wax tapers-hence the epithet of la Royne Blanche, which was now attached to Mary. Suffolk was no stranger in the apartments of the young Queen. During the brief period between the marriage of Mary and her widowhood the handsome Duke had been constant in his attendance upon her. He had been her companion at pageants and tournaments; he was a frequent guest at the table of Lewis; his horses and splendid retinue were familiar objects to all the Parisians, whilst his society seems to have been as acceptable to the elderly king as it was to his youthful bride. And as to the reception and good cheer which my cousin of Suffolk tells you that I have given him,' writes Lewis in the last letter he was ever to send to Henry, and for which you thank me, it needs not, my good brother, cousin, and compeer, that you should render many thanks, for I beg you to believe that, independent of the place I know he holds with you and the love you bear him, his virtues, manners, politeness and good condition deserve that he should be received with even greater honour.' And yet, dangerous as this intimacy at first sight appears between a young married woman linked to a husband who, in the opinion of some, was only a husband in name,3 and a man to whom it was known she was fondly attached, so loyal and discreet was their friendship that scandal was silenced, and the carping Parisians had to look elsewhere for a victim.

Suffolk had only returned to London a few days before the death of Lewis, and his appearance was now doubly welcome to the Queen after their brief separation and in her isolated state. He did not allow the interview to last many minutes before he asked the question which, during the hours of his journey from Noyon, had been much agitating him. With the hurt pride of a lover he desired to know how it was that Mary had permitted herself to divulge to Francis those little confidences which had passed between them, and which he had never expected a third person to share. The Queen hesitated, and then, on the question being repeated, confessed that Francis had been importunate with her in divers matters not to her honour,' which made her 'so weary and so afeard he would endeavour to effect the ruin of Suffolk that, in order to be relieved of the annoyance of his suit, which was not to her honour, she had thought frankness the best policy, and had said to the King, Sir, I beseech you that you will let me alone, and speak no more of these matters, and if you will promise me, by your faith and truth, and as you are a true prince, that you will keep it counsel and help me, I will tell you all my whole mind.' On his promise of secrecy Mary avowed her attachment to Suffolk, that she considered herself as his betrothed, and that the objections which her brother, by the advice of his Council, might raise, were the only barrier to their union.

King Lewis of France being dead advises that if the Queen of Frarce be with child she be kept from danger. If she be a maid, " as I think verily she is,” to obtain possession of her person.'-Sir Robert Wingfield to Henry VIII., January 14, 15. State Papers, Henry VIII.

Throughout the whole of this affair Henry was perfectly at his ease. He no more troubled himself with the designs of Francis than he did with the gossip that reached his ears from his agents and envoys. He had the fullest confidence in his sister and in Suffolk. Mary some weeks back had pledged herself in a letter to Wolsey that she would contract no alliance without the approval of her brother, whilst Suffolk on the eve of his starting at the head of the mission to France had sworn upon oath that he would not take advantage of his position to obtain any undue influence over the Queen-Dowager, nor tempt her to plight to him an unsanctioned troth. The King was perfectly content with these two solemn assertions, and watched with amusement the eagerness of the suitors for his sister's hand and fortune. The Duke of Savoy had been rejected. The same fate had befallen the Prince of Portugal and the Duke of Bavaria. Even the penniless and worn-out Maximilian had been tempted by the rich prize to enter the lists. He had declared, not long since, to his daughter Margaret that he would never marry again for beauty or money were he to die for it.' But heiresses so charming and with such prospective advantages (for as yet uncertainty was attached to Henry's issue), as la Royne Blanche were seldom in the market, and the stout resolve of the bankrupt Emperor was unable to withstand the temptation. He was struck by a portrait of Mary which was shown him, and 'kept his eyes fixed upon it for a full half-hour or more.' Satisfied as to the beauty of the young widow, his next step was to commission his daughter Margaret of Savoy to write to the King of England to get the lady into his own hands, urging his Majesty of England that if she be married in France and were to die without heirs, his kingdom would be exposed to great hazards.' He was, however, no more favoured than his predecessors. It was Suffolk and only Suffolk that Mary had resolved to wed. Again she wrote pressing her brother for his decision. She reminded him that she had consented at his request, and for the peace of Christendom, to marry Lewis of France though he was very aged and sickly,' on condition that if she survived him she should marry whom she liked. She declared that Suffolk had all her heart, and to none else would she be united; rather than give her hand to another she vowed she would seek the refuge of a convent. For if you will have me married,' she threatened in any place saving whereas my mind is, I will be there whereas your Grace nor none other shall have any joy of me; for I promise your Grace you shall hear that I will be in some religious house, the which I think your Grace would be very sorry of, and your realm also.'

