The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Still she may be in the palace,” observed Cranmer. “I trust I shall not offend your Highness by making inquiries respecting her?”

  “I will make inquiries myself,” said Catherine; “and send her to your Grace, if I discover her.”

  “I have neglected to state that the woman has been in the service of the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk. Perchance your Highness may recollect her? But I perceive that I trouble you, and will say no more.”

  “Certes, your Grace has chosen a strange time to put these questions to me,” observed the Queen. “At a more fitting season, I will confer with you on the matter. Meanwhile, you need have no apprehension of your enemies.”

  “That assurance from your Highness is sufficient,” replied the Archbishop.

  He had just made his obeisance, and was about to retire, when Henry came up.

  The King appeared in high good humour, and was accompanied by the Duke of Norfolk and Marillac.

  “Why so grave, sweet Kate?” he cried. “Hath his Grace been admonishing you?”

  “Nothing he has said will be lost upon me, sire,” rejoined the Queen. “I will recount it all to your Majesty, anon.”

  “Nay, I care not to hear it,” said the King, laughing. “But I am glad to find you are reconciled to his Grace.”

  “There was never any enmity between us, sire — at least, on my part,” said Catherine; “and I trust your Majesty will allow me to prove to the Archbishop how truly I am his friend.”

  “By St. Mary, Kate, since such is your wish, you shall not lack the opportunity,” cried Henry.

  “I have just been extolling the Queen’s goodness of heart, sire,” said Cranmer; “and she now furnishes fresh evidence of it. Heaven has bestowed a consort on your Majesty as rich in all excellent qualities as she is in personal graces.”

  Bowing profoundly to them both, he then withdrew, well satisfied with what he had done.

  “By my life, Kate, you have made a courtier of the Archbishop!” cried Henry, laughing. “Take heed he does not make a convert of you to the new doctrines. I trow he has some such design. But you look fatigued. Shall we retire?”

  Catherine gladly assented, bidding good night to all around, and good-naturedly desiring that the festivities might not be checked by their departure.

  Lady Rochford had watched the interview between Catherine and the Archbishop with curiosity, not unmingled with anxiety, for she plainly perceived that the Queen was troubled. She attended Catherine when she withdrew; and no sooner were they closeted together, than she eagerly asked for an explanation. On receiving it, she was filled with uneasiness.

  The risk of discovery was, indeed, great. Notwithstanding Catherine’s denial, Mary Lassells was still in her service. But she must be removed without delay, and Lady Rochford charged herself with the task.

  She encountered unexpected difficulties. Mary Lassells would not be dismissed. Neither threats nor entreaties would induce her to depart, and it was impossible, under the circumstances, to resort to force.

  So the Queen and her confidante were obliged to submit, trusting that the obstinate woman would make no revelations if she should be interrogated by the Archbishop. Cranmer, however, seemed disposed to let the matter drop.

  II. Hampton Court.

  THE palace of Hampton, Court, built by Cardinal Wolsey, and bestowed by him on the rapacious monarch, who set his greedy eyes upon it, was far more magnificent at the period of which we treat than it is at the present day. Internally, it was greatly altered, and by no means improved, by William the Third and Mary; and, by their order, many of the fine old apartments, so interesting from historical associations, were demolished and rebuilt, but with far inferior taste.

  How many rooms were thus destroyed will be apparent from the fact that nearly three hundred silk beds were set up by the princely Cardinal for the accommodation of his guests. All the rich furniture of the palace, all its splendid hangings and tapestry, all its gold and silver plate, were delivered by Wolsey to the King.

  Vast as it was, the palace was not large enough for Henry. He made considerable additions to it; but these were in harmony with the original design of the edifice. At this time, it possessed five spacious courts, three of them with fountains in the midst, and surrounded by noble buildings.

  Whether from the incomparable beauty of its site, or the magnificence of its design, no palace in England was so much admired by foreigners as Hampton Court. Nothing was wanting to it. Its gardens were exquisitely laid out in grand terrace-walks, adorned with vases and statues, while marble fountains added to their beauty.

