Windsor Castle by William Harrison Ainsworth
BOOK VI — JANE SEYMOUR
CHAPTER I
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 dismissal—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.