The Tower of London 28

The Tower of London 28

"Nor I," replied"Lord Guilford.

 

"My sole request is, that I may take one female attendant with me," said Jane, pointing to Cicely.

 

"I am sorry I cannot comply with the request," answered Lord Clinton, "but my orders are peremptory."

 

"Will my esquire be permitted to accompany me ?" inquired Dudley.

 

"If he chooses to incur the risk of so doing, assuredly," replied Clinton. "But he will go into captivity."

 

"I will follow my Lord Guilford to death," cried Cholmondeley.

 

"You are a faithful esquire, indeed!" observed Lord Clinton, with a slight sneer.

 

While this was passing, Cicely hastily threw a surcoat of velvet over her mistress's shoulders, to protect her from the night air, and then prostrating herself before her, clasped her hand, and bedewed it with tears.

 

"Rise, child," said Jane, raising her and embracing her--"Farewell ! may you be speedily united to your lover, and may your life be happier than that of your unfortunate mistress !"

 

"My barge awaits you at the stairs," observed Lord Clinton.

 

"We will follow you, my lord," said Dudley.

 

Leaning upon Cicely, Jane, who was scarcely able to support herself, was placed in the stern of the boat. Her husband took his seat near her, and two men-at-arms, with drawn swords, were stationed as a guard on either side of them. Bidding a hasty adieu to the weeping Cicely, Cholmondeley sprang into the boat, and was followed by Clinton, who immediately gave the signal to the rowers. Cicely lingered till the bark disappeared, and as two halberdiers bearing torches were placed in the fore part of the vessel, she was enabled to track its course far down the river. When the last glimmer of light vanished, her heart died within her, and she returned to indulge her grief in solitude.

 

Meanwhile, the boat with its unhappy occupants pursued a rapid course. The tide being in their favour they shortly reached London, and as they swept past Durham House--whence, only twelve days ago, she had proceeded in so much pomp to the Tower--Jane's feelings became too poignant almost for endurance. The whole pageant rose before her in all its splendour. Again she heard the roar of the cannon announcing her departure. Again she beheld the brilliant crowd of proud nobles, gaily-dressed cavaliers, lovely and high-born dames, grave prelates, judges and ambassadors. Again she beheld the river glistening with golden craft. Again she heard the ominous words of Gunnora, '_Go not to the Tower!_' Again she beheld the fierce lightning flash, again heard the loud thunder roll--and she felt she had received a deep and awful warning. These thoughts affected her so powerfully, that she sank half fainting on her husband's shoulder.

 

In this state she continued till they had shot London Bridge, and the first object upon which her gaze rested, when she opened her eyes, was the Tower.

 

Here again other harrowing recollections arose. How different was the present, from her former entrance into the fortress ! Then a deafening roar of ordnance welcomed her. Then all she passed saluted her as Queen. Then drawbridges were lowered, gates opened, and each vied with the other to show her homage. Then a thousand guards attended her. Then allegiance was sworn--fidelity vowed--but how kept? Now all was changed. She was brought a prisoner to the scene of her former grandeur, unattended, unnoted.

 

Striving to banish these reflections, which, in spite of her efforts, obtruded themselves upon her, she strained her gaze to discover through the gloom the White Towrer, but could discern nothing but a sombre mass like a thunder-cloud. St. Thomas's, or Traitor's Tower was, however, plainly distinguishable, as

 

several armed men carrying flambeaux were stationed on its summit.

 

 

 

[Ill 0154]

 

 

 

The boat was now challenged by the sentinels--merely as a matter of form, for its arrival was expected,--and almost before the answer could be returned by those on board, a wicket, composed of immense beams of wood, was opened, and the boat shot beneath the gloomy arch. Never had Jane experienced a feeling of such horror as now assailed her--and if she had been crossing the fabled Styx she could not have felt greater dread. Her blood seemed congealed within her veins as she gazed around. The lurid light of the torches fell upon the black dismal arch--upon the slimy walls, and upon the yet blacker tide. Nothing was heard but the sullen ripple of the water, for the men had ceased rowing, and the boat impelled by their former efforts soon struck against the steps. The shock recalled Jane to consciousness. Several armed figures bearing torches were now seen to descend the steps. The customary form of delivering the warrant, and receiving an acknowledgement for the bodies of the prisoners being gone through, Lord Clinton, who stood upon the lowest step, requested Jane to disembark. Summoning all her resolution, she arose, and giving her hand to the officer, who stood with a drawn sword beside her, was assisted by him and a warder to land. Lord Clinton received her as she set foot on the step. By his aid she slowly ascended the damp and slippery steps, at the summit of which, two personages were standing, whom she instantly recognised as Renard and De Noailles. The former regarded her with a smile of triumph, and said in a tone of bitter mockery as she passed him--"So--Epiphany is over. The Twelfth Day Queen has played

 

her part."

