The King had now been more than two years a widower. Not voluntarily, for he had made several attempts to obtain another spouse. But his reputation was too terrible; none could be found bold enough to hazard a union with a monarch who had divorced his first wife, beheaded the second, and sacrificed the third to save her child.
Within a month after the death of Jane Seymour, he offered his hand to the Duchess of Milan. She declined, significantly remarking that, if she had two heads, one should be at his Majesty’s disposal. His next overtures were to the beautiful Marie de Lorraine, sister to the Duke de Guise; and, being refused by her, he proposed to Madame de Montreuil; but with no better success.
Discouraged by these and other refusals, he abandoned his matrimonial project for the moment, and consoled himself as best he could.
After the lapse of a couple of years, his Vicar-General, Cromwell, proposed an alliance with Anne of Cleves, sister to one of the Princes of the German Protestant Confederacy, confidently asserting that he could bring about the match, if it pleased his Majesty.
Personal beauty being a primary consideration with Henry, he wished, before deciding, to be satisfied that the Princess was as charming as Cromwell represented her.
Accordingly, Hans Holbein, the Court painter, was despatched to Cleves for the purpose. A lovely miniature of the Princess was sent to the King, who was enraptured with it, and no longer hesitated.
An offer of his hand was forthwith made to Anne, and accepted. The Duke of Cleves was highly gratified by the important alliance, and his sister, though full of misgiving, yielded to his wishes.
The negotiations being quickly and satisfactorily concluded, the Princess, with fifteen ladies of her suite, travelled by easy stages to Calais, where she was long detained by contrary winds.
At last, she was able to cross the Channel, and, on arriving at Dover, was received by the Earl of Southampton, Lord Admiral of England, Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, and a host of nobles, Church dignitaries, and gentlemen. By them she was conducted in great state to Canterbury.
Thence she proceeded to Rochester, on her way to Greenwich; and it was at this juncture that Henry, who could no longer control his impatience, was resolved to meet her. Cromwell had resolved that their first interview should take place in public, but his plan was defeated by the King.
The contriver of this ill-starred match, which was destined to be fatal to himself, was then at the summit of his power. Thomas Cromwell, at this time Prime Minister, and the most important personage in the realm, was the son of a blacksmith, at Fulham, and had served as a common soldier, under the Constable de Bourbon, at the siege of Rome. On his return to England, he became secretary to Wolsey, with whom he remained till the downfall of the great Cardinal. He was next employed by the King, who had previously noted his extraordinary abilities, and found him an able and unscrupulous instrument in all his rapacious and tyrannical measures. Cromwell suggested the spoliation and suppression of the monasteries and other religious houses; and at his instance, the sumptuous shrine of St. Thomas à Becket, at Canterbury, was stripped of its treasures. While enriching his royal master by this pillage, Cromwell did not neglect himself, nor were his services unrewarded by the King. Henry heaped favour upon favour upon him; appointing him, successively, Chancellor of the Exchequer, Lord Privy Seal, Chief Justice, Vicar-General, and Vicegerent at the head of the Church. Four years previously, he had been created Baron Cromwell, of Okeham. He was now made Earl of Essex, with the post of Lord High Chamberlain, and obtained the Garter. By the King’s decree, he took rank next to the princes of the blood royal.
Though obsequious to the King, whose will he never dared to dispute, Cromwell was arrogant and overbearing to all others. He made Wolsey his model. But his moral influence over Henry was not so great as that exercised by the Cardinal, as was shown by the unrestrained violence to which the King now gave way.
Cromwell, as will readily be supposed, had many powerful enemies, chief among whom were the Duke of Norfolk, Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, and Wriothesley, principal secretary. Confident in the security of his position, he derided their threats and machinations.
Religious parties were then equally balanced; the crafty King, in order to prevent a preponderance on either side, alternately favouring those who professed the new doctrines, and the adherents to the old religion.
