“Well said, Duchess!” cried his Majesty. “You are fit to be the ruler of a great house.”
“I will lower her pride!” muttered Dereham.
A slight touch made him turn, and he encountered the fierce gaze of Adrian Culpepper.
“You may depart freely now,” said the young man, in a deep whisper. “But I have not done with you.”
“I shall be ready when you please,” rejoined Dereham, in the same tone. “You know where to find me.”
“Meddle not with him, Adrian,” observed the Duchess, who had noticed what was passing; “he is unworthy of your sword.”
But Adrian had other advice from Lady Rochford, who whispered that the insolent fellow must not escape punishment.
“He shall not,” rejoined the young man.
The King did not cast another look at Catherine. Neither did he hold any further converse with Cromwell. He was angry with himself and all around him.
In this mood it was almost dangerous to approach him, and every one rejoiced at his departure.
Attended by Adrian Culpepper, he rode back to his palace at Greenwich.
IX. The Reception of Anne of Cleves at Blackheath.
ON that afternoon, proclamation was made by the Lord Mayor by sound of trump at various public places within the City of London, requiring all citizens, who loved their King, to repair to Greenwich on the morrow, to pay their devoir to the Princess Anne of Cleves, who would shortly become their Queen.
A similar proclamation was made by the heralds at Charing Cross, and before the gates of Whitehall.
All the chief nobility and others connected with the Court were likewise bidden to attend the ceremonial, for which magnificent preparations were made.
Meanwhile, the King, deeply chagrined by the incident at Lambeth, had ridden on to Dartford, where Anne was staying with her suite, patiently awaiting his pleasure, and passed a few hours in her company, returning to his palace at Greenwich at night. He was secretly as much dissatisfied with her as ever, but he endeavoured to conceal his dislike. Anne was not deceived by his manner. She dreaded the match more than he did, but she could not avoid it. The only feeling with which the King inspired her was terror.
No monarch was ever more fond of pageantry than Henry the Eighth, and if he tyrannized over his subjects, he indulged them with constant splendid shows.
The proclamation which he had caused to be issued was sufficient to summon all London to Greenwich. Thousands sallied forth in their best apparel to salute their future Queen — thriving citizens in plain doublets and hose with flat caps on their heads, and their wives and daughters in close hoods and mufflers.
Luckily, the weather proved most auspicious. As the hour of ten was tolled from the ancient cathedral, amid the braying of trumpets, and the beating of kettle-drums, accompanied by the roar of ordnance from the Tower, a long and splendid cavalcade crossed London Bridge — the gates and towers of which were surmounted with banners.
The procession had started from York Place, and consisted of nobles, each with a long retinue of esquires and gentlemen, well mounted, and attired in velvet of various hues, and all having gold chains round the neck. The length of the cavalcade may be judged of, when we mention that those at its head were half-way to Greenwich before the rear had left the bridge.
But the bravest sight was on the river, which swarmed with gay and gilded barks, all bound, like the horsemen, for Greenwich.
Conspicuous among these for size and splendour was the Lord Mayor’s state barge. Besides the arms of the City, it was garnished with banners, flags, streamers, pensils, and targets, some of which were painted and beaten with the King’s arms, and some with the arms of the ducal house of Cleves. The barge was occupied by Sir William Hollys, at that time Lord Mayor, the sheriffs, the aldermen in their council, in their gowns and robes. The Lord Mayor had a robe of crimson velvet, and wore his chains, and the collar of S. S.
Scarcely less splendid were the barges of the twelve livery companies, each of which, besides pennons and pensils innumerable, had a banner painted with the arms of its craft or mystery. All these barges were provided with minstrels, who kept up a perpetual din.
Our description, however, of this gorgeous fleet would be imperfect, without mention of the “Bachelors’ Bark,” a singularly-shaped barge, decked with cloth of gold. On board were many gallant youths, in rich apparel, with an equal number of fair damsels.
Attendant upon the “Bachelors’ Bark” was a foist, from which large pieces of ordnance were constantly discharged. Thousands of wherries, laden with citizens and their wives, followed in the wake of the larger craft, or shot on ahead.
