Henry kept his eyes upon her, and while enraptured with her charms, which were never seen to greater advantage, greatly admired her manner. He could not help talking about her to the Duke of Norfolk.
“How well your niece looks to-night, my lord,” he said. “Her deportment is charming. No one would imagine she had led a secluded life. I am told she sings delightfully.”
“’Tis not for me to praise her,” replied the Duke. “Your Majesty must hear her, and judge. She plays upon the cittern, and with some skill and taste,”
“The Lady Catherine sings and plays enchantingly,” observed Gardiner.
“Have you a cittern?” said the King. “But I need not ask. Everything is to be found at Winchester House.”
“I descry one in the minstrels’ gallery,” remarked Will Sommers.
“Thou hast a quick eye as well as a ready wit, knave,” said the Bishop, laughing. “Luckily, sire, I can provide a cittern.”
“Good!” cried Henry. “Abridge the remainder of the banquet. ’Tis too long.”
“Have some consideration for the Queen, gossip Harry,” whispered Will Sommers. “Her Highness has not yet half done.”
Privileged as he was, the jester would not have ventured upon this remark, if he had not felt sure it would be well received.
Shortly afterwards, rose-water in a silver ewer was presented by the Duke of Norfolk to the King, while Cromwell offered the napkin; and having thus refreshed himself, Henry arose.
The Queen rose at the same moment, and their Majesties were ceremoniously conducted to the Bishop’s presence-chamber, which had been fitted up as a ballroom, and was brilliantly illuminated by large wax torches, that diffused pleasant odours as they burnt.
Throne-like chairs, with a cloth of estate above them, embroidered in gold with the royal arms, were set for the King and Queen. On either side were other seats reserved for the Princess Mary, the Lady Margaret Douglas, and the Marchioness of Dorset. The Queen’s ladies and the maids of honour stood around, and made a splendid show.
The Duke of Bavaria, who was very richly dressed and wore the Toison d’Or, was paying assiduous court to the Princess Mary. The two ambassadors were hovering about the Lady Catherine Howard; and the Earl of Overstein and the Grand Master Ostoden were conversing with Cromwell and Audeley.
Gardiner and Norfolk were standing at the foot of the velvet-covered estrade on which the royal seats were placed; while Will Sommers was reclining on the lowest step.
Already, the vast chamber was filled with the company from the banqueting hall, and the minstrels commenced playing an overture to a masque.
A masque was then performed, the subject being taken — out of compliment to the Queen — from a romantic legend connected with the ancient Castle of Cleves, called Schwanenberg, wherein Anne was born.
The legend ran thus: — A very handsome young knight, drawn in a fairy bark by a swan, and attended by a troop of water-nymphs, appeared at the Castle of Cleves, and so charmed the Duchess who then dwelt there, by his grace and good looks, that she wedded him.
This masque, which afforded good scope for strange and picturesque dresses, was capitally performed. Nothing could be more perfect than the swan; the magic car glittered with tinsel; the nymphs of the Lurley, with their long streaming yellow hair, woven with water-lilies, danced delightfully; and the Knight and the Duchess were both very handsome.
The Queen was enchanted, and warmly thanked Gardiner for the gratification he had afforded her. The Earl of Overstein and Ostoden were also highly delighted and expressed their admiration.
Then followed a dance; and while this was going on, Henry descended from his throne, and began to move slowly round the room, attended by Gardiner and Norfolk.
“I miss Adrian Culpepper,” he observed to the Duke. “I have not seen him at Greenwich for the last two or three days.”
“He is forced to keep his room, sire, having been hurt in a conflict with one of the Earl of Essex’s gentlemen.”
“Forced to keep his room! Ha! Why was I not told of this? Is he much hurt?”
“Not much, I believe, sire.”
Henry looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “I must speak to Cromwell about this affair. I fancy I know Adrian’s adversary, and can guess the cause of quarrel.”
