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Table of Contents

ENGLISH ALLIANCE.

Condition of England.—Character of Mary.—Philip's Proposals of Marriage.—Marriage Articles.—Insurrection in England.

1553, 1554.

In the summer of 1553, three years after Philip's return to Spain, occurred an event which was to exercise a considerable influence on his fortunes. This was the death of Edward the Sixth of England—after a brief but important reign. He was succeeded by his sister Mary, that unfortunate princess, whose sobriquet of "Bloody" gives her a melancholy distinction among the sovereigns of the house of Tudor.

The reign of her father, Henry the Eighth, had opened the way to the great revolution in religion, the effects of which were destined to be permanent. Yet Henry himself showed his strength rather in unsettling ancient institutions than in establishing new ones. By the abolition of the monasteries, he broke up that spiritual militia which was a most efficacious instrument for maintaining the authority of Rome; and he completed the work of independence by seating himself boldly in the chair of St. Peter, and assuming the authority of head of the Church. Thus, while the supremacy of the pope was rejected, the Roman Catholic religion was maintained in its essential principles unimpaired. In other words, the nation remained Catholics, but not Papists.

CONDITION OF ENGLAND.

The impulse thus given under Henry was followed up to more important consequences under his son, Edward the Sixth. The opinions of the German Reformers, considerably modified, especially in regard to the exterior forms and discipline of worship, met with a cordial welcome from the ministers of the young monarch. Protestantism became the religion of the land; and the Church of England received, to a great extent, the peculiar organization which it has preserved to the present day. But Edward's reign was too brief to allow the new opinions to take deep root in the hearts of the people. The greater part of the aristocracy soon showed that, whatever religious zeal they had affected, they were not prepared to make any sacrifice of their temporal interests. On the accession of a Catholic queen to the throne, a reaction soon became visible. Some embarrassment to a return to the former faith was found in the restitution which it might naturally involve of the confiscated property of the monastic orders. But the politic concessions of Rome dispensed with this severe trial of the sincerity of its new proselytes; and England, after repudiating her heresies, was received into the fold of the Roman Catholic Church, and placed once more under the jurisdiction of its pontiff.

After the specimens given of the ready ductility with which the English of that day accommodated their religious creeds to the creed of their sovereign, we shall hardly wonder at the caustic criticism of the Venetian ambassador, resident at the court of London, in Queen Mary's time. "The example and authority of the sovereign," he says, "are everything with the people of this country in matters of faith. As he believes, they believe; Judaism or Mahometanism—it is all one to them. They conform themselves easily to his will, at least so far as the outward show is concerned; and most easily of all where it concurs with their own pleasure and profit."[48]

The ambassador, Giovanni Micheli, was one of that order of merchant-princes employed by Venice in her foreign missions; men whose acquaintance with affairs enabled them to comprehend the resources of the country to which they were sent, as well as the intrigues of its court. Their observations were digested into elaborate reports, which, on their return to Venice, were publicly read before the doge and the senate. The documents thus prepared form some of the most valuable and authentic materials for the history of Europe in the sixteenth century. Micheli's report is diffuse on the condition of England under the reign of Queen Mary; and some of his remarks will have interest for the reader of the present day, as affording a standard of comparison with the past.[49]

London he eulogizes, as one of the noblest capitals in Europe, containing, with its suburbs, about a hundred and eighty thousand souls.[50] The great lords, as in France and Germany, passed most of their time on their estates in the country.

