De Eemedio Amoris." But his original poems " The Palace of Honour," "King Hart," and his " Comoedise Sacrse," or dramatic poems from tlie Scriptures, are now justly esteemed the real trophies of hia genius. " The Palaco of Honour " and " King Hart ' are allegoric poems abound- ing with beautiful descrip- tions and noble sentiments. The principal poems of WilUiara Dunbar are "The Golden Terge," or target ; " The Thistle and the Rose," a poem in honour of the marriage of Margaret of England with James IV. of Scotland ; " The Pained Friar ; " the "Lament of the Death of the Makars," that is, poets, and a number of other pnems, chiefly lyrical, which display a most versatile genius, comic, satirical, grave, descriptive. Music Bjck aod Mujical laalrument beloagiag to < jueea Eliza'.e.h The last poet of this period that we must notice, ia Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, Lion-King-at-Arms, whom Sir Walter Scott, in Marmion, has made so familiar to modern readers, predating, however. Sir David's oflSce of Lion-King seventeen years. Sir David was born about 1490, and is supposed to have died about 13G7. So that he lived in the reigns of ^ - Henry VII. of England and -^^^ of Elizabeth, through the whole period of Henry VIII.. Edward VI., and Mary. His life was cast in times most eventful, and Sir David, as Lion-Herald of Scotland, oc- cupied a prominent position in the shaping of those events. At the time of the battle of Flodden, 1513, both Pitscottie and Buchanan as- sure us that he was with James IV. when the ghost appeared to him in the church at Linlithgow, warning him against the battle. Lyndsay was then only three-and-twenty. He was ap- pointed page to the young king, and continued about him Audley Gate. Tudor period. and religious, and place him in the very first rank of Scotland's poets, notwithstanding the obsolete character of his language ; and not the least of his distinctions is the absence of that grossness which disfigured the writings of the poets of those times. A few lines may denote the music of his versification : Be merry, man, and tak nocht far in mynd. The woiverlnK of this wrecbit world of sorrow. To God be humllt, and to thy freynd be kynd. And with thy nychtbourU Riaidly ten and borrow; HIa chance to nycht, U may be thyoe to morrow. 103 Gateway of Speke Hall. Tudor period. and in his service during the king's life. In his *' Com* playot," addressing the king, he says : — How as ano chapman beres his pack. I bote thy grace upon my btck, And sometymes stridllnRis on my reck, Dansand with mony bend and beck; The flrst syllabis that thou did mate, Pa.da-Iyn upon the lute; G02 CASSELL'S ILLrSTRATED HISTOKT OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1485. ijat gyngtttamit thoa laffiit ay b«s; ' Aud ay qubea thoa come fron the scale, Theo I lofflt to play the fale. Lynisay went to France on embassages of royal marriage ; anJ after tlie king's early death, under the regency, he was again sent to the Low Countries on a mission to the emperor Charles V. In 1548 he went as Lion-King to Denmark, to king Christian, tosefek aid against the English, and afterwards lived to see the great struggle betwixt the old church and the reformation, the murder of Cardinal Beaton, the return of Knox, and must have died about the time of the murder of Darnley. Sir David, though bred a courtier, was an out and out reformer ; and bis poems abound with the most unrestrained exposures of the corruptions of courts ai^d of the churcu. On the flagitious lives of monks, nuns, and clergy, he poura forth the most trenchant satire and denunciation -, and in this respect he may be styled the Chaucer of Scotland. His poems are " The Dreme," "The Complaynt," •'The Complaynt of Papingo," "The Complaynw of Bagsche,' "Ane pleasant satyre of the Three Estatis," "The Answer to the King's Flyting," " Kitties Confession," " The Tragedie of the Cardinal," "The Historic and Testament of Squire Meldrum," "Monarchle," and "the Epistill Nuncu- patorie." "The Dreme" reminds one of the dreams of former poets, of Chaucer, Dante, Langlund, called " the Visions of Pierce Plowman," and those of Douglas and Dunbar. Probably "The Golden Terge " of Dunbar was the imme- diate suggestor. For as Dunbar goes out, as " the stern of day began to schyne," and lying under a roseir, or arbour of roses, lulled by the songs of birds and the sound of a river, dreams, so does Lyndsay, passing, with dame Be- mcmbrance as his guide, through earth, hell, purgatory, heaven, paradise, and " the planets seven," hearing and seeing ail the works of God, and the rewards and punish- ments of the good and the evil. It has great poetic merit. " The Complaynt " describes the degenerate manners of the court, whilst Lyndsay was banished from it, and the grapes were sour. "The Complaynt of the Papingo," or the king's parrot, deals out the same measure to the hierarchy as Lyndaay had given to the state, in which Cardinal Beaton, and the pope and clergy in general, are ."roundly rated. Next comes " Tlie Three Estatis," an actual Morality Play, ] in which all kinds of emblematical personages, Bex Hu- ■ manitas, Sensualitie, Chastitie, <^c., act their parts. Its scope may be inferred from its being declared to be " in commendation of vertew and vituperation of vyce." This i is the great work of Xindsay, and was acted before the | king and queen, who sat out nine mortal hours in its per- formance, in which they successively heard every order in the state — court, nobility, church, and people — severely , criticised. Lindsay's play has the merit of preceding both | "Gorboduc'' and "Gammer Gurton'e Needle j " and it certainly has as much moral as " Gorboduc," and wit as i " Gammer Qurton's Needle." The " Answer to the " King's i Flyting ' is a curious example of what the indulgence of a j professional fuol at court led to. It produced not only the i jester but the poet laureate. The king condescended to j flyte, or jibe, with his jester j the jester in return became the satirist, and the poet laureate healed all wounds by his | eulogies. James V. flytcd with Lindsay, and Lindsay j answered with iDtereet, In "Kitties Confession " Lindsay ' ridicules auricular confession. In " The Cardinal " he sings a song of triumph over the fall of Beaton. In the " Legend of Squire Meldrum " the poet dresses up the adventures of a domestic of lord Lindsay's of that name in , the manner of an ancient romance, and it was extremely : popular. It has been declared by critics of note to be the I best of Lindsay's poems, and equal to the most polished pieces of Drayton, who lived a century after him. I have given thue much notice of the Lion-King-at-Arms. because nowadays he does not enjcy, perhaps, his due fame in comparison with that of our Chaucer and our early dramatists ; yet a perusal of his works is necessary to a I real knowledge of the times in which he lived. The reader, however, must be warned that in the search after this knowledge he will have to wade through much filth, and , language now astonishing for its naked coarseness. On '. the other hand, he will occasionally find scientific theories of modern pretension quite familiar to our Lion-King. For instance, Kirwan has claimed the geologic discovery that the currents which broke up the hills in Europe came from the south-west, leaving the diluvial slopes declining to the north-east. But hear Lindsay three hundred years ago : — 1 Rid bow clerkis dois concloda, Indoryog that maist fttrious dade With quhilk the erth was sa oppre»t. The wynd blew Teorth of the soath.WMti .\s may be seae be eiptrience, How, [brow the waiter's Tioiencc, The beich montaub, la every art, Ar bair fornemt the south--A-eat part : As the montaais of Pyreneis, The Alpis, and rocbu in the seia i Blcht sa the rocbb gret and gray Qubltk atandis ioto N'orroway. The heicheit hlllU, In cTery art. And In Scotland, for the maist part, Tiironch weltryng of that furious flade* The cralgis of erth war maist denade. Travelliug men may conbidder best The montanb bair nlxt the soath-weat. MUSIC. The present century was nearly as distinguished for its music as its poetry. The censure which has been cast on England in our own time of not being a musical or music- producing nation did not exist then. On the contrary, we stood at the head of Europe in original musical composition. The monarchs of that age, like their most illustrioos prede- cessors from Alfred downwards, were highly educated in music. Henry Till, was himself a composer of church music. It must be recollected tliat Henry, being but the second son of Henry TIL, was originally edaeated for the church, whose dignities were then princely ; and, as a matter of course, he was made familiar with its musir,' which occupied so pruminent a part in its worship. Erasmus bears testimony to the fact of Henry having composed offices for the church — a fact confirmed by lord Hubert of Cherbury and bishop Bumct ; and Sir John Hawkins, in his history of music, and Boyce, in his " Cathedral Music of English Masters," have preserved specimens of the royal composition. Boyce gives a fine anthem of Henry's, " Lord, the maker of all things. ' The king's musical estab- lishment for his chapel cost annually upwards of two thou- sand pounds, consisting of an hundred and fourteen persons, and was continued by Edward. Mary and Elizabeth were equally learned in music, though they do not appear to have patronised it as royally. Under these circumstances great composers, both of sacred TO 1003. J GREAT COMPOSERS OF THK AGE. 603 and social music, flourished in the sixteenth century. The names of Tye, Marbecli, Tallis, Bird, Farrant, Dowland, Bonnet, Wiibye, Ford, &c., stand in superb array as com- posers of some of our finest church music, or of madrigal and part singing. Helmingham Hall, Suffolk. Tudor period Tye was so much esteemed by Henry VIII., that he was made music preceptor to Edward VI., and was afterwards organist to Elizabeth. He composed both anthems and madrigals ; and his motet, Laudate nomen Domini, is still famous. Marbeck composed the notes to the Preces and Responses, which, with some alterations, are still in use in all our cathedrals. He was organist at Windsor, and was very nearly losing his life under the feroeious Henry, being found to be the member of a society for religious reforma- tion. He and his three accomplices were condemned to the stake : but Marbeck was saved by his musical genius, Henry observing, on Marbeck's Latin Concordance, on which he had been employed, being shown to him, " Poor Marbeck! it would be well for thine accusers if they employed their time no worse." His fellows were burnt without mercy, though no more guilty than himself. Tallis was