“Your Majesty is better informed than I am,” said the Duke. “I know nothing more than I have told you.”
XV. How Catherine charmed the King by her Singing.
WHILE thus conversing, the King entered an inner room, in which tables were laid for cards and dice.
Henry the Eighth was a great gambler, as we learn from Sir Frederick Madden, who has shown, in the “Privy Purse Expenses,” that the King’s losses at cards, dice, tennis, and other games, amounted in three years to nearly four thousand pounds. Rarely a night passed that he did not play, and often deeply.
Aware of his tastes, Gardiner had provided for their gratification. Several young nobles were in the inner room when the King entered it, but no play was going on.
Henry seated himself at one of the tables, and the Comte de Marillac, who had followed his Majesty into the room, and who frequently played with him, approached — expecting an invitation to sit down — but the King had other business in hand.
He said a few words in a low tone to the Duke of Norfolk, who bowed and disappeared.
Before the Duke returned from the errand on which the King had despatched him, the dance had come to an end in the ball-room, but the ushers stationed at the door only allowed admittance to a few privileged persons. Amongst these were the Earl of Southampton, the Duke of Suffolk, and Sir Anthony Brown, with the Countesses of Rutland and Hertford — and after them, Cromwell and Audeley. As to Will Sommers, he followed his royal master about like a favourite spaniel.
Henry took little notice of those who came in, but conversed with the Comte de Marillac and Gardiner.
“I hope your excellency has been well cared for during the banquet,” observed the hospitable Bishop.
“Never dined better,” replied the courtly ambassador. “You have given us a sumptuous entertainment, my lord. I could not fail to be delighted with it, and I am under eternal obligations to you for placing me next the most charming person in the world. We have no such beauty in France as the Lady Catherine Howard. She far surpasses the Duchess of Longueville, whom your Majesty once deigned to admire.”
“Perdie! I am of your excellency’s opinion,” observed the King.
“And she is as accomplished as she is lovely,” pursued Marillac. “She conversed with me in French, and surprised me with the fluency with which she speaks our language. M. de Chapuys was as much charmed with her as myself.”
“Your excellency is not yet acquainted with all her accomplishments,” said Gardiner.
“I am sure she sings well,” rejoined the ambassador.
“How so?” demanded Henry.
“Because she has the sweetest voice I ever heard.”
The King smiled.
“One would think you were in love with her, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur!”
“Sire, I am not likely to win such a treasure; but I shall certainly envy him who does. May I venture to ask if the Queen is fond of music?”
“She neither sings nor plays,” replied the King, gruffly.
“Her Majesty has accomplishments of a different kind,” observed Gardiner.
“I have yet to discover them,” muttered Henry.
Marillac and Gardiner exchanged glances.
Their looks were not unnoted by Cromwell, who was standing at a little distance with Audeley.
At this juncture, the Duke of Norfolk returned with Catherine and Lady Rochford. M. de Chapuys, the Imperial ambassador, came in at the same time.
“Gramercy, mignonne!” cried the King, graciously rising as Catherine approached. “I would not ask you to sing before so many; but here, you need not feel trepidation. I am prepared to be enchanted.”
“I will do my best
to content your Majesty,” she replied.
After a few more gallant observations on the King’s part, a cittern was brought her by a page.
And here let us remark that the instrument was nothing more than the modem guitar, though slightly different in shape. At a later date, it was called a lute.
With a graceful obeisance to the King, she then seated herself on a velvet tabouret, while the courtly circle gathered round to listen to her strains.
While stringing the cittern, she said to the King, who had resumed his seat, “With your Majesty’s permission, I will sing a French chansonette.”
“Nothing will delight me more,” he rejoined. “You may consider this a compliment to yourself, Count,” he added, to Marillac.
“Pardon me, sire,” interrupted Chapuys, “I cannot allow his excellency to appropriate the whole of the compliment. I must claim some part of it.”
