Nearer, and almost opposite the palace, were moored the gorgeous City barges, which we have previously described. The minstrels belonging to these barges were now playing and singing joyously, while shoals of smaller craft were shooting backwards and forwards in front of the terrace — those within them shouting lustily.
A great peal of ordnance was shot from the Tower of Greenwich as the King and the Princess of Cleves entered the outer court of the palace.
Henry dismounted first, and assisting the Princess to alight, conducted her to the great hall, where they separated — each to prepare for the ceremonial that was to unite them, — alas, not indissolubly!
How the King passed that interval it boots not to inquire. About two hours later, he came forth from his closet into the great gallery, where all his principal nobles were assembled.
He had entirely changed his costume, and was now arrayed in a doublet of crimson satin, embroidered with gold, and tied with great diamonds. His gown was of cloth of gold, raised with great flowers of silver, and furred with black genets. Round his neck he wore a diamond collar.
Preceded by Cromwell, who had been recently appointed Lord Chamberlain, he marched on to meet his bride.
At the same moment that the King had issued from his closet, the Princess appeared at the opposite end of the grand gallery. She walked between the Earl of Overstein and the Grand Master Ostoden.
She was apparelled for the ceremony in a gown of rich cloth of gold, set full of flowers of great orient pearl. Her stomacher and girdle were adorned with jewels of inestimable value. On her brow rested a coronal of gold, entwined with small branches of rosemary — this herb of grace being then used at marriage ceremonials, as at funerals. Her long yellow tresses were unbound, and flowed over her shoulders.
Behind her came her ladies and the principal personages composing her suite. Her manner was calm and dignified; no trace of emotion was visible in her countenance.
Midway in the gallery stood Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, who was waiting to perform the marriage ceremony. As the Princess approached, she made three profound obeisances to the King.
Anne was given away by the Earl of Overstein, as representative of her brother, the Duke of Cleves. On the wedding-ring was this inscription —
“God send me well to keep.”
Cromwell, who stood near the King, witnessed the ceremony with inexpressible satisfaction. The success of his scheme was now complete.
After the celebration of the marriage, the royal pair went hand in hand to the King’s closet, where they heard mass, and offered their tapers. From this it will be seen, that although the Reformed religion had made considerable progress, certain Romish rites were still practised. Wine and spices were then offered them by the pages of honour.
The remainder of the day was spent in festivity. A grand banquet was followed by a masque and revel.
XI. The Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop of Winchester.
CATHERINE HOWARD, though urged to do so by Lady Rochford, did not accompany the rest of the Court dames to Greenwich, but returned with her confidante in the Duke of Norfolk’s barge to Lambeth. They had not proceeded far up the river, which was thronged with wherries pursuing the same course as themselves, when they were overtaken by a splendid bark, rowed by eight oarsmen in Cromwell’s livery. In it sat Francis Dereham, and with him was the Morisco.
Neither Catherine’s scornful glances, nor Lady Rochford’s angry and menacing looks, caused him to depart. Hovering around the barge, and keeping his eye fixed on Catherine as a falcon might watch a dove, he fascinated and terrified her. Nor did he relieve her of his hateful presence till they reached London Bridge.
“Thank heaven, he is gone!” she exclaimed. “Oh, that I were completely freed from him! He will destroy all my future!”
“He shall not live to destroy it!” rejoined Lady Rochford. “Since he has secured Cromwell’s protection, he deems himself safe; but he shall not trouble you long.”
Catherine could not be so easily reassured. All her golden dreams of the morning — all the ambitious thoughts roused within her breast by the King’s too plainly-expressed admiration — had been rudely dispelled. She thought only of the ties that bound her to Dereham, and of the extreme likelihood that he would carry his audacity so far as to claim her.
Quite upset by these painful reflections, she arrived, exhausted and unhappy, at Lambeth, and sought instant refuge in her own chamber. When alone, she shed abundance of tears.