In the then divided state of the Privy Council-the one party in favour of a union with Germany, the other in favour of a union with France-it had been sufficient for Wolsey to further the suit of Suffolk to cause the Duke of Norfolk and those who acted with him to warmly oppose the intended marriage. Mary was right when she wrote to Henry that her lover had many hinderers about his Grace.'

Not an opportunity was rejected by which these hinderers' could gain their ends. They employed all their arts to poison the ear of the King against the wishes of Suffolk. A princess of the blood royal, one who had been deemed worthy to wear the crown of France, a woman who was, perhaps, the richest heiress in Europe, and whose beauty was as remarkable as her wealth, would be a fitting consort for the proudest monarch; why then throw away all such charms and advantages to encourage the pride and ambition of an upstart? They even endeavoured to convince the Queen-Dowager herself that the man on whom she had lavished all the treasures of her heart was unworthy of her love. A friar named Langley was despatched to Paris to worm himself into the confidence of Mary. This worthy declared to the Queen that he would show her divers things which were of truth, and of the which he had perfect knowledge, desiring her to give him hearing, and to keep the same to herself.' He then bade her beware of Suffolk and Wolsey of all men, for that they had dealings with the devil, and by the puissance of the said devil' kept Henry subject to their wills. Nor was this all. Sir William Compton, one in high favour with the King, had been laid up with a bad leg; this, said the friar, was entirely due to the diabolical art of Suffolk, for he knew the premises well, and could not doubt it was the Duke's doing.' This strange envoy was, however, not very suecessful in his mission, for we are told that the Queen gave him small comfort, and he departed.' It soon became evident that, in spite of all opposition, Mary was resolved upon one of two courseseither to marry Suffolk or to take the veil. The latter alternative was distasteful to her brother, and he therefore now thought it wiser to give his consent to an arrangement which it seemed he was powerless to prevent. He accordingly sanctioned the union of his sister with the man of her choice, but accompanied this permission with a stipulation which proved that, in spite of his prodigality, 'bluff King Hal' was a true son of the grasping patron of Empson and Dudley.

6

On her marriage with Lewis, Mary had been presented by her husband with sets of jewels of dazzling magnificence. The elderly King had given them to his young wife gradually and in instalments, in the hope that his generosity might make amends for his age and debility, and be the means of inspiring something like affection for him in her heart. My wife shall not have all her jewels at once,' he said, laughing, for I wish to have many and at divers times kisses and thanks for them.' Never was bride adorned with such brilliants. The Earl of Worcester said they were the goodliest and richest sight of jewels that ever he saw.' These gems and Mary's service of gold plate, together with her dowry, became now the objects of much diplomatic haggling. Henry demanded their restoration, and entrusted the disagreeable task to Suffolk, with the price of Mary's hand as the reward of his success. Wolsey wrote to the Duke, advising him 'substantially to handle that matter, and to