The kingdom was strong enough, if united, to defy any invasion from abroad. Yet its navy was small, having dwindled, from neglect and an ill-judged economy, to not more than forty vessels of war. But the mercantile marine could furnish two thousand more, which, at a short notice, could be well equipped and got ready for sea. The army was particularly strong in artillery, and provided with all the munitions of war. The weapon chiefly in repute was the bow, to which the English people were trained from early youth. In their cavalry they were most defective. Horses were abundant, but wanted bottom. They were, for the most part, light, weak, and grass-fed.[51] The nation was, above all, to be envied for the lightness of the public burdens. There were no taxes on wine, beer, salt, cloth, nor, indeed, on any of the articles that in other countries furnished the greatest sources of revenue.[52] The whole revenue did not usually exceed two hundred thousand pounds. Parliaments were rarely summoned, except to save the king trouble or to afford a cloak to his designs. No one ventured to resist the royal will; servile the members came there, and servile they remained.[53]—An Englishman of the nineteenth century may smile at the contrast presented by some of these remarks to the condition of the nation at the present day; though in the item of taxation the contrast may be rather fitted to provoke a sigh.

The portrait of Queen Mary is given by the Venetian minister, with a coloring somewhat different from that in which she is commonly depicted by English historians. She was about thirty-six years of age at the time of her accession. In stature, she was of rather less than the middle size—not large, as was the case with both her father and mother—and exceedingly well made. "The portraits of her," says Micheli, "show that in her youth she must have been not only good-looking, but even handsome;—though her countenance, when he saw her, exhibited traces of early trouble and disease."[54] But whatever she had lost in personal attractions was fully made up by those of the mind. She was quick of apprehension, and, like her younger sister, Elizabeth, was mistress of several languages, three of which, the French, Spanish, and Latin, she could speak; the last with fluency.[55] But in these accomplishments she was surpassed by her sister, who knew the Greek well, and could speak Italian with ease and elegance. Mary, however, both spoke and wrote her own language in a plain, straightforward manner, that forms a contrast to the ambiguous phrase and cold conceits in which Elizabeth usually conveyed, or rather concealed, her sentiments.

CHARACTER OF MARY.

Mary had the misfortune to labour under a chronic infirmity, which confined her for weeks, and indeed months, of every year to her chamber, and which, with her domestic troubles, gave her an air of melancholy, that in later years settled into a repulsive austerity. The tones of her voice were masculine, says the Venetian, and her eyes inspired a feeling, not merely of reverence, but of fear, wherever she turned them. Her spirit he adds, was lofty and magnanimous, never discomposed by danger, showing in all things a blood truly royal.[56]

Her piety, he continues, and her patience under affliction, cannot be too greatly admired. Sustained, as she was, by a lively faith and conscious innocence, he compares her to a light which the fierce winds have no power to extinguish, but which still shines on with increasing lustre.[57] She waited her time, and was plainly reserved by Providence for a great destiny.—We are reading the language of the loyal Catholic, grateful for the services which Mary had rendered to the faith.

Yet it would be uncharitable not to believe that Mary was devout, and most earnest in her devotion. The daughter of Katharine of Aragon, the granddaughter of Isabella of Castile, could hardly have been otherwise. The women of that royal line were uniformly conspicuous for their piety, though this was too often tinctured with bigotry. In Mary, bigotry degenerated into fanaticism, and fanaticism into the spirit of persecution. The worst evils are probably those that have flowed from fanaticism. Yet the amount of the mischief does not necessarily furnish us with the measure of guilt in the author of it. The introduction of the Inquisition into Spain must be mainly charged on Isabella. Yet the student of her reign will not refuse to this great queen the praise of tenderness of conscience and a sincere desire to do the right. Unhappily, the faith in which she, as well as her royal granddaughter, was nurtured, taught her to place her conscience in the keeping of ministers less scrupulous than herself; and on those ministers may fairly rest much of the responsibility of measures on which they only were deemed competent to determine.