  The gardens then extended almost to the banks of the river, and the royal barge was always in readiness for a water excursion. The park was well stocked with deer, and contiguous to the palace was a tennis-court, to which the King daily repaired for recreation.

  All the apartments, as we have said, were richly furnished, and some of the larger chambers were hung with the most costly tapestry. A small chapel, in which Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour had performed their devotions, and where Catherine now prayed, was a perfect gem. The long galleries were adorned with pictures.

  This sumptuous palace was generally selected by Henry as a summer residence, for which it was admirably adapted. When he brought his young consort thither, its groves and bowers were in full beauty; and if her heart had been free from care, she must have been delighted with the place.

  If regal state could have made her happy, she might have been so now. Splendid apparel, and magnificent ornaments, diamond necklaces, and girdles studded with gems, had been presented to her by the King. She gave audiences to the foreign ambassadors, and constant receptions to the Court. Grand entertainments took place daily. But banquets, pageants, balls, and masques, afforded her no distraction.

  We have mentioned the great ladies who had been chosen by the King to form her household. Willingly would she have dispensed with them. She had a whole host of ushers, yeomen of the chambers, and pages, in constant attendance upon them. Far rather would she have been without them.

  Amid her grandeur, she often sighed for the dull old mansion at Lambeth. The tester of her superb couch had been worked by Anne Boleyn, and the knowledge of this fact often chased away her slumbers, or gave her terrible dreams.

  Yet she did not allow her anxiety to appear. Only when alone with Lady Rochford was she despondent. At other times, she was full of vivacity, and her remarkable fascination of manner was acknowledged by all who were permitted to approach her.

  If Catherine was a prey to secret care, her royal husband was full of contentment. He had no suspicion of the real state of her feelings, and was troubled with no jealousy. So happy was he, that his gusts of rage were less frequent than before.

  On the formation of the Queen’s household, Adrian Culpepper was appointed one of her gentleman ushers, and was consequently brought into dangerous proximity with her. Though he struggled hard against it, his insane passion once more obtained the mastery over him. For her sake as well as his own, he ought to have resigned his post. But he could not break the spell that bound him.

  Gifted with far greater powers of discernment than the King, he had divined the secret of Catherine’s heart. He perceived that she was unhappy. But only by his looks could he express sympathy. Though constantly in attendance, he could never find an opportunity of exchanging a word with her in private. At last, after many entreaties, he prevailed upon Lady Rochford to obtain him the interview he so greatly desired.

  Catherine was in the habit of going, unattended, to her confidante’s apartment, which adjoined her own. One evening, she proceeded thither as usual, and, to her surprise, found only Adrian. She was about to summon Lady Rochford, who had retired into an inner chamber, but he prevented her.

  “Grant me a few moments, madam,” he said, in an imploring tone, which she could not resist. “At all hazards I have sought this interview, to tell you how deeply I feel for you. I cannot bear to see you suffer thus.”

  �
��You are mistaken, Adrian,” she replied; “I do not suffer. I ought not indeed to allow you to use such language to me; but I pardon you on account of your devotion to me.”

  “Alas, madam!” he rejoined; “you may impose on others, but you cannot impose on me. I can read your heart. I know you are unhappy — very unhappy!”

  Catherine remained silent for a few moments, and then said, “I cannot contradict you, Adrian. I am very unhappy, but I trust no one but yourself has detected my secret grief.”

  “All believe you happy, madam,” he rejoined. “There is not one person on earth who does not believe you have been governed by ambition, and that in mounting the throne, you have obtained the grand object at which you aimed. None suppose you have been disappointed. How can they? Your royal husband adores you. For you he has tamed his savage nature, and turned himself into a devoted lover, eager to gratify your slightest wish. Never before was he so subjugated. Your ascendancy over him is matter of astonishment to the whole Court. Neither Anne Boleyn nor Jane Seymour possessed such sway. Yet with all this, I can perceive that you are far from happy. It may be a relief to you to confide your grief to me. You may do so safely.”

