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Darnley

<h4>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h4><div class="poem0" style="margin-left:25%"> Let some o' the guard be ready. Cran.--For me? Must I go like a traitor then?--Shakspere. </div> And where was Osborne Darnley all this while? Wait a little, dearly-beloved, and you shall hear more. It was not yet five o'clock in the morning, and a sweet morning it was; the sun had just risen, and, spreading all over the eastern sky, there was that, soft, lustrous tint of early light that surely ought to be called hope-colour, it promises so many bright moments for the coming day. It was not yet five o'clock in the morning when the western sally-port of the castle of Ardres was opened by a little page not higher than my thumb, as the old story-book goes, who looked cautiously about, first to the right and then to the left, to see if any one was abroad and stirring; but the only person who had risen was the matutinal sun, so that the page could see nothing but the blue sky, and the green fields, and the grey stone walls of the castle, whose great age, like the antiquity of a beggar's coat, had plastered them all over with patches of green and yellow lichens. Having looked to his heart's content, he next listened; but no sound could he hear save the light singing of the lark and the loud snoring of the sentinel on the neighbouring bastion, who, with head propped on his halberd, kept anything but silent watch, while the vigilant sun, looking over the wall, spied out all the weaknesses of the place; and now, having listened as well as looked, the boy withdrew once more within the walls. He left, however, the door open, and in a few minutes two horsemen rode forth, each wrapped up in a large Spanish cloak, with a chaperon, at Fleurange calls it, or, in other words, an immense hood, which covered the whole head and disguised the person completely. As soon as they were fairly out, the page who had accompanied them so far returned and closed the sally-port, and the two travellers cantered lightly over the green to a little wood that lay before the castle. When they were fully concealed by the trees, among which they wound along, following the sinuosities of a little sandy road, wherein two, but only two, might ride abreast, they both, as by common consent, threw back their hoods, and, letting their cloaks fall upon their horses' cruppers, discovered the two powerful forms of the good knight Osborne Lord Darnley, and Francis the First King of France. "Well, my friend and my deliverer," said the king, as they rode on, "'twill go hard but I will restore you to your king's favour; and even should he remain inexorable, which I will not believe, you must make France your country. We will try to win your fair Constance for you from that suspicious cardinal, of which fear not, for I know a certain way to gain him to anything; and then I see no cause why, in so fair a land as France, and favoured by her king, you may not be as happy as in that little seabound spot called England." Before proceeding farther, however, it may be necessary to say a few words concerning the events which had occurred since the knight's courage and skill had saved the king's life from Shoenvelt and his adventurers. One may well imagine what anxiety had reigned amongst the monarch's followers in the forest near Lillers, when they found that Francis, after having separated from their party, did not rejoin them on the track appointed for the hunt. Such occurrences, however, having several times happened before, and the king having always returned in safety, they concluded that he and Count William of Firstenberg must have taken the other road to Aire, and that they would find him there on their arrival. When they did reach that town, their inquiries immediately discovered that the king was missing. The news spread rapidly to the whole court, and soon reached the ears of his mother the Duchess of Angoulême, who became almost frantic on hearing it, giving him up for lost from that moment, as she had good reasons to believe that Count William entertained designs against his life. Her active spirit it was that first discovered the treachery of the Burgundian, which she had instantly communicated to the king; but the generous mind of Francis refused all credit to the news, and he continued his confidence towards Firstenberg without the slightest alteration, till at length more certain proofs of his designs were obtained, which induced the monarch to act with that fearless magnanimity which we have seen him display towards his treacherous favourite in the forest of Lillers. Immediately that the king's absence was known, bands of horsemen were sent out in various directions to obtain news of him, but in vain. Convinced, by the account of the hunters, that he had quitted the wood, and that if he were therein they could not find him by night, they searched in every other place than that in which they were likely to be successful; so that, the whole night that Francis spent sleeping tranquilly in the charbonier's cottage, his guards were out towards Pernès, Fruges, and St. Pol, searching for him without success. When morning came, however, fresh parties were sent off to examine every part of the forest, and it was one of these that came up to the spot not long after the defeat of Shoenvelt and his companions. The joy occasioned by the king's safe return was not a little heightened by the danger he had undergone; and every one to whom his life was precious contended who should do most honour to his gallant deliverer. Francis himself knew not what recompense to offer Sir Osborne for the signal service he had rendered him; and, with the delicacy of a truly generous mind, he exacted from him a particular account of his whole life, that he might adapt the gift or honour he wished to confer exactly to the situation of the knight. Darnley understood the