Mary's sincerity in her religious professions was placed beyond a doubt by the readiness with which she submitted to the sacrifice of her personal interests whenever the interests of religion seemed to demand it. She burned her translation of a portion of Erasmus, prepared with great labor, at the suggestion of her confessor. An author will readily estimate the value of such a sacrifice. One more important, and intelligible to all, was the resolute manner in which she persisted in restoring the Church property which had been confiscated to the use of the crown. "The crown is too much impoverished to admit of it," remonstrated her ministers. "I would rather lose ten crowns," replied the high-minded queen, "than place my soul in peril."[58]

Yet it cannot be denied, that Mary had inherited, in full measure, some of the sterner qualities of her father, and that she was wanting in that sympathy for human suffering which is so graceful in a woman. After a rebellion, the reprisals were terrible. London was converted into a charnel-house; and the squares and principal streets were garnished with the unsightly trophies of the heads and limbs of numerous victims who had fallen by the hand of the executioner.[59] This was in accordance with the spirit of the age. But the execution of the unfortunate Lady Jane Grey—the young, the beautiful, and the good—leaves a blot on the fame of Mary, which finds no parallel but in the treatment of the ill-fated queen of Scots by Elizabeth.

Mary's treatment of Elizabeth has formed another subject of reproach, though the grounds of it are not sufficiently made out; and, at all events, many circumstances may be alleged in extenuation of her conduct. She had seen her mother, the noble-minded Katharine, exposed to the most cruel indignities, and compelled to surrender her bed and her throne to an artful rival, the mother of Elizabeth. She had heard herself declared illegitimate, and her right to the succession set aside in favor of her younger sister. Even after her intrepid conduct had secured to her the crown, she was still haunted by the same gloomy apparition. Elizabeth's pretensions were constantly brought before the public; and Mary might well be alarmed by the disclosure of conspiracy after conspiracy, the object of which, it was rumored, was to seat her sister on the throne. As she advanced in years, Mary had the further mortification of seeing her rival gain on those affections of the people which had grown cool to her. Was it wonderful that she should regard her sister, under these circumstances, with feelings of distrust and aversion? That she did so regard her is asserted by the Venetian minister; and it is plain that, during the first years of Mary's reign, Elizabeth's life hung upon a thread. Yet Mary had strength of principle sufficient to resist the importunities of Charles the Fifth and his ambassador, to take the life of Elizabeth, as a thing indispensable to her own safety and that of Philip. Although her sister was shown to be privy, though not openly accessory, to the grand rebellion under Wyatt, Mary would not constrain the law from its course to do her violence. This was something, under the existing circumstances, in an age so unscrupulous. After this storm had passed over, Mary, whatever restraint she imposed on her real feelings, treated Elizabeth, for the most part, with a show of kindness, though her name still continued to be mingled, whether with or without cause, with more than one treasonable plot.[60] Mary's last act—perhaps the only one in which she openly resisted the will of her husband—was to refuse to compel her sister to accept the hand of Philibert of Savoy. Yet this act would have relieved her of the presence of her rival; and by it Elizabeth would have forfeited her independent possession of the crown—perhaps the possession of it altogether. It may be doubted whether Elizabeth, under similar circumstances, would have shown the like tenderness to the interests of her successor.

PHILIP'S PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

But, however we may be disposed to extenuate the conduct of Mary, and in spiritual matters, more especially, to transfer the responsibility of her acts from herself to her advisers, it is not possible to dwell on this reign of religious persecution without feelings of profound sadness. Not that the number of victims compares with what is recorded of many similar periods of persecution. The whole amount, falling probably short of three hundred who perished at the stake, was less than the number who fell by the hand of the executioner, or by violence, during the same length of time under Henry the Eighth. It was not much greater than might sometimes be found at a single Spanish auto da fé. But Spain was the land in which this might be regarded as the national spectacle—as much so as the fiesta de toros, or any other of the popular exhibitions of the country. In England, a few examples had not sufficed to steel the hearts of men against these horrors. The heroic company of martyrs, condemned to the most agonizing of deaths for asserting the rights of conscience, was a sight strange and shocking to Englishmen. The feelings of that day have been perpetuated to the present. The reign of religious persecution stands out by itself, as something distinct from the natural course of events; and the fires of Smithfield shed a melancholy radiance over this page of the national history, from which the eye of humanity turns away in pity and disgust.—But it is time to take up the narrative of events which connected for a brief space the political interests of Spain with those of England.

