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VIII. – OF QUEEN MARY’S ATTACHMENT TO COURTENAY

Mary still continued to hold her court within the Tower. Various reasons were assigned for this choice of residence; but her real motive was that her plans for the restoration of the Catholic religion could be more securely concerted within the walls of the fortress than elsewhere. Simon Renard, who had become her confidential adviser, and through whom she carried on an active correspondence with her cousin, the Emperor Charles the Fifth, could here visit her unobserved. Here, also, she secretly received the envoy of Pope Julius the Third, Francisco Commendone (afterwards the celebrated Cardinal of that name,) and detained him until after the Duke of Northumberland’s execution, that he might convey intelligence of the event, and of the effect produced by it upon the populace, to the Pontiff. To Commendone she gave the strongest assurances of her attachment to the Church of Rome, and of her fixed determination to restore its worship. But at the same time she declared that the change must be gradual, and that any undue precipitation would be fatal. In this opinion both Gardiner and Renard, who were admitted to the conference, concurred. And satisfied with their representations, the envoy departed, overjoyed at the success of his mission.

Other and gentler thoughts, however, than those connected with her government, occupied the bosom of the queen. We have already spoken of the impression produced upon her at their first interview on the Tower-Green, bv the striking figure and noble features of Edward Courtenay, whom she on that occasion created Earl of Devonshire, and of the speculations it gave rise to among the by-standers. The interest she then felt had been subsequently strengthened. And it appeared certain to all who had any means of observation, that if she selected a husband, her choice would fall upon Courtenay.

The progress of her attachment was jealously watched by Renard, who having other designs in view, secretly opposed it. But aware that Mary, like many of her sex, was possessed of a spirit, which would be apt, if thwarted, to run into the opposite extreme, he was obliged to proceed with the utmost caution. He had, moreover, a strong party against him. From the moment it became evident that the Queen regarded the Earl of Devonshire with the eyes of affection, all were eager to pay court to him. Among his warmest supporters were Gardiner and De Noailles; the latter being mainly influenced in his conduct by distrust of the Court of Spain. Renard, therefore, stood alone. But though everything appeared against him, he did not despair of success. Placing reliance upon Mary’s jealous and suspicious character, he felt certain of accomplishing his purpose. Accordingly, he affected to approve her choice; and with the view of carrying out his scheme more effectually, took care to ingratiate himself with Courtenay.

Inexperienced as the latter was in the arts of a court, being then only twenty-one, and having passed fourteen years of his life in close captivity in the Tower, he was easily duped by the wily ambassador; and though repeatedly warned against him by De Noailles, who saw through Renard’s design, he disregarded the caution. Satisfied of the Queen’s favourable disposition towards him, which was evinced by the most marked attention on her part, this young nobleman conceived himself wholly beyond the reach of rivalry; and trusting to his personal advantages, and the hold he had obtained over the affections of his royal mistress, he gave himself little concern about an opposition which he regarded as futile. He looked upon himself as certain of the Queen’s hand; and but for his own imprudence, he would have been actually possessed of it.

Mary’s meditated alliance was agreeable to all parties, except, as just intimated, that of Spain. Already nearly related to the crown by his descent from Edward the Fourth, no objection could be raised against her favourite on the score of rank; while his frank and conciliating manner, combined with his rare endowments of mind and person, won him universal regard. Doctor Thomas Wilson, in the funeral oration pronounced over Courtenay at Padua in 1556, states, that during his long imprisonment in the Tower, “he wholly devoted himself to study, and that neither the augustia loci, nec solitudo, nec amissio libertatis, ilium à literis avocarent; that he made such progress in philosophy, that no nobleman was equal to him in it; that he also explored the mysteria naturae; that he entered into the mathematicorum labyrintha; that he was so fond of painting, that he could easily and laudably make any one’s portrait on a tabula; that he was equally attached to music, and had attained in it absolutam perfectionem; and that to these acquisitions he added the Spanish, French, and Italian languages. In manners he was grave without pride; pleasant without levity; prudent in speech; cautious in answering; modest in disputing; never boasting of himself, nor excluding others; and though familiar with many, yet intimately known to few.” Allowing for the drawbacks which must necessarily be made from such an éloge, enough will remain to prove that his accomplishments were of no common order.

