SAINT CATHERINE’S CHAPEL.
SAINT CATHERINE’S CHAPEL.
SAINT CATHERINE’S CHAPEL.
At the period of our history the finishing-point to the beauty of Saint Catherine’s Hill was given by an exquisite Gothic chapel placed upon its summit. Erected in the 13th century, this little temple was much resorted to by the devout on account of the reliques it contained of Saints Birinus, Swithun, and Ethelwold. Within in might also be seen a ploughshare which, while red hot, had been trodden upon without injury by the beautiful Queen Emma, mother of Edward the Confessor. Constant pilgrimages were made to the shrine, and on the festival of Saint Catherine, to whom the chapel was dedicated, a long procession of religious personages of both sexes, headed by the Bishop of Winchester, and accompanied by an immense concourse, came forth from the city and ascended the hill, when the Bishop and those with him entering the chapel, placed rich gifts upon the altar. At such times, the spectacle of the vast assemblage kneeling around the little fane, or raising the choral hymn to heaven, must have been highly impressive. Formerly, Saint Catherine’s Chapel had been well endowed, but its revenues were appropriated by Wolsey to his “twins of learning,” Ipswich and Oxford. From this time, until the return to the old worship under Mary, the place was completely neglected. Restored by Gardiner, an aged priest, Father Jerome, who had officiated within it in former days, was appointed to its care. At thesame time its precious reliques were brought back. Luckily, during the season of its desecration, it had sustained no material injury—its extraordinary reputation for sanctity having probably saved it—and it was now nearly as beautiful as ever. As least, its custodian, good Father Jerome, thought so.
In the olden time, it had been customary with devotees, after early immersion in the clear waters of the Itchen, to repair to Saint Catherine’s Chapel, hear matins, and perform other devotional exercises. This practice, healthful alike to body and soul, was now revived. Welcome to Father Jerome were all who came there to pray.
At an early hour on the morning of the third day after the Prince of Spain’s public entry into Southampton, a remarkably handsome young gallant—tall, graceful in figure and deportment, and very becomingly attired in a doublet of green velvet, slashed with white silk, and wearing a small velvet beret of the some colour, adorned with a white plume, on his head—issued from the south gate of Winchester, and passing through the grove of stately elms, colonised by rooks, then environing this side of the ancient city, struck across the charming valley watered by the Itchen.
The morning was lovely enough to have tempted the veriest sluggard to quit his couch, and our handsome young galliard seemed fully alive to its beauties. The sun had but just o’ertopped sweet Saint Catherine’s Hill. The grass was heavy with dew, and a thin haze hung in some parts of the valley, but this quickly disappeared. All nature looked bright and smiling. The warblers of the grove carolled blithely, the larks soared aloft rejoicingly, and a cloud of clamorous rooks, quitting the tall trees near the city, winged their way towards the marsh lands further south. Scared by the young man’s approach, the stately heron started from the river in which he was fishing, while other aquatic fowl dived beneath the green water-weeds and disappeared.
At no time are we so susceptible to Nature’s beauties as at early morn. Our senses of delight are quicker then than at any other season, and invigorated by the freshness of the atmosphere, we find something to charm in every object we behold. So it was with the young gallant in question. He was familiar with the scene around him, yet he discoveredbeauties in it of which he had been hitherto unconscious. His eye ranged along the valley through which strayed the winding Itchen, pleased with all it encountered, until his gaze settled on the secluded hospital of Saint Croix.
Never before, it seemed to him, had the ancient edifice looked so lovely, so sequestered, as it did now. Though partially screened by trees, enough was visible to evidence its size and architectural beauty—the lofty gateway, the roofs of the quadrangular courts, and the square tower of the reverend church. A slight mist, enveloping but not hiding the outline of the pile, gave it a dreamlike character.
The hospital of Saint Croix was even then more than three hundred years old, having been erected in 1136 by Bishop Henry de Blois, of whom previous mention has been made. It was subsequently enlarged by Cardinal Beaufort, and is still, we are happy to say, in an admirable state of preservation. Here the hospitality of monkish times is still practised on a small scale. Like many other similar institutions in Winchester and elsewhere, Saint Croix was deprived of its rents and revenues by Henry VIII., but sufficient was fortunately saved from the spoiler’s grasp to preserve it from utter extinction. New life was communicated to the decaying old hospital by Mary, and it was the thought of its unexpected revival that gave it special interest in the eyes of the young man who now gazed upon it. Contrasting its present condition with the past, he rejoiced that a fabric so lovely, and designed for such benevolent purposes, should have escaped destruction.
After indulging in these reflections for a brief space, he walked on, bestowing a glance as he crossed the wooden bridge over the Itchen at the trout shooting through the clear stream. He had now reached the foot of Saint Catherine’s Hill, whither, apparently, he was bound, and disdaining to take the easy but circuitous path conducting to the little chapel, he speeded up the steepest part of the acclivity, across the Danish entrenchment, and did not halt for a moment till he gained the summit of the hill. He then turned to enjoy the splendid prospect commanded from the spot of the ancient city and its environs, which we have already endeavoured to bring before the reader.
While he was thus occupied, the door of the little chapelwas opened by a priest of venerable and benevolent aspect, who stepped towards him, bade him a kindly good morrow, and bestowed a benison upon him.
“What brings Master Osbert Clinton to Saint Catherine’s Hill so early?” inquired the old priest.
