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 COL. GEORGE WASHINGTON FLOWERS 
 MEMORIAL COLLECTION 
 
 DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 DURHAM, N. C. 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 W. W. FLOWERS 
 
 
 
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(ElNilY VIII. AND HIS COURT, 
 
 OR, 
 
 CATHARINE PAlili. 
 
 % historical 
 
 BY L. MUHLBACH. 
 
 jFrom t$e (German, 
 
 BY REV. H. N. PIERCE, D. D 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 MOBILE: 
 6. II. GOETZEL, PUBLISHER. 
 
 1865. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 
 S. H. GOETZEL, • • 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Alabama, 
 for the Confederate States of America. 
 
 ri» 
 
 > 
 
 - 
 
HENRY VIII. AND HIS COURT. 
 
 . 'fan 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CIIOOSINO A CONFESSOR. 
 
 It was in th ■ year 1543. King Henry the Eighth of England that 
 day once more pronounced himself the happiest and most enviable man 
 in his kingdom, for to-day he was once more a bridegroom, and Catha- 
 rine Parr, the youthful widow of Baron Latimer, had "the perilous hap- 
 piness of being selected as the King's sixth consort. » 
 
 Merrily chimed the bells of all the steeples of London announcing to 
 the people the commencement of that holy ceremony which sacredly 
 bound Catharine Parr to the King as his sixth wife. The people, ever 
 fond of novelty and show, crowded through the streets to • ards the royal 
 palace to catch a sigh t of Cathaiine, when she appeared at her husband's 
 side upon the balcony, to show lie; self to the English people as their 
 queen, and to receive their homage in return. 
 
 Surely it was a proud and lofty success for the widow of a petty 
 Baron to become the lawful wife of the King of England and to wear 
 upon her brow a royal crown ! But yet Catharine Parr's heart was 
 moved with a strange fear, her cheeks were pale and cold, and before 
 the altar, her closely compressed lips scarcely had the power to part and 
 pronounce the binding "I will." 
 
 At last the sacred ceremony was completed. The two spiritual di<r 
 nitaries, Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, and Cranmer, Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, then, in acccordance with court etiquette, led the young 
 bride into her apartments, in order to bless them, and once more to pray 
 with her, before the worldly festivities should begin. 
 
 Catharine, however pale and agitated, had jet sustained her part in 
 the various ceremonies of the day with a true queenly bearing and dig- 
 nity, and, as now with head proudly erect and firm step, she walked 
 with a bishop at either side through the splendid apartments, no one 
 suspected how heavy a burden weighed upon her heart, aud what bale- 
 ful voices were whispering in her' brea9t. 
 
 Followed by her new Court, she had traversed with her companions 
 the State apartments, and now reached the inner rooms. Plere, accord- 
 ing to the etiquette of the time, she must dismiss her Court, and only 
 the two bishops and her ladies of honor were permitted to accompany 
 the Queen into the drawing-room. But farther than this chamber, even 
 
4 
 
 the bishops themselves might not follow her. The King himself had^ 
 written down the order for the day, and he who swerved from this order 
 in the most insignificant point, would have been proclaimed guilty of 
 high treason, and perhaps, have been led out to death. 
 
 Catharine therefore turned with a languid smile to the two high 
 Ecclesiastics and requested them to await here her summons. Then 
 beckoning to her ladies of honor, she withdrew into her boudoir. 
 
 The two bishops remained by themselves in the drawing room. The 
 circumstance of their being alone seemed to impress them both alike 
 unpleasantly ; for, a dark scowl gathered on the brows of both, and they 
 withdrew, as if at a concerted signal, to the opposite sides of the spacious 
 apartment. 
 
 A long pause ensued. Nothing was heard save the regular ticking of 
 a large clock of rare workmanship which stood over the fire-place, and 
 from the street afar off, the rejoicing of the people, who surged towards 
 the palace like a roaring sea. 
 
 Gardiner had stept to the window and was looking up with his pecu- 
 liar dark smile at the clouds which, driven by the tempest, were sweep- 
 ing across the heavens. 
 
 Cranmer stood by the wall on the opposite side, and sunk in sad 
 thoughts, was contemplating a large portrait of Henry the Eighth, the 
 the masterly production of Holbein. As. he gazed on that countenance 
 indicative at once of so much dignity and so much ferocity ; as he con- 
 templated those eyes which shone with such gloomy severity, those lips 
 on which was a smile at once voluptuous and fierce, there came over 
 him a feeling of deep sympathy with the young woman, whom he had, 
 that day, devoted to such splendid misery. He reflected that he had, in 
 like manner, already conducted two wives of the King to the marriage 
 altar, and had blessed their union. But he reflected too that he had also, 
 afterwards, attended both these queens when they ascended the scaffold. 
 
 How easily might this pitiable young wife of the King fall a victim 
 to the same dark fate ! How easily might Catharine Parr, like Anna 
 Boleyn and Catharine Howard purchase her short-lived glory with an 
 ignominious death! At any time an inconsiderate word, a look, a 
 smile, might be her ruin. For the King's choler and jealousy were in- 
 calculable, and, to his cruelty, no punishment seemed too severe for 
 those by whom he fancied himself injured. 
 
 Such were the thoughts which occupied Bishop Cranmer. They soften- 
 ed him, and caused the dark wrinkles to disappear from his brow. 
 
 He now smiled to himself at the ill-humor which he had felt shortly 
 before, and upbraided himself for having been so little mindful of his 
 holy calling, and for having exhibited so little readiness to meet his 
 enemy in a conciliating spirit. 
 
 Bbr Gardiner was his enemy ; that Cranmer very well knew. Gar- 
 diner had often enough showed him this by his deeds, as he had also 
 taken pains by his words to assure him of his friendship. 
 
 But even if Gardiner hated him, it did not therefore follow that Cran- 
 
mer was obliged to return that hatred, that he should denominate him 
 his enemy, whom he, in virtue of their mutual high calling, was bound 
 to honor and love as his brother. 
 
 The noble C ran mer was therefore ashamed of his momentary ill- 
 humor. A gentle smile lighted up his peaceful countenance. With an 
 air at once dignified and friendly, he crossed the room and approached 
 the Bishop of Winchester. 
 
 Lord Gardiner turned towards him with morose looks, and without 
 advancing from the embrasure of the window in which he was standing, 
 waited for Cranmer to advance to him. As he looked into that noble 
 smiling countenance, he had a feeling, as if he must raise his fist and 
 dash it into the face of this man, who had the boldness to wish to be 
 his equal, and to contend with him for fame and honor. 
 
 But he reflected in good time that Cranmer was still the King's favorite, 
 and therefore he must proceed to work against him with great caution. 
 
 So he forced these fierce thoughts back into his heart, and let his face 
 again assume its wonted grave, and impenetrable expression. 
 
 Cranmer now stood close before him, and his bright, beaming eye was 
 fixed upon Gardiner's sullen countenance. 
 
 I come to your Highness, said Cranmer, in his gentle pleasant voice, 
 to say to you that I wish with my whole heart, the Queen may choose 
 you for her confessor and spiritual director, and to assure you, that, 
 should this be the case, there will not be in my soul, on that account, 
 the least rancor, or the slightest dissatisfaction. 1 shall fully oompre- 
 hiiid it, if her Majesty chooses the distinguished and eminent Bishop of 
 Winchester as her confessor, and the esteem and admiration which I 
 entertain for you can only be enhanced thereby. lu confirmation of this, 
 permit me to offer you my hand. 
 
 He presented his hand to Gardiner, who, however, took it reluctantly 
 and but for a moment. 
 
 Your Highness is very noble, and at the same time a very subtle 
 diplomatist, for you only wish in an adroit and ingenious way to give 
 me to understand how 1 am to act should the Queen choose you for her 
 spiritual director. But that she will do so, you know as well as I. It 
 is therefore for me only a humiliation which etiquette imposes when -she 
 compels me to stand here and wait to see whether I shall be chosen, or 
 contemptuously thrust aside. 
 
 W r hy will you look at matters in so unfriendly a light? said Cranmer, 
 gently. Wherefore will you consider it a mark of contempt, if you are 
 not chosen to an office, to which indeed neither merit nor worthiness 
 can call us, but only the personal confidence of a young woman. 
 
 Oh! you admit that 1 shall not be chosen? cried Gardiner, with a 
 malicious smile. 
 
 1 have already (old \ on that I am wholly uninformed as to the Queen's 
 wish, and I think it is known that the Bishop of Canterbury is wont to 
 speak the truth. 
 
 -tainly that is known, but it is known also that Catharine Parr was. 
 
 1 A 
 
6 
 
 a warm admirer of die Bishop of Canterbury, and now that she has gain- 
 ed her end and become queen, she will make it her duty to show her 
 gratitude to him. 
 
 You would by that insinuate that I have made her queen. But 1 
 assure your Highness, that here also, as in so many other matters, which 
 relate to myself, you are falsely informed. 
 
 Possibly ! said Gardiner, coldly. At any rate, it is certain that the 
 young Queen is an ardent advocate of the abominable new doctrine 
 which, like the plague, has spread itself from Germany over all Europe, 
 and scattered mischief and ruin through all Christendom. Yes, Catha- 
 rine Fair, the present Queen leans to that heretic, against whom the 
 Holy Father at Rome has hurled his crushing anathema. She is an ad- 
 herent of the Reformation. 
 
 You forget, said Cranmer, with an arch smile, that this anathema was 
 hurled against the head of our King also, and that it has shown itself 
 equally ineffectual against Henry the- Eighth, as against Luther. Be- 
 sides 1 miyht remind you, that we no longer call the Pope of Rome, 
 " Holy Father," and that you yourself have recognized the King as the 
 head of our Church. 
 
 Gardiner turned away his face in order to conceal the vexation and 
 rage which distorted his features. He felt that he had gone too far, that 
 he had betrayed too much of the secret thoughts of his soul. But he 
 could not always control his violent and passionate nature; and how- 
 ever much a man of the world and diplomatist he might be, still there 
 were moments when the fanatical priest got the better of the man of the 
 world, and the diplomat© was forced to give way to the minister of the 
 church. 
 
 Cranmer pitied Gardiner's confusion, and following the native good- 
 ness of his heart, he said pleasantly : Let us not strive here about dog- 
 mas, nor attempt to determine whether Luther or the Pope is most in 
 the wrong. We stand here in the chamber of the young Queen. Let 
 us, therefore, occupy ourselves a little with the destiny of this young 
 woman, whom God has chosen for so brilliant a lot. 
 
 Brilliant? said Gardiner, shrugging his shoulders. Let us first wait 
 for the termination of her career, and then decide whether it has been 
 brilliant. 
 
 Many a queen before this has fancied that she was resting on a couoh 
 of myrtles and roses, and has suddenly become conscious that she was 
 lying on a red hot gridiron, which consumed her. 
 
 Id is true, murmured Cranmer, with a slight shudder, it isla dangerous 
 k)t to be the King's consort. But just on that account, let us not make 
 the perils of her position still greater, by adding to them our own en- 
 mity and hate. Just on that account 1 beg you, (and on my part I 
 pledge you my word for it) that, let the choice of the Queen be as it 
 .may, there may be no feeling of anger, and no desire for revenge in 
 consequence. My God, the poor women are such odd beiDgs, so un- 
 accountable in their wishes and in their inclinations ! 
 
Ah ! it seems yoa know the women very intimately, cried Gardiner, 
 with a malicious laugh. Verily, were you not Bishop of Canterbury, 
 and had not the King prohibited the marriage of ecclesiastics as a very 
 grave crime, one mi»ht suppose that you had a wife yourself, and had 
 gained from her a thorough knowledge of female character. 
 
 Cranmer, somewhat embarrassed, turned away, and seemed to evade 
 Gardiner's piercing look. We are not speaking of myself, said he at 
 length, but of the young Queen, and 1 entreat for her your good wi?-hes. 
 I have seen her to-day almost for the first time, and have never spoken 
 with her, but her countenance has tuuehingly impressed me. and it ap- 
 peared to me, her looks besought us to remain at her side, ready to 
 help her on this difficult pathway, which five wives have already trod 
 before her, and in which they found only misery and tears, disgrace and 
 blood. 
 
 Let Catharine beware then that she does not forsake the right way as 
 her five predecessors have done, exclaimed Gardiner. May she be pru 
 dent and cautious, and may she be enlightened by God, "that she may 
 hold the true faith, and have true wisdom, and not allow herself to be 
 seduced into the crooked path of the godless and heretical, but remain 
 faithful and steadfast with those of the true faith. 
 
 Who can say who are of the true faith? murmured Cranmer, sadly. 
 There are so many paths leading to heaven, who knows which is the 
 right one ? * 
 
 That which we tread ! cried Gardiner, with all the overweening pride 
 of a minister of the church. Woe to the Queen should she take any 
 other road ! Woe to her if she lends her ear to the false doctrines 
 which come ringing over here from Germany and Switzerland, and in 
 the worldly prudence of her heart imagines that she can rest secure. I 
 will be her most faithful and zealous servant, if she is with me ; I will 
 be her most implacable enemy if she is against me. 
 
 And will you call it, being against you, if the Queen does not choose 
 you for her confessor. 
 
 Will you ask me to call it, "being for me"? 
 
 Now God grant that she may choose you ! exclaimed Cranmer, fer 
 vently, as he clasped his hands and raised his eyes to heaven. Poor 
 unfortunate Queen ! The first proof of thy husband's love may be thy 
 first misfortune ! Why gave he thee the liberty of choosing thine own 
 spiritual director? Why did not he choose for thee? 
 
 And Cranmer dropped his head upon his breast, and sighed deeply. 
 
 At this instant, the door of the royal chamber opened, and Lady Jane, 
 daughter of Earl Douglas, and first maid of honor to the Queen, made 
 her appearance on the threshold. 
 