At this juncture, he inclined towards the Reformed Church, of which Cromwell was the chief pillar. Believing that the King’s marriage with a Lutheran Princess would be a master-stroke of policy, inasmuch as it must necessarily lessen the influence of the Romish party, and consolidate his own power, the wily minister planned and brought about the match with Anne of Cleves. With what result will be seen.
The King, as we have said, was in unwonted good humour. During the ride, he conversed affably, almost familiarly, with his attendants, and his lusty laugh — what a laugh it was! — was heard, as he jested with Will Sommers.
Ever and anon he opened a little ivory box, fashioned like a rose, containing the miniature painted by Holbein, and feasted his eyes upon the charming countenance represented. He even indulged his attendants with a glimpse of the portrait, and they all, with the exception of Will Sommers, professed unbounded admiration of the fair Princess.
“I reserve my opinion till I have seen her Highness,” said the jester; “I judge not by a picture. Painters, as you well know, gossip, are greater flatterers even than courtiers.”
“Beshrew thy scurril tongue! Dost call our trusty Hans Holbein a flatterer. Did he flatter our dearly-loved and much-lamented Queen Jane? Did he flatter our royal self, in any of his portraits? — ha!”
“I own he did not flatter me,” rejoined the jester, “but then I am not a king, or a princess, or even a noble. Will it comfort you, gossip, if I say that if the Princess Anne of Cleves be as fair as she is here pictured, you will have a peerless bride?”
“Thou art right,” cried the King, laughing. “Thanks to my Lord of Essex, I have gained a prize at last. I owe this treasure to him. By my faith, ’tis a lovely countenance,” he exclaimed, again rapturously contemplating the miniature. “Her eyes are as bright as the stars, and her tresses like threads of gold. Look at her, Adrian Culpepper — look at her, man, and tell me if thou hast seen aught comparable to her?”
“Her Highness is wondrously beautiful,” replied Adrian. “Yet, methinks,” he added, after a moment’s hesitation, “I could find one to match, if not surpass her.”
“Surpass her! ha!” exclaimed Henry. “Thou art in love, I perceive, Adrian; and I therefore pardon thy presumption. But who is she whom thou venturest to rate above the idol of our heart?”
Adrian looked confused, and regretted what he had said.
“Evade not my question,” cried the King, keeping his eye fixed upon him. “Who is she?”
“Forgive my stupidity, my liege,” observed Adrian. “I referred to my cousin, the Lady Catherine Howard.”
“What! the daughter of Lord Edmund Howard, and niece of his Grace of Norfolk? Is she so passing fair. ’Tis strange I have not seen her! Can she have been at court, and have escaped our notice?”
“No, my liege. She is still very young — scarce eighteen — and lives in perfect seclusion at Lambeth, with her grandmother, the old Duchess of Norfolk.”
“Such a flower must not remain unseen,” said Henry. “She shall be maid of honour to our bride.”
“My cousin Catherine is more fitted for a convent than a court, sire.”
“Pshaw! she will change her notions. She is very beautiful, you say?”
“I think so, my liege. But my opinion is of little account. Pardon my indiscretion. I will never again venture to compare her with the Princess Anne of Cleves.”
“But I will,” interposed the jester, who had been listening to their discourse. “You might have spared yourself the trouble of sending to Germany for a spouse, gossip Harry. Had you consulted me instead of my Lord Cromwell, I would have recommended
the Lady Catherine Howard. I have seen her, and I swear by my bauble that she is of incomparable beauty.”
“Go to! — thou art incapable of judgment,” cried the King. “A kitchen wench would be a beauty in thy sight. But let us on. I am eager to get to Rochester.”
From the brow of a woody hill, which they soon afterwards attained, a magnificent panorama was spread out before them, comprehending the junction of the Medway with the Thames.
The most striking feature of the prospect was Rochester Castle, with its lofty Norman keep. Close beside the castle, which towered above the picturesque houses of the old city, stood the cathedral, and near to this reverend pile was the Episcopal Palace, wherein Anne of Cleves was lodged.
It was towards the latter edifice that Henry’s gaze was directed, and his impatience to behold his lovely bride became uncontrollable.