Charles the Fifth had always taken a lively interest in the fortunes of his royal kinswoman. When a young man he had paid a visit to England, and while there had been induced by his aunt, Queen Katharine, to contract a marriage with the Princess Mary—then only six years old—to be solemnized on her arriving at the suitable age. But the term was too remote for the constancy of Charles, or, as it is said, for the patience of his subjects, who earnestly wished to see their sovereign wedded to a princess who might present him with an heir to the monarchy. The English match was, accordingly, broken off, and the young emperor gave his hand to Isabella of Portugal.[61]

Mary, who, since her betrothal, had been taught to consider herself as the future bride of the emperor, was at the time but eleven years old. She was old enough, however, to feel something like jealousy, it is said, and to show some pique at this desertion by her imperial lover. Yet this circumstance did not prevent the most friendly relations from subsisting between the parties in after years; and Charles continued to watch over the interests of his kinswoman, and interposed, with good effect, in her behalf, on more than one occasion, both during the reign of Henry the Eighth and of his son, Edward the Sixth. On the death of the latter monarch, he declared himself ready to assist Mary in maintaining her right to the succession;[62] and, when this was finally established, the wary emperor took the necessary measures for turning it to his own account.[63]

He formed a scheme for uniting Philip with Mary, and thus securing to his son the possession of the English crown, in the same manner as that of Scotland had been secured by marriage to the son of his rival, Henry the Second of France. It was, doubtless, a great error to attempt to bring under one rule nations so dissimilar in every particular, and having interests so incompatible as the Spaniards and the English. Historians have regarded it as passing strange, that a prince, who had had such large experience of the difficulties attending the government of kingdoms remote from each other, should seek so to multiply these difficulties on the head of his inexperienced son. But the love of acquisition is a universal principle; nor is it often found that the appetite for more is abated by the consideration that the party is already possessed of more then he can manage.

It was a common opinion, that Mary intended to bestow her hand on her young and handsome kinsman, Courtenay, earl of Devonshire, whom she had withdrawn from the prison in which he had languished for many years, and afterwards treated with distinguished favor. Charles, aware of this, instructed Renard, his minister at the court of London, a crafty, intriguing politician,[64] to sound the queen's inclinations on the subject, but so as not to alarm her. He was to dwell, particularly, on the advantages Mary would derive from a connection with some powerful foreign prince, and to offer his master's counsel, in this or any other matter in which she might desire it. The minister was to approach the subject of the earl of Devonshire with the greatest caution; remembering that, if the queen had a fancy for her cousin, and was like other women, she would not be turned from it by anything that he might say, nor would she readily forgive any reflection upon it.[65] Charles seems to have been as well read in the characters of women as of men; and, as a natural consequence, it may be added, had formed a high estimate of the capacity of the sex. In proof of which, he not only repeatedly committed the government of his states to women, but intrusted them with some of his most delicate political negotiations.

PHILIP'S PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

Mary, if she had ever entertained the views imputed to her in respect to Courtenay, must have soon been convinced that his frivolous disposition would ill suit the seriousness of hers. However this may be, she was greatly pleased when Renard hinted at her marriage—"laughing," says the envoy, "not once, but several times, and giving me a significant look, which showed that the idea was very agreeable to her, plainly intimating at the same time that she had no desire to marry an Englishman."[66] In a subsequent conversation, when Renard ventured to suggest that the prince of Spain was a suitable match, Mary broke in upon him, saying that "she had never felt the smart of what people called love, nor had ever so much as thought of being married, until Providence had raised her to the throne; and that, if she now consented to it, it would be in opposition to her own feelings, from a regard to the public good;" but she begged the envoy to assure the emperor of her wish to obey and to please him in everything, as she would her own father; intimating, however, that she could not broach the subject of her marriage to her council; the question could only be opened by a communication from him.[67]