 Both bishops regarded her in breathless silence. It was a serious, a 
 ■ solemn moment, the deep importance of which was verf well compre 
 hended by all three. 
 
 Her Majesty, tho Queen, said Lady Jane, in an agitated voice, her 
 Mnjo.sty requests the presence of Lord Cranmer, Archbishop of Cr. 
 
bury, in her cabinet, in order that she may perform her devotions with 
 him. 
 
 Poor Queen ! murmured Cranmer, as he crossed the room to go to 
 Catharine. Poor Queen ! she has just made an implacable enemy. 
 
 Lady Jane waited till Cranmer had disappeared through the door, 
 then hastened with eager steps to the Bishop of Winchester, and drop- 
 ping on her knee, humbly said, Grace, your Highness, grace! My 
 words were in vain, and were not able to shake her resolution. 
 
 Gardiner raided up the kneeling maiden, and forced a smile. It is 
 well, said he, I doubt not of your zeal. You are a true handmaid of the 
 church, and she will love and reward you for it as a mother ! It is then 
 decided. The Queen is 
 
 Is a heretic, whispered Lady Jane. Woe to her! 
 
 And will you be true, and will you faithfully adhere to us? 
 
 True, in every thought of my being, and every drop of my heart's 
 blood. 
 
 S>> shall we overcome Catharine Parr, as we overcame Catharine 
 Howard. To the block with the heretic. We found means of bringing 
 Catharine Howard to the scaffold ; you, Lady Jane, must find the means 
 of leading Catharine Parr the same way. 
 
 I will find them, said Lady Jane, quietly. She loves and trusts me. 
 I will betray her friendship in order to remain true to my religion. 
 
 Catharine Parr then is lost, said Gardiner, aloud. 
 
 Yes — she is lost, responded Earl Douglas, who had just entered, and 
 cau«ht the last words of the bishop. Yes, she is lost, for we are her in- 
 exorable and ever vigilant enemies. But I deem it not altogether pru- 
 dent to utter words like these in the Queen's drawing-room. Let us 
 therefore choose a more favorable hour ! Besides, your Highness, you 
 Tnust betake yourself to the grand reception hall, where the whole court 
 is already assembled, and now only awaits the King to go in formal 
 procession for the young Queen, and conduce her to the balcony. Let 
 us go then. 
 
 Gardiner nodded in silence, and betook himself to the reception hall. 
 
 Earl Douglas with his daughter followed him. Catharine Parr is lost, 
 whispered he in Lady Jane's ear. Catharine Parr is lost, and you shall 
 be the King's seventh wife. 
 
 Whilst this was passing in the drawing room, the young Queen was 
 on her knees before Cranmer, and with him sending up to God fervent 
 prayers for prosperity and peace. Tears filled her eyes, and her heart 
 trembled as if before some approaching calamity. 
 
CHAPTER ir. 
 
 THE QUEEN AND 1IKU FRIEND. 
 
 • At last this long day of ceremonies and festivities drew near its close, 
 and Catharine might soon hope to be, for the time, relieved from this 
 endless presenting and smiling, from this ever renewed homage. • 
 
 At her husband's side she had shown herself on the balcony to receive 
 the greeting* of the people, and to bow her thanks. Then in the spacious 
 audience chamber, her newly appointed Court had passed before her in 
 formal procession, and she had exchanged a few meaningless, friendly 
 words with each of these lords and ladies. Afterwards she had, at her 
 husband's side, given audience to the deputations from the city and 
 from Parliament. But it was only with a secret shudder that she had 
 received from their lips the same congratulations and praises with which 
 the authorities had already greeted five other wives of the King. 
 
 Still s1m> hnd been able to smile and seem happy, for she well knew 
 that the King's eye was never ofFof her, and that all these lords and 
 ladies who now met her with such deference, and with homage apparent- 
 ly so sincere, were yet, in truth,' all her bkter enemies. For by her 
 marriage she had destroyed so many hopes, she had pushed aside so 
 many who believed themselves better fitted to assume the lofty position 
 of queen. She knew that these victims of disappointment would never 
 forgive her this, that she, who was but yesterday their equal, had to-day 
 soared above them as queen and mistress; she knew that all these 
 were watching with spying eyes her every word and action, in order, it 
 might be, to forge therefrom an accusation of a death warrant. 
 
 But nevertheless she smiled ! She smiled, though she felt that the 
 choler of the King, so easily kindled and so cruelly vindictive, ever 
 swung over her head like the sword of Damocles. 
 
 She smiled so that this sword might not not fall upon her. 
 
 At length all these presentations, this homage and rejoicing were well 
 over, and they came to the more agreeable and satisfactory part of the 
 feast. 
 
 They went to dinner." That was Catharine's first moment of respite, 
 of rest. For when Henry the Eighth seated himself at table, he was no 
 longer the haughty monarch and the jealous husband, but, merely the 
 proficient artiste and the impassioned gourmand ; and whether the pasty 
 was well seasoned, and the pheasant of good flavor, was for him then a 
 far more important question than any concerning the weal of his people, 
 and tho prosperity of his kingdom. 
 
 But after dinner came another respite, a new enjoyment, and this 
 
Ill 
 
 * 
 
 time a more real one, which indeed for a while banished all gloomy 
 forebodings and melancholy fears from Catharine's heart, and suffused 
 her countenance with the rosy radiance of cheerfulness and happy smiles. 
 For King Henry had prepared for his young wife a peculiar and alto- 
 gether novel surprise. He had caused to be erected in the palace of 
 Whitehall a stage, whereon was represented by the nobles of the Court, 
 a comedy from Plautus. Heretofore there had been no other theatrical 
 exhibitions than those which the people performed on the high festivals 
 of the Church, the Morality and the Mystery plays. King Henry the 
 Eighth was the first who had a stage erected for worldly amusement 
 likewise, and caused to be represented on it subjects other than mere 
 dramatized Church history. As he freed the Church from its spiritual 
 head, the Pope, so he wished to free the stage from the Church, and to 
 behold upon it other more lively Spectacles than the roasting of saints 
 and the massacre of inspired nuns. 
 
 And why, too, represent such mock tragedies on the stage, when the 
 King was daily performing them in reality? The burning of Christian 
 martyrs and inspired virgins was, under the reign of the Christian King 
 Henry, such a usual and every day occurrence that it could afford a 
 piquant entertainment neither to the Court nor to himself. 
 
 But the representation of a Roman comedy, that, however was a new 
 and piquant pleasure, a surprise for the young Queen. He had the 
 "Curculio" played before his wife, and if Catharine indeed could listen 
 to the licentious and shameless jests of the popular Roman poet, only 
 with bashful blushes, Henry was so much the more delighted by it, and 
 accompanied the obscenest allusions and the most indecent jests with 
 his uproarious laughter and loud shouts of applause. 
 
 At length this festivity was also over with, and Catharine was now 
 permitted to retire with her attendants to her private apartments. 
 
 With a pleasant'smile, she dismissed her cavaliers, and bade her wo- 
 men and her second maid of honor, Anne Askew, go into her boudoir 
 and await her call. Then she gave her arm to her friend Lady Jane 
 Douglas, and with her entered her cabinet. 
 
 At last she was alone ; at last un watched. The smile disappeared from 
 her face, and an expression of deep«adness was stamped upon her features. 
 
 Jane, said she, prythee shut the doors and draw the window curtains, 
 so that nobody can see me, nobody hear me. No one except yourself, 
 iuy friend, the companion of my happy childhood. Oh, my God, my 
 God why was 1 so foolish as to leave my father's quiet lonely castle 
 und «o out into the world, which is so full of terror and horror ? 
 
 She sighed and groaned deeply ; and burying her face in her hands, 
 she sank upon the ottoman, weeping and trembling. 
 
 Lady Jane observed her with a peculiar smile of .malicious satisfaction. 
 
 She is queen and she weeps, said she to herself. My God, how can 
 a woman possibly feel unhappy, and she a queen ? 
 
 She approached Catharine and seating herself on the tabouret at her 
 feet, she impressed a fervent kiss on the Queen's drooping hand. 
 
Your Majesty weeping! said sho in her most insinuate tone. My 
 God, you are then unhappy, and 1 received with a loud ci-tf of joy, the 
 news of my fiend's unexpected good fortune. I thought to meet a 
 queen, proud, happy and radiant with joy ; and I was anxious and fear- 
 ful lest the Queen might have ceased to my fiend. Wherefore, I urged 
 my father, as soon as your command reached us, to leave Dublin and 
 hasten with me hither. Oh, my God. I wished to see you in your hap- 
 piness and in your greatness. 
 
 Catharine removed her hands from her face and looked down at her 
 friend with a sorrowful smile. 
 
 Well, said she, are you not satisfied, with what you have seen 1 
 Have 1 not the whole day displayed to you the smiling queen, worn a 
 dress embroidered with gold ; did not my neck glitter with diamonds, 
 did not the royal diadem shine in my hair, and sat not t hewing by my 
 side? Let that then be sufficient for the present. You have seen the 
 queen all day long. Allow me now for one brief, happy moment to 
 be again the feeling, sensitive woman, who can pour into the bosom of 
 her friend all her complaint and her wretchedness. Ah Jane, if you 
 knew how I have longed for this hour, how I have sighed after you as 
 the only balm for my poor smitten heart, smitten even to death, how I 
 ^iave implored heaven for this day, for this one thing — give me. back my 
 Jane, so that she can weep with me, so that 1 may have one being at, 
 ray side \* ho understands me, and does not allow herself to be Imposed 
 upon by the wretched splendor of this outward display* 
 
 Poor Catharine ! whispered lady Jane, poor Queen ! Catharine start- 
 ed and laid her hand sparkling with brilliants on Jane's lips. 
 
 Call me not thus ! said she. Queen ! my God, is not all the frarful 
 past heard again in that word 1 Q leen ! Is it not asSmuch as to say, 
 condemned to the scaffold and a public criminal trial ? Ah Jane ! a 
 deadly tremor runs through my members. I am Henry the Eighth's 
 sixth Queen — I shall also be executed, or, loaded with disgrace, be re- 
 pudiated. 
 
 Again she hid her face in her hands, and her whole frame shook. So 
 she saw not the smile of malicious satisfaction with which Lady Jane 
 again observed her — She suspected not with what secret delight her 
 friend heard her lamentations and sighs. 
 
 Oh! I am at least revenged ! thought Jane while she lovingly stroked 
 the Queen's hair. Yes, I am revenged ! She has robbed me t ,of a crown, 
 but. she is wretched — And in the golden goblet which she presses to her 
 lips she will find nothing but wormwood ! Now, if this sixl h Queen dies 
 not on the scaffold, still we may perhaps so work it, that she dies of 
 anxiety ; or deems it a pleasure to be able to lay down aqain her royal 
 crown at Henry's feet. 
 
 Then said she aloud : But why these fears, Catharine ? The King 
 loves you ; the whole Court has seen with what tender and ardent looks 
 he has regarded you to-day, and with what delight he has listened to 
 your every word — Certainly the King loves you ! 
 
12 
 
 Catharinevc'Zed her hand impulsively. The King hoves me, whisper- 
 ed she, and r; I tremble before him — Yes, more than that, his love fills 
 me with horror! His hands are dipped in blood, and as I saw him to- 
 day in his crimson robes, I shuddered, and I thought how soon, and my 
 blood too will dye this crimson ! 
 
 Jane smiled. You are sick, Catharine, said she. This good fortune 
 has taken y tt by surprise, and your overstrained nerves now depict be- 
 fore you airports of frightful forms. That is all. 
 
 No, no, Jane, these thoughts have ever been with me. They have at- 
 tended me ever since the King selected me for his wife. 
 
 And why then did you not refuse him? asked Lady Jane. Why did 
 you not say no, to the King's suit ? 
 
 Why did I not do it, ask you ? Ah Jane, are yon such a stranger at 
 this Court as not to know then that one must either fulfil the King's be- 
 hests or die? My God, they envy me ! They call me the greatest and 
 most potent woman of England — They know not that I am poorer and 
 more powerless than the beggar of the street, who at least has the pow- 
 er to refuse whom she will. 1 could not refuse. 1 must either die, or 
 accept the royal hand which was extended to me. And I would not 
 die yet, 1 have still so many claims on life and it has hitherto made good 
 so few of them ! Ah, my poor hapless existence, what has it been, but* 
 an endless chain of renunciations and deprivations; of leafless flowers 
 and dissolving views? h is true, I have never learned to know what is 
 usually called misfortune. But is there a greater misfortune than not 
 to be happy, than to sigh through a life without wish or hope, to wear 
 :iway the endless weary days of an existence without delight, yet sur- 
 rounded with luxury and splendor? 
 
 ^ou were not unfortunate, and yet you are an orphan, fatherless and 
 motherless ? 
 
 I lost my mother so early that I scarcely knew her. And when my 
 father died, I could hardly consider it other than a blessing, for he had 
 never shown himself a father, but always only as a harsh, tyrannical 
 master to me. 
 
 But you were married ? 
 
 Married! said Catharine with a melancholy smile. That is to say, 
 my father sold me to a gouty old man, on whose couch 1 spent a few 
 comfortless, awfully wearisome years, till Lork Neville made me a rich 
 widow. But, what did my independence avail me, when 1 had bound 
 myself in new fetters? Hitherto I had been the slave of my father, of 
 my husband : now, I was the slave of my wealth. I ceased to be a sick- 
 nurse to became steward of my estate. Ah ! this was the most tedious 
 period of my life. And yet I owe to it my only real. happiness, for at 
 that period I become acquainted with you, my Jane, and my heart, 
 whiuh had never yet learned to know a tenderer feeling, flew to you with 
 all the impetuosity of a first passion. Believe me, my Jane, when this 
 long missing nephew of my husband came and snatched away from me 
 his hereditary estate, and as the lord took possession of it, then the 
 
13 
 
 thought that I must leave you and your father, the neighboring proprie- 
 tor, was my only grief — Men commiserated me on account of my lost 
 property. I thanked God that he had relieved me of tlfiVJoad, and I 
 started for London, that I might at last live and feel, that 1 might learn 
 to know real happiness or real misery. 
 