Next morning she had somewhat recovered her spirits. The old Duchess and Father Anselm received her with countenances of mingled sorrow and anger, They had already learnt from Lady Rochford that she had been appointed one of the maids of honour to the new Queen.
“You have profited little by the lessons I have taught you, Catherine said the Duchess, in a severe tone. “No sooner are snares spread, than you fall into them. I believed you proof against temptation, but I find, to my sorrow, that you have small power of resistance.”
“Some allowance must be made for the Lady Catherine’s youth, madam,” said Father Anselm. “’Tis greatly to be lamented that the noble Duke, your son, should have sent for her yesterday, knowing, as he does, how carefully you have watched over her, and how anxiously you have shielded her from all possible contact with ill. I cannot but marvel that he should take a step, the pernicious consequences of which might have been predicted — were predicted, indeed, by your Grace. Alas! it is easier to take a false step than to retrace it! The mischief is done, and cannot be repaired.”
Catherine made no reply, and the Duchess renewed the attack.
“I object to your being at Court, as you know, Catherine,” she said. “I had another and a better destiny for you. But I never thought it would come to this; I never deemed that my grand-daughter, brought up in the old and true faith, and taught to abominate heresy, would consent to serve a Lutheran Queen. Had it been the pious Catherine of Arragon, the case would have been very different; but from this heretical woman all the old nobility are bound to keep away. I hold it a disgrace to serve her.”
“I share your sentiments, madam,” said Father Anselm. “I cannot bear the thought that the Lady Catherine should swell her train.”
“She shall not, holy father — she shall not!” cried the Duchess. “I will not allow her to go!”
“I am quite content, dear grandam,” said Catherine, in a tone of resignation. “Whatever you enjoin, I will obey.”
The foregoing discussion took place in the Duchess’s private closet, and it was scarcely concluded when Gervase announced his Grace the Duke of Norfolk and the Lord Bishop of Winchester.
The old Duchess received her son coldly, for she was displeased with him; but she was unusually deferential to the Bishop of Winchester, whom she not improperly regarded as the head of the Romish party.
Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, was a man of unquestionable talent, haughty, intolerant, fierce of temper, ever ready to assail his adversaries, who were numerous, or to defend his friends, who were not now so numerous. Bold, unscrupulous, crafty, Gardiner thought, with Ignatius Loyola, and many others, whether Jesuits or not, that the end justifies the means. Though he adhered firmly to the old religion, he maintained the King’s favour. Henry had too great a respect for his learning and ability to deprive him of his see, though he remained abroad for two years in honourable exile, and had but recently returned.
Gardiner had an extremely forbidding countenance, though it was replete with intellectual power. He had a large aquiline nose, and piercing black eyes, shaded by thick black brows, that gave him a resemblance to a bird of prey.
The noble figure and handsome features of the Duke of Norfolk offered a striking contrast to the fierce and crafty countenance of the subtle prelate.
Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk, and one of the most distinguished men of his age, was then in his sixty-sixth year; but he looked as active and energetic as when, some fifteen years earlier, he had entered S
cotland at the head of the English army, and had besieged and taken Jedworth Castle. He was then the best military leader in England, and the King owed much to his skill and successes.
Early in life he had commanded the front guard at Flodden, and since then he had obtained numerous victories. As Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, he defeated O’Neale at the head of a large force. Sent on an expedition into France, he landed in Brittany, took Morlaix, penetrated into Picardy, and advanced within seven leagues of Paris. In his brilliant career he rose to the highest dignities, being successively appointed Lord Treasurer and Earl Marshal of England. From Henry he received the Order of the Garter, and from Francis the First the collar of St. Michael. Only three years before, he had crushed the formidable rebellion in the North, known as the “Pilgrimage of Grace.”