indebted to Marbeck for the notes just mentioned in his compositions for the church. His entire service, including prayers, responses, litany, and nearly all of a musical kind, are preserved in Boyce's collections. They became the most celebrated of any of that remarkable age. In conjunction, also, with hia pupil, William Bird, he published, in 1575, Cantioncs Sacra: — perfect chefs- tiVcK ore of their kind; one of them, "O sacrum convivium " — since adapted by Dean Aldrich to the words " I call and cry " — still continues to be frequently performed in our cathedrals. The cantiones are remarkable from having been the 6rst things of the kind protected by a patent for twenty-one years, granted by Elizabeth. Bird was the author of the splendid caDon, Non nohis> Dominc, which has been claimed by composers of Italy France, and the Netherlands, but, as sufficiently proved,' without any ground. The names of Tallis and Bird are of themselves an ample guarantee to the claim of musical genius by this country. Richard Farrant and Dr. Bull — the first a chorister in Edward VI.s chapel, and the latter organist to queen Elizabeth — added greatly to the sacred music of the period. Farrant's compositions especially are remarkable for their deep pathos and devotion. His iinthem, still preserved by Boycc, "Lord, for thy tender mercy's sake," is unrivalled. Dr. Bull is now said to have been the original composer of our national air, " God save the Queen," which has long been claimed as foreign. In social music the poetical Surrey stands conspicuous, having set his own sonnets to music. Madrigals and other part singing — since better known as glee singing — were carried to a brilliant pitch in this country. The madrigal was originally invented by the Flemings, but glee singing seems to be English, though no doubt derived from the ' madrigal. Morley's first book of madrigals was published in 1594, Weelkes's in 1597, Wilhyc's in 1596, Benncts in 1599, and soon ifftcr Ward's and Orlando Gibbons'. Gate Hcu'e, Wcilwood II' u e. Tudor perlo.l. Dowland's and Ford's are more faopcrly glees than madri- gals; the former appeared in 1597, and the latter in 1607. Morley, one of the gentlemen of queen Elizabeth's cbapcl. 604 CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EXGLAKD. [a.d. 1485 would stem, like Dowland. to have studied the works of the great composers abroad ; and the harmony and science which he evinces are eminent. His canzonets for two voices are e.-pocially lively and pleasing. DowlanJ not only travelled in France, Italy, and Germany, but, at the request of king Christian IV., who saw him in England, he went to reside in Denmark. Fuller declares that he was the rarest musician of the age. lu I59S Wilbye published thirty madrigals, and a eecond book, applicable to instrumental as well aj vocal music, in 1609, amongst which are, " Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting," "As fair as morn," " Down in a valley," i!i:c. ; and in 1399 John Bennet pub- lished a set of madrigals, including the admirable ones of " O sleep, fond Fancy I " " Flow, oh my tears ! " and lastly, John Milton, the father of the poet, who also composed several psalm tunes, was a contributor to " The Triumphs of Oriana," a set of madrigals in praise of queen Elizabeth. Altogether this century was brilliant in both church and convivial music ; and if we are to judge from some specimens to be found in "The Dancing Master," and " (Jueen Elk;i- beth's Virginal Book," the popular airs were in many instances of a superior character, amongst which we may mention Bird's " Carman's Whistle," and the " Newe Northern Ditty of Ladye Green Sleeves." AKCHITECTCRE. The change which marked religion and literature in this country, extended itself as strikingly into architecture. We have no longer to record the rise of new orders of ecclesiastical building, nor to direct the attention of the reader to splendid churches as examples of them. The unity of the church, which had enabled it to erect such a host of admirable cathedrals and abbeys, was broken up ; the wealth which had supplied the material and engaged the skill was dispersed into other hands, and destined not only to produce new orders of society, but new forms of architecture. Churches must give way to palaces and country halls, as full of innovations as the very faith of the country. From this period to our own time the taste for ecclesiastical architecture continued to decline, till the very principles of what are called Gothic were forgotten. Our architects, as Wren and Jones, went back to classic models, so little adapted to the spirit of Christian worship that, spite of the genius expended upon them, they have remained few in number, and from the revival of the knowledge of Anglo- Gothic amongst us, are not likely to increase. But it is even a question whether the Gothic style had not reached its full development at the period of the re- formation ; for we find in most European countries that tlie noblest buildings of this kind are for the most part anterior to this period. It is at the same time true that the s;ime causes which brought our ecclesiastical archi- tecture to a sudden stand in the sixteenth century strongly affected all Europe, though in some countries Catholicism managed to maintain its ground. Everywhere the conflict was raging — everywhere the rending influence was felt ; and the ancient power and wealth of the church were broken and diminished. In England a few drarchcs might be pointed to of this period, but they exhibit the influence of the age in marks of decline, and to none can we turn as examples to be named with our Westminsters, Yoiks, and Winchesters. Bath Abbey was in progress of erection when the reformation burst forth and arrested its progress. It was not completed till 1016 — more than ten years after the death of Elizabeth, and cannot be named as one of our finest erections. The wealth which was diverted from the church into the hands of the crown and the aristocracy, reappeared in palaces and country halls ; and a totally new genius dis- played itself in these. The old Tudor, so called, which marked the baronial residences even before the Tudurs reached the throne, the mixture of castle and manor-house, with its small windows, battlemented roofs, and flanking turrets, began to enlarge and exaggerate most of these features, and to mix with them new elements clearly brought into the country by foreign architects, and in a great mea- sure from Italy. The windows rapidly augmented them- selves, till they soon occupied a predominant portion of the towers and fronts ; the turrets became surmounted by domes, and by those bulbous domes which were often piled one above another. There were soon seen one tier of pillared or pilastered storey above another, in the Pal- ladiau or Paduan fashion. Turrets often gave way to scroll-work parapets ; and instead of the house standing as heretofore on a level plain, it was elevated on a terrace, with brood and balustraded flights of steps, and all the adjuncts of fountains, statues, and balustraded esplanades, essential to the Italian garden. The houses were still built round a court or quadrangle, and adorned with outer and inner gateways, while groined roofs and rich oriels still demonstrated the oonneating link of descent from the Gothic. In fact, the architecture of the Tudor period is a singular yet often superb mixture of the Gothic and the Italian, >vith profusion of ornaments and ingraftment of parts which tell strongly of a more eastern origin. Nor does it appear that these foreign elements were introduced at the later portion of this period only — they stand forth conspicuously in the very commence- ment of it. In the later years oi the reign of Elizabeth we can point to noble houses which are more allied to the ancient Tudor, with its small windows and simple towers and roofs, than those of the Henrys VII. and VIII., who in their earlier days had a gorgeous and even fantastic tasto for palatial architecture. For example, Hampton Court is far more simple and chaste than Richmond Palace, built by Henry \'L1., or Nonsuch, built by Henry VIII. Again, in family mansions, Wimbledon House, built in ld8^, with its open court, its two descents of terraces, clearly Italian in character, is yet so chaste and simple, with its flat roof, its square slated towers, and mixture of small and large windows, that, compared to Xonsuch, as it has been, you at once see the violent contrast of the fanciful and the grave. Again, in Charlton House, in Kent, with its central entrance of Italian character, with two tiers of engaged columns, its ornamented parapets just verging into scroll- work, its tun-et windows of medium size, and its turret domes simple, and still plainer chimneys ; or Holland House, built in 1607, without domes, but with ogee-gables ; or Campdcn House, as it was built in 1612, with roof of plainest character, and pilastared entrance, we mark a far less ornate style than in the days of the Henrys. The whole of this period was one of a mixed style, in which different arehitecti indulged themselves in employing more or less of one or other of the prevailing elements, according to their tastes ; what is more strictly called Elizabethan, being sucli houses as WoUaton or Hardwicke, in which TO 1G03.] STATE OF ARCHITECTUKE DDBING THE PEKIOD. 60S the ample square windows, the square towers superseding the octagon ones of Nonsuch, the absence of the eastern- looking domes, and the presence of superb scroll-work, give a fine and distinctive style. The palace of Riclimond, as built by Henry VII., with its projecting towers occupied almost entirely with windows, and its roof presenting an immense number of double domes, a smaller one surmounting a lantern placed on the larger domes, had an air more Saracenic than English ; but the palace of Nonsuch, built by Henry VIII., outdid that in the singularity of its style, and was the wonder of its age. It was built round a quadrangle, and the front flanked by octagonal towers, which, at the height of the ordinary roof, rose, by a demi-arch expanding over th« lower one, into three more storeys, and upon these, lesser towers of two storey.