“Nothing more than to hear matins in your chapel, good Father Jerome,” replied Osbert. “I trust I am in time.”
“You are in ample time, my son,” replied the old priest, smiling. “Matins have not yet been said, and will not commence for half an hour. Except myself, you are the first on Saint Catherine’s Hill this blessed morning. Indeed, I marvel to see you here so soon. That a young gallant like Master Osbert Clinton, engaged in all the gaieties of court, should have come to this little chapel to pray at so early an hour, argues a strength of devotion for which, I own, I scarcely give him credit.”
“I will not attempt to deceive you, good father,” returned Osbert. “It is not merely the desire to pray within your chapel that has brought me here, but the hope of meeting a fair maiden——”
“Dare you make such an avowal to me, young Sir?” interrupted Father Jerome, in a tone of stern rebuke.
“Nay Father, be not angry with me,” said Osbert. “You will pardon me, I am sure, when you know my motive. My object is to caution the damsel, and this is the only opportunity I may have of doing so.”
“Methinks I know the damsel you allude to, my son,” returned Father Jerome. “Mistress Constance Tyrrell, is it not? She was here yesterday, and after performing her devotions, poured forth the secrets of her heart to me, and besought my counsel.”
“You are aware, then, of the perilous position in which she is placed, and of the necessity of extricating her from it without delay?”
“I know she is beloved by some exalted personage, and that she is full of apprehension——”
“Well may she be so, holy Father,” said Osbert. “I dare not tell you by whom she is beloved. Suffice it, that her position at court is fraught with peril. But it shall be my business to guard her.”
“You love her, then, my son?” observed Father Jerome.
“Passionately,” replied Osbert. “But I have not yet ventured to tell her of my love.”
“You are encouraging a hopeless passion, my son, and I beseech you to check it while you can. But what tidings do you bring of the Prince of Spain? When comes he from Southampton?”
“This very day,” returned Osbert. “I am to form part of the train which will escort his Highness hither. We shall set forth at noon, at which hour the Prince, with a large cavalcade, will leave Southampton, so we shall meet him midway.”
“I am told he is a well-favoured Prince, but haughty and reserved of manner,” remarked Father Jerome.
“I have not found him so,” replied Osbert. “To me he has been singularly condescending, and, indeed, he is gracious to all.”
“I am right glad to hear it. That speaks well for him. Long and earnestly have I prayed that our good Queen’s union may be happy. Much does our holy Church owe her. Look down upon that city, my son. Regard those monasteries, convents, and hospitals. They have all been restored by her. Once more within yon noble cathedral mass is celebrated, and all the rites of the Romish Church performed. To Queen Mary we owe this blessed change. By her Saint Croix has likewise been restored, and it is to her benign influence that this little chapel has been again opened for worship—that the reliques of the saints have been brought back to it—and that I, myself, am enabled to officiate within it. By Queen Mary heresy and schism have been overthrown, and our holy Church delivered from bondage. May Heaven long preserve her! She is our hope and strength—our pillar and defence.”
“I cry ‘Amen’ to that prayer with all my heart,” said Osbert. “Heaven grant the Prince may prove a good husband to her!”
“You speak as if you doubted it, my son,” rejoined Father Jerome. “But I cannot tarry for further converse. I must leave you now. The hour for matins is at hand. After prayers, if you have aught further to say to me, I shall be at your service.”
With this, he re-entered the chapel, and presently a bell began to ring. Many persons, chiefly country-folk, obeyed the summons, coming from different parts of the valley, and entered the chapel, the door of which now stood open.
Osbert, however, did not enter with them, as he had caught sight of two female devotees slowly ascending the hill, in whom he recognised Constance Tyrrell and her old attendant, Dorcas. He waited till they gained the brow of the eminence, and then advancing towards the damsel, respectfully saluted her. Her appearance surprised and distressed him. She looked sad and pale, and traces of recent tears were on her cheeks. Scarcely returning his salutation, she entered the chapel, followed by old Dorcas, who appeared to be as full of affliction as her young mistress. Osbert went in after them, and knelt down by the side of Constance at the altar. But she did not once look towards him, and, indeed, seemed wholly unconscious of his presence.
At the close of the service, Osbert quitted the chapel with the country-folk, and waited outside, thinking Constance would soon come forth. But he was doomed to disappointment. More than an hour elapsed, and she did not appear. At the expiration of that time the chapel door was opened by Father Jerome, who looked very grave. Addressing Osbert, the old priest said, “Do not tarry here longer, my son. Mistress Constance Tyrrell has much to say to me, and seeks my ghostly counsel.”
“But I will wait for her, good Father,” cried Osbert. “I care not how long I stay. Imustspeak with her.”
“Impossible! my son,” replied Father Jerome. “I enjoin you to depart. Constance does not desire to see you. Stifle the unfortunate passion you have conceived for her. It can never be requited.”
“In Heaven’s name what has happened, good Father? Tell me, I adjure you?” cried Osbert.
“Question me not, but go!” said Father Jerome, authoritatively. “Constance will not come forth while you remain here. I myself will accompany her to Winchester.”
“But will you tell me nothing more? Will you not give me a hope?” ejaculated Osbert, despairingly.
The old priest shook his head, and, with a compassionate glance at him, closed the door, and bolted it inside.
Osbert was half inclined to force an entrance into the chapel, but feeling the impropriety of such a proceeding, he tore himself away, and rushed wildly down the hill, scarcely knowing whither he went.