 And what did you find 1 
 
 Misery, Jane, for I am queen. 
 
 Js that your sole unhappiness ? 
 
 My only one, but it is great enough, for it condemns mc to eternal 
 anxiety, to eternal dissimulation. It condemns me to feign a love which 
 I do not feel, to endure care?ses which make me shudder, because they 
 are an inheritance from five unfortunate women — Jane, Jane, do you 
 comprehend what it is to be obliged to embrace a man, who has mur- 
 dered three wives, and put away two 1 ? to be obliged to kiss this King 
 whose lips open just as readily to utter vows of love, as sentences of 
 death? Ah, Jane, I speak, I live, and still I suffer all the agonies of 
 death ! They call me a queen, and yet I tremble for my life every hour, 
 and conceal my anxiety and fear beneath the appearance of happiness ! 
 My God, I am five and twenty, and my heart is still the heart of a chilJ ; 
 it does not yet know itself, and now it is doomed never to learn to know 
 itself; for I am Henry's wife, and to love another is, in, other words, to 
 wish to mount the scaffold. The scaffold ! Look. Jane. When the 
 King approached me and confessed his love and offered me his hand, 
 suddenly there rose before me a fearful picture. It was no more the 
 King whom I saw before me, but the hangman ; and it seemed to me 
 that I saw three corpses lying at his feet, and with a loud scream I sank 
 senseless before him. When 1 revived the King was holding me in his 
 arms. The shock of this unexpected good fortune, he thought, had made 
 me faint. lie kissed me and called me his bride ; he thought not for a 
 moment that I could refuse him. And I, despise me, Jane, I was such a 
 dastard, that I could not summon up courage for a downright refusal. 
 Yes, I was so craven also, as to be unwilling to die. Ah, my God, it 
 appeared to me that life, at that moment beckoned to me with thousands 
 °f j°y s » thousands of charms, which I had never known, and for which 
 my soul thirsted as for the manna in the Wilderness. I would live, live 
 at any cost. I would gain myself a respite, so that I might once more 
 share happiness, love, and enjoyment. Look, Jane, men call me ambi- 
 tious. They say I have given my hand to Henry, because he. is King. ■ 
 Ah, they know not how 1 shuddered at this royal crown. They know 
 not that in anguish of heart, I besought the, King not to bestof/ his hand 
 upon me, and thereby rouse all the ladies of his kingdom as foes against 
 me. They know not that I confessed that I loved him, merely that I 
 might be able to add, that 1 was ready, out of love to him, to sacrifice 
 my own happiness to his, and so conjured him to choose a consort worthy 
 of himself, from the. hereditary princcsso> of Europe.* But Henry re- 
 
 • La vie <f Elizabeth, Retne d'Anjjleterre, Traduite <lo l'ltalicn de Monsieur Gregoire Letf, 2 vol. 
 Amsterdam, IC94. 
 
14 
 
 jected my sacrifice. lie wished to make a queen, in order to possess a 
 wife, who tnay be his own property, whose blood, as her lord and mas- 
 ter, he can 'shed. So I am Queen. I have accepted my lot, and hence- 
 forth my existence will be a ceaseless struggle and wrestling with death. 
 I will at least sell my life as dearly as possible; and the maxim which 
 Cranmer has given me shall hereafter be my guide on the thorny path 
 of life! 
 
 And how nms this maxim ? asked Jane — 
 
 Be wise as serpents and harmless as doves, replied Catharine, with a 
 languid smile, as she dropped her head upon her breast and surrendered 
 herself to her painful and foreboding reflections. 
 
 Lady Jane stood opposite to her, and gazed with cruel composure up- 
 on the painfully convulsed countenance and at times violently trembling 
 form of the young Queen, for whom all England that day kept festival, 
 and who yet was sitting before her so wretched, and full of sorrow. 
 
 Suddenly Catharine raised her head. Her countenance had now as- 
 sumed an entirely different expression. It was now firm, resolute and 
 dauntless. With a slight inclination of the head, she extended her hand 
 to Lady Jane, and drew her friend more closely to her. 
 
 I thank you, Jane, said she, as she imprinted a kiss upon her forehead. 
 I thank you ! You have done my heart good and relieved it of its op- 
 pressive load of secret anguish. He who can give his grief utterance, is 
 already half cured of it. I thank you, then, Jane! Henceforth, you 
 will find me calm and cheerful. The woman has wept before you, but 
 the Queen is aware that she has a task to accomplish as difficult as it is 
 noble, and 1 give you my word for it, she will accomplish it. The new 
 light which has risen on the world shall no more be dimmed by blood 
 and tears, and no more in this unhappy land, shall men of sense and pie- 
 ty be condemned as insurgents and traitors ! This is the task which 
 God has set me, and I swear that I will accomplish it ! Will you help- 
 me in this, too, Jane 1 
 
 Lady Jane responded faintly in a few words, which Catharine did not 
 understand, and as she looked up to her, she noticed, with astonishment, 
 the corpse-like pallor which had suddenly overspread the countenance of 
 her maid of honor. 
 
 Catharine gave a start and fixed on her face a surprised and searching 
 look. 
 
 Lady Jane cast down her eyes before that searching and flashing 
 glance. Her fanaticism had for the moment got the better of her, and 
 much as she was wont at other times to hide her thoughts and feelings, 
 it had, at that moment, carried her away and betrayed her to the keen 
 eye of her friend. 
 
 It is now a long while since we saw each other, said Catharine sadly. 
 Three years ! It is a long time for a young girl's heart! And you 
 were those three years with your father in Dublin, at that rigidly popish 
 court. I did not consider that ! But however much your opinions may 
 have changed, your heart, I know, still remains the same, and you will 
 
15 
 
 ever be the proud, high- minded Jane, of former days, who could never 
 stoop to tell a lie — no, not even if this lie would procure her profit and. 
 glory. I ask you then, Jane, what is your religion 1 Do you believe 
 in the Pope of Rome, and the Church of Rome as the only channel of 
 salvation'? or do you follow the new teaching which Luther and Calvin 
 have promulgated ? 
 
 Lady Jane smiled. Would I have risked appearing before you, if 1 
 still reckoned mysglf of tho Roman Catholic Church ? Catharine Parr 
 is'hailed by the Protestants of England, as the new patroness of the per- 
 secuted doctrine, and already the Romish priests hurl their anathemas 
 against you, and execrate you and your dangerous presence here. And 
 you ask me, whether 1 am an adherent of that Church which maligns 
 and damns you 1 You ask me whether I believe in the Pope, who has 
 laid the King under an interdict, the King, who is not only my Lord 
 and Master, but also the husband of my precious and noble Catharine % 
 Oh, Queen, you love me not when you can address such a question 
 , to me.. 
 
 And as if overcome by painful emotion, Lady Jane sank down at 
 ^Catharine's feet, and hid her head in the folds of the Queen's robe. 
 
 Catharine bent down to raise her and take her to her heart. Sudden- 
 ly she started, and a deathly paleness overspread her face. The King, 
 whispered she, the King is coming — 
 
 CHAPTER 111. 
 
 KINO HENRY THE EIGHT!!. 
 
 Catharine was not deceived. The doors were opened, and on the 
 threshold appeared the Lord Marshal, with his golden mace. 
 
 His Majesty, the King ! whispered he, in his grave, solemn manner, 
 which filled Catharine with secret dread, as though ho were pronouncing 
 the sentence of death over her. 
 
 But she forced a smile and advanced to the door to receive the King. 
 Now was heard a thunder-like rumble, and over the smoothly carpeted 
 floor of the ante-room came rolling on the King's house equipage. This 
 house equipage consisted of a large chair, resting ou castors, which was 
 moved by men in the place of horses, and to which they had, with art- 
 ful flattery, given the form of a triumphal car of the old victorious Ro- 
 man Caesars, in order. to afford the King, as he rolled through the halls, 
 the pleasant illusion that he was holding a triumphal procession, and 
 that it was not the burden of his heavy limbs which fastened him to his 
 
J6 
 
 imperial car. King Henry gave ready credence to the flattery of his 
 truckle- chair and his courtiers, and as he rolled along in it through the 
 saloons glitttring with gold, and thro' halls adorned with Venitian mir- 
 rors, which reflected his form a thousand fold, he liked to lull himself 
 into the dream of being a triumphing hero, and wholly forgot that it was 
 not his deeds, but his fat, that had helped him to his triumphal car. 
 
 For that monstrous mass which filled up the colossal chair, that 
 mountain of purple-clad flesh, that clumsy, almost ?hapeless shape, that 
 was Henry the Eigth, King of merry England. But that mass had a 
 head — a head full of dark and wrathful thoughts, a heart full of blood- 
 thirsty and cruel lusts. The colossal body was indeed, by its physical 
 weight, fastened to the chair. Yet his mind never rested, but he hover- 
 ed, with the talons and flashing eye of the bird of prey, over his people, 
 ever ready to pounce upon some innocent dove, to drink her blood and 
 tear out her heart, that he might lay it, all palpitating, as an offering on 
 the altar of his sanguinary god. 
 
 The King's sedan now stopped, and Catharine hastened forward with' 
 smiling face, to assist her royal husband in-alighting. 
 
 Henry greeted her with a gracious nod, and rejected the proffered aifl 
 of the attendant pages. 
 
 Away, said he, away ! My Catharine alone shall extend me her hand, 
 and give me a welcome to the bridal-chamber. Go, we feel to-day as 
 young and strong as in. our best and happiest days, and the young Queen 
 shall see, that it is no decrepid greybeard, tottering with age, who woos 
 her, but a strong man rejuvenated by love. Think not, Kate, that I use 
 my car because of weakness. No, it was only my longing for you 
 which made me wish to be with you the sooner. 
 
 He kissed her with a smile, and lightly leaning on her arm, alighted 
 from his car. 
 
 Away with the equipage, and with all of you ! said he, we wish to be 
 alone with this beautiful young wife, whom the Lord Bishops have to- 
 day made our own. 
 
 At a signal from his hand, the brilliant cortege withdrew, and Catha- 
 rine was alone with the King. 
 
 Her heart beat so wildly that it made her lips tremble, and her bosom 
 swell high. 
 
 Henry saw it and smiled ; but it was a cold, cruel smile, and Catha- 
 rine grew pale before it. 
 
 He has only the smile of a tyrant; said she to herself. With this 
 same smile, by which he would now give expression to his love, he yes- 
 terday, perhaps, sigued a death-warrant, or will, to-morrow, witness an 
 execution. 
 
 Do you love me, Kate 1 suddenly said the King, who had till now 
 ' observed her in silence and thoughtfulness. Say, Kate, do you love me ? 
 
 He looked steadily into her .eyes, as though he would read her soul to 
 the very bottom. 
 
 Catharine sustained his look, and did not drop her eyes. She felt that 
 
17 
 
 this was the decisive moment which determined her whole future ; and- 
 this conviction restored to her all her self-possession and energy. 
 
 She was now no longer the shy, timid girl, but the resolute, proud 
 woman, who was ready to wrestle with fate for greatness and glory. 
 
 Do'you love me, Kate? repeated the King, and his brow already be- 
 gan to darken. 
 
 I know not! said Catharine with a smile, which enchanted'the King, 
 for there was quite as much graceful coquettry as bashfulness on her 
 charming face. 
 
 You know not? replied Henry, astonished. Now, by the Mother of 
 God, it is the first time in my life that a woman has ever been bold 
 enough to return me such an answer! You are a bold woman, Kate, 
 to hazard it, and 1 praise, you for it I love bravery because it is some- 
 thing I so rarely see. They all tremble before me, Kate. All ! They 
 know that I am not intimidated by blood, and in the might of my royal- 
 ty, I subscribe a death-warrant with the same calmness of soul as a love 
 letter. 
 
 Oh, you are a great King, murmured Catharine. 
 
 Henry did not notice her. He was wholly buried in one of those 
 self contemplations, to which he so willingly surrendered himself, and 
 which generally had for their subject his own greatness and sover- 
 eignty. 
 
 Yes, continued he, and his eyes which, in spite of his corpulency and 
 his extremely fleshy face, were yet large and wide open, shone more 
 brightly. 
 
 Yes, they all tremble before me, for they know that I am a righteous 
 and powerful King, who spares not his own blood, if it is necessary, to 
 punish and expiate crime, and with inexorable hand, punishes the sinner, 
 though he were the nearest to the throne. Take heed to yourself, there- 
 fore, Kate, take heed to yourself. You behold in me the avenger of 
 God, and the judge of men. The King wears the crimson, not because 
 it is beautiful and glossy, but because it is red like blood, and because 
 it is the King's highest prerogative to shed the blood of his delinquent 
 subjects, and thereby expiate human crime. Thus only do I conceive 
 of royalty, and thus only will I carry it out till the end of my days. 
 Not the right to pardon, but the right to punish, is that whereby tho 
 •ruler manifests himself before the lower classes of mankind. God's 
 thunder should be on his lips, and the King's wrath should descend like 
 lightning on the head of the guilty. 
 
 But God is not only wrathful, but also merciful and forgiving, said 
 Catharine, as she lightly and shyly leant her head on the King's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 Just that is the prerogative of God above kings, that Ho can, as it 
 pleases him, show mercy and grace, where we can only condemn and 
 punish. There must be something in which God is superior to kmcrs, 
 and greater than they. But how, Kate, "you tremble} and the lovely 
 smile has vanished from your countenance ! Be not afraid of me, Kate ! 
 
