I.
Of Henry's Attachment to Jane Seymour.
ON the anniversary of Saint George, 1536, and exactly seven years fromthe opening of this chronicle, Henry assembled the knights-companionswithin Windsor Castle to hold the grand feast of the most noble Order ofthe Garter.
Many important events had occurred in the wide interval thus sufferedto elapse. Wolsey had long since sunk under his reverses--for he neverregained the royal favour after his dismissal--and had expired atLeicester Abbey, on the 26th November 1530.
But the sufferings of Catherine of Arragon were prolonged up to thecommencement of the year under consideration. After the divorce and theelevation of Anne Boleyn to the throne in her stead, she withdrew toKimbolten Castle, where she dwelt in the greatest retirement, under thestyle of the Princess Dowager. Finding her end approaching, she senta humble message to the king, imploring him to allow her one lastinterview with her daughter, that she might bestow her blessing uponher; but the request was refused.
A touching letter, however, which she wrote to the king on herdeath-bed, moved him to tears; and having ejaculated a few expressionsof his sense of her many noble qualities, he retired to his closetto indulge his grief in secret. Solemn obsequies were ordered to beperformed at Windsor and Greenwich on the day of her interment, and theking and the whole of his retinue put on mourning for her.
With this arrangement Anne Boleyn cared not to comply. Though shehad attained the summit of her ambition; though the divorce had beenpronounced, and she was crowned queen; though she had given birth to adaughter--the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards the illustrious queen ofthat name two years before; and though she could have no reasonableapprehensions from her, the injured Catherine, during her lifetime,had always been an object of dread to her. She heard of her deathwith undisguised satisfaction, clapped her hands, exclaiming to herattendants, "Now I am indeed queen!" and put the crowning point to herunfeeling conduct by decorating herself and her dames in the gayestapparel on the day of the funeral.
Alas! she little knew that at that very moment the work of retributioncommenced, and that the wrongs of the injured queen, whose memory shethus outraged, were soon to be terribly and bloodily avenged.
Other changes had likewise taken place, which may be here recorded. TheEarl of Surrey had made the tour of France, Italy, and the Empire,and had fully kept his word, by proclaiming the supremacy of the FairGeraldine's beauty at all tilts and tournaments, at which he constantlybore away the prize. But the greatest reward, and that which he hopedwould crown his fidelity--the hand of his mistress--was not reserved forhim.
At the expiration of three years, he returned home, polished by travel,and accounted one of the bravest and most accomplished cavaliers of theday. His reputation had preceded him, and he was received with marks ofthe highest distinction and favour by Henry, as well as by Anne Boleyn.But the king was still averse to the match, and forbade the FairGeraldine to return to court.
Finding so much opposition on all sides, the earl was at last brought toassent to the wish of the Fair Geraldine, that their engagement shouldbe broken off. In her letters, she assured him that her love hadundergone no abatement--and never would do so--but that she felt theymust give up all idea of an union.
These letters, probably the result of some manoeuvring on his own part,set on foot by the royal mandate, were warmly seconded by the Duke ofNorfolk, and after many and long solicitations, he succeeded in wringingfrom his son a reluctant acquiescence to the arrangement.
The disappointment produced its natural consequences on the ardenttemperament of the young earl, and completely chilled and blighted hisfeelings. He became moody and discontented; took little share in theamusement and pastimes going forward; and from being the blithestcavalier at court, became the saddest. The change in his demeanour didnot escape the notice of Anne Boleyn, who easily divined the cause, andshe essayed by raillery and other arts to wean him from his grief. Butall was for some time of no avail. The earl continued inconsolable. Atlast, however, by the instrumentality of the queen and his father, hewas contracted to the Lady Frances Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford,and was married to her in 1535.
Long before this the Duke of Richmond had been wedded to the Lady MaryHoward.
For some time previous to the present era of this chronicle, Anne Boleynhad observed a growing coolness towards her on the part of the king,and latterly it had become evident that his passion for her was fastsubsiding, if indeed it had not altogether expired.
Though Anne had never truly loved her royal consort, and though at thatvery time she was secretly encouraging the regards of another, shefelt troubled by this change, and watched all the king's movementswith jealous anxiety, to ascertain if any one had supplanted her in hisaffections.
At length her vigilance was rewarded by discovering a rival in oneof the loveliest of her dames, Jane Seymour. This fair creature, thedaughter of Sir John Seymour, of Wolff Hall, in Wiltshire, and who wasafterwards, it is almost needless to say, raised to as high a dignityas Anne Boleyn herself, was now in the very pride of her beauty. Tall,exquisitely proportioned, with a complexion of the utmost brilliancy anddelicacy, large liquid blue eyes, bright chestnut tresses, and lovelyfeatures, she possessed charms that could not fall to captivate theamorous monarch. It seems marvellous that Anne Boleyn should have suchan attendant; but perhaps she felt confident in her own attractions.
