Part 19 (2/2)

”What destinies waited upon the arrangement of this cashemir! A moment sooner or later, and the shawl might have given another course to events, which would have changed the whole face of Europe.”[111]

The Empress Josephine (says her biographer) had quite a pa.s.sion for shawls, and I question whether any collection of them was ever as valuable as hers. At Navarre she had one hundred and fifty, all extremely beautiful and high-priced. She sent designs to Constantinople, and the shawls made after these patterns were as beautiful as they were valuable. Every week M. Lenormant came to Navarre, and sold her whatever he could obtain that was curious in this way. I have seen white shawls covered with roses, bluebells, perroquets, peac.o.c.ks, &c., which I believe were not to be met with any where else in Europe; they were valued at 15,000 and 20,000 francs each.

The shawls were at length sold _by auction_ at Malmaison, at a rate much below their value. All Paris went to the sale.

FOOTNOTES:

[109] ”Her Majesty told the ladies, that if the Bishop held more discourse on such matters, she would fit him for heaven; but he should walk thither without a staff, and leave his mantle behind him.”

[110] Life of Raleigh, by Oldys.

[111] Lady Morgan's France in 1829-30.

CHAPTER XV.

THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD.

”Where are the proud and lofty dames, Their jewell'd crowns, their gay attire, Their odours sweet?

Where are the love-enkindled flames, The bursts of pa.s.sionate desire Laid at their feet?

Where are the songs, the troubadours, The music which delighted then?-- It speaks no more.

Where is the dance that shook the floors, And all the gay and laughing train, And all they wore?

”The royal gifts profusely shed, The palaces so proudly built, With riches stor'd; The roof with s.h.i.+ning gold o'erspread, The services of silver gilt, The secret h.o.a.rd, The Arabian pards, the harness bright, The bending plumes, the crowded mews, The lacquey train, Where are they?--where!--all lost in night, And scatter'd as the early dews Across the plain.”

Bowring's Anc. Span. Romances.

Romance and song have united to celebrate the splendours of the ”Field of the Cloth of Gold.” The most scrupulously minute and faithful of recorders has detailed day by day, and point by point, its varied and showy routine, and every subsequent historian has borrowed from the pages of the old chronicler; and these dry details have been so expanded by the breath of Fancy, and his skeleton frame has been so fleshed by the magical drapery of talent, that there seems little left on which the imagination can dilate, or the pen expatiate.

The astonis.h.i.+ng impulse which has in various ways within the last few years been given to the searching of ancient records, and the development of hitherto obscure and comparatively uninteresting details, and vesting them in an alluring garb, has made us as familiar with the domestic records of the eighth Henry, as in our school-days we were with the orthodox abstract of necessary historical information,--that ”Henry the Eighth ascended the throne in the 18th year of his age;” that ”he became extremely corpulent;” that ”he married six wives, and beheaded two.” Not even affording gratuitously the codicil which the talent of some writer hath educed--that ”if Henry the Eighth had not beheaded his wives, there would have been no impeachment on his gallantry to the fair s.e.x.”

But in describing this, according to some, ”the most magnificent spectacle that Europe ever beheld,” and to others, ”a heavy ma.s.s of allegory and frippery,” historians have been contented to pourtray the outward features of the gorgeous scene, and have slightly, if at all, touched on the contending feelings which were veiled beneath a broad though thin surface of concord and joy. Truly, it were a task of deep interest, even slightly to picture them, or to attempt to enter into the feelings of the chief actors on that field.

First and foremost, as the guiding spirit of the whole, as the mighty artificer of that pageant on which, however gaudy in its particulars the fates of Europe were supposed to depend, and the earnest eyes of Europe were certainly fixed--comes WOLSEY.--Gorgeously habited himself, and the burnished gold of his saddle cloth only partially relieved by the more sombre crimson velvet; nay, his very shoes gleaming with brilliants, and himself withal so lofty in bearing, of so n.o.ble a presence, that this very magnificence seemed but a natural appendage, Wolsey took his lofty way from monarch to monarch; and so well did he become his dignity, that none but kings, and such kings as Henry and Francis, would have drawn the eyes of the myriad spectators from himself. And surely he was now happy; surely his ambition was now gratified to the uttermost; now, in the eyes of all Europe did the two proudest of her princes not merely a.s.sociate with him almost as an equal, but openly yield to his suggestions--almost bow to his decisions. No--loftily as he bore himself, courtly as was his demeanour, rapid and commanding as was his eloquence, and influential as seemed his opinions on all and every one around--the cardinal had a mind ill at ease, as, despite his self-control, was occasionally testified by his contracted brow and thoughtful aspect. After exerting all the might of his mighty influence, and for his own aggrandis.e.m.e.nt, to procure this meeting between the two potentates, he had at the last moment seen fit to alter his policy. He had sold himself to a higher bidder; he had pledged himself to Charles in the very teeth of his solemn engagement to Francis. Even whilst celebrating this league of amity, he was turning in his own mind the means by which to rupture it; and was yet withal, nervously fearful of any accident which should prematurely break it, or lead to a discovery of his own faithlessness.--So much for his enjoyment!