HOW THE PRINCE OF SPAIN RODE FROM SOUTHAMPTON TO WINCHESTER; HOW HE HEARD HIGH MASS AT THE CATHEDRAL, AND VISITED THE QUEEN PRIVATELY AT WOLVESEY CASTLE.
Philip prolonged his stay at Southampton from Friday, the 20th of July, 1554, the day on which he made his public entry into the town, till the following Monday. Before leaving, he dismissed his fleet, which set sail for Cadiz, under the command of the Admiral of Castile. The Flemish squadron also departed at the same time. Nothing was allowed to transpire publicly in regard to the Queen’s secret visit to Southampton. After protecting the French ambassador from the Prince’s vengeance, in the manner previously related, Mary returned to Winchester, taking Constance Tyrrell with her. Next day, the Count D’Egmont, attended by Osbert Clinton, brought her Majesty a set of diamonds, of inestimable value, as a present from Philip. Somewhat later in the same day, the noble Spanish dames, the Duchess of Medina Celi, the Marchionesses Pescara, de Farria, and del Valle, the Countesses Olivares, de Saldana, and de Modica, with several other gentlewomen, who had accompanied their consorts to be present at the approaching solemnity, arrived at Wolvesey Castle in magnificent chariots and litters provided for them by the Queen.
Meantime, Southampton continued in a fever of excitement, nothing being thought of in the town but revelry andrejoicing. On Sunday, Philip heard mass in Saint Michael’s Church, and rode forth afterwards with his train to Netley Abbey, then in possession of the Marquis of Winchester, Lord High Treasurer, to whom it had been granted on the dissolution of the monasteries, and after being sumptuously entertained by his noble host, he returned, in the cool of a most delicious evening, by water to Southampton.
About noon on Monday, the 22nd, the Prince quitted Southampton, attended by a magnificent escort, comprising, in addition to his own suite, the Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis of Winchester, the Earls of Arundel, Derby, Worcester, Bedford, Rutland, Pembroke, and Surrey; with the Lords Clinton, Cobham, Darcie, Matravers, Talbot, and many others, numbering, with their gentlemen and esquires, upwards of two thousand horse. Never before had such a vast and splendid cavalcade passed through the Bar-gate. Stationed at the gate were Sir Bevis, with the Princess Josyan seated behind him on the broad back of Arundel, Ascapart, Canute, and Xit—the latter mounted on his little piebald horse—and when the royalcortégehad passed by, these personages followed it at a short distance. Hundreds of persons on foot accompanied the cavalcade, which proceeded at a slow pace, half way to Winchester, when it encountered another large company of noblemen and gentlemen sent to meet it by the Queen. Amongst these were the Count D’Egmont and Osbert Clinton. Swelled by this addition, the cavalcade, which had now assumed the proportions of an army, pursued its course towards Winchester, the trees by which the valley of the Itchen was shaded affording protection from the scorching sunbeams. Ere long Philip came upon the hospital of Saint Croix, the secluded beauty of which might have attracted more of his attention had not Winchester itself, at the same moment, burst upon his view. Cries of admiration broke from the Spaniards as they caught sight of the ancient and picturesque city.
From Saint Croix to the South-gate the road was lined on either side by well-dressed spectators of both sexes, who cheered the Prince loudly as he rode by on his Andalusian barb. A roar of artillery from the castle batteries announced his entrance into the city to the Queen.
Philip was now close to the cathedral, which rose before him in all its majesty. Passing through a gateway, he reached the great western entrance, in the wide place in front of which some fifteen hundred horsemen were now drawn up, forming a most imposing spectacle.
Beneath the central portico, with its noble arch supported by clustered columns, and its tabernacles containing statues of the saints Peter and Paul, stood Gardiner, in his full pontificals, mitre, stole, chasuble, rochet, alb, and amice. His crosier was borne by a priest, who stood behind him. Beetle-browed, swarthy of complexion, hook-nosed, and harsh of feature, Gardiner, notwithstanding his forbidding looks and stern, searching glances, which seemed to read the hearts of those he looked upon, and inspired more dread than love, had a countenance replete with intelligence, while his imperious looks and manner, untamed by reverse of fortune, showed the confidence he felt in his own mental powers and resources. With Gardiner were Bonner, Bishop of London, Tonstal, Bishop of Durham, Day, Bishop of Chichester, Thirlby, Bishop of Ely, Heath, Bishop of Worcester, and other prelates, all in mitres and copes. Behind the bishops were the clergy belonging to the cathedral in their vestments.
As Philip dismounted before the porch, and bent the knee to Gardiner, who advanced to meet him, the bishop spread his arms over him, pronouncing a solemn benediction upon his head.
After bowing with profound respect to the other prelates, all of whom reverently returned his salutation, the Prince entered the cathedral and proceeded towards the choir, Gardiner and the other bishops leading the way. Ere many minutes, the nave was half filled by the nobles and gentlemen composing Philip’s retinue. The furthest stall on the right of the choir was assigned to the Prince by Gardiner. Every other stall had a noble occupant; the one next to Philip being tenanted by the Duke of Norfolk.
High mass was then celebrated, Gardiner and the bishops officiating at the altar. AfterTe Deumhad been solemnly sung, Philip retired into the sacristy adjoining the Silkstede Chapel with Gardiner, where a brief, but very kindly, conference took place between them. To the Prince’s inquiriesas to when he might be permitted to see the Queen, Gardiner replied, that the public presentation could not, according to court etiquette, take place till the morrow, but that he would engage to procure his Highness a private interview with her Majesty that evening.
