WHAT PHILIP HEARD WHILE CONCEALED BEHIND
THE ARRAS.

Next day in the forenoon, Bishop Bonner repaired to Whitehall Palace, and found the King in a cabinet communicating with the great gallery. Philip was seated at a table covered with dispatches, and near him stood Rodomont Bittern, with whom he was conversing.

“I am glad you are come, my lord,” said the King to Bonner, as the latter entered the cabinet. “This gentleman is the bearer of a letter from the Lord Cardinal to her Majesty, in which his Eminence solicits an audience of her on a matter of importance. The Cardinal will be here at noon, and the important matter on which he comes relates to the delivery of Constance Tyrrell to your lordship. Is it not so, Sir?” he added to Rodomont.

“It is, my liege,” replied the other. “His Eminence is unwilling to give up the maiden, and desires to ascertain the Queen’s pleasure on the subject. As I have already told your Majesty, the Cardinal was much troubled on learning from Mistress Constance what had befallen her, and he declared that unless he had the Queen’s positive commands to that effect he would not surrender her to the ecclesiastical commissioners. I do not think I ever saw him more moved.”

“I make no doubt that his Eminence blamed me, Sir,” remarked Bonner.

295“To speak truth, my lord, he did,” replied Rodomont; “and he said plainly to Lord Priuli that you should not have the damsel.”

“Your Majesty hears that?” cried Bonner. “This proud Cardinal defies your authority.”

“Nay, there was no defiance on his Eminence’s part of the King’s Highness,” observed Rodomont, “but only of your lordship. The representative of his Holiness, he said, should not be insulted with impunity, and he added some words which I care not to repeat, but they spoke of reprimands, censures, and possible privation of dignity.”

“His Eminence takes up the matter with great warmth,” observed Bonner, uneasily.

“I have never known him so put out before,” said Rodomont. “He paced to and fro within his chamber for an hour, and the Lord Priuli could scarce pacify him. This morning, after an interview with Mistress Constance, his anger broke out afresh, and he dispatched me with a letter to her Majesty, craving an audience at noon. This is all I have to state. I have thought it right to warn your lordship that if you think fit to persist in the matter, you may know what to expect.”

“Enough, Sir,” observed the King. “You may withdraw.”

Rodomont bowed and retired, laughing in his sleeve at the fright he had given Bonner. “Heaven forgive me for making a bugbear of the good Cardinal,” he muttered; “but the trick seems to have succeeded.”

“So, the Cardinal is determined to try his strength with us,” observed Philip, as soon as he and Bonner were left alone.

“I must beg to retire from the contest, Sire,” replied the bishop. “Whoever wins, I am sure to lose by it.”

“Tut! I will bear you harmless,” rejoined the King. “But the Cardinal will be here anon. I must prepare the Queen for his arrival.”

“I would your Majesty could be prevailed upon to abandon this design,” observed Bonner. “It will lead to nothing save trouble and confusion. Ever after I shall have the Cardinal for an enemy.”

“You alarm yourself needlessly,” rejoined Philip. “That 296knave purposely exaggerated his master’s anger. The Cardinal knows full well that the act is mine, and not your lordship’s.”

With this, he passed through a side-door, and, accompanied by the bishop, entered a large and magnificently furnished apartment, embellished with portraits of Henry VIII. and his family. No one was within this superb room, and after traversing it, the King and Bonner reached an ante-chamber, in which were assembled a number of pages, esquires, and ushers in the royal livery.

On seeing the King, these personages drew up and bowed reverently as he passed, while two gentleman ushers, each bearing a white wand, marshalled him ceremoniously towards the entrance of the Queen’s apartments, before which stood a couple of tall yeomen of the guard with halberds in their hands.

As he approached this door, Sir John Gage came forth, and Philip inquired if the Queen was alone. The Lord Chamberlain replied in the affirmative, but added that Cardinal Pole was momentarily expected, and that he himself had come forth to receive his Eminence.

“It is well,” replied Philip. “When the Cardinal comes, do not mention to him that I am with her Majesty. I pray your Lordship to remain here till you are summoned,” he added to Bonner.