motive of the noble-hearted monarch, and told him all without reserve; and Francis, now furnished with the best means of showing his gratitude, resolved not to lose the opportunity. Thus, for the few days that preceded the meeting between Guisnes and Ardres, the king highly distinguished the knight, made him many magnificent presents, called a chapter of the order of St. Michael, and had him installed in form; but knowing the jealous nature of his own nobles, he offered him no employment in his service; and even when the constable de Bourbon, who knew and appreciated Darnley's military talents, proposed to the king to give him a company of men-at-arms, as a reward for the great service he had rendered to the whole nation, Francis negatived it at once, saying openly that the Lord Darnley was but a visiter at the court of France. Having premised thus much, we will now take up the travellers again at the moment of their entering into the wood near Ardres, through which they passed, conversing over the various circumstances of Sir Osborne's situation. "It is strange!" said Francis, as the knight repeated the manner of his dismissal from the English court; "I do not comprehend it. It is impossible that your going there under a feigned name, to win King Henry's favour, should be construed as a crime and made matter of such strong accusation against you." After musing for a moment, he proceeded: "Do not think I would imply, good knight, that you could be really guilty of any higher offence against your king; but be you sure something has been laid to your charge more than you imagine." "On my honour as a knight," replied Darnley, "I have accused myself to your highness of the worst crimes upon my conscience, as if your grace were my confessor; though I will own that it appears to me also most strange and inexplicable. I have heard, indeed, that the lord cardinal never suffers any one to be too near the king's regard; and that if he sees any especial favour shown, he is sure to find some accusation against his object; but I can hardly believe that so great a man would debase himself to be a false accuser." "I know not! I know not!" answered Francis, quickly: "there is no one so jealous as a favourite; and what will not jealousy do? My diadem against a Spanish crown,"[18] he continued laughingly, referring to his contention with the Emperor Charles, "Henry of England knows you under no other name than that of Sir Osborne Maurice. However, I will be polite, and know the whole before I speak. Do you put your honour in my hands? and will you abide by what I shall undertake for you?" "Most willingly, your highness," replied the knight: "whatever you say for me, that will I maintain, on horseback or on foot, with sword or lance, as long as my life do hold." Thus conversing they rode on, following the windings of the woody lane in which they were, till the forest, skirting on to the north-west of Ardres, opened out upon the plain of Guisnes. As soon as the castle and town were in sight, the French monarch put his horse into a quick pace, saying with a smile to Sir Osborne, "Your prudent Wolsey and my good brother Henry will be much surprised to see me in their castle alone, after all their grave precautions. By heaven! did kingly dignity imply suspicion of all the world like theirs, I would throw away my crown and feed my mother's sheep." The night after the first meeting of the kings, Henry had retired to sleep in the fortress, rather than in his palace without the walls; part of which, comprising his private apartments, had been found insecure, from the hurry in which it had been built. Of this circumstance the King of France had been informed by some of his court, who had passed their evening at Guisnes, and it was therefore to the castle that he turned his rein. Passing amidst the tents, in most of which Somnus still held undisturbed dominion, Francis and Sir Osborne galloped up to the drawbridge, on which an early party of the guard were sunning themselves in the morning light; some looking idly over into the moat, some gazing with half-closed eyes towards the sky; some playing at an antique and classical game with mutton-bones, while their captain stood by the portcullis, rubbing his hands and enjoying the sweetness of the morning. No sooner did Francis perceive them, than, drawing his sword, he galloped in amongst them, crying, "Rendez vous, messieurs! rendez vous! La place est à moi!" At first, the archers scattered back confused, and some had their hands on their short swords; but several, who had seen the king the day before, almost instantly recognised him, and the cry became general of "The King of France! the King of France!" In the mean time, Francis rode up to the captain, and, putting his sword's point to the officer's throat, "Yield!" cried he, "rescue or no rescue, or you are a dead man!" "I yield, I yield, my lord!" cried the captain, entering into the king's humour, and bending his knee. "Rescue or no rescue, I yield myself your grace's prisoner." "A castle soon taken!" cried Francis, turning to Sir Osborne. "Now," added he to the officer, "since the place is mine, lead me to the chamber of my good brother the King of England." "His grace is at present asleep," replied the captain, hesitating. "If your highness will repose yourself in the great hall, he shall be informed instantly of your presence." "No, no," cried the king; "show me his chamber. Nothing will serve me but that I will sound his réveillez myself. Come, Darnley!" and springing from his horse he followed the officer, who, now forced to obey, led him into the castle, and up the grand staircase towards the king's bed-chamber. All was silence as they went. Henry and the whole court had revelled late the night before, so that few even of the serving-men had thought fit to quit their truckle-beds so early in the morning. A single page, however, was to be seen as they entered a long corridor, which