-;, surmounted by domes and fanes. All the lower stoneys were divided into compartments by pilasters and bands, these compartments embellished by figures and groups in bas-relief. The lower part of this palace was of stone, the upper of wood. Hentzner, the German traveller, Viecame quite enthusiastic in describing it as a palace in which everything that architecture could perform seemed to have been accomplished ; and says that it was " so encompassed with parks fiJl of deer, delicious gardens, groves ornamented with trellis work, cabinets of verdure, and walks so embowered by trees, tliat it seemed to be a place pitched upon by Pleasure herself to dwell in along with Health." But there were two men in the reign of Henry VIII. who drew him from ofi" this more florid and fanciful style, to others very difi'erent from each, but equally full of imposing character and rich detail. These were Wolsey and John of Padua. Wolsey appeared to have an especial penchant for brick- work, and Hampton and the gate-house of his mansion at Esher, remain as proofs of the admirable masonry wliich he used. In Hampton Court we actually go back from the barbaric pomp of Nou.'-uch to the castellated style ; to small windows, pointed archways, castellated turrets and battle- ments, mingled with rich oriel windows over the entrances, rich groined roofs in the archways, but a very sparing use of the ordinary aid of the bulbous dome. In this and the other buildings of this class, as Hengrave in Suffolk, the richly cross-banded chimneys are a conspicuous ornament. John of Padua, whe became Henry VIII.'s chief archi- tect, and afterwards built Somerset House for the Protector, seems to have been unknown in his own country, but origi- nated a modified Italian style here which bears his name, possessing great grace and dignity, and of which Stoney- hurst College, Lancashire, and Longlcat,- in Wiltshire, are fine examples. To the many mansions of this style, as well as those of the more purely Elizabethan, and drawings of them, as WoUaton, Hardwicke, and the Duke's House, Bradford, we would recommend the architects of our own day to turn their attention, instead of burdening the finest parks and scenes of England with the square, unmcaning-'masses of brick and stone which offend our eyes in so many direc- tions, and cause foreigners to ridicule the want of urolii- tectural genius in England. In the smaller house's of town and country there con- tinued to be little change. They were chiefly of timber, and displayed much more picturesqueness than they afforded comfort. In towns the different storeys, one overhanging another till the inhabitants could almost shake hands out of the attic windows across the narrow streets, and their want of internal cleanliness and ventilation, occasioned the plague periodically to visit them. The Spaniards who accompanied Philip, in Mary's reign, were equally amazed at the good- living of the English people, and the dirt about their houses. One great improvement about this time was the introduc- tion of chimneys ; and in good country-houses the ample space of their staircases, which were often finely orna- mented ^vith balustrade work, dift'used a pure atmosphere through them. Specimens of architecture of this period are given: on pages 001, 603. PAIIWINC AND SOUtPTURE. In these a rts- the sixteenth century in England was almost totally destitate of native talent. In statuary and carving the furm^ age had made great progre»s, but the destruction of the churchesi and the outcry raised against images, and even earring- on. tombS) as idolatry and vain- glory, gave a decided cheek to th«r development. M for painting, for some cause or other, ifc had neven except in illumination, flourished much amongst the English, and now that the Italian ami Fleraigh schools bad token so high a position, it beoame the fasliion in the princes ami nobility, not to call forth the skill of nativoS) but to import foreign art and artists. Ibl the reign of Hienry VII. a Holbein, supposed to be the uncle of the great Hans Holbein, visited England, but ^«e know little of his performance here. There is a picture at Hampton Court, called a Mabuse, of the Children of Henry V 11.^— prince -Vrthur, prince Henry, and the princess Margaretr. As prince Henry appears to be about seven years old, that would fix the painting of the picture about 1-109, and as this is the very year of Mabuse's birth, the picture is clearly not his. In Castle Howard there is a painting by him of undoubted authority, "The Offering of the Magi," containing thirty principal figures. It is in the highest state of preservation, and Dr. Waagen, who is well acquainted with the produc- tions of this artist in the great galleries of the Continent, pronounced it of the highest excellence. He is said to have painted the children of Henry VIII., which is another proof that he did not paint those of his father. Probablj, most that he painted for Henry perished in the fire at Whitehall. Mabuse was a very dissipated man, and had fled from Flanders on account of his debts or delinquencies, yet the character of his performances is that of the most patient industry and pains-taking. His works done in England could not have been many, as his abode here is supposed to have been only a year. Besides Mabuse, the names of several other foreign artists are known as having visited England ; but little or nothing is known of the works of Toto del Nunziata, an Italian, or of Corvus, Flcccius, Horrebout or Horncband, or of Cornclii, Flemish artists ; but another Fleming was employed, in the early part of Henry VIII.'s reign, by bishop Sherboume, in painting a series of English kings and bishops in Chichester cathedral. Of the celebrated Hans Holbein, the case is clear and determinate. He resided in this country nearly thirty years, and died in London of the plague. Tliere is an obscurity about both the time and place of bi.s birth, but the place appears now to be settled to be Griinstadt, for- merly the residence of the counts of Leiningon-AVesterburg. He accompanied his father to Basle, receivins; from him his instructions in his art; and becoming acquainted with 606 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP ENGLAND. [a.d. MSS Erasmus, he received from bim letters to Sir Thomas More. Be arrived ia England in 1526, and lived and worked in the house of his noble patron, Sir Thomas, for three years. The learned chancellor invited Henry Entrance from the Courlyard of Burghley IIouss. VIII. to see his pictures, who w.as so much delighted with them, as to take him instantly into his service. It is related of him that whilst busily engaged with his works for the king, he was bo much annoyed and interrupted by a nobleman of the court, that he ordered him to quit his atelier, and on his refusing, pushed him down stairs. When the noble- man complained to Henry of this rudeness, Henry bluntly told him that the painter had served him right, and told him to beware of seeking any revenge. "For," added he, " remember you now have cot Holbein to deal with, but me : and I tell you, that of seven peasants I can make as many lords, but I cannot make one Holbein." The demand of portraits from Holbein by the court and nobility, was bo constant and extensive, that he completed compara- tively few historical compositions. He has left us various portraits of Henry, and adorned the walls of a saloon at Whitehall with two large paintings representing the triumphs of riches and poverty. He also painted Henry as delivering the charter of the barber-surgeons, and Edward VI. delivering that for the foundation of Bridewell Hospital. The former piece is still at the hall of that guild. Amongst the finest of Holbein's paintings on the Continent is that of ''The Burgomaster and his Family " in the gallery at Dresden. There is less of the stiffness of his manner in that piece than in most of his ; but in spirited design, clearness and brilliancy of tone, and perfection of finish, few painters excel Holbein ; he wanted only a course of study in the Italian school to have placed him amongst the greatest masters of any age. His defect is a want of full attainment of chiaro-oscuro, which Italy oould have given him ; at the same time we are not to form our idea of him by the host of indif- ferent copies of his portraits which have been made, and puffed by interested dealers as originals. Henry VIII. not only employed artists at home, but he gave orders to artists abroad, and Baffael painted for him a St. George. His collection furnished some of the earliest specimens to the gallery of Charles I. ; but if what Walpole says of his collection be true, it is probable that Hampton Court has pre- served a number of the worthless subjects which he got together. " If," says Walpole, "it be allowed that the mind and taste of Henry VIII. were demonstrated by the sub- jects upon which he employed the painters whom he patronised, and to whom he dictated theui, an opinion exactly corresponding with his character will be the result. AVe find in his collections numerous portraits of him self; repetitions of those of contemporary princes, particularly those of the emperor and Francis I. ; of his predecessors ; two of the duchess of Milan, who refused to marry him, but not one of his six wives ! The historical and scriptural subjects were the violation and death of Lucrece ; the decollation of John the Baptist, with his head in a charger ; a similar exhibition of Judith and Holofernes j St. George, his patron saint : the Virgin and Child, with the dead Christ ; sundry Flemish moralities in which death is personified ; and drolls of the imbecility of old men, with caricatures of the Pope." In the reign of Mary, Sir Antonio More, a Flemish artist, was the great portrait-painter. In that of Elizabeth, though she was not more liberal to the arte than to litera-. Conch used by Mary Queen of Scots during her imprisonment ture, yet her personal vanity led her to have her own portrait repeatedly painted, and the artists, chiefly Flemings, were much employed by the nobility in the same depart- ment. Some of the foreign artists also executed historical TO 1485.] THE PAINTERS AND SOin.PTORS. 