Charles, who readily saw through Mary's coquetry, no longer hesitated to prefer the suit of Philip. After commending the queen's course in regard to Courtenay, he presented to her the advantages that must arise from such a foreign alliance as would strengthen her on the throne. He declared, in a tone of gallantry rather amusing, that, if it were not for his age and increasing infirmities, he should not hesitate to propose himself as her suitor.[68] The next best thing was to offer her the person dearest to his heart—his son, the prince of Asturias. He concluded by deprecating the idea that any recommendation of his should interfere, in the least degree, with the exercise of her better judgment.[69]

Renard was further to intimate to the queen the importance of secrecy in regard to this negotiation. If she were disinclined to the proposed match, it would be obviously of no advantage to give it publicity. If, on the other hand, as the emperor had little doubt, she looked on it favorably, but desired to advise with her council before deciding, Renard was to dissuade her from the latter step, and advise her to confide in him.[70] The wary emperor had a twofold motive for these instructions. There was a negotiation on foot at this very time for a marriage of Philip to the infanta of Portugal, and Charles wished to be entirely assured of Mary's acquiescence, before giving such publicity to the affair as might defeat the Portuguese match, which would still remain for Philip, should he not succeed with the English queen.[71] In case Mary proved favorable to his son's suit, Charles, who knew the abhorrence in which foreigners were held by the English beyond all other nations,[72] wished to gain time before communicating with Mary's council. With some delay, he had no doubt that he had the means of winning over a sufficient number of that body to support Philip's pretensions.[73]

PHILIP'S PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

These communications could not be carried on so secretly but that some rumor of them reached the ears of Mary's ministers, and of Noailles, the French ambassador at the court of London.[74] This person was a busy and unscrupulous politician, who saw with alarm the prospect of Spain strengthening herself by this alliance with England, and determined, accordingly, in obedience to instructions from home, to use every effort to defeat it. The queen's ministers, with the chancellor, Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, at their head, felt a similar repugnance to the Spanish match. The name of the Spaniards had become terrible from the remorseless manner in which their wars had been conducted during the present reign, especially in the New World. The ambition and the widely-extended dominions of Charles the Fifth made him the most formidable sovereign in Europe. The English looked with apprehension on so close an alliance with a prince who had shown too little regard for the liberties of his own land to make it probable that he or his son would respect those of another. Above all, they dreaded the fanaticism of the Spaniards; and the gloomy spectre of the Inquisition moving in their train made even the good Catholic shudder at the thought of the miseries that might ensue from this ill-omened union.

It was not difficult for Noailles and the chancellor to communicate their own distrust to the members of the parliament, then in session. A petition to the queen was voted in the lower house, in which the commons preferred an humble request that she would marry for the good of the realm, but besought her, at the same time, not to go abroad for her husband, but to select him among her own subjects.[75]

Mary's ministers did not understand her character so well as Charles the Fifth did, when he cautioned his agent not openly to thwart her. Opposition only fixed her more strongly in her original purpose. In a private interview with Renard, she told him that she was apprised of Gardiner's intrigues, and that Noailles, too, was doing the impossible to prevent her union with Philip. "But I will be a match for them," she added. Soon after, taking the ambassador, at midnight, into her oratory, she knelt before the host, and, having repeated the hymn Veni Creator, solemnly pledged herself to take no other man for her husband than the prince of Spain.[76]

This proceeding took place on the thirtieth of October. On the seventeenth of the month following, the commons waited on the queen at her palace of Whitehall, to which she was confined by indisposition, and presented their address. Mary, instead of replying by her chancellor, as was usual, answered them in person. She told them, that from God she held her crown, and that to him alone should she turn for counsel in a matter so important;[77] she had not yet made up her mind to marry; but since they considered it so necessary for the weal of the kingdom, she would take it into consideration. It was a matter in which no one was so much interested as herself. But they might be assured that, in her choice, she would have regard to the happiness of her people, full as much as to her own. The commons, who had rarely the courage to withstand the frown of their Tudor princes, professed themselves contented with this assurance; and, from this moment, opposition ceased from that quarter.