On the onset of his career, however, Courtenay was assailed by temptations which it required more experience of the world to resist. Strictly confined from his earliest youth, it may be conceived that when first exposed to female fascination, his heart was speedily melted. Hitherto, he had only read of beauty. He now felt its full force, and placed no bounds to the admiration which the charms of the dames of honour excited within his breast. It was upon this point of his character, that Renard justly grounded his hopes of alienating the Queen’s affections. Encouraging his new-born licentiousness, he took care that none of his gallantries should fail to reach the ears of his royal mistress. Though of a staid and severe character, Mary was not indisposed to make allowances for one so utterly inexperienced as Courtenay; and her first direction to Renard was to check him. So far from doing this, the artful ambassador incited him to further irregularities, and contrived to place new objects in his way. In vain De Noailles remonstrated, entreating him at least to be more guarded in his conduct. In vain Gardiner sternly rebuked him. He turned a deaf ear alike to remonstrance and reproof; and hurried on by the unbridled impetuosity of youth, passed from one excess to another. Renard witnessed his conduct with secret satisfaction; but he was not prepared for the calmness with which the Queen viewed it. She was greatly displeased, yet as her lover still seemed passionately devoted to her, she looked upon his conduct as resulting from the circumstances of his previous life, and trusting he would soon open his eyes to its folly, was content to pardon it.

Renard then saw that he must have recourse to stronger measures. As Mary’s jealousy was not to be easily aroused, he resolved to bring a more formidable rival into the held. There was one ready made to his hand. It was the Princess Elizabeth. On no one point was the Queen’s vanity more easily touched than by any reference to the superior charms of her sister. Any compliment paid the latter she construed into a slight to herself; and she watched with an uneasy glance the effect produced by her in public. So sensible was Elizabeth of the Queen’s foible, that she kept in the back ground as much as possible. Unaware of the mortification he inflicted upon his royal mistress, and of the injury he did himself, Courtenay often praised the Princess’s beauty in terms so rapturous as to call a blush into her cheek, while the blood was driven from that of Mary. So undisguised was his admiration, that the Queen resolved to remove the object of it from her court; and would have done so, but for the artful management of Renard, who felt that such a step would ruin his plans.

Long before Courtenay had noticed it, the subtle ambassador, well skilled in woman’s feelings, ascertained the state of Elizabeth’s heart, and saw that she was not proof against the captivating manners and personal graces of the handsome young nobleman. It was not difficult for one possessed of so many opportunities as himself to heighten this feeling into a passion; and before long he had the satisfaction to find that the princess was deeply enamoured of her sister’s suitor. Nor was Courtenay less easily enthralled. Apprised of his conquest by Renard, instead of resisting it, he at once surrendered himself to the snare. Again De Noailles, who saw his dangerous position, came to his aid. Again Gardiner rebuked him more severely than before. He derided their remonstrances; and heedless of the changing manner of the Queen – heedless also of the peril to which he exposed the princess, he scarcely attempted to disguise his passion, or to maintain the semblance of love for his royal mistress. Consumed by jealousy, Mary meditated some blow which should satisfy her outraged feelings; while Renard only waited a favourable opportunity to bring matters to a crisis.

Affairs being in this state, it chanced one day that Courtenay received a summons to the Queen’s presence, and instantly repairing thither, he found her alone. His reception was so cold, that he was at no loss to understand she was deeply offended; and he would have thrown himself at her feet, if she had not prevented him by impatiently waving her hand.

“I have sent for you, my lord,” she said, “for the last time – .”

“For the last time, my gracious mistress!” exclaimed Courtenay.

“Do not interrupt me,” rejoined Mary, severely. “I have sent for you to tell you that whatever were the feelings I once entertained for you, they are now entirely changed. I will not remind you of the favours I have shown you – of the honours I have bestowed on you – or of the greater honours I intended you. I will simply tell you that your ingratitude equals your perfidy; and that I banish you henceforth from my presence.”

“How have I offended your highness?” demanded Courtenay, panic-stricken.

“How?” cried Mary, fiercely – her eyes kindling, and her countenance assuming the terrible expression she inherited from her father. “Do you affect ignorance of the cause? I have overlooked your indiscretions, though I have not been ignorant of them, imputing them to youth and inexperience. I have overlooked them, I say, because I thought I discovered amid all this vice and folly the elements of a noble nature – and because,” and her voice faltered – “I persuaded myself that you loved me.”

“Have you no faith in my adjurations of attachment?” cried Courtenay, prostrating himself, and endeavouring to take her hand.

“None,” rejoined the queen, withdrawing her hand; “none whatever. Arise, my lord, and do not further degrade yourself. You may love the queen, but you do not love the woman. – You may prize my throne, but you do not prize me.”

“You wrong me, gracious madam. On my soul you do,” rejoined Courtenay. “I may have trifled with others, but I have given my heart wholly to you.”

“It is false!” cried Mary, furiously. “You love the princess, my sister.”

Courtenay turned very pale. But he instantly recovered himself.

“Your highness is mistaken,” he answered.