took up one whole side of the large square tower in the centre of the castle. He was standing before a door at the farther extremity, and to him the captain pointed. "The king's ante-room, your highness, is where you see that page," said he; "and let me beg your gracious forgiveness if I leave you here, for indeed I dare conduct you no farther." "Go, go!" cried the king, good-humouredly. "I will find it now myself. You, Darnley, stay here. I doubt not soon to send for you with good news." With his sword still drawn in his hand, the king now advanced to the page, who, seeing a stranger come forward with so menacing an air, might have entertained some fears, had he not beheld the captain of the guard conduct him thither; not at all knowing the person of Francis, however, as he had not been present at the meeting of the kings, he closed the door of the ante-room, which had before been open behind him, and placing himself in the way, prepared to oppose the entrance of any one. "Which is the chamber of my brother the King of England?" demanded Francis, as he came up; but the page, not understanding a word of French, only shook his head, keeping his back, at the same time, firmly against the door, thinking that it was some wild French lord, who knew not what was due to royalty. "It is the King of France," said Sir Osborne, advancing, as he beheld the page's embarrassment. "Let him pass. It is the King of France." The page stared and hesitated; but Francis, taking him by the shoulder, twisted him round as he had been a child, and, opening the door, passed in. The page immediately closed it again, putting himself before the knight, whose face he now remembered. "I must not let your worship in," said he, thinking Sir Osborne wished to follow the monarch. "The King of France, of course, I dared not stop, but it is as much as my life is worth to suffer any one else to pass." "I seek not to enter, good Master Snell," said the knight. "Unless his grace sends for me, I shall not intrude myself on his royal presence." This said, with busy thoughts he began to walk up and down the gallery; and the page, presently after, retiring into the ante-chamber, left him for the time to his own contemplations. Much subject had the knight for thought, though it was of that nature that profiteth not; for little signified it, as it seemed, how much soever he took counsel with himself: his fate was in the hands of others, and beyond his power to influence or determine. He could not help musing, however, over all the turns which his fortune had taken within the brief space of the last three months; and strangely mingled were his sensations, on finding himself, at the end of the review, standing there, once more within the precincts of the court of England, from which he had been driven hardly fifteen days before. A thousand collateral ideas also presented themselves to his mind, suggesting a thousand doubts and fears for those he loved best. What had become of Constance de Grey? he asked himself; and though never had her image for one moment left his mind in his wanderings, though it had been his companion in the journey, his solace in his waking hours, his dream by night, and his object in every thought and hope, still there was something in being amongst those objects, and near those beings, amidst whom he had been accustomed to see her, that rendered his anxiety about her more impatient; and he would have given no small sum for the presence of one of the newsmongers of the court: those empty idle beings always to be found near the presence of princes, who, like scavengers' carts, make themselves the common receptacles for all the drift of the palace, and, hurrying on from one to another, at once receive and spatter forth the rakings of all kennels as they go along. Time, ever long to those who wait, seemed doubly long to Sir Osborne, to whom so much was in suspense; and so little bustle and activity did there seem in the castle, that he began to fancy its denizens must have had their eyes touched with Hermes' wand to make them sleep so soundly. He walked up and down the corridor, he gazed out of the window into the court-yard, he listened for every opening door. But it was all in vain; no one came. Could Francis have forgotten him? he asked himself, at last; and then he thought how quickly from the light memories of the great pass away the sorrows or the welfare of their fellow-creatures; how hardly they can remember, and how happily they can forget. But no, he would not believe it. If ever man was renowned for that best and rarest quality of a great man, a heedful remembrance of those who served him, a thoughtful care of those he esteemed, it was Francis of France; and Darnley would not believe that in his case he had forgotten. Still no one came. Though the various noises and the bustle he began to hear in distant parts of the building announced that the world was more awake than when he arrived, yet the corridor in which he was seemed more deserted than ever. At first it was nearly vacant, a few listless soldiers being its only occupants; but soon there was opened on the other side a door which communicated with a sort of barrack, situated near the chapel in the inner ballium, and from this proceeded a troop of soldiers and officers at arms, with one or two persons mingled amongst them that Sir Osborne imagined to be prisoners. The height at which he was placed above them prevented his perceiving whether this was certainly the case, or seeing their faces; for all that he could discern was the foreshortened figures of the soldiers and sergeants-at-arms, distinguished from the others by their official habiliments; and passing along, surrounded by the rest, some persons in darker attire, round whom the guard appeared to keep with vigilant care. An instant brought them to the archway just beneath the spot where he stood, and they were then lost to his sight. The castle clock struck