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stick thereunto; for I assure you the hope that the King hath to obtain the said plate and jewels is the thing that most stayeth his Grace constantly to assent that ye should marry his sister; the lack whereof, I fear me, might make him cold and remiss, and cause some alteration, whereof all men here, except his Grace and myself, would be right glad.' Into the details of this mean negotiation we need not enter. Each party tried to outwit the other. In reference to the dower there could be no dispute, but the question of the gems was more complicated. The English insisted on the delivery of all the jewels which Lewis had given and promised to give to Mary. The French, on the other hand, declared that the jewels had been presented to Mary, not as the wife of Lewis, but as Queen of France; she could use them if she stayed in the country, but they could not be removed from the realm. Suffolk, who was a gentleman, and whose lack of education made him no match for the sharp-witted Parisians in such a job, was heartily sick of the whole transaction. He thought certain of the demands of Henry unreasonable, and he did not scruple to express his opinion; he vowed that Paris was 'a stinking prison,' and he implored Henry to call him and the Queen his sister home.' But such entreaties were useless. Until hall Mary's stouf and jowyelles' had been placed in the King's hands, he would not think of the union of the lovers. Wolsey, who was the truest of friends to the amorous pair, and the most constant of correspondents, begged them still to have patience, and to persevere till the transaction had ended as the King desired. Weeks passed, and yet the negotiations appeared no nearer to a satisfactory issue than at their commencement. Mary was in despair. She wrote frequently to the Kynges grace me brodar,' stating that all her plate and jewels when she had gotten them should be at his commandment; ' she besought him to write to the French King and all your ambassadors here, that they make all the speed possible,' and she expressed in the most affectionate terms her wish once again to meet him, 'for my singular desire and comfort is to see your Grace above all things in this world. Henry replied kindly, but the gist of his letters was always the same: he would not send for her, nor would he sanction her alliance, until all that he demanded had been carried out. To the lovers, if their union depended upon the consent of the King, marriage seemed hopeless.

But was it absolutely necessary for the consent of Henry to be obtained? Mary was her own mistress, she was independent of all pecuniary aid from her brother, she had a perfect right to please herself; were she to dispose of her hand to a subject, it was not the first time that a princess of England had united herself to one beneath her in rank. Why then tarry for the permission that might never be given? Why let the heart grow sick with the hope that was ever deferred? These reasons, which appeared so sound and plausible whilst passion was clouding reflection, at last carried the day. Suffolk, mindful of his oath to the King, had hesitated, but

his scruples were speedily silenced when the imperious Mary told him that unless he agreed to be united with her in four days, she would never look upon his face again. The temptation was irresistible. At an early hour, and in the strictest privacy, before only a few witnesses-amongst whom, however, was Francis-in the chapel of the Hôtel de Clugny, Mary became the wife of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.

And now that the deed was done, reflection once more exercised its sway, and the husband and wife stood aghast at their rashness. Suffolk at once took up his pen, and wrote in something more than his usual bad spelling a humble missive to the King, which he enclosed to Wolsey. He began by propitiating the avarice of Henry. He was aware that he had claimed his reward before his task had been performed, still he had done his best to obtain all the exQueen's stuff and jewels, and, though he failed in his effort for no fault of his, yet his wife is content to give your Grace what sum you shall be content to axe, to be paid on her jointure, and all that she has in this world.' He then stated the reasons which had induced him to marry without the royal permission. When I came to Paris,' he said, 'the Queen was in hand with me the first day I came, and said she must be short with me and open to me her pleasure and mind. And so she began and showed how good lady she was to me, and if I would be ordered by her she would never have none but

Her trouble, he continued, was great, for she had heard that she was to be taken to England to be married to Prince Charles in Flanders. She wept bitterly at the thought-Sir, I never saw woman so weep'-and vowed that she would be torn in pieces rather than wed the Spaniard. Then she declared that unless he, Suffolk, married her at once, she would never give him the like proffer again. And so, rather than lose all, added the Duke, he thought it best to comply, and thus they were privately married. He concluded by humbly throwing himself upon the royal mercy, for it never had been wish of his 'to offend your Grace in word, deed, or thought.'

This appeal was supported by the following letter (also under cover to Wolsey) a few days afterwards, from the wife herself to the King 'me broder,' when she had been informed that he was furious at the step she had taken :

Pleaseth your Grace [she wrote], to my greatest discomfort, sorrow and disconsolation, but lately I have been advertised of the great and high displeasure which your Highness beareth unto me and my lord of Suffolk for the marriage between us. Sir, I will not in any wise deny but that I have offended your Grace, for the which I do put myself most humbly in your clemency and mercy. Nevertheless to the intent that your Highness should not think that I had simply, carnally, and of my sensual appetite done the same, I, having no regard to fall in your Grace's displeasure, I assure your Grace that I had never done against your ordinance and consent, but by reason of the great despair wherein I was put by the two friars . . . which hath certified me in case I came to England your Council would