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.