607 and other pieces. Amongst these artists may be named 1 Frederic Zuccaro, an Italian portrait-painter ; Lucas de Heere, who executed a considerable number of orders here, amongst them a series of representations of national cos- tume for the earl of Lincoln ; and Cornelius Vroom, who statues and forty bas-reliefs. This monument of Henry 'a ngotism none of his children or successors respected him enough to complete ; and the parliament, in 1646, ordered the portion already completed to be melted down. In Scotland during this period the arts were still less Arras In Knowle Houje. designed the defeat of the Spanish Armada, for the tapestry which adorned the walls of the House of Lords, and which was destroyed by the fire in 1834. In this reign also, two native artists distinguished themselves ; Nicolas Hilliard, a miniature-painter ; and Isaac Oliver, his pupil, who sur- passed his master in portrait, and also produced historical works of merit. Amongst the sculptors were Pietro Torregiano, from Flo- rence, who, assisted by a number of Englishmen, executed the bronze monument of Henry VII., and is supposed also to be the author of the tomb of Henry's mother in his chapel. John Hales, who executed the tomb of the earl of Derby at Ormskirk, was one of Torregiano's English assistants. cultivated. The only monarch who had evinced a taste for their patronage was James V., who improved and adorned the royal palaces, by the aid of French architects, painters, •Tursery Chiir of James VI. of Scotland. Fire Dogs. Benedetto Rovezzano designed the splendid bronze tomb of Henry VIII., which was to have exhibited himself and Jane Seymour, as large as life, in effigy, an equestrian j and sculptors whom he procured from France, with whiJi statue, figures of the saints and prophets, the history of | ho was connected by marriage and alliance. His chief St, George, amounting to a hundred and thirty-three interest and expenditure were, however, devoted to tho 00"^ 0AS5?ELL'S ILLUSTBATBD HISTORY OF ENGLAND. [a.d. 1465. fine, tall, nnd capacious ones, the frames gilt, and the , drapery yellow and crimson satin, richly embroidered ; the walls of each end of the room being covered with the same embroidered satin. In the Elizabethan room at The furniture of noble honses in the sixteenth century Greenwich Court, are chairs as well aa other articles of was still quaint; but in many instances rich and pic- i palace at Linlithgow, which ho left by far the noblest palace of Scotland, and worthy of any country in Europe. FVRNirCRE AND DErORATIONS. turcsque. Tlie walls retained their hangings of tapestry, on which glowed hunting-scenes, with their woodlands, dogs, horeemen, and flying stags, or resisting boars or lions; scenes mythological or historical. In one of the finest pre- "fccrved houses of that age, Hardwiok. in Derbyshire, the state-room is hung with tapestry representing the story of Fljsses ; and above this are tigores. rudely oseonted in plaster, of Diana nnd her nymphs. The hall is hung with tapestry very curious, and of the fifteenth century, repre- senting a boar-hunt and an otter hunt. The chapel in this house gives you a very vivid idea of the furniture of domestic chapels of that age; with its brocaded seats and cusliions, and its very curious altar-cloth, thirty feet long, bujig round the rails of the altar, with figures of saints, under canopies, wrought in needlework. You are greatly struck as you pass along this noble old hall, whioh has had its internal decorations and funuture carefully retained as they were, with the air of rode abundance, and what looks now to us nakedness and unflnishedness, mingled with old baronial state, and rich and precious articles of use and show. There are vast and long passages, simply matted; with huge chests filled with coals, which formerly were filled with wood, and having ample crypts in the walls for chips and firewood. There are none of the modern contrivances to conceal these things , yet the rooms, which were then probably uncarpeted, or only embellished in the centre with a small Turkey carpet, bearing the family arms, or perhaps merely with rushes, are still abounding with antique cabinets, massy tables, and high chairs covered with crimson velvet, or crnamental satin. You behold the very furniture used by the queen of .Scots , the very bed, the brocade of which she and her maidens worked with their own fingers. In tlie entrance hall the old f-judal mansion I still seems to survive with its huge antlers, its huge i escutcheons, and carved arms thrust out of the wall, in- tended to hold lights. But still more does its picture- gallery, extending along the whole front of the house, give y u a feeling of the rudo and stately grandeur of those times. This gallery is nearly two hundred feet long, of remarkable loftiness, and its windows are stupendous, comprising nearly the whole front, rattling and wailing as the wind sweeps along them, whilst the walls are covered with the portraits of the most remarkable personages of that and prior times. Yon have Henry VIII., Elizabeth, the queen of Scots, with many of the statesmen and ladies of the age. In such old houses wo find abundance of furniture of the period. The chairs are generally high-backed, richly carved, and stufi'ed and covered with superb velvet or satin. At Oharlcote House, near Stratford-on-Avon, the seat of the Lycye, there are eight fine ebony chairs, inlaid with ivory, two cabinets, and a couch of the same, which were given by queen Elizabeth to Leicester, and mode part of the furniture of Kenilworth. At Pens- hurst, Kent, the seat of the Sidneys, in the room called Elizabeth's room, remain the chairs which it is said she herself presented, with the rest of the furniture. Tlicy are that age. In Winchester Cathedral is yet preserved the chair, a present from the pope, in which queen Mary was crowned and married. In Pensliurst we have, in the old banqueting hall, the furniture and style which still prevailed in many old houses in Sir Philip Sidney's time. The dogs for the fire in the centre of the room, from which the smoke ascended through a hole in the roof, the rude tables, the raised dais, and the music gallery, such as Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, Shake- speare, and Bacon, as well as the royal Elizabeth witnessed them. In this liouse is also preserved a manuscript cata- logna of all the furniture of Kenilworth in Leicester's time, a doenment whioh would enlighten us on the whole para- phernalia of a great house and household of that day. Looking-glasses were now superseding mirrors of polished steel ; my late friend Sir Samuel Meyrick, had a tine specimen of the looking-glass of this age at Goodrich, as well as a German clock, tire-dogs, a napkin-press, and an arriere-dos or rere-floste, and a small brass fender of that age. I have already meatioaeaok and breast 010 CASSELL-S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF iv.^GLAND. [a.d. 1485 . . - — — ■ — L*^'"' i^ao steel fcull-caps and brigandines; black-biUmen or' hal- berd.ers, who wore armour called almaio rivet and morions ■ and harquebussiers similarly appointed. In Elizabeth's iU name from its muzzle being terminated with the head of hat fabulous monster, and gave the name of dragoo,>t to the soldiers who fought with them. Bandoliers, or leathern cases, each containing a complete charge of powder for a musket were used till the end of the seventeenth centurv when they gave way to the cartridge-box. ' Group of Weapons, &c., preserved in ihe Tower. «, i isiJc »lenr of a circnUr shield, in which is inserted a pistol or short gun : », breach of pistol; c, fire-match for the purpose of Igniting the gun- powder at the touch-liole; d. small grata for the purpose of enabling the bearer to take aim at his opponent; e, barrel; p, spiked mace, called Henry VIll 's walking-stick, ia the head of the mace are four barrels which could be charged with powder, &c. ; o, catchbob for taking thieves, —the upper part acts with a spring which, after admitting the neck of a culprit, holds it tightly in the circular part : h, cresset carried by the marching watch daring the reigu of Henry Vin . ; i, ancient musket, on a principle similar to the rcvolTers in use at the present day. reign the armour was seldom worn on the legs and thighs, except in jousting, and not always then. There were various changes in the shapes of swords and glaives; the battleaxe changed into the halberd in Edward IV.'s time, and it became general in Henry YII.'s. In Ilenry VIII.'s reign was added the partisan, a kind of pike or fpontoon ; but the great change was in firearms, the hand- gun making several steps towards its modern termination in the musket and rifle, with detonating caps. The first improvement was to place a cock to the gun-barrel, ' to hold and apply the match instead of the soldier holding ! it in his hand. This was called an arc-a-bousa, thence corrupted into the arquebuse, much used by Henry VII. In I his son's reign the wheel-lock was invented by the Italians I in which a wheel revolving against a piece of sulphuret of iron, ignited the powder in the pan by its sparks. Pistols were also introduced now, and called pistols or dags, according to the shape of the butt-ends; the pistol finishing with a knob, the dag, or tacke, having its butt-end slanting" Pistols at first more resembled carabines in length, and the pocket pistol was of a considerable bulk. Cartridges were first used in pistols, and were carried in a steel case called a patron. In the reign of Elizabeth we hear of carabines, petronels, and dragons. Carabines were a sort of light, Spanish troops, who, probably, used this kind of arm \ petronels were so called because their square butt-end was Artillery of the Tudor period. With the progress of fire-arms, it is almost needless to say. that the famous art of archery, by which the English had won such fame in the world, was gradually superseded. Group of Arms of 'he Tudor peiiod. 1, halberd of the reign of Henry Vll ; 2, halberd of the reign of Herrv \ IH.; 3, a pike . 4, partisan cf Ihe time of Henry VIII. ; sind 6 VwSr^ Elii.bnh" •'™'''^- »' S'O"*'""- '. P»le-axe of the UmrofQ^ecn During the reigns of Henry VII. and Henrv VIII., bows were much used in their armies as well as fire-arms, but it was impossible long to maintain the bow and arrow in the TO HJ03.] THE COSTUMES OF THE AGE. on presence of the hanj-gun and powder. In vain did Henry Till, pass severe laws against the disuse of the bow ■ by the end of his reign it had fallen, for the most part, from the hands of the warrior into that of the sportsman. In vain did Henry forbid the use even of the cross-bow to encourage the practice of archery, and Roger Ascham in his " Toxophilus " endeavour to prolong the date of the bow. By the end of the reign of Elizabeth, the endeavour to protract the existence of archery by statute was abandoned, and its long reign, except as a graceful amuse- ment, was over. COSTUME. The costumes of this age come down to us depicted by great masters, Holbein, Rubens, and Vandyke, and are displayed to us in their full effect, at least those of the aristocracy. Looking at these ladies and gentlemen, they appear as little like plain, matter of fact, English people, as possible. There is a length and looseness of robes about the men which has more the air of a holiday, gala garb, than that of people who had very serious affairs to carry through, and you would scarcely credit them to be the ancestors of the present plain, buttoned up, and busy gene- ration. In a MS. of this date, called the Boke of Custome, the chamberlain is commanded to provide against his master's uprising, " a clene sherte and breche, a pettycotte, a doublette, a long cotte, a stomacher, hys hosen, hys socks, and his shoen." And the Boke of Kervynge, quoted by Strutt; says to the chamberlain, " warme your so^erayne his pettycotte, his doublette, and his stomacher, and then put on his hosen, and then his schone or slyppers, then Stryten up his ho/.en mannerly, and tye them up, then lace his doublette hole by hole.' Barclay in the " Ship of Fools,' Bandies cf the time of Henr printed by Pynson in 1508, mcntioos some who had their necks Charged with collars and chainra. In golden wlths, their tingers fall of rings. Their necks naked alrao^t to the raines, Their sleeves blazing like un^o a crane's wlnges. Their coats were generally loose and with broad collars, and turned back fronts, with loose hanging sleeves, often slashed, and sometimes without sleeves at all, but the sleeves of their doublets appearing through them, laced tight to the elbow, aud puffiid out above. Hats and caps weee of various fashions in Henry VII. 