Skilled in intrigue herself, Anne, now that her eyes were opened,perceived all the allurements thrown out by Jane to ensnare the king,and she intercepted many a furtive glance between them. Still she didnot dare to interfere. The fierceness of Henry's temper kept her in awe,and she knew well that the slightest opposition would only make him themore determined to run counter to her will. Trusting, therefore, to getrid of Jane Seymour by some stratagem, she resolved not to attempt todismiss her, except as a last resource.
A slight incident occurred, which occasioned a departure from theprudent course she had laid down to herself.
Accompanied by her dames, she was traversing the great gallery of thepalace at Greenwich, when she caught the reflection of Jane Seymour,who was following her, in a mirror, regarding a jewelled miniature.She instantly turned round at the sight, and Jane, in great confusion,thrust the picture into her bosom.
"Ah I what have you there?" cried Anne.
"A picture of my father, Sir John Seymour," replied Jane, blushingdeeply.
"Let me look at it," cried Anne, snatching the picture from her. "Ah!call you this your father? To my thinking it is much more like my royalhusband. Answer me frankly, minion--answer me, as you value your life!Did the king give you this?"
"I must decline answering the question," replied Jane, who by this timehad recovered her composure.
"Ah! am I to be thus insolently treated by one of my own dames?" criedAnne.
"I intend no disrespect to your majesty," replied Jane, "and I will,since you insist upon it, freely confess that I received the portraitfrom the king. I did not conceive there could be any harm in doing so,because I saw your majesty present your own portrait, the other day, toSir Henry Norris."
Anne Boleyn turned as pale as death, and Jane Seymour perceived that shehad her in her power.
"I gave the portrait to Sir Henry as a recompense for an importantservice he rendered me," said Anne, after a slight pause.
"No doubt," replied Jane; "and I marvel not that he should press it sofervently to his lips, seeing he must value the gift highly. The kinglikewise bestowed his portrait upon me for rendering him a service."
"And what was that?" asked Anne.
"Nay, there your majesty must hold me excused," replied the other. "Itwere to betray his highness's confidence to declare it. I must refer youto him for explanation."
"Well, you are in the right to keep the secret," said Anne, forcing alaugh. "I dare say there is no harm in the portrait--indeed, I amsure there is not, if it was given with the same intent that mine wasbestowed upon Norris. And so we will
say no more upon the matter, exceptthat I beg you to be discreet with the king. If others should commentupon your conduct, I may be compelled to dismiss you."
"Your majesty shall be obeyed," said Jane, with a look that intimatedthat the request had but slight weight with her.
"Catherine will be avenged by means of this woman," muttered Anne asshe turned away. "I already feel some of the torments with which shethreatened me. And she suspects Norris. I must impress more cautionon him. Ah! when a man loves deeply, as he loves me, due restraint isseldom maintained."
But though alarmed, Anne was by no means aware of the critical positionin which she stood. She could not persuade herself that she hadentirely lost her influence with the king; and she thought that when hismomentary passion had subsided, it would return to its old channels.
She was mistaken. Jane Seymour was absolute mistress of his heart; andAnne was now as great a bar to him as she had before been an attraction.Had her conduct been irreproachable, it might have been difficult toremove her; but, unfortunately, she had placed herself at his mercy, byyielding to the impulses of vanity, and secretly encouraging the passionof Sir Henry Norris, groom of the stole.
This favoured personage was somewhat above the middle Size, squarely andstrongly built. His features were regularly and finely formed, and hehad a ruddy complexion, brown curling hair, good teeth, and fine eyesof a clear blue. He possessed great personal strength, was expert in allmanly exercises, and shone especially at the jousts and the manege. Hewas of an ardent temperament, and Anne Boleyn had inspired him with sodesperate a passion that he set at nought the fearful risk he ran toobtain her favour.
In all this seemed traceable the hand of fate--in Henry's passion forJane Seymour, and Anne's insane regard for Norris--as if in this way,and by the same means in which she herself had been wronged, the injuredCatherine of Arragon was to be avenged.
How far Henry's suspicions of his consort's regard for Norris had beenroused did not at the time appear. Whatever he felt in secret, he tookcare that no outward manifestation should betray him. On the contrary heloaded Norris, who had always been a favourite with him, with new marksof regard, and encouraged rather than interdicted his approach to thequeen.
Things were in this state when the court proceeded to Windsor, as beforerelated, on Saint George's day.
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