“What!” cried the queen, her anger increasing each moment. “Dare you persist in the denial of your falsehood? Dare you tell me to my face that you have not breathed words of passion to her? Dare you assert that you have not lamented your engagement to me? Dare you say this?”

“I dare, madam.”

“Then your own words shall give you the he, traitor,” replied the queen. “Here is your letter to her,” she added, producing a paper, “wherein you tell her so.”

“Confusion!” uttered Courtenay, “Renard has betrayed me.”

“Is this letter your writing?” demanded the queen.

“I will not prevaricate, madam,” replied Courtenay; “it is.”

“And in the face of this you declare you have not deceived me?”

“I have deceived you, gracious madam,” replied Courtenay. “But I have never ceased to love you.”

“My lord! – my lord!” exclaimed Mary, in a menacing tone. “Beware how you attempt to deceive me further, or as God shall judge me, you shall find that the daughter of Henry the Eighth is not to be offended with impunity.”

“I know you are terrible in anger, gracious madam,” replied Courtenay; “but you are also just. Judge me – condemn me, if you please, but hear me: he who gave you that letter, – Simon Renard, – counselled me to write it.”

“Ha!” exclaimed the queen.

“I have been guilty of folly – madness – ” rejoined Courtenay – “but not the black perfidy your highness imagines. Dismiss me from your presence – send me into exile – I deserve any punishment – but do not believe that I have ceased to love you.”

“I know not what you term love, my lord,” replied Mary; “but I have no idea of sharing the affection of any man with another. Grant, however, that you speak the truth, why have you addressed this passionate epistle to the Princess Elizabeth?”

“I have already said I was deceived,” replied Courtenay. “I cannot excuse my conduct – though I lament it.”

“Are you sincere?” said Mary, who began to be softened by her lover’s apparent penitence.

“By what oath shall I confirm my truth?” he replied, fervently.

“I will test it more surely,” rejoined the queen, as if struck by a sudden idea.

“In any way your highness thinks proper,” returned Courtenay.

“Summon the Princess Elizabeth to our presence instantly,” said Mary, striking a small bell, the sound of which brought an usher before her.

“The Princess Elizabeth!” exclaimed Courtenay.

“Ay, the Princess,” repeated the queen. “I will confront you with her. Bid the lord chancellor and the ambassadors of Spain and France attend us,” she continued to the usher.

“I know not what your highness intends,” said Courtenay, as the attendant departed. “But I will die rather than do aught to prejudice the princess.”

“I doubt it not, my lord,” rejoined Mary, bitterly. “But though I cannot punish the perfidy of a lover, I can the disobedience of a subject. If you refuse to obey my commands, you will take the consequences.”

Courtenay bit his lips to repress the answer that rose to them.

In a few minutes, the usher returned and announced the Princess Elizabeth, as well as Gardiner, Renard, and De Noailles. Instantly perceiving how matters stood, the imperial ambassador deemed his own triumph complete, and Courtenay’s disgrace certain.

“My lord,” said Mary, addressing Gardiner, “it is no secret to you, neither to you, M. Renard, nor to you, M. De Noailles – that of all those proposed to me in marriage – the Princes of Spain and Portugal, the King of the Romans, Cardinal Pole, and others – I have preferred this man, whom I myself have raised to the rank he now holds, and enriched with the estates he enjoys.”

“We know it, gracious Madam,” replied Gardiner, alarmed at the ominous commencement, “and we think your highness has made a happy choice, and one most acceptable to your subjects. Do we not, M. Renard?”

The ambassador bowed, but said nothing.

“The alliance is in all respects agreeable to my sovereign, Henry the Second of France,” observed De Noailles.

“What then if I inform you,” pursued Mary, “that the Earl of Devonshire has rejected my proposal? What if he has broken his oath of fidelity? What if he has cast aside the crown offered him, and smitten by the charms of a youthful beauty, abandoned the Queen, who has stooped to raise him to her throne!”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Gardiner and De Noailles.

“You are mistaken,” rejoined Mary, sternly. “You shall hear him avow his perfidy with his own lips.”

“When I do hear it,” replied De Noailles, looking steadily at Courtenay, “I will believe it. But I cannot think him capable of such madness.”

“Nor I,” said Gardiner, glancing significantly from beneath his bent brows.

Elizabeth, who on the commencement of the Queen’s address had turned very pale, could with difficulty maintain her composure. Her agitation did not escape the notice of Mary, whose jealousy was increased by the sight.

“What if I tell you,” she continued, “that this false earl has transferred his affections to our sister?”

“Your highness!” exclaimed Elizabeth.

“Peace!” cried the Queen, fiercely. “And she, well knowing his engagement to ourself, has dared to encourage his suit.”