's time. There was the square turned up cap, a round hat something like the present wide-awake, but the more gay and assumim' wore large felt hats, or bonnets, of velvet, fur, or other materials, with great spreading plumes of party-coloured feathers. They wore these showy hats so much on one Dress of the Commonalty in the time of Edward VI. side, as to show under them other close fitting caps, often of gold network. Others, again, wore only the small cap, and let the great plumed hat hang on their shoulders. The hose, when the dress was short enough to show them, were close-fitting, and of gay, often two different colours ; the long-toed shoes had given way to others with toes called duck-bill.-', from their shape, being wider in front than they were long. Top-boots were worn for riding. Their faces were close shaven except they were soldiers or old men, and their hair was suffered to hang long and flowing. The first mention of a coUar of the garter occurs iu this reigu, and a collar is seen on the efBgy of Sir George Daubeny, of this date. The costume of the hidies displayed sleeves equally wide with those of the men, and have been imitated in modern times, and called bishop's sleeves in London. The gown was cut square iu the neck, with 8tomac;hers. belts, and buckles, girdles with long pendents in front, and hats and feathers — from which the modern opera-hats have been copied. Others wore caps and cauls of gold net, or embroidery, from beneath which the hair hung down the shoulders, half-way to the ground. The morning dress was a full, loose, flowing dress, with cape and hood, and the extent and material of it was regulated by royal ordinance. Every one is familiar with the costume of tho reigns of Henry VIII. and Edward VI. The ordinary costume of bluff Harry was a full-skirted jacket or doublet, with large sleeves to the wrists ; over which was worn a short but equally full cloak or coat, with loose, hanging sleeves, and a broad, rolling collar of fur. Many, however, still wore the doublet sleeves as in the last reign : tight to the elbow, puffed out about the shoulders, and the coat sleeve- less, allowing this to appear. Tho cap was square or round, and still worn somewhat sideways, jewelled, and plumed with ostrich feathers. The hose were now often divided into hose and stocking.*, and the shoes, though sometimes square-toed, yet often resembling the modern shape. The Xorman chaussts were revived under the 613 CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED UISTOEY OP ENQLA.yD. older name of irousset, being close hose, fitting exactly to the limbs. Henry A'lIL was most extravagant in dress, and U.b. 1485 Ilenrys own dress was of the most flaming kind. He is described at a banquet at Westminster as arrayed in a suit of short garments of blue velvet and crymosinc. with was fi>llowcd with so much avidity by his subjects in his long sleeves aS cut, andlined with clorh "of goTd" and the ostentation, that m the twenty-fourth year of his reign he I outer garments powdered with castles and sheaves of *i. Lady and Coonlry-woman of the days of Elizabeth. A Gentleman of Fashion of the time of Henry VIII. was obliged to pass a sumptuary law to restrain them ; and the style and quality of dress for every different rank was prescribed — as we may suppose, with indifferent success. No persdn of less degree than a knight was to wear crimson or blue velvet or embroidered apparel, broched yr guarded with goldsmith's work, except sons and heirs of knights and barons, who might use crimson velvet, and A Begxar of the time of Henry VIII. arrows— the badges of queen Catherine— of fine ducat gold ; the upper part of the hose of like fashion, the lower parts of scarlet, powdered with timbrels of fine gold. His bonnet was of damask silver, flat, "woven in the stall," and therefore wrought with gold, and rich feathers on it. AMien he met Anne of Cleves he had tricked himself out in a frock of velvet, embroidered all over with flatted gold of damask, mixed with a profusion of lace ; the sleeves and breast all cut and lined with cloth of gold, and tied Ladies' Head-dress of the time of Henry VII. tinsel in their doublets. Velvet gowns, jackets and coats, furs of martins, pennies out of only four ounces of silver ! Such were the 610 CASSEtiL'S Il.LUSTRATED HISTORV OP EN'OLAND. [a.d. 14S5 lawless robberies which '' Bluff Harry " committed on his subjects. Any one of the smallest debasements by n sub- ject would have sent him to the gallows. He certainly was one of the most wholesale issuers of bad money that ever lived. Queen Mary, whilst she issued a proclamation at the commencement of her reign, denouncing the dishonest pro- ceedini^s of her predecessors, a^ain increased the alloy in a pound of mint silver to an ounce instead of nineteen pennyweights ; and she added two pennyweights more of Sovereign of Henrv VII. The counsellors of his son Edward —a most rapacious set of adventurers — however, even out-Ilarryed Harry ; for though Edward restored at first the value of the mint mixture in some degree, in 1551 the amount of silver in a pound of that alloy was only three ounces, or an ounce alloy to the ounce of gold. The coins issued by Philip and Mary bear both their profiles. Elizabeth honourably restored the coinage to its anoient value. She fixed the alloy in a pound of silver at only eighteen pennyweights ; but she coiued sixty-two shillings George Noble of Flenry VIII. less than the worst coin of his father. And still worse, instead of 48s., the largest number coined by his father out of a pound, he coined 72s., or instead of 450 pennies out of four ounces of silver, 804 pennies were coined out of three ounces. The ruin, the confusion of prices, and the public outcry. Crown of Eilvard VI. out of tlie pound instead of sixty, at which it remained till 1816, when it became sixty-six, as it still remains. The standard mixture of Elizabeth has continued the same to our own day. She called in pnd melted down the base money of her father and l>rothcr to the nominal value -ctJ^JK^^^ Gold Real of Mar>-. however, con8e<|uent upon this violent public fraud, at length compelled government to restore the amount of silver in the pound to nearly what it wag at the beginning of Henry VIII.'s reign, and the number of shillings was reduced from seventy-two to sixty. The gold, which was equally abased, was also restored to the same extent. Milled Sixpence of El-zabeth. of six hundred and thirty-eight thousand pounds, but of real value only two hundred and forty -four thousand pounds. The gold coins of Elizabeth are rials, angels, half-angels, and quarter-angels, crowns and half-crowns, nobles and double nobles. Some of her coins were the firit which had milled edges, both of gold and silver. Ucsides shil- TO 1603.] STATE OF THE ROYAL XAAT. 617 lings, sixpdncos, groats, and pence, PJiizabeth coined a crown, for the use of the East India Company, called port- cullis crowns, in imitation of the Spanish dollar. These were valued at fonr shillings and sixpence, and arc now rare. In Scotland the alloy of the silver at the mint was not 80 great as in England during this period ; but the number of shillings coined out of one pound of silver was astonishingly increased. This kind of depreciation had been going on for two centuries before this period ; but from 1475, when only a hundred and forty-four shillings were coined out of the pound of silver, the number was rapidly augmented every few years, till in 1601 no less than neven hundred and twenty .shillings were coined out of it, or, in other words, the original value of one pound was made to pass for thirty-six pounds. SHIPS, COMMBRCE, COtONlES, AND MANUFACTUBES. In tr.acinj the historical events of these reigns, we have had occasion to show the increasing strength of the royal navy of England, Both in the reigns of Henry VIII. and of Elizabeth the sea fights were of a character and attended by results which marked out England as a maritime power growing ever more formidable. In the fourth year of his reign Henry drove the French fleet from the channel with forty-two ships, royal and others. He chastised the Scotch, who, under James V., had become daring at sea; and on various occasions during his reign he showed his superiority to the French and Spaniards. But the victory over the Armada under Elizabeth, and the exploits of Drake, Essex, Raleigh, and others in the Spanish ports, and of Dr.ake, Hawkins, and Frobisher in the Spanish settlements of America, rai.sed the fame of the British fleet to a pitch which it had never reached before. Yet, after all, the amount of Henry's fli-et never was large. We are told, indeed, that at first he had only one ship of war, the Great Harry, till he took the Lion, a large Scottish ship, with its commander, the celebrated Andrew Barton ; but probably this is meant of such size as to merit the name of man-of-war. Parsimonious as was Henry VII., and care- ful to avoid any collisions with foreign powers, wo cannot suppose that he left the kingdom totally destitute of a navy. But Henry VITI. was not contented with owning merely a mediocre fleet ; he had an ambition of building large vessels; and in 1512 he built one of one thousand tons, called the Regent. This was blown up in a battle with the French fleet ofiF Brest, and instead of it he built another called Grace de Dieu. The rivalry of Henry was excited by the king of Scotland building a much larger ship than his Regent, which was said to carry three hundred seamen, one hundred and twenty gunners, and one thousand soldiers. This ship, like Henry's Regent, was untortimate, being lost at sea. By the end of Henry's reign his fleet altogether amounted to twelve thousand five hundred tons. Besides building of ships Henry seems to have planned all the necessary offices for a nav.al sy.stem. He established the Navy Office, with a sort of Board of Admiralty for its management, and be .also founded, in the fourth year of bis reign, the Corporation of the Trinity House, at Deptford, for managing everything relating to the education, selection, and appointment of pilots, the putting down of buoys, and erecting beacons and lighthouses. Similar estaVdishments were by him created at Hull and Newcastle. He erected at great cost the first pier at Dover, and passed an act of parliamentimproving the harbours of Plymouth, Dartmouth, Tynemouth, Falmouth, and Ponroy, which had been choked up by the rfuse of certain tin- works, which he prohibited. But perhaps his greatest works of the kind were his esta- blishment of the navy-yards, and store-houses of Wool- wich and Deptford. Xo monarch, in fact, had hitherto planned so efficiently and exerted himself so earnestly to found an English navy. Great merit is due to him for his advancement of the maritime interests of the nation. The manner in which the different monarchs of the Tudor dynasty advanced or neglected the navy is well shown by the returns of the Navy Ofiice to parliament, in 1791. Aj we have stated, at the end of Henry's reign it amounted to twelve thousand five hundred tons, at the end of Edward VI. 