On quitting the cathedral, the Prince was ceremoniously conducted by the Earl of Arundel to the deanery, which had been prepared for his reception. Here a grand banquet was subsequently served, at which the Lord Chancellor and all the principal English and Spanish nobles sat down.
In the evening, while Philip was alone, the Earl of Arundel and the Grand Chamberlain, Sir John Gage, were introduced, and informed him that they were enjoined by her Majesty to conduct him to her presence. Expressing the liveliest satisfaction, the Prince said he was ready to accompany them at once, and, immediately arising, he went forth with them into the deanery garden, whence, by a private way, he was brought to a postern in the walls of Wolvesey Castle. Of this postern Sir John Gage possessed the key, and the door being unlocked, gave them admittance to the gardens of the castle.
After tracking a long arcade of formally clipped yew-trees, they came upon a wide glass-plot, soft as velvet to the foot, laid out in front of the keep-tower, wherein, as we have already stated, were the Queen’s apartments. Close to this charming lawn were parterres, embellished with knots of flowers, in the taste of the period. At the farther end stood the stately donjon reared by stout Henry de Blois, between which and the grass-plot lay a broad terrace-walk. This scene, beautiful at all times, was now rendered doubly beautiful by the light of a full summer moon hanging right above the keep, and flooding the place with radiance.
As the Prince and his attendants entered this fairy region, three persons were walking upon the grass-plot. These were the Queen, Gardiner, and one of her Majesty’s ladies—the latter, however, being at some distance from the other two.
“There is her Majesty,” observed the Lord Chamberlain. “Shall I announce your Highness?”
Receiving Philip’s prompt assent, Sir John Gage advanced towards Mary, and after an instant’s consultation with her,Philip was formally presented—the Lord Chamberlain withdrawing as soon as he had performed his office. Gardiner also retired with the lady in attendance, and the royal pair were left alone together. Mary was very richly attired, and, viewed by this witching light, really looked attractive. Some excuse may therefore be found for the impassioned admiration which Philip expressed on beholding her features, now for the first time revealed to his gaze.
Mary was small of stature, with beautiful hands and feet. Her person was well made, but too thin, and her carriage, though majestic, was exceedingly stiff, and lacked the grace which ease alone can impart. In her younger days she had been accounted good-looking, but she could scarcely be considered so now. Her eyes were large and grey, and her glances keen and steady. Her face was round, her tresses inclining to red, if they did not even actually attain that hue, and the nose too flat and large. Her lips, too, were thin and compressed. Altogether, there was a hardness and severity about her face that destroyed its pleasing character, while premature wrinkles about the eyes and brow gave her age.
If Mary did not inherit the beauty either of her father or mother, she had many of the qualities by which both were characterised. She had the courage, firmness, and obstinacy of Henry VIII., and she had all the virtues belonging to the unfortunate Katherine of Aragon. Her conduct under the trials to which she was exposed was most exemplary, and even her enemies could find no fault with it. Firmly attached to the principles of the Catholic religion, in which she had been brought up, she never wavered for a moment in her adherence to her faith, but would have suffered martyrdom rather than renounce it. When commanded by the council under Edward VI., to desist from the performance of mass, she still continued to celebrate it in private.
Mary spoke well in public, and possessed a voice so sonorous that she could be distinctly heard by a large assemblage. Her stirring address to the citizens at Guildhall gave thecoup de graceto Wyat’s formidable rebellion. She also possessed many accomplishments, playing so well upon the lute and spinet as to astonish and delight professed musicians by her skill. She also greatly excelled in embroidery,and in other female work. Her intellectual accomplishments were of a high order, though they did not excite so much astonishment in those days of learned ladies as they would in our own. She spoke French and Spanish perfectly, and read Italian with ease, though she did not speak it. She was also mistress of Latin. At the request of Catherine Parr, she translated into English Erasmus’s Paraphrase of the Gospel of St. John. Since her accession to the throne, all her time, except the hours of devotion, had been given to affairs of state. She arose at daybreak, performed her religious duties, heard mass, and thenceforward devoted herself to public business, being easy of access to all who desired to approach her. Bigoted Mary was, intolerant and severe towards those who differed with her on points of faith; but she had many redeeming qualities, which should have saved her from the obloquy to which she has been subjected.
Such was Mary when she met her affianced husband on that lovely moonlight night in the garden of Wolvesey Castle—a night ever after cherished in her memory as the happiest of her existence. Blissful, indeed, were her feelings as she paced to and fro upon that soft sward with her royal lover, listening to the vows he breathed in low and passionate tones, and believing all he said. Philip felt his power, and exercised it. From that moment to the latest of her existence, she fondly loved him. Ingrate that he was, he but poorly requited her affection.
We shall not record the words he uttered. Idle words were they, such as feigned passion has ever at command, but they produced the effect designed. Suspicious as Mary was by nature, she had no suspicion now. She persuaded herself that Heaven had rewarded her at last for all her sufferings by bestowing upon her a fond and faithful spouse.
Two hours elapsed before their moonlight walk was over—two happy, happy hours to the Queen. Then she re-entered the keep, while Philip, attended by the Earl of Arundel and Sir John Gage, returned to the deanery.