On the verge of Blackheath, and near the foot of Shooters’ Hill, had been pitched a tent of cloth of gold, garnished with pennons and streamers, and hung with metal escutcheons emblazoned with the black cross of Cleves.
Behind this gorgeous tent, which was destined for the reception of the Princess, divers other tents and pavilions were grouped, but a large space in front was kept clear by halberdiers and mounted gentlemen pensioners.
By this time, the splendid cavalcade of nobles which we saw crossing London Bridge, had reached its destination, and was now drawn up in two long lines, extending from the Princess’s tent to the old stone cross, then standing in the midst of the heath.
The majority of those who had come by water having now found their way to Blackheath, a vast concourse was assembled upon the plain.
On the summit of Shooters’ Hill floated the royal standard, and around it several pieces of ordnance were planted, near which stood the engineers, match in hand.
The slopes of the hill that looked upon Blackheath were covered with spectators, who enjoyed an admirable view of the scene. There was plenty to see, for splendidly-attired dames were arriving in litters or on palfreys, and their retinues were continually adding to the crowd. Mounted henchmen and arquebussiers were posted at various points, to keep order among the immense assemblage, which appeared to be momentarily increasing.
Just at noon, a shout arose from the crowd on Shooters’ Hill, and was immediately taken up by the multitude below, and carried on to the most distant part of the heath.
Those on the eminence had descried the Princess coming along the road from Dartford. Then the artillery was fired, and the acclamations were redoubled, for the loud bray of the trumpets at the head of the cortege was heard. Two stately personages, riding side by side, and on richly caparisoned steeds, came first. These were the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. Next came Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, with other bishops, lords, and knights. Immediately before the Princess rode the envoys of the Duke of Cleves, the Earl of Overstein, and the Grand Master Ostoden.
Anne was seated in a chariot, carved and gilt with the arms of Cleves, and covered with cloth of gold. This superb chariot was drawn by eight horses, trapped in black velvet, and ridden by pages of honour in velvet doublets. Behind it came Sir John Dudley, the Princess’s master of the horse, leading her palfrey, trapped in rich tissue down to the ground. Four other chariots followed, occupied by the ladies and gentlemen composing her suite.
Anne wore a surcoat of white cloth of tissue, with a mantle of the same material, furred with ermine. On her head was a golden circlet.
Passing through the ranks we have described, she alighted in the open space before her tent, where the chief personages who had escorted her were drawn up, and where she was received by the King’s two nieces, the Lady Margaret Douglas, daughter of the Queen of Scots, and the Marchioness of Dorset, daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, who had married Henry’s sister, Mary, by the Duchess of Richmond, and the Countesses of Rutland and Hertford.
Embracing them all, and thanking them heartily for their greeting, she entered her tent. The Princess’s amiable deportment produced a very favourable impression upon the beholders, and reconciled them to her want of beauty.
“What is the King’s fourth wife like?” demanded thousands, who could not obtain a glimpse
of her.
Opinions differed; some asserting that she was very handsome — others that she was just the reverse. Many a rough jest was made on the occasion.
Meantime, another and far more brilliant cortege set forth from the Palace of Greenwich, and mounted the woody heights of the park.
First came the King’s trumpeters, blowing loud fanfares. Next the officers of the Council, and next the gentlemen of the privy chamber — some arrayed in doublets of embroidered velvet, and others in doublets guarded with chains of gold. Then came the barons — Sir William Hollys, the Lord Mayor, riding with the Lord Parr. Then followed the bishops, apparelled in black satin; then the earls; then Duke Philip of Bavaria, wearing the Toison d’Or. Next came the Ambassadors of France and Spain; and after them Cromwell, Earl of Essex, mounted on a richly-trapped horse, and wearing a gown of purple velvet. Round his neck was the collar of the Garter. By his side rode the Lord Chancellor. Chief among Cromwell’s splendid retinue was Francis Dereham.
Next, at a certain distance, rode Henry.