Mary's arguments were reinforced by more conciliatory, but not less efficacious persuasives, in the form of gold crowns, gold chains, and other compliments of the like nature, which were distributed pretty liberally by the Spanish ambassador among the members of her council.[78]

In the following December, a solemn embassy left Brussels, to wait on Mary and tender her the hand of Philip. It was headed by Lamoral, Count Egmont, the Flemish noble so distinguished in later years by his military achievements, and still more by his misfortunes. He was attended by a number of Flemish lords and a splendid body of retainers. He landed in Kent, where the rumor went abroad that it was Philip himself; and so general was the detestation of the Spanish match among the people, that it might have gone hard with the envoy, had the mistake not been discovered. Egmont sailed up the Thames, and went ashore at Tower Wharf, on the second of January, 1554. He was received with all honor by Lord William Howard and several of the great English nobles, and escorted in much state to Westminster, where his table was supplied at the charge of the city. Gardiner entertained the embassy at a sumptuous banquet; and the next day Egmont and his retinue proceeded to Hampton Court, "where they had great cheer," says an old chronicler, "and hunted the deer, and were so greedy of their destruction, that they gave them not fair play for their lives; for," as he peevishly complains, "they killed rag and tag, with hands and swords."[79]

On the twelfth, the Flemish count was presented to the queen, and tendered her proposals of marriage in behalf of Prince Philip. Mary, who probably thought she had made advances enough, now assumed a more reserved air. "It was not for a maiden queen," she said, "thus publicly to enter on so delicate a subject as her own marriage. This would be better done by her ministers, to whom she would refer him. But this she would have him understand," she added, as she cast her eyes on the ring on her finger, "her realm was her first husband, and none other should induce her to violate the oath which she had pledged at her coronation."

MARRIAGE ARTICLES.

Notwithstanding this prudery of Mary, she had already manifested such a prepossession for her intended lord as to attract the notice of her courtiers, one of whom refers it to the influence of a portrait of Philip, of which she had become "greatly enamored."[80] That such a picture was sent to her appears from a letter of Philip's aunt, the regent of the Netherlands, in which she tells the English queen that she has sent her a portrait of the prince, from the pencil of Titian, which she was to return so soon as she was in possession of the living original. It had been taken some three years before, she said, and was esteemed a good likeness, though it would be necessary, as in the case of other portraits by this master, to look at it from a distance in order to see the resemblance.[81]

The marriage treaty was drawn up with great circumspection, under the chancellor's direction. It will be necessary to notice only the most important provisions. It was stipulated that Philip should respect the laws of England, and leave every man in the full enjoyment of his rights and immunities. The power of conferring titles, honors, emoluments, and offices of every description, was to be reserved to the queen. Foreigners were to be excluded from office. The issue of the marriage, if a son, was to succeed to the English crown and to the Spanish possessions in Burgundy and the Low Countries. But in case of the death of Don Carlos, Philip's son, the issue of the present marriage was to receive, in addition to the former inheritance, Spain and her dependencies. The queen was never to leave her own kingdom without her express desire. Her children were not to be taken out of it without the consent of the nobles. In case of Mary's death, Philip was not to claim the right of taking part in the government of the country. Further it was provided that Philip should not entangle the nation in his wars with France, but should strive to maintain the same amicable relations that now subsisted between the two countries.[82]

Such were the cautious stipulations of this treaty, which had more the aspect of a treaty for defence against an enemy than a marriage contract. The instrument was worded with a care that reflected credit on the sagacity of its framers. All was done that parchment could do to secure the independence of the crown, as well as the liberties of the people. "But if the bond be violated," asked one of the parliamentary speakers on the occasion, "who is there to sue the bond?" Every reflecting Englishman must have felt the inefficacy of any guaranty that could be extorted from Philip, who, once united to Mary, would find little difficulty in persuading a fond and obedient wife to sanction his own policy, prejudicial though it might be to the true interests of the kingdom.