OF THE PUBLIC MEETING BETWEEN THE ROYAL PAIR.
OF THE PUBLIC MEETING BETWEEN THE ROYAL PAIR.
OF THE PUBLIC MEETING BETWEEN THE ROYAL PAIR.
It having been arranged that the public meeting between the royal pair should take place on the following day, six richly carved and gilt chariots, covered with cloth of gold, drawn by horses trapped in white velvet embroidered with silver lions, and ridden by pages of honour attired in the royal liveries, were sent to convey the Prince and his suite to Wolvesey Castle. Attendant upon the chariots were a number of henchmen, likewise habited in the royal liveries, and mounted on richly-caparisoned horses, and besides these there was a guard of two hundred arquebusiers, fully equipped.
Precisely at noon Philip came forth from the deanery, attended by all his grandees, gorgeously attired, and glittering with jewels, and entered the chariot appointed for him. The Dukes of Alva and Medina Celi had places beside him. Preceded by mounted trumpeters and kettle-drums, making a loud bruit, the train moved towards Wolvesey Castle, the Prince being everywhere greeted by acclamations from those who witnessed his progress. At the noble gateway of Wykeham’s College were stationed the warden and fellows in their gowns, and ranged by the side of the walls in files two deep stood the scholars, who shouted lustily and waved their caps as the Prince passed by. The young Wykehamists were still vociferating as the chariot containing the Prince passed beneath the arched gate-tower then forming the main entrance to Wolvesey Castle. At this gate, above whichfloated the royal standard, stood Og, Gog, and Magog, towering by the head and shoulders above the other halberdiers. The giants had now resumed their ordinary garb of yeomen of the guard, but were instantly recognised by the Prince.
Before the principal entrance of the keep stood a vast number of gentlemen, esquires, and pages, all splendidly apparelled, and, as Philip’s chariot drew up, Sir John Gage, Grand Chamberlain, with Sir Henry Jerningham, Vice-Chamberlain, bearing their wands of office, came forth to assist his Highness to alight. The entrance-hall was filled with noble personages, amongst whom were the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Norfolk, the Earls of Arundel and Derby, Sir Edward Hastings, Master of the Horse, the Earl of Bedford, Lord Privy Seal, the Lord Paget and Sir William Petre, both Secretaries of State, with many others. Bowing graciously as he passed through this splendid throng, the Prince was conducted by Gardiner to the great hall, where he found the Queen surrounded by a bevy of lovely dames. Mingled with the English ladies and contrasting strongly with them, from their rich Southern complexion, dark eyes and jet-black tresses, were the noble Spanish dames, making altogether a most dazzling group. At the further end of the hall, which was hung with costly arras, and otherwise gorgeously decorated, was a cloth of estate, embroidered with the arms of England and Spain. Under it were two velvet fauteuils.
On perceiving the Queen, Philip flew towards her, and, without tarrying for a formal presentation by Sir John Gage, embraced her, kissing her lovingly, to the amusement of all the ladies around, and then, taking her hand, led her towards the canopy at the further end of the hall, no one presuming to follow them. As the royal pair seated themselves on the fauteuils, and entered into tender converse, many a curious eye was directed towards them. However, they heeded not observation, but seemed entirely engrossed by each other.
Thus they continued discoursing for more than an hour. The Queen then rose, and the Prince rising likewise, Sir John Gage and Sir Henry Jerningham marshalled them into an adjoining chamber, where a grand banquet was laid out. Here they both sat down at the high table, and were waitedupon by Gardiner, the rest of the company occupying the lower tables. Near the royal pair stood a cupboard filled with splendid salvers, flagons, and other vessels of gold and silver. In the course of the banquet, a goblet of wine being filled for the Queen by Gardiner, she drank from it to Philip; after which, the Prince pledged her in return from the same loving cup. At the close of the banquet, the Queen and Prince, attended by all the company, adjourned to the grass plot, where they walked for some time, enjoying the cool air. A concert in the great hall, at which many skilful musicians and singers assisted, brought the evening to an end. Attended by his grandees, Philip then returned to the deanery.
No meeting took place between the royal pair next day, the Queen being occupied in preparations for the marriage ceremonial, which was appointed for the morrow.
Philip passed his time in visiting several places in and about the city. At Wykeham’s College, whither he first repaired, he was received by the warden and fellows, and shown over the ancient structure, appearing to be much struck by the great hall, the beautiful chapel, the cloisters, and the refectory. In the hall the whole of the students were assembled, and a Latin address was recited to him by the senior scholar. On his departure, the Prince ordered the contents of a well-filled purse to be distributed amongst the youths, and the walls of the old quadrangle resounded with the joyous shouts of the recipients of the gift.
Accompanied by the Bishop of Cuença and Father de Castro, Philip next visited “La Carité,” with several other religious establishments and hospitals, and left large presents behind him. This done, at the head of a brilliant retinue, consisting of the chief English and Spanish nobles, he rode up to William the Conqueror’s Castle, and examined it throughout, mounting to the top of the donjon, whence he beheld Southampton, and the Isle of Wight in the far distance. In the great hall of the fortress he was shown King Arthur’s Round Table, at which his august sire, the Emperor Charles V., had sat when he was the guest of Henry VIII.