With this he passed through the door, which was thrown open by the ushers, and entered the Queen’s chamber—a spacious apartment, richly furnished, hung with tapestry, and adorned with many noble pictures, chief among which were portraits of the Queen’s ill-fated mother by Holbein, and of her royal husband by Sir Antonio More.

Mary was seated at a table placed near a deep bay-window. She occupied a large armed-chair, and was reading a book of devotions. Her attire was of purple velvet, and a coif set with precious stones adorned her head. A smile lighted up her pallid countenance on the King’s entrance.

“I give your Majesty good-day,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“You expect the Cardinal,” rejoined Philip, abruptly and sternly. “Do you know what brings him here?”

297“I do not,” she answered, “But I shall be glad to see him, as I desire to consult him as to the restitution of the Church property vested in the crown during the King my father’s reign.”

“Reserve that for another occasion, Madam,” said Philip. “The Cardinal’s errand relates to Constance Tyrrell.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Mary, startled. “What has he to say concerning her?”

“That you will learn on his arrival,” rejoined Philip. “But it is my pleasure that she be removed from his custody and delivered to Bishop Bonner.”

“Then his Eminence has failed to reclaim her?”

“Signally. Nothing remains but to try extreme rigour, and if that will not effect her conversion, the laws she has offended must deal with her.”

“I pity this unhappy maiden, albeit she continues obstinate,” said Mary. “Be not angry if I tell you that I designed to marry her to your secretary, Osbert Clinton, to whom she is betrothed.”

“She shall never wed him,” said Philip, harshly. “Why should you meddle in the matter? Has Osbert Clinton dared to prefer this request to you?”

“No, on my soul,” replied Mary. “But I know the girl loves him tenderly, and, had she recanted, it was my design to reward her with the husband of her choice.”

“But she does not recant, I tell you, Madam,” cried Philip, “so it is idle to speculate on what might have been. It is my will that she be delivered up to Bonner. But the order must proceed from yourself, not from me. Thus, when the Cardinal comes, you will be prepared with an answer to him.”

“But let me first hear what he has to urge,” objected the Queen.

“No matter what he urges,” rejoined Philip. “Lay your commands upon him, as I have intimated. Nay, I will be obeyed,” he added, authoritatively.

Mary sighed, but made no further remonstrance.

“The Cardinal must be at hand,” continued Philip. “By your leave, I will be an unseen witness of the interview.”

And he stepped behind the arras, near which the Queen was seated.

298“He distrusts me,” murmured Mary; “and, in sooth, he has imposed a most painful task upon me.”

Shortly afterwards, the Cardinal was announced, and, greeting him kindly, the Queen begged him to take a seat by her side.

“If your Majesty has heard what occurred yesterday in Saint Bartholomew’s Church at Smithfield,” premised Pole, “you will guess the object of my visit. Constance Tyrrell, whom you confided to my charge, and whom I yet hope to reclaim, is to be wrested from me. But I shall refuse to deliver her up.”

“Your Eminence must needs comply with my order,” said Mary.

“True, Madam,” replied the Cardinal. “But I do not believe you will give any such order, when I say that in surrendering her I shall only be consigning her to infamy and dishonour.”

“I pray your Eminence to explain yourself,” said Mary.

“It is painful to me to speak out,” replied Pole, “but I cannot allow this unhappy maiden to be sacrificed. She has opened her heart to me, and has confessed all. Blinded by an insane and wicked passion for her, the King, since his first accidental meeting with her at Southampton, has never ceased to persecute her with his dishonourable solicitations. Yesterday, during that dread ceremonial, when, terrified and fainting, she was borne into the sacristy of Saint Bartholomew’s Church, he renewed his unholy suit, and bade her choose between his love and deliverance up to Bishop Bonner. I doubt not that she would sustain this trial, as she has sustained others. I do not think that imprisonment or torture would shake her. But why should she be exposed to such treatment? Madam, this is not the case of an heretical offender. Constance Tyrrell is to be imprisoned, is to be tortured, is perhaps to suffer a fiery death, not on account of her religious opinions, but because she has virtue enough to resist the King. Madam, such wrong shall not be, while I can raise my voice against it.&rd............