Never had he been more magnificently attired — never did he look better. His milk-white courser was trapped in rich cloth of gold, traversed lattice-wise square, embroidered with gold of damask and pearled — the buckles and pendants being all of fine gold. His doublet was of purple velvet, embroidered with flat gold of damask, intermixed with fine gold lace. Over it he wore a surcoat, the sleeves and breast of which were cut and lined with cloth of gold, and fastened together by great buttons of diamonds, rubies, and orient pearls. The King’s sword and girdle were thickly set with emeralds, and his bonnet was adorned with priceless gems. His collar, worn baldrick-wise, was of balass rubies and pearls. By his side walked ten footmen, in habiliments of goldsmith’s work.
Some dozen yards behind the King rode the Lord Chamberlain, and after him came Sir Anthony Brown, Master of the Horse, leading the King’s horse of estate by a long rein of gold. The noble animal, which seemed as proud as his royal master, was caparisoned in crimson velvet and satin, embroidered all over with gold, after an antique fashion.
At the head of the pages of honour rode Adrian Culpepper. His doublet was of rich tinsel and crimson velvet paled, and his courser was trapped in velvet of the same colour, embroidered with new devices and knots of gold.
All the pages were similarly equipped, and made a splendid show. Sir Anthony Wingfield, Captain of the Guard, with a hundred lances in glittering helm and corslet, all well mounted, brought up the rear of the cortege.
Henry’s appearance on Blackheath was hailed with loud acclamations. Despot as he was, he was extraordinarily popular. Impressed by his strength of character, and dazzled by his magnificence, his subjects were blind to his many faults. Besides, he inspired them with a wholesome awe.
He haughtily surveyed the vast multitude surging around him on all sides, and shouting lustily; but took little notice of their demonstrations of loyalty and devotion.
However, he graciously saluted the nobles, as he rode slowly through their ranks towards the Princess’s tent, in front of which all that portion of the cortege that had preceded him, was drawn up in a wide semicircle.
Here he dismounted, and had scarcely set foot on the ground, when Anne of Cleves, who had been made aware of his approach, issued forth from her tent, accompanied by his Majesty’s nieces, the Lady Margaret Douglas and the Marchioness of Dorset.
All eyes were now upon the King, and it behoved him to play his part carefully. Moving with dignified step towards the Princess, he courteously doffed his jewelled cap, and embraced her with well-affected warmth. During this part of the ceremonial, some of the fair lookers-on tittered, and several of the gravest of the beholders could scarcely repress a smile, his Majesty’s dislike to his bride having now become generally known.
Perhaps not altogether unconscious of the absurdity of the situation, he retired into the tent with the Princess. Here Anne’s ladies were assembled, and with them were some of the loveliest of the Court dames — all, it is needless to say, splendidly attired.
One of these instantly attracted Henry’s attention. Amid that bevy of fair dames and damsels, she was the fairest. It was Catherine Howard, and near her was Lady Rochford.
Catherine’s unlooked-for appearance at this juncture somewhat embarrassed the King. His passion revived, and he found it difficult to withdraw his eyes from her, though she sought to avoid his gaze.
A collation had been laid out in the midst of the tent. Henry led the Princess towards the table, and placing her in a raised fauteuil, seated himself beside her. He then called for a cup of wine, and praying her to drink first — according to the gallant usage of the time — emptied the cup.
Even at that moment his eyes did not quit Catherine, and it would almost seem that he drank to her.
Amongst the noble company present were the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. Both were standing near the royal chair, and turning to the former, Henry observed, in a gracious tone, “I am glad to see the Lady Catherine Howard here, though I own I did not expect her.”
“I felt that she ought not to be absent, my liege, on an occasion like the present,” replied the Duke, bowing; “and I therefore enjoined Lady Rochford to bring her from Lambeth.”
“You did well,” said Henry. “Have you seen the Lady Catherine?” he added, to the Princess.
“She has just been presented to me by the Duke of Norfolk,” replied Anne; “and I have been perfectly astonished by her beauty. No one whom I have seen can compare with her.”
