CHAPTER VIII.

ARREST.

1536.

1. CHAPUYS was toiling in the dark abroad, and Audley raking up his filth at home. Early in the month, the great reforming Parliament was dissolved. That Parliament might not be ready to undo what had been done. The writs were issued for the sixth of June. Seven weeks was a short time for so great an act as pulling down a Queen and setting up another in her place. Yet the conspirators were bound to carry out their plot before the members met.

2. By Monday, April 24, Audley was ready to proceed on Gardiner's hint. That day a secret commission was placed in Audley's hands, directing certain peers and judges to examine and report against the Queen. This instrument was drawn with Audley's usual craft. Seven peers, four officers of state, and all the judges were named on the commission, but only five or six of these personages were actively engaged. Wiltshire, Paulet, and the judges were put on for show. Audley, Norfolk,

Suffolk, and Cromwell, had the case in charge; and they took care to be supported by such partizans as Sussex, Westmoreland, and Oxford. To a body of such enemies any frivolous story would be evidence enough.

3. The first arrest was that of Brereton, who was seized in consequence of his doings in the Irish wars. No man had made himself more noxious to the Spanish party than the gallant soldier who had driven the murderer of Archbishop Allen out of Dublin, burnt the Castle of Maynooth, proclaimed the traitor in Drogheda, and overrun the country of Kildare. Offaly was lying in the Tower; his life in danger of the axe; and Lady Kildare believed that but for Brereton's genius, Offaly might have crushed the Butlers and held his own against the King's lieutenant. Now her turn had come. Her family were the leading plotters; and her enemy Brereton was committed to the Tower; but his arrest was not as yet connected with the Queen.

4. Three days after this arrest, the Queen, on entering her presence chamber, noticed a musician of the household, named Mark Smeaton, standing in the round of her window, looking somewhat sad. Kind to all artists, she remembered how this Smeaton had once been fetched into her sick-room at Winchester, and how he had cheered her spirits by his fine playing on the virginals. She had not spoken to him since that time; but seeing him ill at ease, and knowing how a little kindness touches an artist,

she went up to him, and asked him why he was so sad. He answered her, 'It is no matter.' Anne at once perceived that his artistic vanity was hurt. He was a joiner's son, and in his early youth had toiled and moiled with plane and saw; but he was rising by his skill in music; and like that Leze who had hung himself, he wished to have more notice than he got. Anne tried to soothe his wounded soul. You must not look to have me speak to you, as I should do to a nobleman,' she said; the etiquette of her husband's court being strict on all such points. No, no, madam,' said the offended artist, 'a look suffices me, and thus fare you well.' Some moments later, he was closeted with the four councillors who were raking in the mire for evidence against the Queen; and under Norfolk's stormy eye and Audley's dexterous hand the artist's wounded vanity was turned to rare account. The Queen had spoken to him; the Queen had sent for him. Why seek for more? Audley and Norfolk kept the musician under guard all night, and by the morning he was broken to their purpose. He accused the Queen. To give more weight to his confession, he was carried to the Tower.

5. That morning,-Sunday morning, April 30,Anne received a hint that enemies were getting up a scandalous charge against her. Sending for her almoner, she told him all that she had heard, and begged him to go and find out Norreys, the King's groom, who, being a suitor of her cousin Madge,

was oftener in her closet than any other of the King's servants, and could speak of her with more authority than any other man. Norreys was surprised. He had not heard of the inquiry yet; but he assured her almoner that he was ready to declare the truth, if he were questioned on the subject. 'I will swear for the Queen, that she is a good woman,' said the upright gentleman, who loved the King better than he loved anything on earth except the truth.

6. Next day, the first of May, there was a joust, in which Norreys and Rochford were to break a lance; when Anne, being a little stronger, came out to grace their sport as May-day Queen; but they were hardly warm with tilt and thrust, when Henry was observed to rise. Calling for Norreys, he leapt to horse, and by the side of his favourite groom, followed by a train of peers and knights, he rode to London, leaving orders for the Queen to keep her chamber. On the road, he opened out his mind to Norreys. He wanted some one to support the story told by Smeaton, and he begged his man to help him in this hour of need. Norreys refused. The thing is false,' he said; ‘I have never seen anything wrong in the Queen.' 'If you confess,' the King whispered, 'you shall not suffer in either purse or person.' Norreys rode on in silence. 'If not,' cried Henry, chafing in his impatience, 'you shall go to the Tower.' Norreys now understood what kind of service was required from him.

He

was to say that he had seen something wrong between the Queen and her musician! Sir,' he answered, like a gentleman, 'I would rather die than utter any word so false. The accusation is a lie. Nay, I will prove it by my sword on any man who dares to back it with his life.'

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7. Early on the following day, the King returned to Greenwich, when his secret council called the Queen before them; hoping to obtain from her some hints by which to shape their course. No charge was made. They were not ready with a charge; but Norfolk held towards her a rough and brutal tone. At every word of hers he cried, Tut, tut!' and shook his head. Aware that Henry must have given these councillors leave to worry her, she felt how vain it was to strive with them. If she appealed at all, she must address the King. Anne rose and left the room. Henry was leaning on a windowsill, watching the humours of a crowd in the courtyard. Anne, retiring to her nursery, took up infant daughter in her arms. A moment afterwards, the crowd-amongst which chanced to be that Pastor Alesse who had brought Melancthon's treatise to the King-was moved as men are only moved by noble words and gracious scenes. They saw the Queen approaching him. The child was in her arms, and as she neared her lord, they saw her hold the infant out, and make a passionate step towards him. Henry, they could see, was ruffled, though he strove to hide his fury; and the Queen, repulsed, abashed,

her