seven; but so slowly did the hammer fall upon the bell, he thought it would never have done. He now heard a sound of much speaking not far off, and thought that surely it was Francis taking leave of the King of England; but suddenly it ceased, and all was again silence. Taking patience to his aid, he recommenced his perambulations; and for another quarter of an hour walked up and down the corridor, hearing still, as he passed the door of the anteroom, a low and indistinct murmuring, which might be either the page speaking in a subdued tone to some person therein, or some other voices conversing much more loudly in the chamber beyond. The knight's feelings were wound up to the highest pitch of impatience, when suddenly a deep groan, and then a heavy fall, met his ear. He paused, listened, and could plainly distinguish a door within open, and various voices speaking quick and high, some in French, some in English; but among them was to be heard distinctly the tongue of Henry and that of Francis, though what they said was not sufficiently audible to be comprehended. His curiosity, as may be conceived, was not a little excited; but, satisfied of the safety of the two kings, and fearful of being suspected of eaves-dropping if any one came forth, he once more crossed his arms upon his breast, and began pacing backwards and forwards as before. A few minutes more elapsed in silence; but at length, when he was at the farther extremity of the corridor, he heard the door of the ante-chamber open, and, turning round, perceived a sergeant-at-arms, followed by four halberdiers, come forth from within and advance towards him. Sir Osborne turned and met them, when the guard drew up across the passage, and the officer stepped forward. "Sir Osborne Darnley!" said he, "commonly called Lord Darnley, I arrest you for high treason, in the name of Henry the Eighth, King of England and France and Lord of Ireland, and charge you to surrender to his warrant." The astonishment of Sir Osborne may more easily be conceived than described. The first appearance of the halberdiers had struck him as strange, and their drawing up across his path might have been some warning, but still he was not at all prepared. Trusting to the protection of the French king, who had virtually rendered himself responsible for his safety, he had never dreamed of danger; and for a moment or two he stood in silent surprise, till the sergeant demanded, "Do you surrender, my lord?" "Of course, of course!" replied the knight, "though I will own that this has fallen upon me unexpectedly. Pr'ythee, good sergeant, if thou knowest, tell me how this has come about, for to me it is inexplicable." "In truth, my lord, I Know nothing," replied the officer, "though I believe that the whole arose from something that happened this morning in his grace's bed-chamber. I was sent for by the back staircase, and received orders to attach you here. It is an unpleasant duty, my lord, but one which we are too often called to perform: I can, therefore, but beg your forgiveness, and say that you must come with me." Sir Osborne followed in silence, meditating more than ever over his strange fate. His hopes had again been buoyed up, again to be cast down in a more cruel manner than before. There was not now a shade of doubt left: whatever he was accused of was aimed at him under his real name; and it was evident, from the unremitted persecution which he suffered, that Wolsey, or whosoever it was that thus pursued him, was resolved on accomplishing his destruction by all or any means. That Wolsey was the originator of the whole he could not doubt; and the virulence of his jealousy was too well known to hope that justice or clemency would be shown where his enmity had been incurred. "However," thought the knight, "at last I can but die: I have fronted death a hundred times in the battle-field, and I will not shrink from him now." But to die as a traitor was bitter, he who had never been aught but loyal and true; yet still his conscious innocence, he thought, would rob the block and axe of their worst horror; the proud knowledge that he had acted well in every relationship of life: to his king, to his country, to those he loved. Then came the thought of Constance de Grey, in all her summer beauty, and all her gentle loveliness, and all her sweet smiles: was he never to see them again? To be cut off from all those kind sympathies he had felt, to go down into the cold dark grave where they could reach him never more--it was too much. While these thoughts were busy in his bosom, the sergeant-at-arms led him down the great staircase, and across the hall on the ground-floor of the castle; then, opening a door to the right, he entered into a long narrow passage, but scantily lighted, that terminated in another spiral staircase, down which one of the soldiers, who had procured a lamp in the hall, proceeded first to light them. Sir Osborne followed in silence, though his heart somewhat burned at the idea of being committed to a dungeon. Arrived at the bottom of the steps, several doors presented themselves; and, seeing the sergeant examining a large bunch of keys, with whose various marks he did not seem very well acquainted, the knight could not refrain from demanding, if it were by the king's command that he was about to give him such a lodging. "No, my lord," replied the sergeant, "the king did not direct me to place you in a dungeon; but I must secure your lordship's person till such time as the horses are ready to convey you to Calais, and every other place in the castle but that where I am going to put you is full. "Well, sir," replied the knight, "only beware of what treatment you do show me, lest you may be sorry for it hereafter." "Indeed, my lord," answered the man, with a good-humoured smile, rarely met with on the faces of his brethren, "I should be very sorry to make your lordship any way uncomfortable; and, if you will give me your word of