A profound politician as well as a skilful leader, the Duke of Norfolk was also an adroit courtier, and had hitherto, through all changes, contrived to maintain his influence over the wayward King. He deserted Wolsey, who had aided his rise, and made him Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. He sat in judgment upon his niece, Anne Boleyn, — and we shall see how he comported himself towards another niece, Catherine Howard. But his zeal for the Roman Catholic religion was unabated, and he never swerved from his faith. Had he been allowed to do so, he would have persecuted the Reformers unrelentingly. Cranmer and Cromwell were especial objects of his hate, and he hoped to destroy them both. He had made many vain attempts to inflame Henry’s mind against Cranmer. Of Cromwell’s speedy overthrow he felt assured.
The Duke of Norfolk, who had passed a large portion of his life in camps, had a martial air and deportment. His expression was haughty and commanding. He was tall of stature and strongly built, though he had not the gigantic frame or broad shoulders of the King. His beard was grizzled, and his gray hair clipped close to the head. His doublet and hose were of scarlet velvet, and his surcoat of the same material, but of a darker hue. His buskins were likewise of velvet, crossed by bands and adorned with jewels. He wore a two-handed sword, and a poniard in a gilt sheath dangled above his right hip.
Such was the great Duke of Norfolk.
Gardiner was enveloped in a close cassock of black stuff, and from his surcingle hung a mass-book.
After saluting her uncle and the Bishop of Winchester, Catherine Howard was about to retire, but the Duke detained her for a moment, while he whispered in her ear, “Fear nothing. We will arrange all satisfactorily with the Duchess.”
Gardiner gave her a like word of encouragement, and she then quitted the cabinet with Father Anselm.
“You find me in a state of great distress, my lord,” said the old Duchess to Gardiner. “All my plans in regard to my grand-daughter have been disarranged. She is to he taken from me, and placed under this heretical Princess. I am sure you will sympathise with me in my misfortune.”
“When you understand the matter more clearly, madam, you will not view it as a misfortune,” rejoined Gardiner.
“Do you not blame the Duke for sending for her?” she cried.
“On the contrary, madam, I think his Grace acted most judiciously, and the wisdom of the step has been proved by the result. Nay, if I must speak truth, I counselled the line of conduct he has adopted; so, if blame there he, it must rest on my shoulders. Our object has been to serve the cause of our religion, and, by so doing, inflict a heavy blow on its adversaries.”
“I approve of the object, but do not see how it is to be accomplished by the course pursued,” observed the Duchess, gravely.
“Look you, madam,” cried the Duke; “a great opportunity has occurred, and we should be wanting to ourselves and our cause if we allowed it to slip. The King is disgusted with the consort provided for him by Cromwell, and would fain have sent her back; but he has been forced into the match, with what reluctance you will understand when I tell you that he has already intimated that he will divorce her.”
“Another divorce!” exclaimed the Duchess, in surprise.
“Ay, another divorce!” returned Gardiner— “and, after the divorce, another bride. And the bride will be your grand-daughter, Catherine Howard.”
The Duchess lifted up her hands in amazement.
“Such is the actual order of events, madam,” observed Gardiner, with decision. “The Lady Catherine has captivated his Majesty, that is certain. ‘Twill he her own fault if she be not Queen.”
“That would reconcile me to her loss,” said the Duchess.
“Why, so it ought, madam — so it ought; to say nothing of the services she would render our cause,” observed Gardiner.
“If Catherine is Queen — as she shall be,” cried Norfolk, “her influence over Henry will enable us to crush the Reformers, and re-establish the old doctrines. Cromwell calculated upon Anne of Cleves to extend the progress of heresy, and consolidate his own power; and if Anne’s charms had answered his description, he would, doubtless, have succeeded. As it is, his disgrace is inevitable.”
“His highest offices will then fall to our share,” said Gardiner. “Tunstal, Bishop of Durham, will become Vicar-General; and Clarke, Bishop of Bath, will be Lord Privy Seal. All Cromwell’s creatures will fall with him. His Majesty has already testified his displeasure with Doctor Barnes, who was secretly employed to negotiate the marriage with the Duke of Cleves. At Paul’s Cross, in my last sermon, I sharply rebuked those preachers who have inculcated the Lutheran tenet of justification by faith, without works.”