's, to only eleven thousand and sixty-five tons, and at the end of Mary's, to merely seven thousand one hundred and ten tons, but at the end of Elizabeth's to seventeen thousand one hundred and ten. At the time of tlie Armada, Elizabeth had at sea one hundred and fifty sail, 'of which, however, only forty were the property of the crown ; the rest belonged to the merchants, who were liable to be called upon on such emergencies to furnish their largest craft for the public service. Thirty- four of these ships were from five hundred to one thousand one hundred tons burthen each ; and these larger vessels are said to have carried three hundred men and forty cannon each. Besides the vessels thus called out for war, the mercantile navy at this time amounted to another one hundred and fifty sail of various capacity, averaging each one hundred and fifty tons, and carrying forty seamen. This extent of royal and mercantile navy had not been reached without much fostering care on the part of the queen. With all her parsimony and dread of expense, it was one of the finest parts of her very mixed character, that sh' saw the necessity of a strong power at sea, and had all the pride of her father to maintain it. Whilst on land she introduced the manufacture of gunpowder, and raised the pay of the soldiers, she extended her care to the fleet, and made it, in the end, the best equipped navy in Europe. She raised the pay of the sailors, as she had done of the soldiers, and the merchants entered so readily into her service that she had no longer occasion to hire vessels, a* her predecessors had done, from the Hanse Towns or from Venice and Genoa. She built a fort on the Medway, somewhere near the present Sheerncss, to protect her fleet, and justly acquired the name of the Queen of the North Seas. Many circumstances combined to give a new and wonderful development in her time to commerce. The discovery and partial settlement of the New AVorld, the way opened by the Cape to India, the extension of commercial inquiry and enterprise into the north of Europe, and to the banks of Newfoundland. But ere this stirring period arrived, commerce had had many severe restrictions, the fruit of the ignorance of political economy, to struggle with. Henry VII. is greatly praised by Hall the chronicler, as a prince who " by his high policy marvellously enriched his realm and himself, and left his subjects in high wealth and prosperity ; as is apparent by the great abundance of gold and .silver yearly brought into the kingdom in plate, money, and bullion, by merchants passing and repassing." But the great reason of the rapid advance of commerce 019 CASSELLS ILLrSTRATED HISTORT OF ENGLAND. [a.d. US3 under Henry VII. was, ondoubtedly, the quietness and stability of affairs which he introduced; for Henry was too fond of hoarding to le a very munificent patron of trade. .\jnongst the very first measures which he passed was one against usury, totally forbidding the luan of money on interest, which, if it could have been really carried out, would have nearly extinguished commerce The Ships of Columbns. altogether. In this, however, Henry was but continuing the practice of his predecessors, who, though great warriors, were no merchants. So severe was Henry's enactment against usury, that, by the act of the third year of his reign, every offender was, on discovery, to be fined one hundreds pound, and the bargain to be made void. Henry YIII. abrogated this absurd law, and allowed usury under ten per cent. ; it was again put in force by Edward VI. in terms of the utmost severity, declaring it to be " a vice, most odious and detestable, and utterly prohibited by the Word of God." Elizabeth again restored the law of her father in 1571, permitting interest under ten per cent. Whilst Henry VII. endeavoured to extinguish usury, he was equally jealous of foreign merchants, of their bringing their foreign manufactures, and carrying out English goods, lest our wealth should be drained away by them. The careful old king could not see that it mattered little by whom the exchanges of commerce were made, so that the mercantile classes were left to make their own bargains ; whence the certain result would be that people everywhere would only purchase such things as they wanted, and sell such as they did not want, with benefit to every- body. It accorded, however, with Henry's, ideas and so far was beneficial, that English merchants should settle in foreign countries, and endeavour to drain them of some of their wealth. Therefore, be was careful to heal the breach with the Netherlands, which the patronage of Perkin Warbeck by the duchess of Burgundy had made, and the company of Merchant-Adventurers was again established in Antwerp. The treaty on this occasion was termed by the rejoiced Flemings the " Intercursus Magnus," or Great Treaty of Intercourse ; but, as we have related, Henry, in 1490, on intercepting the archduke Philip at Weymouth, pressed from him a less liberal treaty, which the Flemings branded as the " Intercursus Malus," or Evil Treaty. In the same one-sided spirit of trade, Henry, in 14S9. concluded a treaty with Denmark, by which English com- panies were authorised to purchase lands in Bergen in Norway, Lunden and Landscrona in Schonen, Dragor in Zealand, and Loysa in Sweden, on which to erect factories and warehouses, to remain theirs in perpetuity for the purposes of trade. He also renewed a similar treaty at the same time with the great trading republic of Venice, by which the English companies were to enjoy all the privileges of the citizens of Florence and Pisa, where they were esta- blished, and were privileged to export English wool, and re-ship the spices and valuable articles brought by the Vene- tians overland from India. It was not long, however, before Henry was called on to check the effects of monopoly in bis English companies. The Merchant-Adventurers of London soon showed so strongly these effects that they compelled the king to inter- fere. The markets of Europe were now fast growing in im- portance and demand. The wealth of South America was flowing into Spain, in the shape of gold, to the amount of a million sterling annually, and the spices and riches of the East Indies into Portugal, since the discovery of the way round the Cape. Amsterdam became a great mercantile depot of these commodities as central in Europe, and the benefit of it was felt nowhere more sensibly than in England. Henry VII., who had let slip the opportunity of securing South America and the West Indies by neglecting the offers of Columbus, now endeavoured to repair the mischief by granting patents to the Cabots and others for the discovery of new lands. He could not open his heart or his coffers sufficiently to assist the adventurers with funds, but he was ready to reap his share of the benefit, which was to consist of all the countries discovered, and a fifth of the A Ship of the ICth C«n(urj'. immediate proceeds. Under such patents the Cabots. father and son. in the course of several voyages, discovered Labrador, in 1497, and afterwards ran along the whole coast of North America, to the Gulf of Mexico. From this moment the spirit of mercantile enterprise rapidly developed itself. In 1530 we find Captain Hawkins TO 1G03.] RAPID ADVANCE OF COMMERCE. ftI9 trading to Guinea for elephants' teeth, and to Brazil, voyages to which coasts soon became common. Trading to all parts of the Mediterranean -was frequent during Henry VIII. 's reign; taking out wool, cloth, and skins, and importing silks, dru^s, wines, cotton-wool, spices, and Turkey carpets. The voyages of Cabot had opened up a new trade — that of cod-fishing — on the coasts of Xewfound- land, which was eagerly rushed into ; and the voyages of Willoughby and Richard Chancellor, by exploring the White Sea, at the suggestion of Cabot, opened a new Company, who were Hanse Town merchants, and the with- drawal of whose charter by Henry VIII. had Ijeen most beneficial to freedom of trade, were circumstances which acted adversely on commerce in her reign. During the long reign of Elizabeth foreign trade made gigantic strides. One of the very first acts of Elizabeth was to abolish the restriction of English morchantg ta English bottoms in the transport of goods. The act sfates that this restriction had provoked the natural adoption of like restrictions by foreign princes. This waa the first acknow- Sir Tbomas Grssham, Fcnrder of (he Royal Exchange. trade with Russia ; and a Russian company was formed by Edward VI., and fully incorporated by Mary, who vigorously prosecuted that trade ; and in 15.'5fl an ambas- sador arrived at London from the Czar. Jenkinson, an agent of this company, afterwards descended the Volga to Astracan, and crossing the Caspian Sea, reached Bokhara, the great resort of the merchants of Russia, Persia, India, and China. He is said to have made sis other voyages to Bokhara by that route — a striking proof of the growing enterprise of the English merchant. The loss of Calai.-) by Mary, and her restoration of the monopoly of the Steelyard Icdgmcnt of the mischief of meddling with the frccdum of trade , and our foreign trade had now acquircl an imf irt- ance which demanded respect. With the Xethcrlandi alone our trade was extraordinary, its v.iUie amounting to nearly two million and a half sterling annually ; and we find .it^ this time the first mention of insurance of pood.