“I was honoured with a seat at the Round Table on that ever-memorable occasion, your Highness,” observed the oldDuke of Norfolk. “Seldom hath such a party assembled—not perhaps since the days of good King Arthur himself. Both your royal father and my late gracious master—whose soul God preserve!—played the boon companion, and bandied so many merry jests, that we could scarce contain ourselves for laughter. And yet they were nowise displeased, for state was banished from the Round Table, no one being able to say who sat above the other. On yonder wall, I mind me, was inscribed this distich in letters of gold:
‘Carolus, Henricus vivant; defensor uterque,Henricus fidei, Carolus ecclesiæ.’”
‘Carolus, Henricus vivant; defensor uterque,Henricus fidei, Carolus ecclesiæ.’”
‘Carolus, Henricus vivant; defensor uterque,Henricus fidei, Carolus ecclesiæ.’”
‘Carolus, Henricus vivant; defensor uterque,
Henricus fidei, Carolus ecclesiæ.’”
“You describe an enviable banquet, my lord Duke,” replied Philip; “and I marvel not it lives in your memory. But you shall sit again at that board, and as my guest; and though I cannot hope to rival my father, or your late royal master, as a boon companion, I will put no constraint upon your mirth.”
The Duke of Norfolk bowed his thanks, and they quitted the hall. From the castle, Philip rode with his train to the Hospital of Saint Croix, with the beautiful and secluded situation of which he had been much struck as he approached Winchester. Passing through the ancient gateway, he dismounted in the court, where were drawn up the brotherhood in their long dark gowns, adorned with a silver cross—vestments and badges still retained by the fraternity. After examining the Hundred Men’s Hall, and noting the statue of Cardinal Beaufort in a niche in the upper part of the chamber, Philip proceeded to the venerable church, where he heard mass. Well pleased with his visit, he caused a piece of gold to be given to each of the brethren.
On quitting Saint Croix, the Prince did not return at once to Winchester, but crossing the valley, and fording the Itchen at a place pointed out to him by Osbert Clinton, who acted as his guide, he rode up Saint Catherine’s Hill. Good Father Jerome, who had watched the train ascending the mount, advanced to meet him. Courteously saluting the old priest, Philip put several questions to him respecting the chapel.
“Will it please your Highness to alight and view the reliques?” said Father Jerome.
Readily assenting, Philip dismounted, Osbert holding his bridle the while.
The Prince then entered the chapel with Father Jerome, leaving all his suite outside to contemplate the magnificent prospect of the city. His first act was to prostrate himself before the altar, and in this pious posture he remained for several minutes, fervently occupied in prayer.
“Apparently he is devout,” thought Father Jerome, as he stood behind him, with his hands meekly folded upon his breast. “And yet unholy passions rule his heart.”
When Philip had concluded his devotions, Father Jerome unlocked a casket, and exhibited the various saintly reliques it contained, which the Prince regarded with due reverence. The old priest next displayed the wonderful ploughshare which had proved harmless to Queen Emma, and related the legend connected with it. While looking about the chapel, Philip noticed upon the credence-table near the altar a little tablet of gold, with an agate on either side, garnished with rubies, and having a large pearl pendant.
“How came this trinket here, father?” he inquired, fixing a stedfast look on the old priest. “It was my gift to a damsel who preserved my life.”
“I know it, Highness,” replied Father Jerome. “But the maiden felt she could not keep the tablet, and hath left it as an offering to Saint Catherine’s shrine. In my humble mind she has done well.”
“Has she confessed to you, father?” demanded Philip.
“I am not bound to answer that question, even to your Highness,” replied Father Jerome. “Nevertheless, I will answer it. She has confessed.”
“Then you know all?”
“All, Highness. And I pity her from my soul.”
“And you blame me?”
“I said not so, Highness,” replied the priest, somewhat evasively.
“Where is she?” asked Philip, after a pause, and in tones of deep emotion.
“Highness,” replied Father Jerome, “she has returned to Southampton, where she is about to bury her woes in a convent. I applaud her determination.”
“Father, this step must be prevented,” rejoined Philip. “She must not take the vows.”
“I do not think she will yield to any persuasions to the contrary,” replied Father Jerome. “Her resolution is taken.”
“Make the attempt—I command you,” cried Philip, imperiously. “See her without delay. Use all the arguments you can employ. If you succeed, count on my gratitude.”
“Your Highness shall be obeyed, although I confess I like not the task,” said Father Jerome, bowing his reverend head.
“And as an earnest of my good will, take this purse, and employ its contents as you list.”
“I take it, only to bestow its contents on the poor,” said the priest, as Philip quitted the chapel.
Philip then mounted his jennet, and rode down the hill with his train. The changed expression of his countenance did not escape notice, but no one ventured to remark upon it. Under the guidance of Osbert Clinton, the prince made his way along the banks of the Itchen, to the old stone bridge, said to be the work of St. Swithun, and crossing it, re-entered the city by the eastern gate, and proceeded to the deanery, halting by the way to examine the ancient City Cross.
While Philip was making the various visits we have described, most of the inhabitants had opportunities of beholding him, and all were favourably impressed by his youth, his handsome person, his proud yet affable deportment, and, above all, by the grace and skill with which he managed his fiery Andalusian barb.
That evening, the Prince had a long conference with Simon Renard, the Spanish ambassador, and Don Juan de Figueroa, Regent of the Council of Aragon, a nobleman much in the Emperor’s confidence, and who had been sent to England, charged with a most important mission, which he had hitherto kept secret, but which he now proceeded to disclose to the Prince. The revelation then made seemed to yield Philip extraordinary satisfaction.