16 
 
 Be always frsmk with me, and without deceit ; then I 6hall always love 
 you, and miquity will then have no power over you! And now, Kate, 
 tell me, a»d explain to me. You do not know that you love me? • 
 
 No, I do not know, your Majesty. And how should I be able to re- 
 cognize, and know, and designate by name, what is strange to me, and 
 what 1 have never before felt ? 
 
 How, ybu have never loved, Kate? asked the King with a joyful ex- 
 pression. 
 
 Never ! My father maltreated me, so that [ could feel for him nothing 
 but dread and terror. 
 
 And your husband, child ? That man who was my predecessor in 
 the possession o/you. Did you not love your husband either? 
 
 My husband? asked she, abstractedly. It is true my father sold me 
 to Lord Neville, and as the priest had joined our hands, men called him 
 my husbaud. But he very well knew that I did not love him, nor did 
 he require my love. He needed a nurse, not a wife. He had given me 
 his name as a father gives his to a daughter — and I was his daughter, a 
 true, faithful and obedient daughter, who joyfully fulfilled her duty and 
 tended him till his death. 
 
 And after his death, child ? Years have elapsed since then, Kate. 
 Tell me, and I conjure you, tell me the truth, the simple plain truth ! 
 After the death of your husband, then even, did you never love ? 
 
 He gazed with visible anxiety, with breathless expectation, deep into 
 her eyes ; but she did not drop them,' 
 
 Sire, said she, with a charming smile, till a few weeks past, I have 
 often mourned over myself; and it seemed to me that I must, in the 
 desperttion of my singular and cold nature, lay open my breast, in order 
 to search there for the heart, which, senseless and cold, had never be- 
 trayed its existence by its stronger beating. Oh, Sire, I was full of trouble 
 about myself, and in my foolish rashness, 1 accused heaven of having 
 robbed me of the noblest feeling and the fairest privilege of any woman 
 — the capacity for loving. 
 
 Till the past few weeks, did you say, Kate? asked the King, breath 
 less with emotion. 
 
 Yes, Sire, until the day on which you, for the first time, graciously* 
 afforded »ie the happiness of speaking with me. 
 
 The King uttered a low cry, and drew Catharine with impetuous ve- 
 hemence into his arms. 
 
 And since, tell me now, you dear little dove, since then, does your 
 heart threb ? 
 
 Yes, Sire, it throbs, oh, it often throbs to bursting! When I hear 
 your voice, when I behold your countenance, it is as if a cold tremor 
 rilled through my whole being, and drove all my blood to the heart. 
 It is as though my heart anticipated your approach before my eyes dis- 
 cern you. For even before you draw near me, I feel a peculiar tremb- 
 ling of the heart, and the breath is stifled in my bosom; then I always 
 know that you are coming, and that your presence will relieve this pe- 
 
19 
 
 culiar tension of my being. When you are not by me, I think of you, 
 and when I sleep, I dream of you. Tell me, Sire, you who know every- 
 thing, tell me, know you now whether I love you? 
 
 Yes, yes; you live me ; cried Henry, to whom this strange and joy- 
 ous surprise had imparted youthful vivacity and warmth. Yes, Kate 
 you love me; and if I may trust your dear confession, I am your first 
 love. Repeat it yet again ; you were nothing but a daughter to Lord 
 Neville? 
 
 Nothing more, Sire ! 
 
 And after him have you had no lover? 
 
 None, Sire ! 
 
 And can it be that so happy a marvel has come to pass? and that I 
 have made, not a widow, but a young maiden, my Queen ? 
 
 As he now gazed at her with warm, passionate, tender looks, Catharine 
 cast down her eyes, and a deep blush covered her sweet face. 
 
 Ah, a woman's bashful blushes, what an- exquisite sight"! cried the 
 King, and while he wildly pressed Catharine to his bosom, he continued : 
 Oh, are we not all foolish and short sighted men, all of us, yes even we 
 kings ? In order that I might not be, perhaps, forced to send my sixth 
 wife also to the scaffold, I chose; in trembling dread of the deceitYulness 
 of your sex, a widow for my queen, and this widow with a blessed con- 
 fession, mocks at the new law of the wise* Parliament, and makes good 
 to me what she never promised.* 
 
 Come, Kate, give me a kiss. You have opened before me to-day a 
 happy, blissful future, and prepared for me a great and unexpected plea- 
 sure. I thank you for it, Kate, and the Mother of God be my witness, 
 ] will never forget it. 
 
 And drawing a rich diamond ring from his own finger, and, putting it 
 upon Catharine's, he continued : Be this ring a remembrancer of this hour, 
 and when you hereafter present it to me, with a request, I will grant 
 that request, Kate ! 
 
 He kissed her forehead, and was about to press her more closely in 
 his arms, when suddenly from without was heard the dull roll of drums, 
 and the ringing of bells. 
 
 The King started a moment and released Catharine from his arms. 
 He listened ; the roll of drums continued, and now and then was heard 
 in the distance that peculiar thundering and yet sullen roaring, which so 
 much resembles the roar and rush of the sea, and which can be produced 
 only by a large and excited mob. 
 
 The King, with a fierce curse, pushed open the glass door leading to 
 the balcony, and walked out. 
 
 Catharine gazed after him with a strange, half timid, half scornful 
 look. I have not at least told hi m that I love him. muttered she. He 
 
 •After Catharine Howard's infidelity anil inrontinenov had bei n proved, anil she had atoned for 
 (hem by her death, 1 "noted a law: " That if the King or hi* i .uld Intend to 
 
 marry any woman whom they took to be a clean and pure maid— it she, not being so, did not declare 
 the same to the Kin?, it should be high treason ; and all who Lncw it, aud J„l not rereal it 
 guilty of misprison of treason." 
 
 Burnet's History of the liefonnation of the Church of England — London, 1681. Vol. I, page 818. 
 
20 
 
 has construed my words as it suited his vanity. No matter. 1 will not 
 die on the scaffold ! 
 
 With resolute step and firm, energetic air, she followed the Kipg to 
 the balcony. The roll of drums was kept up, and from all the steeples 
 the. bells were pealing. The night was dark and calm. All London 
 seemed to slumber, and the dark houses around about stood up out of 
 the universal darkness like huge coffins. 
 
 Suddenly the horizon began to grow bright, and on the sky appeared 
 a streak of fiery red, which, blazing up higher and higher, soon illumina- 
 ted the entire horizon with a crimson glow, and even shed its glaring 
 fiery beams over the balcony, on which stood the royal pair. 
 
 Still the bells clanged and clamored ; and blended with their peals 
 was heard now and then, in the distance, a piercing shriek and a clamor. 
 as of thousands and thousands of confusedly mingled voices. 
 
 Suddenly the King turned to Catharine, and his countenance, which 
 was just then overspread by the fire-light as with a blood-red veil, had 
 now assumed an expression of savage demoniacal delight. 
 
 Ah, said he, I know what it is. You had wholly bewildered me, and 
 stolen ;»way my attention, you little enchantress. I had for a moment 
 ceased to be a king, because I wished to be entirely your lover. But 
 now, I bethink me again of my avenging sovereignty ! It is the fagot 
 piles about the stake which flatfle so merrily yonder. And that yelling 
 and clamor indicate that my merry people are enjoying with all their 
 soul, the comedy which I have had played before them to-day, for the 
 honor of God, an my unimpeachable royal dignity. The stake ! cried 
 Catharine taembling. Your Majesty does not mean thereby to say that 
 right yonder, men are to die a cruel painful death — that the same hour 
 in which their King pronounces himself happy and content, some of his 
 subject are to be condemned to dreadful torture, to a horrible destruc- 
 tion. Oh, no! my King will not overcloud his Queen's wedding-day 
 with so dark a veil of death. He will not wish to dim my happiness so 
 cruelly. 
 
 The King laughed. No, I will not darken it, but light it up with 
 bright flames, said he ; and as, with outstretched arm, he pointed over 
 to the glaring heavens, he continued : There are our wedding torches, 
 my Kate, and the most sacred and beautiful which I could find, for they 
 burn to the honor of God and of the King.* And the heavenward flar 
 ing flame which carries up the souls of the heretics will give to my God 
 joyous intelligence of his most faithful and obedient son, who, even on 
 the day of his happiness, forgets not his kingly duty, but ever remain's 
 the avenging and destroying minister of his God. 
 
 He looked frightful as he thus spoke. His countenance, lit up by the 
 fire, had a fierce, threatening expression; his eyes blazed; and a cold, 
 cruel smile played about his thin, firmly pressed lips. 
 
 Oh, he knows no pity ! murmured Catharine to herself, as in a parox- 
 
 * Life of King Henry the Eighth, founded on authentic and original documents. By Patrick 
 Fraser Tytler, Kdinburg. 188T, page 140. 
 
Z] 
 
 ysm of anguish, she stared at the King, who, in fanatical enthusiasm, 
 was looking over towards the fire, into which, at his command, they were 
 perhaps hurling to a cruel, torturing death, some poor wretch, to the ho- 
 nor of God and the King. No, he knows no pity and no mercy. 
 
 Now Henry turned to her, and laving his extended hand softly on 
 the back of. her slender neck, he spanned it with his fingers, and whis- 
 pered in her ear tender words and vows of love. 
 
 Catharine trembled. This caress of the King, however harmless in 
 itself, had in it for her something dismal and dreadful. It was the in- 
 voluntary, instinctive touch of the headsman, who examines the neck of 
 his victim, and searches on it for the place where he will make the 
 stroke. Thus had Anne Boleyn once put her tender white hands about 
 her slender neck, and said to the headsman, brought over from Calais 
 specially for her execution : I pray you strike me well and surely ! I 
 have indeed but a slim little neck.* Thus had the King clutched his 
 hand about the neck of Catharine Howard, his fifth wife, when, certain 
 of her infidelity, he had thrust her from himself with fierce execration*, 
 when she would have clung to him. The dark marks of that grip were 
 still visible upon her neck when she laid it on the block. f 
 
 And this dreadful twining of his fingers, Catharine must now endure 
 as a caress ; at which she must smile, which she must receive with all 
 the appearance of delight. ( 
 
 While Im> spanued her neck, he whispered in her ear words o( tender- 
 ness, and beat his face close to her cheeks. 
 
 But Catharine heeded not his passionate whispers. She saw nothing 
 save the blood-red hand-writing of fire upon the sky. She heard noth- 
 ing save the shrieks of the wretched victims. 
 
 Mercy, mercy! faltered she. Oh, let this day be a dayt>f festivity 
 for all your subjects ! Be merciful, and if you would have me really 
 believe that you love me, grant this first request which I make of you. 
 Grant me the lives of these wretched ones. Mercy, Sire, mercy. 
 
 And as if the Queen's supplication had found an echo, suddenly was 
 heard from the chamber a wailing, despairing voice, repeating loudly and 
 in tones of anguish : Mercy, your Majesty, mercy ! The King turned 
 round impetuously, and his face assumed a dark, wrathful expression. 
 He fastened his searching eyes on Catharine, as though he would read 
 in her looks, whether she knew who had dared to interrupt their con- 
 versation. 
 
 But Catharine's countenance expressed unconcealed astonishment. 
 Mercy, mercy ! repeated the voice from ihe interior of the chamber. 
 
 The King uttered an angry exclamation, and hastily withdrew from 
 the balcony. 
 
 • Tytlor, 892. t Leti, vol. 1, pa*© 103. 
 
99 
 
 4 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 KING BY THE WRATH OF GOD. 
 
 Who dares interrupt us 1 cried the King, as with headlong step he 
 returned to the chamber — Who dares speak of mercy 1 
 
 I dare ! said a young lady, who, pale, with distorted features, in 
 frightful agitation, now hastened to the King and prostrated herself be- 
 fore him. 
 
 Anne Askew ! cried Catharine amazed. Anne, what want you here 1 
 
 1 want mercy, mercy for those wretched ones, who are suffering yon- 
 der, cried the young maiden, pointing with an expression of horror to 
 the reddened sky. I want mercy for the King himself, who is so cruel 
 as to send the noblest and best of his subjects to the slaughter like mis 
 erable brutes ! . . 
 
 Oh, Sire, have compassion on this poor child ! besought Catharine*, 
 turning to Henry, compassion on her impassioned excitement and her 
 youthful ardor! She is as yet unaccustomed to these frightful scenes : 
 she knows not yet that it is the sad duty of kings to be constrained to 
 punish, where they might prefer to pardon ! 
 
 Henry smiled ; but the look which he cast on the kneeling girl made 
 Catharine tremble. There was a death warrant in that look ! 
 
 Anne Askew, if I mistake not, is your second maid of honor? asked 
 the King, and it was at your express wish that she received that place ? 
 
 Yes, Sire! 
 
 You knew her then 1 
 
 No, Sire ! I saw her a few days ago for the first time. But she had 
 already won my heart at our first meeting, and I feel that I shall love 
 her. Exercise forbearance, then, your Majesty ! 
 
 But the King was still thoughtful, and Catharine's answers did not yet 
 satisfy him. 
 
 Why then do you interest yourself for this young lady, if you did 
 not know her 1 ? 
 
 She has been so warmly recommended to me ! 
 
 By whom ? 
 
 Catharine hesitated a moment ; she felt that she had perhaps, in her 
 zeal, gone too far, and that it was imprudent to tell the King the truth. 
 But the King's keen, penetrating look was resting on her, and she recol- 
 lected that he had, the first thing that evening, so urgently and solemnly 
 conjured her to always tell him the truth. Besides it was no secret at 
 Court, who the protector of this young maiden was, and who had been 
 the mean? of her obtaining the place of maid of honor to the Queen, a 
 
23 
 
 place which so many wealthy and distinguished families had solicited 
 for their daughters. 
 