A lively prelude put a stop to further conversation, and Catherine commenced her ditty — a gay little French song — as she had announced.
She sang it with incomparable archness and vivacity.
Every point was heightened by glances from her resistless black eyes. These glances, it need scarcely be said, were chiefly directed towards the King.
He was enraptured, and, at the close of the ditty, called upon the fair songstress for another.
This time, she changed her theme. The burthen of the ballad was unrequited love, the words being in her own tongue.
The tender melancholy was exquisitely expressed by her voice and looks — so exquisitely, that Henry himself was touched, and exhibited some real emotion.
Catherine saw the impression she had produced.
Without waiting for solicitation, she struck up a lively air, and finished as gaily as she had began.
Never had the King been so delighted; never was he so lavish in his praises. Expressions of admiration were heard on all sides, but none more enthusiastic than those of the two ambassadors. Catherine’s triumph was complete.
But it was of brief duration.
While her heart was beating high at the King’s praises, a gentleman stepped forward to take the cittern.
Great was her horror when she perceived it was Francis Dereham.
He gazed at her steadfastly for a moment, bowed, and retired, leaving her in the utmost agitation.
Lady Rochford had recognised him, and determined, at any cost, to rid Catherine of her persecutor.
Accordingly, she seized the first opportunity of addressing the King.
“Will your Majesty confer an immense favour on Catherine Howard?”
“Why does she not ask the favour herself?” he rejoined, looking well disposed to grant it.
“She dares not, sire,” said Lady Rochford. “Did your Majesty notice the person who took the cittern from her just now? It was Francis Dereham, who was dismissed from the service of the Duchess of Norfolk, and who is now one of the Earl of Essex’s gentlemen.”
The King uttered an exclamation of anger.
“What does he here?” he demanded.
“I know not, sire. But his presence is offensive to Catherine.”
“’Tis offensive also to me,” said Henry.
And he signed to Cromwell to come near.
Several circumstances had conspired that evening to heighten his displeasure against the minister, so that his wrath was ready to explode against him.
“Why have you brought Francis Dereham here?” he demanded, in a deep, stern tone.
Then without waiting for an answer, he added, “You did wrong.”
“I cannot well explain my motive now, sire,” replied Cromwell. “But I will satisfy you to-morrow.”
“I will listen to no explanation,” said Henry. “If the fellow presents himself before me again, he will rue it. I have just learnt that he has wounded Adrian Culpepper. If aught happens to Adrian, I will hang him.”
“He deserves severe punishment for his insolence,” said Lady Rochford.
“I pray you suspend your judgment till to-morrow, sire,” said Cromwell. “When you know all, you will think differently.”
“My Lord of Essex has some secret motive for protecting this villain — for a villain he is!” cried Lady Rochford, boldly.
“Shall I disclose my motive, madam?” said Cromwell.
Lady Rochford glanced at the King, who understood the appeal.
“Make no more mention of this man,” he said, in an authoritative tone. “I peremptorily forbid it, on pain of my displeasure. Let him not appear before me again. If you retain him in your service after this, I shall deem it an affront to the Lady Catherine Howard.”
“Sire!”
“See to it, or dread my resentment,” cried Henry, imperiously. “Stand hack, my lord. I have done.” And with a haughty gesture, he waved him off.
He then arose, and giving his hand to Catherine, led her into the ball-room, followed by Norfolk and Gardiner, who were delighted with the success of their scheme, and now felt sure of Cromwell’s speedy downfall.
BOOK THE SECOND. THE FALL OF CROMWELL.
I. The Ruby Ring.
MORE than a month had elapsed since the grand banquet at Winchester House.
Henry’s passion for Catherine Howard had increased, and his antipathy to the Queen had become more violent. Already he had begun to meditate a divorce.
On several occasions he had dined privately with Gardiner, when Catherine, with her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, and Lady Rockford, were the Bishop’s sole guests.