CHAPTER V.
HOW THE ROYAL NUPTIALS WERE CELEBRATED INWINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.
HOW THE ROYAL NUPTIALS WERE CELEBRATED INWINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.
HOW THE ROYAL NUPTIALS WERE CELEBRATED IN
WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.
Saint James’s day had been appointed for the marriage, that saint being the patron of Spain. Brighter or more beautiful morning never rose on Winchester than on this auspicious day. Magnificent preparations had been made for the event. Two triumphal arches spanned the High-street, and all the houses were hung with cloths of gold and silver, velvet and arras, while minstrels were everywhere engaged. The pinnacles of the graceful Cross, which belongs to the time of Henry VI., and still adorns the city, were hung with garlands of flowers, and the statue of Saint Lawrence, placed under its exquisite canopied niche, was garnished with beads, chains, and other articles of goldsmith’s work. The conduits ran with white and red wines. All the poor were publicly feasted; and at night great bon-fires were lighted on the adjacent hills.
The city was fuller of strangers than it had ever been known. Not only were the hostels crowded to overflowing, but the religious houses and colleges were thronged with guests. At an early hour of the day thousands of persons, who had travelled all night, began to arrive from various quarters—from Southampton, from Bishop’s Waltham, from Alresford, from Stockbridge, from Romsey, and even from Salisbury—in short, from every place within a circuit oftwenty miles. These new comers found scantaccommodationaccommodation, but booths were erected on Saint Giles’s Hill, and on Saint Mary Magdalene’s Hill, as during fair-time, to which they resorted.
Loud reports of ordnance were continually heard from the batteries of the castle, and the bells of all the churches pealed joyfully. As the hour appointed for the ceremony approached, a grand procession began to enter the cathedral. First came the mayor and aldermen of Winchester, in scarlet gowns, followed by the officers of the city, apparelled in velvet and silk, carrying long staves. Then, after a short pause, came thirty gentlemen belonging to the Spanish ambassadors, clad in doublets of yellow velvet striped with red. These were followed by Simon Renard and Don Juan de Figueroa, both sumptuously apparelled. Then came a numerous body of sergeants and officers of arms, and after them gentlemen, esquires, and knights, all richly attired, and ranged according to their degrees. On reaching the steps leading to the choir, all these passed into the north transept, which, ere long, was completely filled. Then came another long train of gentlemen and esquires belonging to various noblemen, all in rich liveries of divers colours, and making a splendid show. Then came the Duke of Norfolk, the Earls of Arundel, Sussex, Huntingdon, Shrewsbury, Pembroke, and Derby, in their robes of estate of crimson velvet furred with ermine, and powdered according to their degrees. All such as were Knights of the Garter wore the collar and the lesser badge of the order. These were followed by the lords of the council in robes of scarlet. After them came the choir of the cathedral, solemnly singing as they passed along; then the clergy, in their copes and gowns; then came the incense-bearers, with great silver thuribles, censing the way. Then followed the Bishops of London, Durham, Ely, Lincoln, Chichester, and other prelates, in copes and mitres. After them came two priests, each bearing a large silver cross, followed by another priest with a crosier. Next came Gardiner himself, in his full pontificals.
Before proceeding, let us cast an eye around the interior of the cathedral, and note the extraordinary splendour of its decorations. The mighty pillars lining each side of thebroad nave were covered to the height of twelve feet with crimson velvet, entwined with golden wreaths, while the intercolumniations were filled up with arras and rich hangings. Every pillar was further decked with flags and pennons. The aisles and transepts were likewise adorned with hangings, and the Lady Chapel, wherein the marriage ceremony was about to be solemnised, was hung with cloth of gold. Along the nave, as far as the choir, was stretched a cloth of ray, with rails on either side. Over the high altar was reared an immense silver cross, and the altar itself glittered with silver and gems. From an early hour in the morning, all portions of the cathedral allotted to the public were thronged to excess. Some thousands were present on the occasion. The precincts of the sacred pile were equally crowded, and the wide area in front of the grand western portal presented a dense mass of human beings.
At ten o’clock the royal bridegroom left the deanery, attended by the whole of his grandees, whose gorgeous habiliments glittered with priceless jewels. Cloth of ray had been laid down from the deanery to the great western entrance of the cathedral, and on this Philip and his nobles walked. Their path was further protected by rails, outside of which archers and halberdiers were stationed.
Philip’s bridal attire was magnificent, and attracted universal admiration. His doublet and hose were of white satin, richly embroidered with gold, and over all he wore a gorgeous mantle of cloth of gold, presented to him by the Queen, and thickly covered with pearls and precious stones. His white velvet cap was studded with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. Over his shoulders he wore the collar of the Garter, while the lesser badge of the order encircled his knee. Splendid, however, as was his attire, it hardly outshone the habiliments of his grandees, all of whom wore the collar of the Golden Fleece, or the insignia of some other order.
As Philip entered the cathedral with his train, trumpets were loudly sounded, and the martial bruit continued as he advanced along the nave. Midway he was met by the Earl of Arundel and other nobles, and ceremoniously conducted to a traverse, prepared for him in the south transept, where he awaited the Queen’s arrival.
