Bluff King Harry was highly pleased with the coronation show, and the bride, radiant with bloom and happiness, held his fickle fancy for a time. She was used to admiration, and knew the art of pleasing. Studying the moods and tenses of her fitful master, she bent her finer nature down to his. Did he wish to ride, she could try the mettle of his best jennet, her glossy brown hair mingling with the floating plumes of her hat, making a sunlit picture. Would his Majesty walk, in banquet-hall or bower, on greensward or under silken pavilion, she was ready to trip with fairy tread. Did he want music, she charmed with lute and song. If the stormy ruler preferred silence, she could sit still as chiselled marble till his varying temper brought her lord to her side again.
Her study was difficult, for absolute power makes tyrants, and the King subdued to his humor every one about him. No man ever ventured to ask why do you so. He varied court gayeties, and maintained them also, by plundering churches and abbeys; and burning at slow fires sainted men as high above him as the heavens are above the earth, because they presumed to differ from him in opinion of the body and blood of Christ. He grew meaner and more cruel every day, fattened and bloated into a hateful beast, and to this most Christian King belongs the fame of being the first to torture women with machines made expressly to grind and twist human bones. In London Tower to-day you may see these infernal devices, and the rack where an undaunted woman was stretched till the tormentor refused to turn the wheels again; then she was carried in a chair to a fire and burned alive.
And this was free and merry England three hundred years ago!
The strangest part of history is their submission to bloody despotism. The time was rich in heroes--nobles come of generations born to command, who had looked death in the face on land and sea, and knew no fear; they were as silent slaves. Thoughtful men grown gray in the service of the state were tortured, maimed, and crippled. The princely Buckingham was sent to the block, and gallant chiefs and captains were racked for heresy, and the pleasure of the King was the pain of dying men.
It was not the oppression of an army or a mob of enraged persecutors, as in France two centuries later, but a one-man power, a Tudor reign of terror. So the years went by, and King Henry went on fattening till he could hardly see.