Our KING HENRY was all delight, and eager impetuous enjoyment. He had not outlived the good promise of his youth; nor had his foibles become, by indulgence, vices. He loved to see all around him happy; he loved, more especially, to make them so. He delighted in all the exercises of the field; he was unrivalled in the tilt and the tournament; and when engaged in them forgot kings and kingdoms. His vanity, outrageous as it was, hardly sat ungracefully on him, so much was it elevated then by buoyant good humour--so much was it softened at that time by his n.o.ble presence, his manly grace, his kingly accomplishments, and his regal munificence. The stern and selfish tyrant whom one shudders to think upon, was then only ”bluff King Hal,” loving and beloved, courted and caressed by an empire. He gave himself up to the gaieties of the time without a care for the present, a thought for the future. Could he have glanced dimly into that future! But he could not, and he was happy.

FRANCIS was admirably qualified to grace this scene, and to enjoy it, as probably he did enjoy it, vividly. Yet was this gratification by no means unalloyed. His gentle manly nature was irritated at certain stipulations of Henry's advisers, by which their most trivial intercourse was subjected to specific regulations. There were recorded instances enough of treacherous advantages taken to justify fully this conduct on the part of Henry's ministers; but Francis felt its injustice, as applied to himself, and at that time, made use of a generous and well-known stratagem to convince others. But in the midst of his enjoyments he had misgivings on his mind of a more serious nature, caused by the Emperor's recent visit to Dover. These misgivings were increased by the meeting between Henry and Charles at Gravelines; and too surely confirmed by quickly-following circ.u.mstances.

The gentle and good KATHARINE of England, and the equally amiable Queen CLAUDE, the carefully-trained stepdaughter of the n.o.ble and admirable Anne of Bretagne, probably derived their chief gratification here from the pleasure of seeing their husbands amicable and happy.

For queens though they were, their happiness was in domestic life, and their chief empire was over the hearts of those domesticated with them.

Not so the DOWAGER QUEEN of France--the lively, and graceful, and beautiful d.u.c.h.ess of Suffolk; for though very fond of her royal brother, and devoted to her gallant husband, she had yet an eye and an ear for all the revelries around, and had a radiant glance and a beaming smile for all who crowded to do homage to her charms. And yet her heart must have been somewhat hard--and that we know it was not--if she could have inhaled the air of France, or trod its sunny soil, without recollections which must have dimmed her eye at the thoughts of the past, even whilst breathing a thanksgiving for the present. Somewhat less than five years ago, she had been taken thither a weeping bride; youth, nature, inclination, nay, hope itself, sacrificed to that expediency by which the actions of monarchs are regulated. We are accustomed to read these things so much as mere historical memoranda, to look upon them in their cold unvarnished simplicity of detail, like the rigid outlines of stiff old portraits which we can scarcely suppose were ever meant to represent living flesh and blood--that it requires a strong effort to picture these circ.u.mstances to our eyes as actually occurring.

In considering the state policy of the thing--and the apparent national advantage of the King of England's sister being married to the King of France--we forget that this King of England's sister was a fair young creature, with warm heart, gus.h.i.+ng affections, and pa.s.sions and feelings just opening in all the vividness of early womanhood; and that she was condemned to marry a sickly, querulous, elderly man, who began his loving rule by dismissing at once, even while she was ”a stranger in a foreign land,” every endeared friend and attendant who had accompanied her thither; and that, worse than all, her young affections had been sought and gained by a n.o.ble English gentleman, the favourite of the English king, and the pride of his Court.

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