No sooner was the marriage treaty made public, than the popular discontent, before partially disclosed, showed itself openly throughout the country. Placards were put up, lampoons were written, reviling the queen's ministers and ridiculing the Spaniards; ominous voices were heard from old, dilapidated buildings, boding the ruin of the monarchy. Even the children became infected with the passions of their fathers. Games were played in which the English were represented contending with the Spaniards; and in one of these an unlucky urchin, who played the part of Philip, narrowly escaped with his life from the hands of his exasperated comrades.[83]

But something more serious than child's play showed itself, in three several insurrections which broke out in different quarters of the kingdom. The most formidable of them was the one led by Sir Thomas Wyatt, son of the celebrated poet of that name. It soon gathered head, and the number of the insurgents was greatly augmented by the accession of a considerable body of the royal forces, who deserted their colours, and joined the very men against whom they had been sent. Thus strengthened, Wyatt marched on London. All there were filled with consternation—all but their intrepid queen, who showed as much self-possession and indifference to danger as if it were only an ordinary riot.

Proceeding at once into the city, she met the people at Guildhall, and made them a spirited address, which has been preserved in the pages of Holinshed. It concludes in the following bold strain, containing an allusion to the cause of the difficulties:—"And certainly, if I did either know or think that this marriage should either turn to the danger or loss of any of you, my loving subjects, or to the detriment or impairing of any part or parcel of the royal estate of this realm of England, I would never consent thereunto, neither would I ever marry while I lived. And on the word of a queen, I promise and assure you, that, if it shall not probably appear before the nobility and commons, in the high court of parliament, that this marriage shall be for the singular benefit and commodity of all the whole realm, that then I will abstain, not only from this marriage, but also from any other whereof peril may ensue to this most noble realm. Wherefore now as good and faithful subjects pluck up your hearts, and like true men stand fast with your lawful prince against these rebels, both our enemies and yours, and fear them not; for I assure you that I fear them nothing at all!"[84] The courageous spirit of their queen communicated itself to her audience, and in a few hours twenty thousand citizens enrolled themselves under the royal banner.

Meanwhile, the rebel force continued its march, and reports soon came that Wyatt was on the opposite bank of the Thames; then, that he had crossed the river. Soon his presence was announced by the flight of a good number of the royalists, among whom was Courtenay, who rode off before the enemy at a speed that did little credit to his valor. All was now confusion again. The lords and ladies in attendance gathered round the queen in Whitehall, as if to seek support from her more masculine nature. Her ministers went down on their knees, to implore her to seek refuge in the Tower, as the only place of safety. Mary smiled with contempt at the pusillanimous proposal, and resolved to remain where she was, and abide the issue.

It was not long in coming. Wyatt penetrated as far as Ludgate, with desperate courage, but was not well seconded by his followers. The few who proved faithful were surrounded and overwhelmed by numbers. Wyatt was made prisoner, and the whole rebel rout discomfited and dispersed. By this triumph over her enemies, Mary was seated more strongly than ever on the throne. Henceforward the Spanish match did not meet with opposition from the people, any more than from the parliament.

Still the emperor, after this serious demonstration of hostility to his son, felt a natural disquietude in regard to his personal safety, which made him desirous of obtaining some positive guaranty before trusting him among the turbulent islanders. He wrote to his ambassador to require such security from the government. But no better could be given than the royal promise that everything should be done to insure the prince's safety. Renard was much perplexed. He felt the responsibility of his own position. He declined to pledge himself for the quiet deportment of the English; but he thought matters had already gone too far to leave it in the power of Spain to recede.