 Who recommended this lady to you] repeated the King, and already 
 his ill-humor begun to redden his face and make lris'\ Me. 
 
 Archbishop Cr'anmer did so, Sire, said Catharine as she raised her eyes 
 to the King and looked at him with a smile surpassiugly charming. 
 
 At that moment was heard without, more loudly, the roll of drums, 
 which nevertheless was partially drowned by piercing shrieks and horri- 
 ble cries of distress. The blaze of the fire shot up higher, and now was 
 seen the bright flame, which with murderous rajje licked the sky above. 
 
 Anne Askew, who had kept respectful silence during the conversation 
 of the royal pair, now felt herself completely overcome by this horrible 
 sight, and bereft of the last remnant of self-possession. 
 
 My God, my God ! said she, quivering from the internal tremor, and 
 stretching her hands beseechingly towards the King. Do you not hear 
 that frightful wail of the wretched ? Sire, by the thought of your own 
 dying hour, 1 conjure you have compassion on ihese miserable beings. 
 Let them not, at least, be thrown alive into the flames. Spare them 
 this last fiightful torture ! 
 
 King Henry cast a wrathful look on the kneeling girl ; then strode 
 past her to the door, which led into the adjoining hall, in which the cour- 
 tiers were waiting for their King. 
 
 lie beckoned to the two Bishops, Cranmer and Gardiner, to come 
 nearer, and ordered the servants to throw the hall doors wide open. 
 
 The scene now afforded an animated and singular spectacle, and this 
 chamber, just before so quiet, was suddenly changed to the theatre of a 
 great drama, which was- perhaps to end tragically. In the Queen's bed- 
 chamber, a small room, but furnished with the utmost luxury and splen-r 
 dor, the principal characters of this scene were congregated. In the 
 middle of the space stood the King in his robes, embroidered with gold 
 and sparkling with jewels, which were irradiated by the bright light of 
 the chandelier. Near him was seen the young Queen, whose beautiful 
 and lovely f&oe was turned in anxious expectation towards the King, in 
 w r hose stern and rigid features she sought to read the" development of 
 this ^cene. 
 
 Not far from her, still knelt the young maiden, hiding in her hands 
 her face drenched in tears; while farther away, in the background, were 
 the two Bishops observing with grave, cool tranquility, the group before 
 them. Through the open hall-doors were descried the expectant and 
 curious countenances of the courtiers, standing with their heads crowded 
 close together in the space beforo the doors; and, op|> <hem, 
 
 through the open door leading to the balcony, was seen the fiery, blazing 
 sky, and heard the clanging of the bells, and the rolling of the drums, 
 the piercing shrieks and the yells of the people. 
 
 A deep silence ensued, and when the King spoke, the tone of his 
 voice was so hard and cold, that an involuntary shudder ran through all 
 present. 
 
24 
 
 My Lord Bishop3 of Winchester and Canterbury, said the King, we 
 have called you that you may, by the might of you prayers, and the 
 wisdom of your words, rid this young girl here from the devil, who, 
 without doubt, has the mastery over her, since she dares charge her 
 King and Master with cruelty and injustice. * 
 
 The two Bishops drew nearer to the kneeling girl ; each laid a hand 
 upon her shoulder, and bent over her, but the one with an expression of 
 countenance wholly different from that of the other. 
 
 Cranmer's look was gentle and serious, and at the same time, a com- 
 passionate and encouraging smile played about his thin lips. 
 
 Gardiner's features on the contrary bore the expression of cruel, cold- 
 hearted irony ; and the smile which rested on his thick protruding lips 7 
 •was the joyful and merciless smile of a priest ready to sacrifice a victim 
 to his idol. 
 
 Courage, my daughter, courage and prudence, whispered Cranmer. 
 
 God, who blesses the righteous and punishes and destroys sinners, be 
 with thee and with us all, said Gardiner. 
 
 But Anne Askew recoiled with a shudder from the touch of his hand, 
 and with an impetuous movement, pushed it away from her shoulder. 
 
 Touch me not ; you are the hangman of those poor people whom they 
 are putting to death down yonder, said she impetuously ; and as she 
 turned to the King and extended her hands imploringly towards him, 
 she cried : Mercy, King Henry, mercy ! 
 
 Mercy 1 repeated the King, Mercy ? and for whom ? Who are ,they 
 that they are putting to death down there % Tell me forsooth, my Lord 
 Bishops, who are they that are led to the stake to day 1 Who are the 
 condemned 1 
 
 They are heretics, who devote themselves to this new false doctrine 
 which has come over to us from Germany, and who dare refuse to recog- 
 nize the spiritual supremacy of our Lord and King, said Bishop Gardiner. 
 
 They are Roman Catholics who regard the Pope of Rome as the chief 
 shepherd of the Church of Christ, and will regard nobody but him as 
 their Lord, said Bishop Cranmer. 
 
 Ah, behold this young maiden accuses us of injustice, cried the King; 
 and yet you say, that not heretics alone are executed down there, but 
 also Romanists. It appears to me then that we have justly and impar- 
 tially, as always, punished only criminals and given over the guilty to 
 justice. , . 
 
 Oh, had you seen what I have seen, said Anne Askew shuddering, then 
 would you collect all your vital energies for a single cry, for a single 
 word — Mercy ! and that word would you shout out loud enough to reach 
 yon frightful place of torture and horror. 
 
 What saw you then? asked the King, smiling. 
 
 Anne Askew had stood up, and her tall slender form now lifted itself, 
 like a lily, between the sombre forms of the Bishops. Her eye was fixed 
 and glaring; her noble and delicate features bore the expression of hor- 
 ror and dread. 
 
I saw, said 9he, a woman whom they were leading to execution. Not 
 a criminal, but a noble lady, whose proud and loft\ heart never harbor- 
 ed a thought of treason or disloyalty ; but who,* true to her faith and her 
 convictions, would not forswear the God whom she served. As she 
 passed through the crowd, it seemed as if a halo encompassed her head, 
 :tnd covered her white hair with silvery lays ; all bowed before her, and 
 the hardest natures wept over the unfortunate woman who had lived 
 more than seventy years and yet was not allowed to die in her bed, but 
 was to be slaughtered to the glory of God and of the King. But she 
 smiled ; and graciously saluting the weeping and sobbing multitude, she 
 advanced to the scaffold as if she were ascending a throne to receive 
 the homage of her people. Two years of imprisonment had blanched 
 her cheek, but had not been able to destroy the fire of her eye, or the 
 strength of her mind, and seventy years had not bowed her neck or bro- 
 ken her spirit. Proud and firm, she mounted the steps of the scaffold, 
 and once more saluted the people and cried aloud : " I will pray to God 
 for you." But as the headsman approached and demanded that she 
 should allow her hands to be bound, and that she should kneel in order 
 to lay her head upon the block, she refused, and angrily pushed him 
 away. " Only traitors and criminals lay their head on the block," ex 
 claimed she, with a loud thundering voice. "There is no occasion for 
 me to do so, and 1 will not submit to your bloody laws as long as there 
 is a breath in me. Take thei my life if you can." 
 
 And now began a scene which filled the hearts of the lookers-on with 
 fear and horror. The Countess flew like a hunted beast round and round 
 the scaffold. Her white hair streamed in the wind ; her black grave 
 clothes rustled around her like a dark cloud, and behind her, with up- 
 lifted axe, came the headsman, in his fiery red dress ; he, ever endeavor- 
 ing to strike her with the falling axe — but she, ever trying by moving 
 her head to and fro to evade the descending stroke. But at length her 
 resistance became weaker ; the blows of the axe reached her, and stained 
 her white hair, hanging loose about her shoulders, with crimson streaks. 
 With a heart-rending cry she fell fainting. Near her, exhausted also, 
 sank down the headsman, bathed in sweat. This horrible wild chase had 
 lamed his arm and broken his strength. Panting and breathless he was 
 not able to drag this fainting, bleeding woman to the block, or to lift up 
 the axe to separate her noble head from the body.* The crowd shrieked 
 with distress and horror, imploring and begging for mercy, and even the 
 Lord Chief Justice could not refrain from tears, and he ordered the cruel 
 work to be suspended until the Countess and the headsman should have 
 retrained strength ; for a living, not a dying person was to be executed : 
 thus said the law. They made a pallet for the Countess on the scaffold 
 and endeavored to restore her; invigorating wine was supplied to the 
 headsman 'to renew his strength for the work of death, and the crowd 
 turned to the stakes which were prepared on both sides of the scaffold, 
 and at which four other martyrs were to be burnt. But I flew here like 
 
 • TytUr, piije 430. 
 
20 
 
 a hunted doe, and now, King, I lie at your feet. There is still time. 
 Pardon, King, pardon for the Countess of Somnierset, the last of the 
 Plantagenets. 
 
 Pardon, Sire, pardon ! repeated Catharine Parr, weeping and tremb- 
 ling as she clung to her husband's si<ie. 
 
 Pardon ! repeated Archbishop Cranmer, and a few of the courtiers re- 
 echoed it in a timid and anxious whisper. 
 
 The King's large brilliant eyes glanced around the whole assembly, 
 with a quick penetrating look. 
 
 And you, my Lord Bishop Gardiner, asked he, in a cold sarcastic tone ; 
 will you also ask for mercy, like all these weak-hearted souls here 1 ? 
 
 The Lord our God is a jealous God, s-aid Gardiner, solemnly, and it is 
 written that God will punish the sinner unto the third and fourth gene- 
 ration. 
 
 And what .is written shall stand true, exclaimed the King, in a voice 
 of thunder. No mercy for evil-doers, no pity for criminals. The axe 
 must fall upon the head of the guilty, the flames shall consume the bodies 
 of criminals. 
 
 Sire, think of your high vocation ! exclaimed Anne Askew, in a tone 
 of enthusiasm. Reflect what a glorious name you have assumed to 
 yourself in this land. You call yourself the head of the Church, and you 
 want to rule and govern upon earth in God's stead ! Exercise mercy, 
 then, for you entitle yourself King»by the grace of God. 
 
 No, I do not call myself King by GocPs grace. 1 call myself King by 
 God's wrath ! exclaimed Henry, as he raised his arm menacingly. It 
 is my duty to send sinners to God ; may He have mercy on them there 
 above, if He will !• I am the punishing judge, and I judge mercilessly 
 according to the law, without compassion ! Let those whom I have con- 
 demned appeal to God, and may He have mercy upon them. I cannot 
 do it, nor will I. Kings are here to punish, and they are like to God, 
 not in his love, but in his avenging wrath. 
 
 Woe, then, woe to you and to all of us ! exclaimed Anne Askew, 
 woe to you, King Henry, if what you now say is the truth. Then are 
 they right, those men who are bound to yonder stakes, when they'brand 
 you with the name of tyrant — then is the Bishop of Rome right when he 
 upbraids you as an apostate and degenerate son, and hurls his anathe- 
 mas against you ! Then you know not God who is love and mercy — 
 then you are no disciple of the Saviour who has said, " Love your ene- 
 mies, bless them that curse you." Woe to you, King Henry, if matters 
 are really so bad with you; if 
 
 Silence, unhappy woman, silence ! exclaimed Catharine, and as she 
 vehemently pushed away the furious girl, she grasped the King's hand 
 and pressed it to her lips. 
 
 Sice, whispered she with intense earnestness; Sire, you told me just 
 now, that you loved me. Prove it by pardoning this maiden and having 
 consideration for her impassioned excitement. Prove it by allowing me 
 to lead Anne Askew to her room and enjoin silence upon her ! 
 
But at this moment the King was wholly inaccessiblo to any other 
 feelings than those of anger and delight in blood. 
 
 He indignantly repelled Catharine, and without moving his sharp, 
 penetrating look from the young maiden, he said in a quick, hollow tone : 
 let her alone ! let her speak ! let no one dare to interrupt her ! 
 
 Catharine, trembling with anxiety and inwardly hurt at the harsh 
 manner of the King, letired with a sigh to the embrasure of one of the 
 windows. 
 
 Anne Askew had not noticed what was going on about her. She re- 
 mained in that state of exaltation which cares for no consequences and 
 which trembles before no danger-. She would at thjs moment have gone 
 to the stake with cheerful alacrity, and she almost longed for this blessed 
 martrydom. 
 
 Speak, Anne Askew, speak ! commanded the King. 'Tell me, do 
 you know what the Countess, for whose pardon you are beseeching me, 
 has done ? Know you why those four men were sent to the stake ? 
 
 I do know, King Heury by the wrath of God, said the maiden, with 
 burning passionateness. 1 know why you have sent the noble Countess 
 to the slaughter house, and why you will exercise no mercy towards 
 her. She is of noble, of royal blood, and Cardinal Pole is her son. You 
 would punish the son through the mother, and because you cannot 
 throttle the Cardinal, you murder his mother. 
 
 Oh, you are a very knowing child ! cried the King, with an inhuman, 
 ironical laugh. You know my most secret thoughts and my most hidden 
 feelings. Without doubt; you are a good papist, since the death of the 
 popish Countess fills you with such heartrending grief. Then )<ou 
 must confess, at the least, that it is right to burn the lour heretics ! 
 
 Heretics ! exclaimed Anne, enthusiastically, call you heretics those 
 noble men, who go gladly and boldly to death for their convictions and 
 their faith? King Henry ! .King Henry ! Woe to you, if these men 
 are condemned as heretics. They alone are the faithful, they are the 
 true, servants of God. They have freed themselves from human supre- 
 macy, and as you would not recognize the Pope, so they will not re- 
 cognize you, as head of the Church! God alone, they say, is Lord of 
 the Church and Master of their consciences, and who can be presumptuous 
 enough to call them criminals? * 
 
 I ! exclaimed Henry the Eighth in a powerful tone. I dare do it. I 
 say that they are heretics and that I will destroy them, will' tread them 
 all beneath my feet, all of them, all who think as they do ! I say that 
 I will shed the blood of these criminals, and prepare for them torments 
 at which human nature will shudder and quake. God will manifest 
 himself by me in fire and blood ! He has put the eword into my hand 
 and I will wield it for his glory. Like St. George, I will tread the dra 
 gon of heresy beneath my feet! 
 