He rode on quickly, much more quickly than was pleasant to his steed, and did not slacken his pace till he approached the old fortified bridge, with its gate-towers and drawbridges that then crossed the Medway.
Henry’s visit being wholly unexpected, great was the surprise of the sentinels on the outer walls of the castle, as he and his attendants came in sight. Trumpets were instantly sounded and drums beaten, and a guard of archers hurried to the gates, which were thrown open to his Majesty.
But the King having signified his pleasure to Sir Thomas Cheyney, governor of the castle, who came forth to meet him, that no demonstration should be made, the trumpets and drums were speedily silenced, and not a cannon was fired, though the gunners had their matches lighted.
Dismounting from his charger in the inner court, with the assistance of Sir Thomas Cheyney, Henry despatched Sir Anthony Browne and Adrian Culpepper with a loving message to the Princess Anne, acquainting her with his arrival, and begging to be allowed to present himself. He then proceeded to the Barons’ Hall — a vast, but sombre apartment, with an arched stone roof, supported by massive columns.
Here a collation was speedily set before him by the governor, and he did ample justice to it, for his ride had made him hungry. He had just concluded his repast, and emptied a large cup of Gascoigne wine, when his emissaries returned.
Something in their manner struck him. He expected they would have been loud in their commendation of the Princess, and their reticence in this respect displeased him. He looked hard at Sir Anthony, but could read nothing in the knight’s impassive countenance, and Adrian Culpepper avoided his searching glance.
The three nobles who were standing behind the royal chair likewise questioned Sir Anthony by their looks, but with no better success than the King. The jester, however, fancied he detected a lurking smile on Culpepper’s lip.
“Well, what have you to tell me?” demanded Henry.
“Her Highness greets you lovingly, sire,” replied Sir Anthony. “She thanks you most heartily for your goodness in coming to meet her, and will he delighted to receive you if you will deign to visit her.”
“But how did you find her, Sir Anthony? Tell me that?” cried the King. “Is she as beautiful as she hath been reported to us? — ha!”
“She has a very noble presence, sire, and an extremely engaging manner. I did not study her countenance,” replied the wary old courtier.
“You went there to little purpose,” observed Henry, gruffly. “But let us hear what Adrian Culpepper has to say. He has an eye for a fair dame, as we know.”
“Her Highness is a right noble lady, my liege, as Sir Anthony has just described her,” replied Adrian. “She is on the same splendid scale as your Majesty — tall, well-proportioned, and majestic in deportment.”
“A mighty fine woman, I warrant her!” exclaimed the King, well pleased. “But what of her features?”
“I am unable to satisfy your Majesty; for, in truth, I was so dazzled that I could not distinguish them clearly.”
“Struck blind? — ha!”
“Your Majesty has said it,” rejoined Culpepper, bowing.
“By St. Mary! I think ye are both trifling with me,” said Henry. “But I will see her, and judge for myself.”
“That were best, sire,” observed Sir Anthony. “To my mind, the Princess is all that could be desired, and will make your Majesty a suitable consort.”
“Something is wrong,” whispered Suffolk to Mountjoye. “Neither of them dares offer his real opinion.”
“That is quite clear,” replied the other. “We shall learn the truth anon.”
Will Sommers made a slight gesture to Culpepper, but the young man took no notice of it.
Henry now arose, and, accompanied by his attendants, and by Sir Thomas Cheyney, proceeded to the Episcopal Palace.
The strange reserve exhibited by Sir Anthony and Culpepper had caused him a momentary uneasiness; but this feeling fled, and all his former ardour returned. He again glanced at the miniature, and thought it more lovely than ever.
On reaching the Episcopal Palace, he was ceremoniously received by the nobles and gentlemen in attendance on the Princess, and conducted to the apartments assigned her.
Anne of Cleves was expecting her royal bridegroom, with far more dread than impatience. She was surrounded by her ladies, all of whom were richly dressed, but in the Dutch style, which was not becoming.
