Of Henry's Attachment To Jane Seymour

ON the anniversary of Saint George, 1536, and exactly seven years from

the opening of this chronicle, Henry assembled the knights-companions

within Windsor Castle to hold the grand feast of the most noble Order of

the Garter.



Many important events had occurred in the wide interval thus suffered

to elapse. Wolsey had long since sunk under his reverses--for he never

regained the royal favour after his dismi sal--and had expired at

Leicester Abbey, on the 26th November 1530.



But the sufferings of Catherine of Arragon were prolonged up to the

commencement of the year under consideration. After the divorce and the

elevation of Anne Boleyn to the throne in her stead, she withdrew to

Kimbolten Castle, where she dwelt in the greatest retirement, under the

style of the Princess Dowager. Finding her end approaching, she sent

a humble message to the king, imploring him to allow her one last

interview with her daughter, that she might bestow her blessing upon

her; but the request was refused.



A touching letter, however, which she wrote to the king on her

death-bed, moved him to tears; and having ejaculated a few expressions

of his sense of her many noble qualities, he retired to his closet

to indulge his grief in secret. Solemn obsequies were ordered to be

performed at Windsor and Greenwich on the day of her interment, and the

king and the whole of his retinue put on mourning for her.



With this arrangement Anne Boleyn cared not to comply. Though she

had attained the summit of her ambition; though the divorce had been

pronounced, and she was crowned queen; though she had given birth to a

daughter--the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards the illustrious queen of

that name two years before; and though she could have no reasonable

apprehensions from her, the injured Catherine, during her lifetime,

had always been an object of dread to her. She heard of her death

with undisguised satisfaction, clapped her hands, exclaiming to her

attendants, "Now I am indeed queen!" and put the crowning point to her

unfeeling conduct by decorating herself and her dames in the gayest

apparel on the day of the funeral.



Alas! she little knew that at that very moment the work of retribution

commenced, and that the wrongs of the injured queen, whose memory she

thus outraged, were soon to be terribly and bloodily avenged.



Other changes had likewise taken place, which may be here recorded. The

Earl of Surrey had made the tour of France, Italy, and the Empire,

and had fully kept his word, by proclaiming the supremacy of the Fair

Geraldine's beauty at all tilts and tournaments, at which he constantly

bore away the prize. But the greatest reward, and that which he hoped

would crown his fidelity--the hand of his mistress--was not reserved for

him.



At the expiration of three years, he returned home, polished by travel,

and accounted one of the bravest and most accomplished cavaliers of the

day. His reputation had preceded him, and he was received with marks of

the highest distinction and favour by Henry, as well as by Anne Boleyn.

But the king was still averse to the match, and forbade the Fair

Geraldine to return to court.



Finding so much opposition on all sides, the earl was at last brought to

assent to the wish of the Fair Geraldine, that their engagement should

be broken off. In her letters, she assured him that her love had

undergone no abatement--and never would do so--but that she felt they

must give up all idea of an union.



These letters, probably the result of some manoeuvring on his own part,

set on foot by the royal mandate, were warmly seconded by the Duke of

Norfolk, and after many and long solicitations, he succeeded in wringing

from his son a reluctant acquiescence to the arrangement.



The disappointment produced its natural consequences on the ardent

temperament of the young earl, and completely chilled and blighted his

feelings. He became moody and discontented; took little share in the

amusement and pastimes going forward; and from being the blithest

cavalier at court, became the saddest. The change in his demeanour did

not escape the notice of Anne Boleyn, who easily divined the cause, and

she essayed by raillery and other arts to wean him from his grief. But

all was for some time of no avail. The earl continued inconsolable. At

last, however, by the instrumentality of the queen and his father, he

was contracted to the Lady Frances Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford,

and was married to her in 1535.



Long before this the Duke of Richmond had been wedded to the Lady Mary

Howard.



For some time previous to the present era of this chronicle, Anne Boleyn

had observed a growing coolness towards her on the part of the king,

and latterly it had become evident that his passion for her was fast

subsiding, if indeed it had not altogether expired.



Though Anne had never truly loved her royal consort, and though at that

very time she was secretly encouraging the regards of another, she

felt troubled by this change, and watched all the king's movements

with jealous anxiety, to ascertain if any one had supplanted her in his

affections.



At length her vigilance was rewarded by discovering a rival in one

of the loveliest of her dames, Jane Seymour. This fair creature, the

daughter of Sir John Seymour, of Wolff Hall, in Wiltshire, and who was

afterwards, it is almost needless to say, raised to as high a dignity

as Anne Boleyn herself, was now in the very pride of her beauty. Tall,

exquisitely proportioned, with a complexion of the utmost brilliancy and

delicacy, large liquid blue eyes, bright chestnut tresses, and lovely

features, she possessed charms that could not fall to captivate the

amorous monarch. It seems marvellous that Anne Boleyn should have such

an attendant; but perhaps she felt confident in her own attractions.