“Whoever told your majesty this, lied in his throat,” cried Courtenay. “I own myself guilty, but the Princess Elizabeth is no partner to my folly.”

“You do well to shield her, my lord,” retorted Mary. “But you cannot deceive me. She is equally culpable.”

“Nay, more so, if it comes to this,” interposed Elizabeth, whose spirit, which was quite equal to her sisters, was aroused. “If I had repressed my admiration for the Earl of Devonshire, he would have made no advances to me. I am the most to blame in this matter.”

“Not so;” replied Courtenay. “Let my folly and presumption be visited on my own head. I pray your highness to pass sentence on me at once. But do not let the Princess suffer for my fault.”

“So, so!” exclaimed Mary, with a bitter laugh, “I have brought you to your confessions at last. If I had before doubted your love for each other, your present conduct would have convinced me of it. You shall have your request, my lord,” she added, turning to Courtenay. “I will pass sentence upon you.”

“Hold, madam,” cried Gardiner. “Before the sentence is passed and irrevocable, reflect – if only for one moment. You are a great queen, and the daughter of a great king. But the rashness of one moment may annihilate all your future peace, destroy the hopes of your people, and the prosperity of your reign. The conduct of the Earl of Devonshire is unpardonable, I allow. But for your own sake – for the sake of your kingdom – not for his – I beseech you to overlook it. That he loves you, I am assured.”

“Let him declare as much,” said Renard.

“Hear me, then,” replied Courtenay, throwing himself at the-Queen’s feet. “I bitterly repent my rashness; and though I can never hope to be restored to the place I once held in your Majesty’s affections, I shall never cease to reproach myself – never cease to love you.”

Mary was visibly moved.

“If I thought you sincere?” she said.

“I will answer for his sincerity,” said Gardiner.

“And I,” added De Noailles. “She relents,” he continued in a whisper to Courtenay. “Improve the advantage you have gained.”

“Grant me an instant’s private audience with your Majesty,” implored Courtenay; “and I feel certain I can remove all your doubts.”

“No, my lord,” rejoined Mary. “As our rupture has been public, our reconciliation (if it takes place,) shall be public, also.”

“It must never take place,” remarked Renard, in an under tone.

“Peace, sir,” said the Queen, aloud. “As far as our government is concerned, we are content to follow your counsel. But in matters of the heart we shall follow its dictates alone.”

“Your Majesty is in the right,” observed Gardiner.

“Declare, my lord,” pursued Mary, addressing Courtenay, “in the presence of these gentlemen, in that of our sister —rival we ought to say, – that you have deceived her, and, though your conduct may have misled her, – have never swerved from your devotion to ourself.”

While the Queen pronounced these words, Renard’s keen glance wandered from Courtenay to Elizabeth. The latter was violently agitated, and seemed to await the Earl’s answer as if her fate hung upon it.

“Do you assert this, my lord?” demanded Mary.

“Hesitate, and you are lost, and so is the Princess,” whispered De Noailles.

Before Courtenay could reply, Elizabeth fainted and would have fallen, if Renard had not flown to her assistance.

“Summon our maids of honour, and let her be instantly cared for,” said Mary, with a look of ill-disguised satisfaction. “My lord,” she added to Courtenay, “you are forgiven.”

The Earl hastily, and with some confusion, expressed his thanks, while, in obedience to the Queen’s mandate, Elizabeth was removed.

“And now, my lord,” said Mary to him, “I must pass from my own affairs to those of my kingdom. I will not detain you further – nor you, M. De Noailles. But I must crave your attendance, my lord, for a few minutes,” she added, turning to Gardiner, “and yours, M. Renard.”

“Your highness may always command my best counsel,” replied the latter, in a slightly sarcastic tone – “provided you will act upon it.”

“Farewell, my lord,” said Mary, extending her hand to Courtenay, which he pressed to his lips. “I shall walk upon the Tower Green in an hour, and shall expect you there.”

“I will attend your Majesty,” replied Courtenay. And accompanied by De Noailles, he quitted the chamber.

“You have had a narrow escape, my lord,” remarked the French Ambassador, as they traversed the long gallery together.

“So narrow that I thought I had lost all chance of the crown,” replied Courtenay. “It is the work of that perfidious Simon Renard. But if I live an hour, I will requite him.”

“You are the victor, my lord,” returned De Noailles. “Maintain your present position, and you may defy his utmost malice.”

“Tarry with me a moment, M. De Noailles,” said Courtenay, “and you shall see how I will avenge myself upon him.”

“Prudence, my good lord – prudence,” replied De Noailles. “Your rashness has already put you once in his power. Do not let it do so a second time.”

“I will punish his treachery, if it costs me my life,” replied Courtenay.