This was not long delayed. A peal of artillery, accompanied by reiterated shouts, announced that her Majesty had reached the precincts of the cathedral. Already, indeed, the foremost of her immediate attendants were passing through the grand portal. First came Garter King at Arms in his gorgeous tabard, followed by the other heralds, and attended by a band of trumpeters, with their silver clarions at their lips. Then came the Grand Chamberlain, Sir John Gage, his lofty figure seen to great advantage in a scarlet robe open before, and edged with ermine. Sir John Gage had the collar of the Garter round his neck, and carried his wand of office in his hand. He was accompanied by the Vice-Chamberlain, Sir Henry Jerningham, likewise in his robes of office, and bearing a white wand. Then followed a long train of pages attired in liveries of white and blue satin, which had a charming effect. Then followed the three gigantic yeomen of the guard, in scarlet, with the royal badge embroidered at the front and back of their doublets.
Fresh acclamations from without, continued by the crowd within the cathedral, proclaimed the entrance of the Queen. Mary walked beneath a canopy of cloth of gold, the gilt staves of which were borne by four knights, chosen for the purpose from their goodly presence, attired in crimson satin, with points of blue and red on their sleeves.
The Queen was arrayed in a gown of white cloth of tissue, the stomacher of which was encrusted with diamonds and precious stones, and her mantle of crimson velvet, bordered with ermine, and embroidered with gold, was borne by six noble dames, all magnificently attired. Her hair was unbound, as was then the custom of brides—and a beautiful custom it was—and on her head she wore a coif, encircled with gold, and studded with orient pearls and gems. Mary marched with a firm step along the nave, and really presented a very majestic appearance. She was followed by a long train of ladies, whose sweeping velvet mantles, furred and embroidered, were borne by pages in rich liveries.
As the Queen advanced along the body of the cathedral, Philip, who had been apprised of her coming, and, indeed, could not be unaware of it from the braying of trumpets and shouting, came from the traverse with his retinue, and met her just as she reached the steps of the choir. Saluting herwith a warm demonstration of affection that savoured little of ceremony, he took her hand, and they ascended the steps together, Sir John Gage and the Vice-Chamberlain preceding them.
At this moment Gardiner and the other prelates came forth from the choir, and while the royal pair were standing there with the Bishop of Winchester, in full view of the immense assemblage, Don Juan de Figueroa, attended by Simon Renard, came towards them, and, bending the knee to Philip, presented a scroll to him.
“What means this, your excellency?” demanded the Prince, with a well-feigned look of astonishment.
“It means, your Highness,” replied Figueroa, as he arose, “that your august sire, the Emperor, deeming it beneath the dignity of so high and mighty a sovereign as the Queen of England to wed with one of rank inferior to her own, has by this act resigned to your Highness the crown of Naples and Sicily, with the Duchy of Milan, and divers other seats and signories. From this moment, Sire, you are King of Naples, and as such her Majesty’s equal.”
“A right noble and gracious act, and worthy of my great father!” exclaimed Philip. “Does not your Majesty think so?”
“Nobly done, indeed, Sire!” cried Mary. “I joy that you are King of Naples, but you could not be dearer to me than as Prince of Spain.”
“The Emperor’s great and generous act must be made known to the entire assemblage,” said Gardiner.
“Be that task mine,” rejoined Simon Renard.
Whereupon silence being called by sound of trumpet, the Spanish ambassador advanced towards the edge of the steps, and in a loud voice, distinctly heard by the thousands congregated within the nave, announced what the Emperor had done for his son.
Tremendous acclamations followed, and the roof resounded with cries of “Long live the Emperor! Long live the King of Naples!”
No sooner had Simon Renard retired than Garter King at Arms advanced with a couple of trumpeters, and proclaimed the styles and titles of the two sovereigns in the following formula:—
“Philip and Mary, by the grace of God, King and Queen of England, France, Naples, Jerusalem, and Ireland; Defenders of the Faith; Princes of Spain and Sicily; Archdukes of Austria; Dukes of Milan, Burgundy, and Brabant; Counts of Hagsburg, Flanders, and Tyrol.”
This proclamation being made, the trumpets were sounded, and the acclamations of the assemblage were renewed.
Preceded by Gardiner and the other prelates, ceremoniously marshalled by the Grand Chamberlain and Vice-Chamberlain, and attended by the principal nobles, English and Spanish, forming an assemblage of unrivalled splendour, the royal pair—now equals in dignity—marched hand in hand to the beautiful Lady Chapel built by Bishop Godfrey de Lucy, where the marriage was solemnised by Gardiner, assisted by the other prelates, the royal bride being given away in the name of the realm by the Marquis of Winchester and the Earls of Pembroke and Derby.
In all respects the ceremony was admirably performed. The prelates gathered round the richly-decked altar, the royal couple kneeling before it on velvet faldstools, the grand assemblage of English and Spanish nobles grouped around, the proud dames of both nations filling the galleries on either side of the chapel—all constituted a superb picture.
The solemnity ended, the royal couple returned to the choir, where a cloth of estate had been prepared for them, beneath which they sat whileTe Deumwas solemnly sung. Here the picture was even grander than that exhibited in the Lady Chapel, because it comprehended so much more of the cathedral. Fortunately, it could be seen by the vast crowd in the nave.
All being concluded, the royal couple quitted the sacred edifice, walking hand in hand beneath the canopy. Before them marched the Earls of Pembroke and Derby, each bearing a sword of state.
In this manner, amid the thunder of artillery, the sounding of trumpets, and the shouts of the crowd, they returned to Wolvesey Castle, where a grand banquet was given, followed by a state ball.