< on their voyage. In 1562 we hear also of that detestable comnif^rco — the slave trade, which was introduced by John Hawkins, so well known afterwards as the daring compeer of Prakft and Frobisher, and one of the heroic conquerors of thr Armada. Hawkins carried out English goods, called »i ftiO CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF EN'GLAND. [a.d. U35 the (tu'nea C'twt and took in slaves, sailed to Hispnniola, and ^r■ulg!lt thcnco Fug.ir, ginger, hides, nnd pearls. Duriii' the reign of E'iiibeth many voyages were made in order to discover a north-west passage to India, which led to a more intimate knowledge of the North American coasts. In these Frobisher, Cavendish, and Davis distin- tir ■ ' ' •' mselves. From 1-576 to the end of Elizabeth's rci^ . and his step-brother. Sir Humphrey Gilbert, made i... ..tod attempts to colonise Xorth America, and partioulurly Virginia — so called in honour of Elizabeth — but in vain. Equally strenuous and unsuccessful efforts were made to open a direct sea communication witk India by the English ; and it was not till the close of Elisabeth's reign that the incorporation of an East India Oompaaj, destined to establish that trade, was effected. The charter was granted by Elizabeth in IGOO. Elizabeth also chartered a company in 1579 for the exclusive right of trading to all the countries of the Baltic. As regarded the domestic manufactures of this period, the woollen manufactures were ihe most important, and extended themselves greatly on account of the foreign demand. This manufacture had to contend with many old charters and restrictions which were introduced to mono- poliss the practice of it to certain towns and persons ; but these were gradually broken through after much contest and people in both town and country were allowed to mUce cloths and other woollen goods. Originally London, Nor- wich, Bristol, Gloucester, and Ooveii»ry were the privileged places. Esses became a clothing county ; but by degrees the trade ?proad into those quarters where it still prevails. Berks, Oxford, Surrey, and Y'rkahire made coarse kerseys for exportation ; Wales manufactured fringes and coarse cloths ; but Tiverton, Bridgewater, Chard, and other towns of Wills, Gloucester, and Somerset were famous for their broad-cloths ; those of Kid lermin.'jter, Bromwich, OoV'-ntry, Worcester, Eversham, Droitwich, as also of Norfolk, Suff ilk, and Essex, were in esteem. Manchester and Halif.ix were already noted for rugs and fringes, Nor- folk for coverleti, and Lincolnshire and Chester for what were caUed " c ittons,'" but which were a species of woollen. There was much complaint at th.it day of the adulteration of the fabrics by intermixture of inferior yarns, and by not takin;; the proper means to prevent them running up on beiag exposed to wet. Norwich bad manufactures of woollen different to ordinnry cloth, in which it excelled all other places ; and in Elizabeth's rei^n the Norwich manu- facturers introduced new kinds under the name of Norwich satins and fustians. The art of dyeir.g received a new impulse and new colours from the discovery of Brazil and other distant countries. Soap-making was also introduced, soap having before 1521 been cbi''9y-imp irted. M iny new manufacturing processes, both in weaving, dyeing, and cleaning cl'iths, were brought over by the refugees from the Netherlands, driven hither by the Spanish persecutions. During Elizabeth's reign the smeltiag of iron, which had been chiefly carried on in Kent, Sussex, and Surrey, became restrictt-d there on account of the consumption of wood. Copper mines and alum pits were discovered in the time of Elizabeth, in Cumberland and '£ticef(<»ently included by Leicester in tJic recreations whioh ho provided for her at Keniiworth. In fact, bear-gard««6, 0iM)k-pit8, bowling-greens, tennis-courts, dieing-houscs. taverns, smok- ing ordinaries, and the like, abounded, giving an a fair idea of the grade of taste of that age. Hunting and hawk- ing were still pastimes of the gentry, and horse-races became a great rage ; the first mention of tliem being on the occasion just mentioned, when Henry wont a-ninying in 1515, when it is said that Henry and his brother-in- Charing Cross and the Strand ui the Days ot Edward VI ju: CA^SLLLS ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OP E.VGLAND. [a.d. ilbS .^/ Pack Hcrsea of the Tudor period. law, the duke of Suffolk, ended the day by "racing on great coursera." In fact, the taste of this remarkable age was in reahty of a yery low type — sensual, empty, and vulgar . of a stamp, indeed, which none but the lowest of our present population could for a moment endure : a fact marking the immense advance since then of refinement in mind and in murals. A people any purer and more humane, could not, in truth, have tsisted amid the daily spectacles which surrounded them : the heads of traitors stuck on gate and bridge the bloody eiccution of queens and nobles and the crowds of wretches dauglmg from a thousand gibbets. ! the flaming stake, the branding-iron, the scourge, and the | stocks were the most familiar objects to a people who re- quired a Shakespeare to interlard his finest tragedies with harlequins and fools. cosDirioy of toe people. But amid the groBsness of this century there must have existed a large intermixture of a more moral class, for the Bible bud beoome extensively read, and the reformers must have been numerous to enable the government to effect the ecclesiaslitai changes which they did ; and the advance of physical improvement must cot be judged of by the popular condition of to-day, but of previuua times. la A Sulttts Fair in the days of Denry TIU. TO 1603.] CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE. 623 the course of the centurj the condition of the people con- siderably advanced. At the beginning the houses of farmers were generally of timber, and those of labourers of mud, or wattle and mud. In many of them were no chimneys, [' Population of London latter part of the reign of HeuryVIir.under aou.yoo. PopiilatioD of London In 1877, OTer Two MiUiutu aud a hjilt = Population of London I latter part of the reign of Hearj V IIL, under aou.OOO. * '*:' -r-,-^, 1 M ■ "• "-^^ p^ -- ^i?^i^ S£v! tSg T*3 Po|pal»tion of London at the same rat« oimcreaMin a.o. i»oi>, Five MiUiona Ife^^ Popuktioa of Loadoo, 1S57, oyer 1.500,000. Theblackporlion 8li"w^ the exieut of Lon.l ii n the TCitm of Heory V 1 1 I the wliile ihe pu>- ii- exteat of LoDiioo, ptrt* y th€ Vi^J'l' r'l -'<'- urbtarnlett rt'l, f '■/-'(. i to «nbe 'lu reaiUr <'>•■ mo e reailUi/ to reeon^^iH' Sections showing the Increase n in the Reigus of King Hiiirv Vill. ami • that they had better cattle and better crops, (hey hud mi'k from their cows, ewes, and gouts , and thi y u-eJ much more meat. In the autumn they cured bacon and I«»ef for the winter ; and in summer they had abundance of veal, beef, and mutton, which, says Harrison, they ceased to basto with lard, but basted with butter, or sufl'ered iho fattest to baste itself. With their living, their houses improved. Wood or wattle gave way to stone - London, SI; declared illegitimate, 26; inurd«re>l in the Tower, 29 Edward VI. (1547-1533) asoeads the throui-, 297 ; Somersot msJe Prwtector, 301 ; Edward's affsctinn for Catherine Parr and Ladv Jane Gr\-_v, 313 ; his li'tter to tin- insurgents, 818 ; unKillingness tonga a death warrant, 32S ; his conduct with regard to liis uncl>' Somerset, 333 ; bin fuilinj health, 332; his desires with res|)ect to the future pro.spvct^ of his kingdom, 338; his U!a3), ascends the throne, .392; enters London, 894; abolishes the catholic worship, 395; coronation, 895; engages in support of the lluj^enot^, 418: Philip of .Sp tin oH'ers his band, 420 ; matrimonial adventurers, 422-3; inlerest.< herself in the msrriagc of the queen of Scots, 425; her nngcr at the birth of .lames VI., 434; her triumph over the parliament, 435; receives « letter from the ijueen of Scots, 455 ; her conduct with regard to the charges brought again?t the fugitive t|Uoen, 4G0 ; assists the protestants in the Ketlierlands, 461 ; further proceedings with respect to the queen of Scots, 4(i.') ; Klizabeth and the rising in the north, 4ii6: proceedings against catholics and jirotestanls, 472-3 ; opens the Koyal Exchange, 473; duke of Anjou proposes for her band, 474; accuses Marr queen of Scuts of plo's against her life, 477 ; her royal progresses, 483 ; treaty witli the prince of ( >range, 4S;| ; question of her marriage submitted to parliament, 491 ; persecution of sectaries, 495 ; negotiations witli James of Scotland, 507 ; rumours of plols for her assassination, 508 ; receives a last letter from Mary of Scotland, 519 ; n'lgxa the death warrant, 520 ; sends ofticial message of his mother's execution to James of Scotland, 526 ; threatened by the king of Spain, 527 ; the Armada, 533 ; Elizabeth at Tilbury, 537 ; earl of Essex, 541 ; his disgrace and fall, 555-560 ; the storj'of thering, 561 ; last hoars of Elizabeth, 5C6-569 EUzabeth Woodville, wife of Edward IV. (1483). 20-22 Empaon and Dudley, punishment of (1510\ 118 Episcopacy declared nnscriptural by the (jencral Assembly (1580), 686 Eric, prince of Sweden (1564), 421 Essei, Walter Devereux, earl of (1582-1601), 492, 537, 641, 545-9, 650, 655, 561 Exchange, Koyal, founded by Sir Thomas Gresham (1571), 473 Exeter, siege of (1497), 101 Falconbcrg, bastard of (1477), M Felton, John, executed (1571), 471 Fennington bridge, battle of (1549), 318 Ferrar, bishop of St. David's, burnt (1555), 876 Fire Cross (1547), 303 Fisher, bishop (1535), 215-6 Fitzherbert, Sir Thomas 0583), 495 Fiizmaurice, brother of the earl of Desmond (1579), 494 Flodden Field, battle of (151.S), 129-131 Framlingham Castle, head-quarUrs of Queen Mary (1553), 341 Francis I. of France (1515-1517), 141-2, 147-152, 153, 159, 162, 166-7, 170-2, 176-7, 212, 279, 302 Francis II. of France, husband of Mary queen of Scots (1559-1560), 405, 411 Famitureaad decoration (1485-1603), 608 Gaston de Foix (1513), 122 Gardiner, Stephen (1528-1566), 185, 201, 262, 290, 306, 326, 350, 383 Gerard, 3ir Thomas (1601), 658 Olaatoabnry, abbot of, executed (1540), 249 Gowrie conspiracy (IGOl), 563 Grace, the pilgrimage of (1686), 233-0 Grange, Kirkaldy of (1546), 236 Gray, lady Catherine, excites the indignation of Elizabeth (1561)417 Gray, lady Jane (1651-1554), 835-368 Orindall, bishop (1575), 495 Guise, Jlary of (15-12), 265 Gatenburg, inventor of printing (1445), 48 nammond Matthew, a ploughman, burnt at Koririch (1679), 496 Hampton Court (1529), 190 Harrington, Sir John (1599), 65 1 Havre, siege of, by the French (1564), 420 Heah, Dr., bishop of York (1658), 392-5, 397-8 Henry VI., .loath of (1471), Henry VII. (14*5-1509) ascends the throui;, 74; liLs marriage, 77: confines the quoen-dowager, 82 ; iugratiludo to duke of Brittaay. 