“Your Highness is too good,” said the Duke of Norfolk, bowing.
“Nay, I have not said a word too much in her praise,” said Anne, noticing that the King looked pleased. “I have taken a great fancy to your beauteous niece, my Lord Duke; and I should like to have her always near me,” she added, to Norfolk.
“As one of your maids of honour — ha!” exclaimed Henry.
“Precisely, sire,” replied Anne.
“You could not have chosen better,” said the King, approvingly.
“I am greatly honoured by your Highness’s selection,” said Norfolk; “but there is a slight difficulty in regard to my niece, of which his Majesty is aware. I must explain. Ever since the death of my brother, the Lord Edmund Howard, his daughter Catherine has been under the charge of my mother, the Duchess-Dowager — an austere dame, who passes her life in religious exercise, and would fain exclude her granddaughter from the world. Is it not so, sire?”
“’Tis so, in truth,” rejoined Henry. “But, by St. Mary! the obstinate old dame shall not have her own way.”
“Pray bring your niece to me for a moment, that I may speak with her,” said Anne.
Norfolk bowed, and did as he was bidden. Smiling most graciously, the Princess explained her wishes to Catherine; adding, “I know it will please my lord the King that you should attend upon me. I think you will love me, and I am sure I shall love you.”
The varied emotions awakened in Catherine’s bosom, prevented her from making a suitable reply to this amiable and condescending address. She felt that she should be acting a perfidious part towards the Princess in accepting the offer, yet how could she decline it?
Blushing and bewildered, she murmured her thanks, and was led back by the Duke of Norfolk.
Henry was delighted, and expressed his satisfaction. Whatever might be the Princess’s defects, she was clearly not wanting in tact.
The foregoing incident had been witnessed by Adrian Culpepper, who was standing among the pages of honour, and caused him great uneasiness. He saw that the King was deeply enamoured of Catherine, and he well knew the risk she would incur if she were placed near the Queen. Anne’s imprudence astounded him. She ought to have understood that she was selecting a dangerous rival.
Lady Rochford was likewise surprised by the Princess’s excessive complaisance, but being more acute than Adrian, she attributed it to its real cause — desire to please the King, whose predilection for Catherine had been detected by the Princess.
“Evidently, she has no jealousy in her composition,” thought Lady Rochford; “and having little confidence in herself, hopes to secure an influence over his Majesty by means of a favourite. Vain precaution! She will be superseded before three months are over.”
When Catherine was brought back by the Duke of Norfolk, the temptress congratulated her; adding, in a low tone, “So, you have gained your point; you are maid of honour to the Queen. That is the first step to the throne. Ere long, you will be Queen yourself.”
X. How the Royal Nuptials were solemnized at Greenwich Palace.
SHORTLY afterwards, the royal pair quitted the tent, and proceeded to Greenwich Palace.
Anne had mounted her palfrey, and rode by the King’s side. Her large Amazonian figure was seen to great advantage on horseback, and the populace began to think she was a very fitting consort for their burly sovereign.
All was now movement towards the park, and as soon as the grand cortege had passed through the gates, the public was permitted to enter.
It was a magnificent sight to see the long, glittering cavalcade descend the hill, and shape its course through the stately avenue of elms on to the palace, and the spectacle was enjoyed by the thousands who covered the woody slopes.
From this position, as from Shooters’ Hill, the whole scene could be distinguished, and it was one calculated to make a lasting impression on the beholds.
The splendour and variety of the costumes of the nobles and their followers — the accoutrements of the guard — the costly habiliments of the henchmen — the richly-caparisoned horses — the chariots, some covered with cloth of gold, others with velvet — the horse-litters, in which sat high-born damsels — all combined to make a most striking picture. At the same time, the ear was filled with lively strains.
But the view of the multitude collected upon the heights was not limited to the park, or to the precincts of the palace. It embraced the river — nay, it extended to London itself, which could be discerned in the distance. The lofty spire of the cathedral, shooting up into the sunny air, was plainly distinguishable. The Tower, and the tall edifices on London Bridge, could likewise be descried.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 619