Skilled in intrigue herself, Anne, now that her eyes were opened,

perceived all the allurements thrown out by Jane to ensnare the king,

and she intercepted many a furtive glance between them. Still she did

not dare to interfere. The fierceness of Henry's temper kept her in awe,

and she knew well that the slightest opposition would only make him the

more determined to run counter to her will. Trusting, therefore, to get

rid of Jane Seymour by some stratagem, she resolved not to attempt to

dismiss her, except as a last resource.



A slight incident occurred, which occasioned a departure from the

prudent course she had laid down to herself.



Accompanied by her dames, she was traversing the great gallery of the

palace at Greenwich, when she caught the reflection of Jane Seymour,

who was following her, in a mirror, regarding a jewelled miniature.

She instantly turned round at the sight, and Jane, in great confusion,

thrust the picture into her bosom.



"Ah I what have you there?" cried Anne.



"A picture of my father, Sir John Seymour," replied Jane, blushing

deeply.



"Let me look at it," cried Anne, snatching the picture from her. "Ah!

call you this your father? To my thinking it is much more like my royal

husband. Answer me frankly, minion--answer me, as you value your life!

Did the king give you this?"



"I must decline answering the question," replied Jane, who by this time

had recovered her composure.



"Ah! am I to be thus insolently treated by one of my own dames?" cried

Anne.



"I intend no disrespect to your majesty," replied Jane, "and I will,

since you insist upon it, freely confess that I received the portrait

from the king. I did not conceive there could be any harm in doing so,

because I saw your majesty present your own portrait, the other day, to

Sir Henry Norris."



Anne Boleyn turned as pale as death, and Jane Seymour perceived that she

had her in her power.



"I gave the portrait to Sir Henry as a recompense for an important

service he rendered me," said Anne, after a slight pause.



"No doubt," replied Jane; "and I marvel not that he should press it so

fervently to his lips, seeing he must value the gift highly. The king

likewise bestowed his portrait upon me for rendering him a service."



"And what was that?" asked Anne.



"Nay, there your majesty must hold me excused," replied the other. "It

were to betray his highness's confidence to declare it. I must refer you

to him for explanation."



"Well, you are in the right to keep the secret," said Anne, forcing a

laugh. "I dare say there is no harm in the portrait--indeed, I am

sure there is not, if it was given with the same intent that mine was

bestowed upon Norris. And so we will say no more upon the matter, except

that I beg you to be discreet with the king. If others should comment

upon your conduct, I may be compelled to dismiss you."



"Your majesty shall be obeyed," said Jane, with a look that intimated

that the request had but slight weight with her.



"Catherine will be avenged by means of this woman," muttered Anne as

she turned away. "I already feel some of the torments with which she

threatened me. And she suspects Norris. I must impress more caution

on him. Ah! when a man loves deeply, as he loves me, due restraint is

seldom maintained."



But though alarmed, Anne was by no means aware of the critical position

in which she stood. She could not persuade herself that she had

entirely lost her influence with the king; and she thought that when his

momentary passion had subsided, it would return to its old channels.



She was mistaken. Jane Seymour was absolute mistress of his heart; and

Anne was now as great a bar to him as she had before been an attraction.

Had her conduct been irreproachable, it might have been difficult to

remove her; but, unfortunately, she had placed herself at his mercy, by

yielding to the impulses of vanity, and secretly encouraging the passion

of Sir Henry Norris, groom of the stole.



This favoured personage was somewhat above the middle Size, squarely and

strongly built. His features were regularly and finely formed, and he

had a ruddy complexion, brown curling hair, good teeth, and fine eyes

of a clear blue. He possessed great personal strength, was expert in all

manly exercises, and shone especially at the jousts and the manege. He

was of an ardent temperament, and Anne Boleyn had inspired him with so

desperate a passion that he set at nought the fearful risk he ran to

obtain her favour.



In all this seemed traceable the hand of fate--in Henry's passion for

Jane Seymour, and Anne's insane regard for Norris--as if in this way,

and by the same means in which she herself had been wronged, the injured

Catherine of Arragon was to be avenged.



How far Henry's suspicions of his consort's regard for Norris had been

roused did not at the time appear. Whatever he felt in secret, he took

care that no outward manifestation should betray him. On the contrary he

loaded Norris, who had always been a favourite with him, with new marks

of regard, and encouraged rather than interdicted his approach to the

queen.



Things were in this state when the court proceeded to Windsor, as before

related, on Saint George's day.