 

"My lord," said Jane, turning disdainfully from him to Lord Clinton--"will it please you to conduct me to my lodging?"

 

"What he ! warders," cried Lord Clinton, addressing the gigantic brethren who were standing near--"Conduct Lady Jane Dudley to Master Partridge's dwelling till her chamber within the Brick Tower is prepared. Lord Guilford Dudley must be taken to the Beauchamp Tower."

 

"Are we to be separated ?" cried Jane.

 

"Such are the Queen's commands," replied Lord Clinton, in a tone of deep commiseration.

 

"The Queen's !" exclaimed Jane.

 

"Ay! the Queen's !" repeated Renard. "Queen Mary of England, whom Heaven long preserve !"

 

 

 

THUS FAR THE FIRST BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF THE TOWER OF LONDON.

 

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BOOK THE SECOND

 

 

 

[Ill 0158]

 

I.--OF THE ARRIVAL OF QUEEN MARY IN LONDON ; OF HER ENTRANCE INTO THE TOWER ; AND OF HER RECEPTION OF THE PRISONERS ON THE GREEN.

 

 

 

[Ill 9158]

 

ARY made her public entry into the city of London, on the 3d of August, 1553. The most magnificent preparations were made for her arrival, and as the procession of the usurper--for such Jane was now universally termed,--to the Tower, had been remarkable for its pomp and splendour, it was determined, on the present occasion, to surpass it. The Queen's entrance was arranged to take place at Aldgate, and the streets along which she was to pass were covered with fine gravel from thence to the Tower, and railed on either side. Within the rails stood the crafts of the city, in the dresses of their order ; and at certain intervals were stationed the officers of the guard and their attendants, arrayed in velvet and silk, and having great staves in their hands to keep off the crowd.

 

 

 

Hung with rich arras, tapestry, carpets, and, in some instances, with cloths of tissue gold and velvet, the houses presented a gorgeous appearance. Every window was filled with richly-attired dames,

 

while the roofs, walls, gables, and steeples, were crowded with curious spectators. The tower of the old church of Saint Botolph, the ancient walls of the city, westward as far as Bishopgatc, and eastward to the Tower postern, were thronged with beholders. Every available position had its occupant. St. Catherine Coleman's in Fenchurch Street--for it was decided that the royal train was to make a slight detour--Saint Dennis Backchurch ; Saint Bcnct's ; All Hallows, Lombard Street ; in short, every church, as well as every other structure, was covered.

 

The Queen, who had passed the previous night at Bow, set forth at noon, and in less than an hour afterwards, loud acclamations, and still louder discharges of ordnance, announced her approach. The day was as magnificent as the spectacle--the sky was deep and cloudless, and the sun shone upon countless hosts of bright and happy faces. At the bars without Aldgate, on the Whitechapel road, Queen Mary was met by the Princess Elizabeth, accompanied by a large cavalcade of knights and dames. An affectionate greeting passed between the royal sisters, who had not met since the death of Edward, and the usurpation of Jane, by which both their claims to the throne had been set aside. But it was noted by those who closely observed them, that Mary's manner grew more grave as Elizabeth rode by her side. The Queen was mounted upon a beautiful milk-white palfrey, caparisoned in crimson velvet, fringed with golden thread. She was habited in a robe of violet-coloured velvet, furred with powdered ermine, and wore upon her head a caul of cloth of tinsel set with pearls, and above this a massive circlet of gold covered with gems of inestimable value. Though a contrary opinion is generally entertained, Mary was not without some pretension to beauty. Her figure was short and slight, but well proportioned ; her complexion rosy and delicate ; and her eyes bright and piercing, though, perhaps, too stern in their __EXPRESSION__. Her mouth was small, with thin compressed lips, which gave an austere and morose character to an otherwise-pleasing face. If she had not the commanding port of her father, Henry the Eighth, nor the proud beauty of her mother, Catherine of Arragon, she inherited sufficient majesty and grace from them to well fit her for her lofty station.