At these meetings, the haughty monarch completely unbent, and only played the part of a lover. Catherine delighted him with her musical skill, and he hung over enraptured, as she played upon the virginals or the cittern. Her influence over him was unbounded; but as yet she had sought no favour.
While Catherine was thus encouraging the King’s addresses, and, at the instance of her advisers, unworthily consenting to supplant the Queen, had she no feelings of compunction? — no regret for the devoted Adrian Culpepper? Was she so dazzled by the prospect of a throne that she could see nothing else?
There were moments when her love for Adrian returned in all its force, and well-nigh overthrew her resolutions. But the arguments employed by Lady Rockford kept her steady to her purpose.
Having recovered from his wound, Adrian had returned to Court, looking handsomer than ever. He soon perceived — like all the rest of the world — how completely Catherine’s charms had fascinated the King, and he became jealous and miserable. But what could he do? Lady Rochford took care he should not have an opportunity of reproaching Catherine, for she would never allow her to grant him an interview in private. Still, when Catherine found his sad gaze fixed upon her, she could not help pitying him.
And Dereham? Had she no dread of this terrible and mysterious personage? Did she not fear he might cross her path? He scared her sometimes in her dreams, but Lady Rochford persuaded her he would trouble her no more.
With a patience allied to weakness, but, in reality, caused by fear, the ill-fated Queen submitted to her inconstant husband’s neglect. She did not trouble him with complaints; and as to reproaches, she did not dare to utter them. She was not blind to his passion for Catherine; but she willingly shut her eyes to it.
Through the instrumentality of Cromwell, who, as the promoter of the ill-starred match, felt bound to look after her interests, an ample jointure had been settled on her. With this, and with the name of Queen, she was fain to be content.
Before the return of her brother’s ambassadors to Cleves, they consulted with her privately, and counselled submission — advice she was well inclined to follow. They also deemed it right to warn her against Catherine Howard, and the designs of Norfolk and Gardiner; but they comforted her by the assurance that Cromwell would free her from her dangerous rival.
Cromwell was not ignorant of the intrigues that were going on against him and the Queen. Well informed as to the meetings at Winchester House, and knowing how much progress the
amorous monarch had made in his suit, he allowed the matter to proceed without interference on his part, because he felt certain he could bring it to an end whenever he pleased.
He had to submit to many public rebuffs from the King, hut he did not heed them. His plan of preserving his power was to render himself indispensable. As long as he could fill the rapacious monarch’s coffers, he felt secure. He had just obtained the enormous subsidy of twelve shillings in the pound from the clergy, and had ground down the laymen still more unmercifully. He also engaged to suppress the Knights Hospitallers, as he had suppressed the religious houses, and sequester their vast property to the King’s use.
While thus employed, he set all his enemies at defiance, and laughed at their machinations.
Another month went on — another and another.
Things were in much the same state. Henry was completely enslaved. Catherine looked more beautiful than ever — more triumphant; for the divorce having now begun to he talked about, everybody regarded her as the future Queen.
She had not wholly ceased to love Adrian, hut she seldom spoke of him; and she had succeeded in banishing Dereham from her thoughts — at least, for the time.
On three or four occasions, accompanied by the King, with Lady Rochford and some other ladies of the Court, she had visited the old Duchess of Norfolk, at Lambeth, and had been treated with almost as much ceremony as if she had been actually Queen.
Adrian Culpepper formed part of the attendants in the royal barge on these occasions; and his sufferings may be imagined, while compelled to witness the King’s attentions to Catherine.
Everything seemed to smile upon Catherine. The haughty monarch was now at her feet, and had become so passionately enamoured, that he could scarce live out of her society.
Many presents of jewellery had been made by the King to the fair object of his affections: a tablet of gold set with diamonds — a gold cross adorned with rubies — a diamond necklace — and a girdle of goldsmiths’ work adorned with roses of rubies and pearls. He also gave her a ruby ring, bidding her wear it for his sake, and never part with it.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 622