84 ; threi'ens France, 8S ; bargains for peace, 90 ; troubled hv Perkin Warbeck, 92-104 ; marries his daughter Margaret to ti.e Scottish prince, 106; his son prince Arthur to Catherine cl Arragon, 107 ; loses his wife Elizabeth, 108 ; contracts a mar- riage be'ween Catherine of .\rragon and his son Henry, 10.'', liis death, 115 Henry VIII. (1509-1.547) ascends the throne, 116; marries Catberi u of Arragon, 117; punishes Dudley and Empson, 118; declares war against France, 120; layssiegetoBayonne, 121; despalchv'S a speciul embiissy to .Scotland, 123; enters Tournay, 126 ; war with Scotland, 128: peace with Franco, 134; marries his sister lu Louis, 1.35 ; birth of the princess Mar^;-, 143; Field of the Clot i of Gold, 148-152; w.ar with France, 161; secret treaty with Bourbon, 167; illegal imports, 173; sends ambassadors to France to congratulate tlie king on his restoration, 177 ; nsw treaty of alliance, 179; writes a book against the doctrines oi Martin Luther, 181 ; receives title of Defender of the Faith, 181; falls in love with Anne Boleyn, 182 ; warwith the emperor, 185 ; sues for divorce, 191 ; trial of queen Catherine at Blackfiriars. 192: pretendel reconciliation, 194; deprives W'olsey of hi- offices, 196; royal progress, 201 ; marriage with Anne Boleyn, 2o7; rup'ure with Rome, 209 ; separation from the Romish see, 213; Henry assumes the title of Head of the Church, 215, Cromwell made vicar-general of ecclesiastical afl'airs, 220 ; Henr.- rejects overtures to return to Rome, "221; execution of Ann i Boleyn, 231 ; Henry marries Jane Seinnour, 231 ; declares hU former children illegitimate, 232 ; his marriage with Anne of Cleves, "248 : his divorce, 253; marries Catherine Howard, 255; impeaches her of high treason, 261 : marries Catherine Parr, 275; his death and char.acter, 290-7 Hentzner, tierman traveller, his deicription of queen Elizabe'b (1598), 551 Hertford, lord (1544), 277 Holy League, the (1513), 122-123. 135 Hooper, John, bishop of Gloucsster (1551-1555), 829, 878 Howard, Catherine (1541-1542), 235-261 Hugh, baron of Dnngannon, famous Irish chieftain (1590), 554 Huguenots, French Protestants (15C2-1572), 418-420, 464, 483 Ireland raised from the rank of a lorJship to that of a kingdom (1541), 264 Isabella of Warwick (1477), 8, 9 James III. of ScoUand (1482), 10-17 IV. of Scotland (1488), 98 I- IV. of Scotland invades England (1518), 128: defeated soil slain at Flodden Fiell, 131 V. of Scotland (1543), 265-267 VI. of Scotland (1566-1603), 434, 562-563, 5i;8 Jedburgh and other towns captured by the French (1548), 821 John 111., duke of Cleves (1540), 248 John, duke of Finland (1564), 421 Juana, the "Mid Qieen" (1608), 113 K^nilworth, queen Elizabeth's visit to (1572), 483 Kent, holy maid of (1534), 213-214, 377 Ket, the tanner of Wymondham (1549), 320 Kimbolton Cistle, treatment of queen Catherine at, 221 " King's l!>ok. The," issued by Henry VIM. (1.'.I2), 262 Kingston, lady, strange interview with Anne Uol^n (1530), 8M>0 Kingstone, Sir Anthony (1549), 818 , -..liiO Kirk-of-Field, lord Darnley murdered at (1567), 440-441 )■> Knevet, Sir Anthony (1546), 290 '• ■ :l i,. ."„,ItjIiO Knox, John (1547-1552), 302, 333 ; (16S9-1561), 899, 401, 405, 411, 414-417 '■ . ..-: .' . ' ■ ■••nh'X INDEX. an Lambert, Julin, trial of (15iO), 2U Latimer, Hugh (1.5S1-155.J), 213, 309, 352, 377 Launoy, Cornelius, an alchemist, imprisoned (1567), 435, 600, 520 Laws and constitution (1399-1485), 49 „ „ (148.-.-1C03), 573 League and Covenant, Scottish, first drawn up (1557) 400 Leapje, Holy (1513), 122-135 Leicester abbey, death of Wolsey at (1530), 205 Leicester, earl of (15»i4-]588) 422, 537 Leith besieged by the English (1560), 410 Lennox, regent of Scotland, attaints Maitland for the murder of his son (1572), 483 Iveo X., Roman pontiff (1527), 181 Literature, science, and art (1399-1485), 47 „ „ „ (14XO-1GU3), 58C LethingloD, Maitland of, (15G7) 441, 444 L^rraine, duke of, his contract with Anne of CUviS (154n), 253 Loughborough, lord (1583;, 495 L lUia XI. of France (1477), 10, 11, 12, 19 Louis XI. and Edward IV., meeting of (1475), 10-U Lutlur, Martin (1524), 170, 180 Maitland ofLethiogton (1507), 441-144 Manners and customs of the people (1399-1485), 05 (14851G0.3),' 020 Margaret, wife of Henry VI. (1471), 4, S Mary Tudor, married to Louis of France (1514), 135 princiSF, attempts to coerce her faith (1551), 327 queen of Scots (1559-158 3), 399, 405, 412-417,423,428,434- 436, 440-401, 404, 503, 525 I. (1553-1558), ascends the throne, 340 ; opposition by the up- holders of lady .Jane Gray, 341 ; raiies her standard at Fram- liugham, 341; her triumphal progress to Lindon, 340-317; reception at the Tower, 347 ; issuas proclamation regarding alterations in the established faith, 347, 351 ; her coronation, 353 ; re-establishment of the old religion, 353 ; her engagement to Philip of Spain, 357; her addresi to the people, 3UU-3I12 ; displays her courage, 304; signs death-warrants of lady Jane Gray and lord Guildford Dudley, 300 ; concludes commercial treaty with Russia, 372 ; character of the queen in connection T\ith the religiouj persecution, 374-375; the misery of her manied life, 382 ; inducsd to declare war against France, 38 1 ; her melancholy on the los) of Calais, 389; her death, 39J ; glance at her public and private character, 392 Medic', Catherine de, regent of France (1500), 411, 470-477, 483-480 Slelville, Sir James, sent on a mission from Mary of ScotUnd to I. izabeth (1504), 423-425, 444 Merchant Tailors' School founded (1508), 587 Milan, investment of (1524), 170 Monasteries, suppression of (1536-1540), 220-221, 241-242 Montacute, 'Warwick's brother (1447), 2-3. Montgomeri ', Sieur Lorges (1545), 281 More, Sir Thomas (1534), 214, 218-219 Mountjoy, lord, deputy of Irelind (1000), 550 Murray, earl of, (151:1-1570), 417, 428, 448.401, 464, 408 Music during the Tudor period (1485-1603), 602 Nancj', battle of (1477), 12 Navatre, Henry of (1572-10)3), 483, 488, 612 Netherlands, disturbances in (1575), 488 Nonconformists, persecution of (1571), 473 Norfolk, dnke of, proposal to marry the qujen of Scats (1569), 404- 406 ; trial and execution of (1572), 479-482 Norfolk, duchess of, 256 Northampton, marquia of, 300; sent against Ket the tanner (1549), 321 Norlhumberlaad, dnke of (1651-1553), 332, 351 Oglethorpe, bishop of Carlisle (1558), 395 Orange, prince of, applies to Elizabeth (1575), 488 ; bis d«ath (1584), 491 Olterburn of Reidhall (1641), 27S Painting and scalpture (1399-1485), 50 Painting and sculpture (1485-10)3), 605 Parr, Catherine (1544-1.548), 274, 290, 297, 313 Thomas, marquis of Northamptjn (1549), 316 Parry, Sir Thomas (1558), 393 Paul III. (1.53.',), 216 Paulet, Sir Amyas, qn^en of .Scot) iitrusted to his care (158.")), .506 Pavia, battle of (l.',25), 172 Peniel Ileugh, defeat of the EogUsli at (1515), 279 People, condition of (1399-1485), 72 „ „ (1485-10)3), 022 Perrot, Sir Julin (1598), 553 Perse:ution, rdligious, under qasen Msry (1555), 374-381 Philip of Spain (1554-1598), 358 ; death (1598), .551 Philip III. of Spain (1.598), 555 Pinkie, battle of (1547), 3i)3-304 Piu3 V. e.xcommunicates qu^^en Elizibelh (1570), 471 Pole, cardinal (1537-1558), 237, 244, 371-37.8, 392 Pole, Sir Geotfrey (1540), 245 Pomfret castle taken by the Pilgrims of Grace (1530), 28S Printing, invention of (1415), 48 Progress of the nation (1399-148.i), gen?ral sura-nary, 38 Constitution and laws', 4 ) State of the church and of relig'oo, 45 Literature, science, and art, 47 Music, 602 History and historians, with men of lekraing and tA)t«, 62 Arts bearing on social life, 53 Ecclesiastical architecture, 55 Sculpture, painting, gilding, and illamiaatloD, 59 Poetry, 60 Art of war, 61 Commerce and shipping, 62 Coin and coinage, 64 Manners and cuatoms, 65 Costume, 08 Condition of the people, 72 Progress of the people (14M5-lii03), general summary, 669 Constitution and laws, 57.) Religion and the church, 579 Literature, science, and art, 686 Architecture, 004 Painting and sculpture, 605 Furniture and decorations, 638 Arms and armour, 008 Costume, Oil Coins and coinage, 615 Ships and commerce, 017 Manners and custom), 620 Condition of the people, 622 Quentin, St., victory of (1557), 386 Raleigh, Sir Walter (1579-1003), 491, 631, 540 Uivenna, battle of (1513), 122 KeformatioD, oak of (1549), 319 Religion and the church (1399-1485), 45 „ „ „ (1485-10031, 579 Richai'J II 1.(1483-1485) usurps the crown, 20; murders his nepheirs, 29 ; title confirmed by parliament, 32 ; proposes to marry Kliii- belh of Vork, 33 ; killed at Boswjrth, 37 Richmond, duk) of (14S3-148J), 29; invades England, 35 ; de£d*t« RichardlU. at Boswortb, 37; ascend] the throne as Ilenrr VII , 37 P.idley, bishop, burnt (155.5), 379 Rizzio, a ildancse, favourite of Mary quasn of Scota (1666), 429, 433 Robsart, Amy, wife of the earl of Leiooitar (1672), 493 Rochford, lord, executed (1536), 228 Rome, siege of (1527), 179 Roper, Marg.iret, dau^'hrcr of Sir T. More (I5:r>), 218 Rouen, siege of, and mi»acre of the girrison (1562), 418 Royal Exchange opened by quien Eli/, ibeth (1571), 473 Russian, first, embassy to the court of Ragland (1565), 872 r,2S INDEX. Sadler, Sir Ralph, hU mission to .Tames TI. C1513),2CG Sa!isbur>-, countess of, mother of caiOinal Pole, beheaded (1640), ■2lo' Seymour, Jane (LMli-lMr), -'31, 237 admiral (lo^lU). 3U, 310 Shakespeare, VTilliair, o'JS .•^haxton, bishop of Salisbury (1546), 290 Shii>3 and commerce (131<9-14R5), 62 „ (14X5-1G03), C17 Shorf, Jane (1474), 8 ; (M83), 24 Simons, Richard, pretended carl of Warwick (14?6), 81 SimntI, Lambert (1486), 81-84 Sbi Articles, the Bill of, signed by Henry VUI. (1540), 243 Somerset, duke of (1M7-1552), 301-333 Southworlh, Sir John (1383), 4y5 Spanish Armada (1588), 531 Spenser, Edward, the poet (1579), 494 Spurs, battle of (1513), 125 St. Andrewf, casllc of, besieged (1546), 387 Stanley, Sir Edward (15S8), 495 Strozzi, French commander, attempts to invade Jersey (1549), 322 Sluart, Esme (1583), 497 Ttviotdale and the Merse depopulated by the English (W7I),470 Tewkesbury, battle of (1177), 4 Tbrcckmorlon, Francis, trial and execation of (1584), 601 Tilborr, speech of Elizabeth at, vhen threatened by Spanibh i i- yasion (1588), 537 Toornay taken by the English (1513), 126 Van Paris burnt for heresy (1551), 328 Villeroi, French ambassador (1518), 145 Waldegrave, Sir Edward (1583), 495 AValsirgbdm, Sir Francis (1571-1590), 471, 477 Walsingham, lady, irttrcedes Tor Efsex (1599), 555 Wanstcad abbey, mtet'ng of Marj- and Elizibeth at'(1553X 346 Warbeik, PNnON: ri:TTfiIt AM> CALPIN, rClNTESS, LA BELLS SACA'AGB TABD, LCPCATE BILL- *!*" u 4 ^'.•^, t- r ^ ^ my^^. '■y ^^ ^'Wk