 And haughtily raising his crimsoned face and rolling his great blood- 
 shot eyes wildly around the circle, he continued : Hear this, ;ill of you 
 who are here assembled ; no mercy for heretics, no pardon for papists, 
 
23 
 
 It is 1, 1 alone, whom the Lord our God has chosen and blessed as his 
 hangman and executioner ! I am the high-priest of his Church, and he 
 who dares deny me, denies God ; and he, who is so presumptuous as to 
 do reverence to any other head of the Church, is a) priest of Baal and 
 kneels to an idolatrous image. Kneel down all of you before me and 
 reverence in me God, whose earthly representative I am, and who re- 
 veals himself- through me in his fearful and exalted majesty. Kneel 
 down, for I am sole head of the Church and high priest of our God ! 
 
 And as if at one blow all knees bent, all those haughty cavaliers, 
 those ladies sparkling with jewels and gold, even the two Bishops and 
 the Queen fell upon the ground. 
 
 The King gazed for a moment on this sight, and with radiant looks 
 and a smile of triumph, his eyes ran over this assembly, consisting of 
 the noblest "of his kingdom, humbled before him. 
 
 Suddenly they were fastened on Anne Askew. , 
 
 She alone had not bent her knee, but stood in the midst of the kneel- 
 ers, proud and upright as the King himself. 
 
 A dark cloud passed over the King's countenance. 
 
 You obey not my command ? asked he. 
 
 She shook her curly head and fixed on him a steady piercing look. 
 No, said she, like those over yonder, whose last death-groan we even 
 now hear, like them, I say : To God alone is honor due, and He alone is 
 Lord of his Church ! If you wish me. to bend my knee before you, as 
 my King, I will-do it, but I bow not to you as the head of Holy Church! 
 
 A murmur of surprise flew through the assembly, and every eye was 
 turned with fear and amazement on this bold young girl, who confronted 
 the King with a countenance smiling and glowing with enthusiasm. 
 
 At a sign from Henry, the kneelers arose and awaited in breathless 
 silence the terrible scene that was coming. 
 
 A pause ensued. King Henry himself was struggling for breath and 
 needed a moment to collect himseif. 
 
 Not as though wrath and passion had deprived' him of speech. He 
 was neither wrathful, nor passionate, and it was only joy that obstructed 
 his breathing — the joy of having again found a victim with which he 
 might satisfy his desire for blood, on whose agony he might feast his 
 eyes, whose dying sigh he might greedily inhale. 
 
 The King was never more cheerful than when he had signed a death- 
 warrant. For then he was in full enjoyment of his greatness as lord 
 over the lives and deaths of millions of other men, and this feeling made 
 him proud and happy, and fully conscious of his exalted position. 
 
 Hence as he now turned to Anne Askew, his countenance was calm 
 and serene, and his voice friendly, almost tender. 
 
 Anne Askew, said he, do you know that the words you have now 
 spoken make you guilty of high treason 1 
 
 I know it, Sire. 
 
 And you know what punishment awaits traitors? 
 
 Death, I know it. 
 
29 
 
 Death by fire! said the King with perfect calmness and composure. 
 
 A hollow murmur ran through the assembly. Only one voice dared 
 
 ve utterance to the word Mercy. 
 
 It was Catharine, the King's consort who spoke this one word. She 
 
 .pped foiward, and was about to rush to the King and once more im- 
 fjiore his mercy and pity. But she felt herself gently held back. Arch- 
 bishop Cranmer stood near her regarding her with a serious and be- 
 seeching look. 
 
 Compose yourself, compose yourself, murmured he. You cannot 
 save her; she is lost. Think of yourself, and of the pure and holy re- 
 ligion whose protectress you are. Preserve yourself for your Church 
 and your companions in the faith ! 
 
 And must she die? asked Catharine, whose eyes filled with tears as 
 she looked towards that poor young child, who was confronting the King 
 with a such a beautiful and innocent smile. 
 
 Perhaps we may still save her, but this is not the moment for it. 
 Any opposition now would only irritate the King the more, and he 
 might cause the girl to be instantly thrown into the flames of the fires 
 still burning yonder! So Jet us be silent. 
 
 Yes, silence; murmured Catharine, with a shudder, as she withdrew 
 again to the embrasure of the window. 
 
 Death by fire awaits you, Anne Askew ! repeated the King. No 
 mercy for the traitoress who villifies and scoffs. at her King ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE RIVALS. 
 
 At the very moment when the King was pronouncing, in a voice al- 
 most exultant, Anne Askew's sentence of death, one of the King's cav- 
 aliers appeared on the threshold of the royal chamber and advanced 
 towards the King. 
 
 He was a young man of noble and imposing appearance, whose lofty 
 bearing contrasted strangely with the humble and submissive attitude 
 of the rest of the courtiers. His tall, slim form«was clad in a coat of 
 mail glittering with gold ; over his shoulders hung a velvet mantle de- 
 corated with a princely crown, and his head, covered with dark ringlets, 
 was adorned with a cap embroidered with gold, from which along white 
 ostrich feather drooped to his shoulder. His oval face presented the 
 full type of aristocratic beauty ; his cheeks were of a clear, transparent 
 paleness; about his slightly pouting mouth played a smile, half con- 
 
30 
 
 temptuous and half languid ; the high arched brow and delicately chis- 
 eled acquiline nose gave to his face an expression at once bold and 
 thoughtful. The eyes alone were not in harmony with his face; they 
 were neither languid, like the mouth, nor pensive, like the brow. All 
 the fire and all the bold and wanton passion of youth shot from those 
 dark flashing eyes_ When he looked down, he might have been taken 
 for a completely worn out, misanthropic aristocrat ; but when he raised 
 those ever flashing and sparkling eyes, then- was seen the young man 
 full of dashing courage and ambitious desires, of passionate warmth and 
 measureless pride. 
 
 He approached the King, as already stated, and as .he bent his knee 
 before him, he said, in a full, pleasant voice: Mercy, Sire, Mercy ! 
 
 The King stepped back in astonishment, and turned upon the bold 
 speaker a look almost of amazement. 
 
 Thomas Seymour ! said he. Thomas, you have returned, then, and 
 your first act is again all indiscretion and a piece of foolhardy rashness'? 
 
 The young man smiled. I have returned, said he, that is to say, T 
 have had a sea-fight with the Scots and taken from them four men of 
 war. With these 1 hastened hither to present them to you, my King 
 and Lord, as a wedding gift, and just as I entered the ante- room I heard 
 your voice pronouncing a sentence of death. Was it no^ natural, then, 
 that I, who bring you tidings of a victory, should have the heart to utter 
 a prayer for mercy, for which, -as it seems, none of these noble and 
 proud cavaliers could summon up courage? 
 
 Ah ! said the King, evidently relieved and fetching a deep breath, 
 then you knew not at all for whom and for what you were imploring 
 pardon 1 
 
 - Yet ! said the young man, and his bold glance ran with an expression 
 of contempt over the whole assembly. Yet, I saw at once who the con- 
 demned must be, for I saw this young maiden forsaken by all as if 
 stricken by the plague, standing alone in the midst of this exalted and 
 brave company. And you well know, my noble King, that at Court 
 one recognizes the condemned and those fallen into disgrace by this, 
 that every one flies from them, and nobody has the courage to touch 
 such a leper even with the tip of his finger. 
 
 King Henry smiled. Thomas Seymour, Earl of Sudley, you are 
 now, as ever, imprudent and hasty, said he. You beg for mercy with- 
 out once knowing whether she, for whom you beg it, is worthy of 
 mercy. 
 
 But I see that she is a woman, said the intrepid young Earl. And a 
 woman is always wo,rthy of mercy, and it becomes every knight to 
 come forward as her defender, were it but to pay homage to her sex, so 
 fair and so frail, and yet so noble and mighty. Therefore I beg mercy 
 for this young maiden ! 
 
 Catharine had listened to the young Earl with throbbing heart and 
 flushed cheeks. It was the first time that she had seen him, and yet 
 she felt for him a warm sympathy, an almost tender anxiety. 
 
31 
 
 He will plunge himself into ruin murmured she ; he will not save 
 Anne, but make himself unhappy. My God, my God, h;ive a little 
 compassion and pity on my anguish ! 
 
 She now fixed her anxious gaze on the King, firmly resolved to rush 
 to the help of the Ear), who had so nobly and mfignanimouslv interested 
 himself in an innocent woman, should the wrath of her husband threat 
 en him also. But to her surprise, Henry's face was perfectly serene 
 and contented. 
 
 Like the wild beast, that, following its instinct, seeks its bloody prey 
 only so long as it is' hungry, so King Henry felt satiated for the day. 
 Yonder glared the fires about the stake at which four heretics were burned; 
 there stood the scaffold on which the Countess of Sommerset had just 
 been executed, and now within this hour he had already found another 
 new victim for death. 
 
 Moreover, Thomas Seymour had always been his favorite. His au- 
 dacity, his liveliness) his energy, had always inspired the King with 
 respect ; and then, again, he so much resembled his sister, the beautiful 
 Jane Seymour, Henry's third wife, 
 
 J cannot grant you this favor, Thomas, said the King. Justice must 
 not be hindered in her course, and where she has passed sentence, mercy 
 must not give her the lift ; and it was the justice of your King which pro 
 nounced sentence at that moment. You were -guilty, therefore, of a 
 double wrong, for you not only besought mercy, but you also brought 
 an accusation against my cavaliers. Do you really believe that, were 
 this maiden's cause a just one, no knight would have been found for her 1 ? 
 
 Yes, 1 really believe it, cried the Earl, with a laugh. The sun of 
 your favor had turned away from this poor girl, and in such a case your 
 courtiers no longer see the figure wrapped in darkness. 
 
 You are mistaken, my Lord, I have seen it, suddenly said another 
 voice, and a second cavalier advanced from the anteroom into the cham- 
 ber. He approached the King, and, as he bent his knee before him. he 
 said in a loud, steady voice: Sire, I also beg mercy for Anne Askew ! 
 
 At this moment was heard from that side of the room where the la- 
 dies stood a low cry, and the pale, affrighted face of Lady Jane Doug- 
 las was for a moment raised above the heads of the other ladies. 
 
 No one noticed it. All eyes were directed towards the group in the 
 middle of the room ; all looked with eager attention upon the King 
 and these two young men, who dared protect one whom he had sen- 
 tenced. 
 
 Henry Howard, Earl of* Surrey! exclaimed the King; and now an 
 expression of wrath passed over his countenance. How, you too, dare 
 intercede for this girl ? You, then, grudge Thomas Seymour the pre- 
 eminence of being the most indiscreet man at my Court? 
 
 I will not allow him, Sire, to think that he is the bravest, replied the 
 young man, as he fixed on Thomas ^Seymour a look of haughty defi- 
 ance, which the other answered by a cold, disdainful -mile. 
 
 Oh, said he, with a shrug of his shoulders, 1 willingly a'low you, my 
 
32 
 
 • 
 dear Earl of Surrey, to tread behind me, at your convenience, the path, 
 the safety of which I first tested at the peril of my life. - You saw that 
 1 had not as yet lost either my head or my life in this reckless under 
 taking, and that has given you courage to follow my example. That is 
 a new proof of \y oar prudent valor, my Honorable Earl of Surrey, and 
 I must praise you for it ! 
 
 A hot flush suffused the noble face of the Earl, his eyes shot lighten- 
 ing, and, trembling with rage, he laid his hand on his sword. 
 
 Praise from Thomas Seymour is — 
 
 Silence ! interrupted the King imperatively. It must not be said that 
 two of the noblest cavaliers of my Court have turned the day, which 
 should be one of festivity to all of you, into a day of contention. I 
 command you, therefore, to be reconciled. Shake hands, my Lords, 
 and let your reconciliation be sincere. I, the King, command it! 
 
 The young men gazed at each other with looks of hatred and smoth- 
 ered rage, and their eyes spoke the insulting and defiant words which 
 their lips durst no longer utter. 
 
 The King had ordered, and however great and powerful they might 
 be, the King was to be obeyed. 
 
 They, therefore, extended their hands to each other and muttered a 
 few low, unintelligible words, which might be perhaps a mutual apology, 
 but which neither of them understood. 
 
 And now, Sire, said the Earl of Surrey, now I venture to reiterate 
 my prayer. Mercy, your Majesty, mercy for Anne Askew. 
 
 And you, Thomas Seymour, do you also renew you petition? 
 
 No, I withdraw it Earl Surrey protects her; I, therefore, retire, for 
 without doubt she is a criminal ; your Majesty says so, and, therefore, 
 it is so ! It would ill become a Seymour to protect a person who has 
 sinned against the King. 
 
 This new indirect attack on Earl Surrey seemed to make on all pres- 
 ent a deep but very varied impression. Here, faces were seen to turn 
 pale, and there, to light up with a malicious smile ; here, compressed lips 
 muttered words of threatening, there, a mouth opened to express appro- 
 bation and agreement. 
 
 The King's brow was clouded and troubled ; the arrow, which Earl 
 Sudley had shot with so skillful a hand, had hit. The King, ever suspi- 
 cious and distrustful, felt so much the more disquieted, as he saw that 
 the greater part of his cavaliers evidently reckoned themselves friends 
 of Henry Howard, and that the number of Seymour's adherents was 
 but trifling. 
 