“I heard of that excellent sermon, my lord,” observed the Duchess.
“Confident in the Vicar-General’s protection,” pursued the Bishop, “Barnes assailed me and the Romish priesthood with such foul abuse and coarse buffoonery, that the King indignantly committed him to the Tower.
Cromwell will feel the blow, for it was levelled against him. Let him beware! Heaven’s vengeance will not long be delayed. His evil counsel has stirred the King to do great wrong. He is the contriver of that accursed work, the dissolution of the monasteries; and, as a reward, has obtained the grant of thirty manors, once the property of as many religious houses. Can such iniquity prosper? His ill-gotten wealth shall be taken from him, and he shall perish. Let Cranmer, also, take heed. There are pitfalls in his path, into which he may stumble. While Latimer, Thaxton, and all the rest of our foes shall be driven forth.”
“May I live to see that day!” ejaculated the Duchess.
“You shall see it, madam,” said the Duke. “Let but Catherine become Queen, and all the rest will follow. Through her we shall be able to govern the King. Anne Boleyn kindled the Reform — Catherine Howard will extinguish the mischievous fire. Anne of Cleves has influence neither for good nor evil. She cannot serve Cromwell, if she would. She has neither beauty, grace, nor wit — nothing to captivate the King.”
“’Tis most fortunate that your grand-daughter has been so well brought up, madam,” observed Gardiner. “In all respects, she is admirably fitted for the part she has to play. She has youth and marvellous beauty — the latter being indispensable. Then she has accomplishments.”
“She has a sweet voice, my lord,” said the Duchess; “but she sings no light songs, and she plays well on the virginals. But I doubt if she can dance.”
“Nay, I have seen her dance, and right merrily, too,” cried the Duke, laughing. “She has every requisite to please the King, and retain his affections. But she has one especial point in her favour, that must weigh with him — perfect purity, assured by the secluded life she has led with you. No breath of scandal can touch her. Anne Boleyn’s guilty conduct has made the King naturally suspicious. But he can have no distrust in this case. Catherine is innocence itself.”
“Her modest looks, and gentle, maidenly deportment, proclaim her goodness,” said Gardiner.
“Young damsels cannot be too carefully guarded,” said the Duchess. “Anne Boleyn — I will not own her as my grand-daughter — learnt all the arts of coquetry and dissimulation in the gay Court of France. Catherine has been taught better — that is all
I have to say.”
“You deserve the utmost credit, madam,” said Gardiner. “And you will now be well repaid for all the care you have bestowed upon her.”
The Duchess was not without secret misgivings, for her thoughts reverted to Francis Dereham, whose re-appearance at this juncture, as one of Cromwell’s gentlemen, caused her some uneasiness. She had never acquainted the Duke, her son, with the reason of Dereham’s dismissal, and she revolved well in herself whether she should now disclose the matter to him, and to the Bishop of Winchester.
Deeply did she afterwards regret that she hesitated to do so. A word to the Duke would have enabled him to get rid of the enemy.
XII. The Conflict.
MEANTIME, Catherine Howard had strolled forth into the garden. She wished to he alone, in order to collect her thoughts. But such was her mental confusion, that the task was difficult.
One thing was certain. She must go to Court. However opposed her grandmother might he to the plan, she must yield to the advice of the Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop of Winchester. She should then see the King continually. How she recalled all the tender words he had breathed to her during their walk together along the terrace! How incredible it seemed that he should have offered her his hand! Yet more incredible that she should have refused him. But his displeasure was gone, and his passion was in nowise abated, as his amorous glances in the tent had convinced her. Visions of splendour again rose before her.
While indulging these dreams, she had insensibly wandered towards that part of the garden where her nocturnal meetings with Dereham had taken place. His dark visage, however, did not intrude upon her meditations. When not thinking of the King, she thought of Adrian Culpepper.
Suddenly, she heard Adrian’s voice, and turning, beheld him hastening towards her.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 620