honour, as a knight, neither to escape nor to make any attempt to escape while you are there, I will lock you up in the chapel of the new palace, which is empty enough, God knows, and for half-an-hour you will be as well there as anywhere else better than in a dungeon certainly." The knight readily gave his promise, and the sergeant, after examining the keys again, without better success than before, began to try them, one after another, upon a small iron door in the wall, saying that they could get out that way to the chapel. One of them at length fitted the lock, and two enormous bolts and an iron bar being removed, the door was swung back, giving egress from the body of the fortress into a long lightsome passage, where the full sun shone through a long row of windows on each side; while the gilded pillars and the enamelled ornaments round the windows, the rich arras hangings between them, and the fine carpets spread over the floor, formed a strange and magical contrast with the place they had just quitted, with its rough, damp stone walls, its dark and gloomy passages, and the massy rudeness of all its features. "This is the passage made for his grace, between the palace and the castle," said the sergeant-at-arms. "Let us haste on, my lord, for fear he should chance to come along it." Proceeding onwards, catching every now and then a glance at the gay scene of tents without, as they passed the different windows, the officer conducted his prisoner to the end of the passage, where they found a door on either hand; and, opening that to the left, he ushered the knight into the beautiful little building that had been constructed as a temporary chapel for the court, while inhabiting the palace before Guisnes. "I know, my lord," said the officer, "that I may trust to your knightly word and promise not to make any attempt to escape; for I must not even leave a guard at the door, lest his grace the king should pass, and find that I have put you here, which might move his anger. I therefore leave you for a while, reposing full confidence in your honour, and will take care to have the horses prepared, and be back again before the hour of mass." Thus saying, he ascertained that the other door was fastened, and left Sir Osborne in the chapel, taking heed, notwithstanding his professions of reliance, to turn the key upon him as he went out. It matters little whether it be a palace or a dungeon wherein he passes the few last hours of life, to the prisoner condemned to die, unless he possesses one of those happy spirits that can, by the aid of external objects, abstract their thoughts from all that is painful in their fate. If he do, indeed, the things around may give him some relief. So, however, could not Darnley; and in point of any mental ease, he might just as well have been in the lowest dungeon of the castle as in the splendid oratory where he now was. Yet feeling how fruitless was the contemplation of his situation, how little but pain he could derive from thought, and how unnerving to all his energies was the memory of Constance de Grey, under the unhappy circumstances of the present, he strove not to think; and gazed around him to divert his mind from his wayward fortunes, by occupying it with the glittering things around. Indeed, as far as splendour went, that chapel might have vied with anything that ever was devised. In length it was about fifty feet; and, though built of wood, its architecture was in that style which we are accustomed to call Gothic. Nothing, however, of the mere walls appeared, for from the roof to the ground it was hung with cloth of gold, over which fell various festoons of silk, breaking the straight lines of the hangings. To the right and left, Sir Osborne remarked two magnificent closets, appropriated, as he supposed, to the use of the king and queen, where the same costly stuff that lined the rest of the building was further enriched by a thick embroidery of precious stones; each also had its particular altar, loaded, besides the pix, the crucifix, and the candlesticks, with twelve large images of gold, and a crowd of other ornaments. Sir Osborne advanced, and fixed his eyes upon all the splendid things that were there called in to give pomp and majesty to the worship of the Most High; but he felt more strongly than ever, at that moment, how it was all in vain; and that the small, calm tabernacle of the heart is that wherein man may offer up the fittest prayer to his Maker. Kneeling, however, on the step of the altar, he addressed his petitions to heaven. He would not pray to be delivered from danger, for that he thought cowardly; but he prayed that God would establish his innocence and his honour; that God would protect and bless those that he loved; and, if it were the Almighty's will he should fall before his enemies, that God would be a support to his father and a shield to Constance de Grey. Then rising from his knee, Darnley found that his heart was lightened, and that he could look upon his future fate with far more calmness than before. At that moment the sound of trumpets and clarions met his ear from a distance: gradually it swelled nearer and more near, with gay and martial tones, and approached close to where he was, while shouts and acclamations, and loud and laughing voices, mingled with the music, strangely at discord with all that was passing in his heart. Presently it grew fainter, and then ceased, though still he thought he could hear the roar of the distant multitude, and now and then a shout; but in a few minutes these also ceased, and, crossing his arms upon his breast, he waited till the sergeant-at-arms should come to convey him to Calais, to prison, perhaps ultimately to death. In a few minutes some distant steps were heard; they came nearer, nearer still; the key was turned in the lock, and the door opened. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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