 These Howards are dangerous and I will watch them carefully, said 
 the King to himself, and for the first time his eye rested with a dark and 
 hostile look on Henry Howard's noble countenance. 
 
 But Thomas Seymour, who wished only to make a thrust at his old 
 enemy, had at the same time decided the fate of poor Anne Askew. 
 
 It was now almost an impossibility to speak in her behalf; and to 
 implore pardon for her was to become a partaker of her crime. 
 
Thomas Seymour had abandoned her, because, as Iraitoress to her king, 
 she had rendered herself unworthy of his protection. Who now would 
 be so presumptuous as to still protect the traitoress? 
 
 Henry Howard did it. He reiterated his supplication for Anne As- 
 kew's pardon. But the KingSs countenance grew darker and darker, 
 and the courtiers watched with dread the coming of the moment when 
 his wrath would dash in pieces the poor Earl of Surrey. 
 
 In the row of ladies also, here and there, a pale face was visible, and 
 many a beautiful and beaming eye was dimmed with tears, at the sight 
 of this gallant and handsome cavalier, who was hazarding even his life 
 for a woman. 
 
 He is lost! murmured Lady Jane Douglas, and completely crushed 
 and lifeless, she leant for a moment against the wall. But she soon re- 
 covered herself and her eye beamed with bold resolution. 
 
 I will try and save him ! she said to herself; and, with firm step, 
 she advanced from the ladies' ranks and approached the King. 
 
 A murmur of applause ran through the company, and all faces bright- 
 ened and all eyes were bent approvingly on Lady Jane. 
 
 They knew that she was the Queen's friend and an adherent of the 
 new doctrine, it was, therefore, very marked and significant, when she 
 supported the Earl of Surrey in his magnanimous effort. 
 
 Lady Jane bowed her beautiful and haughty head before the King, 
 and said in her clear, silvery voice : Sire ! in the name of all the women, 
 I also beseech you to pardon Anne Askew, because she is a woman. 
 Lord Surrey has done so, because a true knight can never be false to him- 
 self and his ever high and sacred obligation: to be the protector of 
 those who are helpless and in peril, is enough for him. A real gentle- 
 mau asks not whether a woman is worthy of his protection ; he grants 
 it to her, simply because she is a woman, and needs his help. And 
 while J, therefore, in the name of%\l the women, thank the Earl of 
 Surrey for the assistance that he has been desirous to render to a wo- 
 man, I unite my prayer with his, because it shall not be said that wc 
 women are always cowardly and timid, and never venture to hasten to 
 the help of the distressed. I, therefore, ask mercy, Sire, mercy for 
 Anne Askew ! 
 
 And I, said the Queen, as she again approached the King ; I add my 
 prayers to hers, Sire! Today is the feast of love, my festival, Sire! 
 To-day, then, let love and mercy prevail. 
 
 She looked at the King with so charming a smile, her eyes had an 
 expression so radiant and happy, that the King could not withstand 
 her. 
 
 He was, therefore, in the depths of his heart, ready to let the royal 
 clemency prevail for this time; but he wanted a pretext for this, somo 
 way of bringing it about. He had solemnly vowed to pardon n© here- 
 tic, and he might not break his word merely because the Queen prayed 
 for mercy. 
 
 Well, then, said he, after a pause, I will comply with your request. 
 
34 
 
 I will pardon Anr.e Askew, provided she will retract and solemnly ab- 
 jure all that she has said. Are you satisfied with that, Catharine? 
 
 I am satisfied ! said she Badly. 
 
 And you, Lady Jane Douglas and Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey 1 
 
 We are satisfied ! 
 
 All eyes were now turned agaiu upon Anne Askew, who, although 
 every one was occupied by her concerns, had been entirely overlooked 
 and left unnoticed. 
 
 Nor had she taken any more notice of the company than they of her. 
 She had scarcely observed what was going on about her. 
 
 She stood leaning against the open door leading to the balcony, and 
 gazed at the flaming horizon. Her soul was with those pious mattyrs, 
 for whom she was sending up her heartfelt prayers to God, and whom 
 she, in her feverish exaltation, envied their death of torture. 
 
 Entirely borne away from the present, she had heard neither the pe- 
 titions of those who protected her, nor the King's reply. 
 
 A hand laid upon her shoulder roused her from her revery. 
 
 It was Catharine, the young Queen, who stood near her. 
 
 Anne Askew, said she in a hurried whisper, if your life is dear to you, 
 comply with the King's demand. 
 
 She seized the young girl's hand and led her to the King. 
 
 Sire, said sjie, in a full voice, forgive the exalted and impassioned 
 agony of a poor girl, who has now, for the first time, been wit- 
 ness of an execution, and whose mind has been so much impressed by 
 it that she is scarcely conscious of the mad and criminal words that she 
 has uttered before you ! Pardon her, then, your Majesty, for she is 
 prepared cheerfully to retract. 
 
 A cry of amazement burst from Anne's lips, and her eyes flashed with 
 anger, as she dashed the Queen's hand away from her. 
 
 I retract? exclaimed she, with £ contemptuous smile. Never! my 
 Lady, never ! No ! As sure as 1 hope for God to be gracious to me 
 in my last hour, I retract not ! It is true, it was agony and horror that 
 made me speak ; but what I have spoken, is yet, nevertheless, the truth. 
 Horror caused me to speak, and forced me to show my soul undisguised. 
 No, I retract not ! I tell you, they who have been executed over you- 
 der* are holy martyrs, who have ascended to God, there to enter an 
 accusation against their royal hangman. Aye, they are holy, for eter- 
 nal truth had illumined their souls, and it beamed about their /aces 
 bright as the flames of the fagots into which the murderous hand of an 
 unrighteous judge had cast them. Ah, I must retract ! I, forsooth, am 
 to do as did Shaxton, the miserable and unfaithful servant of his God, 
 who, from fear of earthly death, denied the eternal truth, and in blas- 
 pheming pusillanimity perjured himself concerning the holy doctrine.* 
 King Henry, I say unto you, beware of dissemblers and perjurers; be- 
 ware of your own haughty and arrogant thoughts. The blood of mar- 
 tyrs cries to Heaven against you, and the time will come when God 
 
 *Burnet, vol. 1, page 841. 
 
60 
 
 will bo as merciless to you as you have been to the noblest of your 
 subjects! You deliver them over to the murderous flames, because 
 they will not believe what the Priests of Baal preach; because they 
 will not believe in the real trausubstantiation of the chalice; because 
 they deny that the natural body of Christ is, .after sacrament, contained 
 in the sacrament, no matter whether the, priest be a good or a bad man.* 
 You give them ov^r to the executioner, because they serve the truth, 
 and are faithful followers of the Lord their God ! 
 
 And you share the views of these people, whom you call martyrs? 
 • asked tne King, as Anne Askew now paused for a moment and strug- 
 gled for breath. 
 
 Yes, 1 shaie them ! 
 
 You deny, then, the truth of the Six Articles? 
 
 I deny them ! • 
 
 You do not see in me the head of the Church ? 
 
 God only is Head and Lord of the Church ! 
 
 A pause followed, a fearful, awful pause. 
 
 Every one felt that for this poor young girl there was no hope, no 
 possible escape; that her doom was irrevocably sealed. 
 
 There was a smile on the King's countenance. 
 
 The courtiers knew that smile, and feared it yet more than the King's 
 raging wrath. 
 
 When the King thus smiled, he had taken his resolve. Then there 
 was with him no possible vacillation or hesitation, but the sentence of 
 death was resolved on, and his bloodthirsty so i\ rejoiced over a new 
 victim. 
 
 My Lord Bishop of Winchester, said the King, at length, come hither. 
 
 Gardiner drew near and placed himself by Anne Askew, who gazed at 
 him with angry, contemptuous looks. 
 
 In the name of the law, I command you to arrest this heretic, and 
 hand her over to the Spiritual Court, continued the King. She is 
 damned and lost. She shall be punished as she deserves! 
 
 Gardiner laid his hand on Anne Askew's shoulder. In the name of 
 the law of God, I arrest you ! said he, solemnly. 
 
 Not a word more was spoken. The Lord Chief Justice had silently 
 followed a sign from Gardiner, and touching Anne Askew with his 
 staff, ordered the soldiers to conduct her thence. 
 
 With a smile, Anne Askew offered them her hand, and, surrounded 
 by the soldiers and followed by the Bishop of Winchester and the Lord 
 Chief Justice, walked erect and proudly out of the room. 
 
 The courtiers had divided and opened a passage for Anne and her 
 attendants. Now their ranks closed again, as the sea closes and flows 
 calmly on when it has just received a corpse. 
 
 To them all, Anne Askew was already -i corpse, as one buried. The 
 waves had swept over her and all was again serene and bright. 
 
 The King extended his hand to his young wife, and, bending down, 
 
 •Burnet, vol 1, paffc 841. 
 
30 
 
 whispered in her ear a few words, which nobody understood, but which 
 made the young Queen tremble and blush. 
 
 The Kiag, who observed this, Itrughed and impressed a kiss on her 
 forehead, Theri he turned to his Court : 
 
 Now, good night, by Lords and gentlemen, said he, with a gracious 
 inclination of the head. The feast is at an end, and we need rest. 
 
 Forget not the Princess Elizabeth, w hispered Archbishop Cranmer, 
 as he took leave of Catharine and pressed to his lips her proffered hand. 
 
 I will not forget her, murmured Catharine, and with throbbing heart 
 and trembling with inward dread, she saw them all retire, and leave her 
 alcnc with the King. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE INTERCESSION. 
 
 And now, Kate, said the King, when all had withdrawn, and he was 
 again alono with her, now let us forget everything, save that we love 
 each other. 
 
 He embraced her and with ardor pressed her to his breast. Wearied 
 to death she bowed her head on his shoulder and lay there, like a shat- 
 tered rose, completely broken, completely passive. 
 
 You give me no kiss, Kate? said Henry, with a smile. Are you then 
 yet angry with me, that I did not comply with your first request 1 Bub 
 what would you have me do, child % How indeed shall I keep the crim- 
 son of my royal mantle always fresh and bright, unless I continually dye 
 it anew in the blood of criminals'? Only he who punishes and destroys 
 is truly a king, and trembling mankind will acknowledge him as such. 
 The tender- hearted and gracious king it despises, and his pitiful weakness 
 it laughs to scorn. Bah ! Humanity is such a wretched, miserable 
 thing, that it only respects and acknowledges him who makes it tremble. 
 And people are such contemptible, foolish children, that they have res- 
 pect only for him who makes them feel the lash daily, and every now 
 and then, whips a few of them to death. Look at me, Kate ; where ia 
 there a king who has reigned longer and more happily than I? Whom 
 the people love more and obey better than me % This arises from the 
 fact, that I have already signed more than two hundred death warrants,* 
 and because every one believes that, if he does not obey me, I "will 
 without delay send his head after the others ! 
 
 Oh, you say you love me, murmured Catharine, and you speik only 
 of blood an d death while you are with me. 
 
 * Tytlw, 428. Let), vol. J, page 1ST. 
 
a? 
 
 The King laughed. You arc right, Kate, said he, aud yfit, believe 
 me, there are other thoughts slumbering in the depths of my heart, and 
 could you look dowh into it, you would not accuse me of coldness and 
 unkindness. I love you truly, my dear, virgin bride, and to prove it, 
 you shall now ask a favor of me. Yes, Kate, make me a request, and 
 whatever it may be, I pledge you my royal word, it shall be granted 
 you. Now, Kate, think, what will please you ? Will you have brilliants, 
 or a castle by the sea, or, perhaps, a yacht ? Would you like line: horses, 
 or it may be some one has offended you, and you would like his head ? 
 If so, tell me, Kate, and yorii shall have his head ; a wink from me and 
 It, drops at your feet. For I am almighty and all powerful, and no one is 
 so innocent and pure, that my wi'l cannot find in him a orime, which will 
 cost him his life. Speak then, Kate; what would you have? What 
 will gladden your heart? 
 
 Catharine smiled in spite of her secret fear and horror. 
 
 Sire, said she, you have given me so many brilliants, that I can shine 
 and glitter with them, as night does with her stars. If yon give, me a 
 ea>tle by th"* sea, that is at the sanvc time, banishing me from White- 
 hall and your presence ; I wish, therefore, for no castle of my own. I 
 wish only to dwell with yo;i in your castles, and my King's abode shall 
 be my only residence. 
 
 Beautifully and wisely spoken, said the King. I wiU'remember these 
 words if pver your enemies endeavor to send you to a dwelling and a 
 castle other than that which your King occupies. The Te\rer is also a 
 castle, Kate, but I give you my royal word, you shall never occupy that 
 castle. Yen want no treasures, and no castles? It is then somebody's 
 head that you demand of me? 
 
 Yes, Sire, it is the head of some one ! 
 
 Ah, I guessed it then, said the King with a laugh. Now speak, my 
 little blood-thirsty Queen, whose head will you have? Who* shall be 
 brought to the block ? 
 
 Sire, it is true I ask you for the head of a person, said Catlsprine, in a 
 tender, earnest tone, but I wish not that head to. fall, but to bo lifted up. 
 I beg you for a human life, but not te destroy it, but on the. oontiary to 
 adorn it with happiness and joy. I wish to drag no one to prison, but 
 to restore to one, dearly beloved, tho freedom, happiness and splendid 
 position which belong to her. Sire, you hav^ permitted me to ask a 
 favor. Now, then, I beg you to call the Princess Elizabeth to Court. 
 Let her resido with us at Whitehall. Allow her to be ever hear me and 
 share my happiness and glory. Sire*, only yesterday the Prii C v a Eliza- 
 beth was far above me in rank and position, but since your all powerful 
 might and grace h:is to-day elevated me above all other ■ I may 
 
 now love the Princess Elizabeth as my sister and dearesf friei I 
 
 me this, my King! Let Elizabeth come, to us at Whitehall and enjoy 
 at our Court the houor which ia her due.* 
 
 The King did not reply immediately. But in his quiet and smiling 
 
air one could read that his young consort's request had not angered him. 
 