The Princess herself was attired in a gown of cloth of gold raised, which displayed her really noble figure to advantage. Her head was covered with a caul of beaten gold, above which she wore a round velvet hat, decked with pearls and diamonds. Her stomacher blazed with precious stones, but beneath all this splendour there was a trembling heart, and her agitation increased, as she heard the King’s imperious voice in the ante-chamber.
Next moment, the arras that masked the doorway was drawn aside, and Henry rushed impetuously into the room.
But he had not advanced far, when he suddenly stopped, as if he had beheld the Medusa’s head.
On entering, he thought the Princess of Cleves a superb woman, fully equal to the extravagant notions he had formed of her. But before he had taken many steps, the illusion vanished, and he soon comprehended the deception that had been practised upon him.
In person, the Princess was lofty and commanding, but beauty of feature she had none — less than none. Her face was seamed by the small-pox, and the regularity of the outline was destroyed by the ravages of that fell disorder.
These blemishes had been artfully concealed by Holbein, who had painted the Princess as she might have been before the disfiguring attack.
Henry stared at her, aghast, and did not recover his composure for some moments. The three nobles, who stood behind him, looked almost equally confounded.
Sir Anthony Browne and Culpepper exchanged glances, and the grinning countenance of the jester, who remained in the rear, showed how much the malicious varlet enjoyed his royal master’s confusion.
Seeing that the King did not move, Anne, almost in terror of her life, advanced slowly towards him, with her ladies bearing her train, and made a profound obeisance.
Henry’s first wrathful impulse was to turn his back upon her, and depart without a word. But, conquering his anger and disgust by a powerful effort, he tried to assume a gracious demeanour, and addressed a few kindly words to her. His looks belied his speech. Anne perceived plainly enough the aversion with which she had inspired him, and her heart sank within her. She endeavoured to reply to his greeting, but words failed her, and she burst into tears.
Instead of being touched by her distress, Henry was still more disgusted. Consigning her to her ladies, he abruptly quitted the room, leaving the unhappy Princess and those with her in a state of indescribable dismay.
Deaf to the remonstrances of the Duke of Suffolk, who had more influence with him than any one else, and without vouchsafing a word of explanation to Sir Thomas Cheyney, who was thunderstruck by his sudden change of manner, and besought him to remain for a few hours at the castle, Henry ordered his horses, and rode back with his attendants to Greenwich, continuing silent and moo
dy all the way, and sternly repelling any attempt at converse with him. Even Will Sommers did not dare to hazard a jest.
On his arrival at the palace, the King’s angry looks alarmed all the yeomen of the guard, pages and grooms of the chamber, collected within the great hall through which he passed. A fearful storm was evidently brewing, and they only hoped it might not descend on their own heads.
Addressing a gentleman usher, the wrathful monarch inquired for the Earl of Essex; and his eye shot lightning fury when he heard that the Lord High Chamberlain was in the palace at the time.
“His lordship came hither in his barge not half an hour ago,” said the usher; “and he seemed much surprised and disturbed to learn that your Majesty had gone to visit the Princess of Cleves privily at Rochester.”
“He will he more surprised and disturbed when he learns that I have come back so soon,” rejoined the King. “Bring him to me straight.”
II. Cromwell, Earl of Essex.
GREENWICH was Henry the Eighth’s favourite palace. He preferred it to York Place (as Whitehall was then styled), or even to Hampton Court. All his palaces — Windsor Castle included — were delightfully situated near the Thames; two of them, Greenwich and Richmond, on the very banks of the river. Greenwich he loved, because it was his birthplace; and because the happiest hours of his life had been spent within its park and in its halls. He had dwelt there for many years tranquilly with Catherine of Arragon, before he dreamed of a divorce. He had wooed Anne Boleyn within its bowers, and had there been first subjugated by the attractions of Jane Seymour. What recollections, tender and terrible, were connected with the long galleries and tapestried chambers of the palace! Of late, they had seemed gloomy and desolate. But with a new Queen, lovelier and more loving than those who had gone before her, Henry hoped to bring back all the former gaiety of his Court.
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