  “I know it, Adrian,” she replied. “There is, indeed, a canker at my heart, that consumes me. Whatever my dreams of regal splendour may have been, the reality is nothing. I have attained a giddy position, from which I may at any moment be hurled. I am filled with terror, Adrian, because I perceive the sword suspended over my head. Even at the most brilliant entertainments, and when joyous music is sounding in my ears, all becomes gloomy. I see Anne Boleyn amid the courtly throng; and a low, warning voice, inaudible to others, whispers, ‘I sat upon the throne you occupy. The King doted upon me, as he now dotes on you. Nevertheless, he doomed me to the block. Beware!’ Oh, ’tis horrible, Adrian!” she exclaimed, with a convulsive shudder.

  “Dismiss these thoughts, madam,” he cried, trying to calm her. “The King is inconstant, but his love for you will last. You have far greater hold on his affections than Anne Boleyn possessed.”

  “I have a presentiment that I shall share her fate. Listen to me, Adrian. Ever since I have been in this palace, where there are so many memories of her — ever since I have prayed in her chapel and slept in her couch, she has been constantly before me. To none, save to Lady Rochford and yourself, dare I confess my secret terrors, I put on a semblance of gaiety. Were I to appear sad, the King would doubt me. But I cannot wear this mask for ever. Some day it will fall off, and then the woful countenance beneath it will be revealed. I envy the poor repudiated Princess of Cleves. She has escaped — but I shall never escape.”

  “Do not despair, madam,” cried Adrian. “All will yet be well!”

  “No — no — no! I cannot hope it. I once was happy, Adrian — but it seems years ago. Oh, that those blissful days could return! Oh, that I could once again be the light-hearted Catherine Howard!”

  In the paroxysm of grief that ensued, and with the recollection of earlier days before, her, she flung herself passionately into Adrian’s arms, and wept upon his shoulder.

  “You will not abandon me?” she exclaimed, raising her head, and looking wistfully in his face.

  “Never!” he cried, fervently. “My life is yours! Command it!”

  So engrossed were they with each other, that neither remarked that some one was watching them.

  It was Mary Lassells, who had softly entered the room.

  A singular smile played upon the countenance of the spy.

  The Queen was the first to perceive her. Disengaging herself from Adrian’s embrace, she started back, and exclaimed, “You here, Lassells?”

  “Ay, madam,” rejoined the other, in a tone that proclaimed the consciousness of the power she had gained. “I now understand why you desired to get rid of me. ’Twas not fear lest I should be interrogated by Archbishop Cranmer, but that you might meet your lover with less risk.”

  “Peace, woman!” cried Adrian. “Do not dare to put a false construction on what you have seen.”

  Mary Lassells laughed defiantly.

  “What construction would the King put upon the meeting, were he to hear of it?” she rejoined. “What would he have done had he been in my place, and seen what I have seen? You know full well what would have happened, without my telling you.”

  “Wretch!” exclaimed Adrian. “Dare to breathe a word against the Queen’s honour, and I will kill you.”

  And he looked as if he would have put his threat into instant execution.

  “Do not harm her, Adrian,” cried Catherine.

  “I am not afraid of him, madam,” said Lassells, resolutely. “Neither need you be afraid of me. I ought, methinks, to be trusted, seeing that my fidelity has been tried.”

  “You are trusted, Lassells,” cried Catherine, with an imploring look.

  “Then let there be no further talk of my dismissal,” was the insolent rejoinder.

  “You shall tarry with me as long as you like,” said the Queen. “You shall rise in my household, if you will but demean yourself properly, and keep a strict guard upon your tongue.”

  “Your Highness shall have no cause to complain of me. My temper is hasty, as you know; and if I have said ought to offend you, I humbly entreat forgiveness.”

  “Enough!” cried Catherine. “Now be gone!”

  As Lassells quitted the room, Lady Rochford issued from the inner chamber.

  “What is this?” she inquired.

  The Queen told her.

  “’Tis unlucky that she found Adrian here,” returned Lady Rochford. “But you need fear no indiscretion on her part. Self-interest will keep her silent.”

  “I shall never forgive myself if mischief ensues,” said Adrian.

  “To prevent all chance of it,” observed Lady Rochford to the Queen, “your Highness must return instantly to your apartments. I will attend you thither.”

  “It has been a sad pleasure to me to converse with you, Adrian,” said Catherine to him. “But there must be no more meetings between us.”

  “Not with my consent, nor in my rooms,” observed Lady Rochford. “Come, madam. Each moment increases the risk. Stir not hence till I return,” she added to Adrian.

  Before leaving, Catherine gave him her hand, which he pressed devotedly to his lips. She then disappeared with her confidante.

  III. Cranmer remonstrates with Catherine.

  AFTER a month’s sojourn at Hampton Court, the King and his lovely bride removed to Windsor Castle, where the festivities were continued.

  All the apartments in the Castle were filled with noble guests. Banquets and grand entertainments were daily given. Jousts were held in the upper ward, and prizes bestowed by the young Queen — the chief prize being gained by Adrian Culpepper.

  Henry gave himself up to ease and enjoyment. Not a care troubled him. His own dominions were tranquil at the time, and the clouds that seemed gathering in France and Germany had passed away.

  Above all, his domestic happiness appeared perfectly secured. In his eyes, Catherine was faultless. Far from diminishing, his love for her increased.

  And she was happier than she had been at Hampton Court. At Windsor Castle, she was under less restraint, and could converse more freely with Adrian. In the hawking parties in the Home Park, he carried her favourite falcon. When the King hunted in the forest, Adrian was always in attendance upon her; and it sometimes chanced, during a lengthened chase, that she was outstripped by deer and hounds. She was then left to his sole charge.

  No remark could be made, for Lady Rochford was ever with her. As to Adrian, his conduct was too cautious to excite the King’s jealousy or suspicion. Thus Catherine, having greater freedom, grew more reconciled to her position. The terrors that had assailed her vanished by degrees. The future brightened, and hope returned to her breast.

  Alas! she was in greater jeopardy than she imagined. Already, she had made numerous and powerful enemies. Everywhere, the partisans of the old religion monopolized the roy
al favour, while their opponents were neglected or degraded. The spirit of persecution reared its head. Several important persons, obnoxious to Norfolk and Gardiner, had been imprisoned, and some executed.

  These severities were attributed to the young Queen’s baneful influence over the infatuated King. She was striving to bring him back to Rome. He must be delivered from this bondage. Better have back the Lutheran Princess than tolerate this favourer of Papistry and idolatry. Such were the sentiments of the leaders of the Protestant party.

  A strong remonstrance on the impolicy of her conduct was addressed to the young Queen by Cranmer. He solicited a private audience, and having obtained it, thus lifted up his warning voice: —

  “Gracious madam, I pray you pardon the boldness with which I am about to speak. That you are swayed by the counsels of the Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop of Winchester is evident; and that the King, in his turn, is swayed by you is likewise manifest. Your influence with your royal husband is unbounded; and if beneficially exercised, all his loyal and loving subjects will pray for its continuance. Arrest this sad persecution. All who openly defend the reformed religion are stricken without pity. Not long ago they were favoured and protected, Whence this change? The answer given by all Protestants is that you, madam — a Catholic Queen — have caused it. ’Tis said to he your fixed determination to extirpate heresy from the land. If it be so, you will fail. The new doctrines have taken too deep root to be forcibly torn up. There will be no lack of martyrs, for all true Protestants will rejoice to seal their faith with their blood. Woe, then, to those who have caused this affliction! Heaven will avenge its saints! But I trust things will not arrive at such a grievous pass. You can prevent it. Listen not to evil counsellors. Incline the King’s heart to compassion — to justice. So shall you remain long upon the throne!”

  Though much alarmed by the Archbishop’s address, which was pronounced in stem tones, Catherine found courage to reply, —

  “Your Grace does me injustice. I have not caused the persecution of which you complain. I have expressed no determination to extirpate heresy, nor have I conceived any such design. Like every good Catholic, I should rejoice that the sheep that have strayed from the fold should return to it, but I would not compel them to do so. When you tax the King’s ministers with undue severity, you forget the provocation which the Romanists have received — you forget how much they suffered in the time of the late Vicar-General. These sharp measures are but reprisals. I lament as much as your Grace that a better understanding cannot be arrived at between the contending factions, but I am powerless to accomplish it.”