 Something like an emotion flitted across his face, and his eyes we. e 
 for a moment dimmed with tears. 
 
 Perhaps just then a pale, soul-harrowing phantom passed before his 
 mind and a glance at the past showed him the beautiful and unfortunate 
 mother* of Elizabeth, whom he had sentenced to a cruel death at th- 
 hands of the public executioner, and whose last word nevertheless was 
 a blessing and a message of love for him. 
 
 He passionately seized Catharine's hand and pressed it to his lips. 
 I thank you ! You are unselfish and generous. That is a very rare 
 quality, and I shall always highly esteem you for it. Cut you are also' 
 brave and courageous, for you have dared, what nobody before you has 
 dared* Y"U have twice on the same evening interceded for one con- 
 demned and one fallen into disgrace. The fortunate, and those favored 
 by me have always had many friends, but I have never yet seen, that 
 the unfortunate and the exiled have also found friends. You are differ- 
 ent from these miserable, cringing courtiers, different from this deceitful 
 and trembling ciowd, that with chattering teeth fall down and worship 
 me as their "od and lord • different from these pitiful, good-for-nothing 
 mortals who call themselves my people, and who allow me to yoke 
 them up because they are like the ox, which is obedient and serviceable, 
 only because he is so stupid as not to know his own might and strength. 
 Ah believe me, Kate, I would be a milder and more merciful king, if 
 the people were not such an utterly stupid and contemptible thing; a 
 dof which is so much the more submissive and gentle the more you 
 maltreat him. You, Kate, you are different, and I am glad of it. You 
 know I have forever banished Elizabeth from my Court and from my 
 heart and still you intercede for her. That is noble of you, and I love 
 you for it, and grant you your request. And that you may see how I 
 love and -trust you, I will now reveal to you a secret: I have long since 
 wished to have Elizabeth with me, but I was ashamed, even to myself, 
 of this weakness. I have long yearned once again to look into my 
 daughter's large deep eyes, to be a kind and tender father to her, and 
 make some amends to her for the wrong I perhaps may have done to 
 her mother. For sometimes, in sleepless nights, Anne's beautiful face 
 comes up before me and gazes at me with mournful, mild look, and my 
 whole heart shudders befufe if. But 1 could .not confess this to anybody, 
 for then they might say, 'hat I repented what 1 had done. A king 
 must be infallible, like God himself, and never, through regret or desire 
 to compensate, confess that he is a weak, erring mortal, like others. 
 You see why I repressed my longing and parental tenderness, which 
 was suspected by no one, and appeared to be a heartlass father, because 
 nobody would help me and make it easy for me to be a tender father. 
 Ah these courtiers ! They arc so stupid that they can understand only 
 just what is echoed in our words ; but what our heart says, and longs 
 for, of that they know uothin g. But you know, Kate, you are an acute 
 
 * A.nne Bokyn 
 
woman, and a high njinded one besides. Come, Kate, a thankful fathe 
 gives you this kiss, and this, aye thi 5, your husband gives you, m 
 beautiful charming queen. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 * HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS WIVES. 
 
 The calm of night had now succeeded to the tempest of the day, and af- 
 ter «o much bustle, festivity and rejoicing, deep quiet now reigned in the 
 palace of Whitehall, and throughout London. The happy .subjects of 
 King Henry might, without danger, remain for a few hours at least in 
 their houses, and behind closed shutters and bolted doors, either slumber 
 and dream, or give themselves to their devotional exercise?, on account 
 of which, they had that day, perhaps, been denounced as malefactors. 
 They might, for a few hours, resign themselves to the sweet blissful 
 dream of being freemen untrammeled in belief and thought. For King 
 Henry s!< : and likewise Gardiner and the Lord Chancellor had closed 
 their watchful, prying, devout, murderous eyes, and reposed awhile from 
 the Christian employment of ferreting out heretics. 
 
 And like the King, the entire households of both their Majesties were 
 also asleep and resting from the festivities of the royal wedding day, 
 which, in pomp and splendor, by far surpassed the five preceding mar- 
 riages. ' 
 
 It appeared, however, as though not all the Court officials were taking" 
 rest, and following the example of the King. For in a chamber not far 
 from that of the royal pair, one could perceive, from the bright beams 
 streaming from the windows, in spite of the heavy damask curtains which 
 veiled them, that the lights were not ytt extinguished ; and he who 
 looked more closely, would have observed that now and then a human 
 shadow was portrayed upon the curtain. 
 
 So the occupant of this chamber had not yet gone to rest, and harrass 
 ing must have been the thoughts which' caused him to move so restless 
 ly to and fro. 
 
 This chamber was occupied by Lady Jane Douglas, first maid of hon 
 or to the Queen. The powerful influence of Gardiner, Bishop of Win 
 Chester, had seconded Catharine's wish to havo near her the dear friend 
 of her youth, and without suspecting it, the Queeo had given a helping 
 hand to brinjj nearer to their accomplishment the schemes which the 
 hypocritical Gardiner was directing against her. 
 
 For Catharine knew not win' ohangi h ! 'alien plar'e in the charac- 
 
40 
 
 tor of her friend in the four years in which she had not seen her. She 
 did not suspect how fatal her sojourn in the strongly Romish city of 
 Dublin had been to the easily impressible mind of her early playmate, 
 and how much it had transformed her. whole being. 
 
 Lady Jane, once so sprightly and gay, had become a bigoted Roman- 
 ist, who, with fanatical zeal, believed that she was serving God when she 
 served the Church and paid unreserved obedience to her priests. 
 
 Lady Jane Douglas had, therefore, thanks to her fanaticism and the 
 teachings of the priests, become a complete dissembler. She could 
 smile, while in her heart she secretly brooded over hatred and revenge. 
 She could kiss the lips of those whose destruction she had perhaps just 
 sworn. She could preserve a harmless, innocent air, while she observed 
 everything, and took notice of every breath, every smile, every move- 
 ment of the eyelashes. 
 
 Hence it was very important for Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, to 
 bring this " friend : ' of the Qaeen to Court and make of this disciple of 
 Loyola, an ally and friend. 
 
 Lady Jane Douglas was alone ; and pacing up and down her room, 
 she thought over the events of the day. 
 
 Now, that no one was observing her, she had laid aside that gentle, 
 serious mein, which one was wont to see about her at other times; her 
 countfnance betrayed, in rapid changes, all the various, sad and cheerful, 
 tempestuous and tender feelings which agitated her. 
 
 She who had hitherto had only one aim before her eyes, to serve the 
 Church, and to consecrate her whole life to this service ; she whose 
 heart had been hitherto open only to ambition and devotion, she felt to- 
 day wholly new, and never suspected feelings springing up within her. 
 A new thought had entered into her life, the woman was awakened in 
 her, and beat violently at that heart, which devotion had overlaid with 
 a hard coating. 
 
 • She had tried to collect herself in prayer, and to fill her soul so entire- 
 ly with the idea of God and her Church, that no earthly thought or de- 
 sire could find place therein. But ever and again arose before her mind's 
 eye the noble countenance of Henry Howard, ever and again she fan- 
 cied that she heard his earnest, melodious voice, which made her heart 
 shake and tremble like a magical incantation. 
 
 She had at first struggled against these sweet fancies, which forced 
 upon her such strange and undreampt of thoughts, but at length the wo- 
 man in her got the better of the* fanatical Romanist, and dropping into 
 a seat she surrendered herself to her dreams and fancies. 
 
 Has he recognized me? asked she to herself. Does he still remem- 
 ber that a year ago we saw each other daily at the King's Court in 
 Dublin ? 
 
 But no, added she mournfully, he knows nothing of it. He had then 
 eyes and sense only for his young wife. Ah, and she was beautiful and 
 lovely as one of the Graces. But I, am not 1 also beautiful 1 and have 
 not the noblest cavaliers paid me homage, and sighed for mc in unavail- 
 
41 
 
 ing love 1 How Gomes it then, that where I would please, there I am 
 always overlooked ? How. comes it, that the only two men, for whose 
 notice I ever cared, have never shown any preference for me? 1 felt 
 that I loved Henry Howard, but this love was a sin, for the Earl of Sur- 
 rey was married. I therefore tore my heart from him by violence, and 
 gave it to God, because the only man, whom I could love, did not re- 
 turn my affection. — But even God and devotion are not able to entirely 
 fill a woman's heart. In my breast, there was still room t'or ambition, 
 and since I could not be a happy wife, 1 would at least be a powerful 
 queen. Oh, every thing was so well devised, so nicely arranged ! Gard- 
 iner had already spoken of me to the King and inclined him lo his plan, 
 and while I was hastening at his call from Dublin hither, this 'little Ca- 
 tharine Parr comes between and snatches him from me, and overturns 
 all our schemes. I will never forgive her. 1 will find a way to avenge 
 myself. I will force her to leave this place, which belongs lo me, and 
 if there is no other way for it, she must go the way of the scaffold, as 
 did Catharine Howard. I will be Queen of England, I will « 
 
 She suddenly interrupted her soliloquy and listened. She thought 
 she heard a slight knock at the door. 
 
 She was not mistaken ; this knock was now repeated, and indeed with 
 a peculiar significant stroke. 
 
 It is my father! said Lady Jane, and as she resumed again her grave 
 and quiet air, she proceeded to open the door. 
 
 Ah, you -expected me, then'? said Lord Archibald Douglas, kissing his 
 daughter's forehead. 
 
 Yes, I expected you, my father, replied Lady Jane with a smile. I 
 knew that you would come to communicate to me your experiences and 
 observations during the day, and to give me directions for the future. 
 
 The Earl seated himself on the ottoman and drew his daughter down 
 by him. 
 
 No one can overhear us, can they ? 
 
 Nobody, my father! My women are sleeping in the fourth chamber 
 from here, and 1 have myself fastened the intervening doors. The ante- 
 room, through which you came, is as you know entirely empty, and no- 
 body can conceal himself there. It remains then only to fasten the door 
 leading thence into the corridor, in order to be 6ecure from interruption. 
 
 She hastened into the ante-room to fasten the door. 
 
 Now, my father, we are secure from listeners, said she, as she return- 
 ed and resumed her place on the ottoman. 
 
 And the walls, my child 1 know you whether or no the walls are safe ? 
 You look at me with an expression of doubt and surprise ! My God, 
 what a harmless and innocent little maiden you still are ! Have I not 
 constantly reiterated the great and wise lesson : " Doubt everything and 
 mistrust everything, even what you see." He who will make his for- 
 tune at Court, must first of all mistrust everybody, and consider every- 
 body his enemy whom he is to flatter, because he can do him harm, 
 and whom he is to hug and kiss, until in some happy embrace he can 
 
42 
 
 either plunge a dagger into his breast wholly unobserved, or pour poison 
 into his mouth. — Trust neither men, nor walls, Jane, for 1 tell you, how- 
 ever smooth and innocent both may appear, still there may be found an 
 ambuscade behind the smooth exterior. But I will for the present be- 
 lieve that these walls are innocent and conceal no listeners. I will be- 
 lieve it, because I know this 100m. Those were fine and charming days, 
 in which I became acquainted with it,. Then I was yet young and hand- 
 some, and King Henry's sister was not yet married to the King of Scot- 
 land, and we loved each oiher so dearly. Ah, I could relate to you 
 wonderful stories of those happy days. I could 
 
 But, my dear father, interrupted Lady Jane, secretly trembling at the 
 terrible prospect of being forced to listen yet again to the story of his 
 youthful love, which she had already heard times without number, but, 
 my dear father, doubtless you have not come hither so late at night in 
 order to relate to me, what I, — forgive me, my Lord, — what I long since 
 knew. You will rather communicate to me what your keen and uner- 
 ring glance has discovered here. 
 
 It is true, said Lord Douglas, sadly. I now sometimes become lo- 
 quacious — a sure sign that I am growing old. I have, by no means, come 
 here to speak of the past, but of the present. Let us then speak of it. 
 Ah, I have to day perceived much, seen much, observed much, and the 
 result of my observations is : you will be King Henry's seventh wife. 
 
 Impossible, my Lord ! exclaimed Lady Jane, whose countenance, in 
 spite of her will, assumed an expression of delight. ♦ 
 
 Her father remarked it. My child, ^said he, I observe that you have 
 not yet your features entirely under your control. You aimed just now, 
 for example, to play the coy and virtuous, and yet your face had the 
 expression of proud satisfaction. But this by the way ! The principal 
 thing is: You will be King Henry's seventh wife.! But in order to be- 
 come so, there is need of great heedfulness, a complete knowledge of 
 present relations, constant observation of all persons, impenetrable dis- 
 simulation, and lastly, above all things., a very intimate and profound 
 knowledge of the King, of the history of his reign and of his character. 
 "Do you possess this knowledge? Know you what it is to wish to be- 
 come King Henry's seventh wife, and how you must begin in order to 
 attain this? Have you studied Henry's character? 
 
 A little perhaps, but certainly not sufficiently. For, as you know, 
 my Lord, worldly matters have lain upon my heart less than the Holy 
 Church, to whose service I have consecrated myself, and to which I 
 would have presented my whole being, my whole soul, my whole heart, 
 as a sacrifice, had not you yourself determined otherwise concerning me. 
 Ah, my father, had I been allowed to follow my inclination, I would 
 have retired into a convent in Scotland, in order to spend my life in 
 quiet contemplation and pious penances, and close my soul and ear to 
 every profane sound. But my wishes have not been regarded, and by 
 the mouth of His venerable and holy priests, God has commanded me 
 to remain in the world, and take upon myself the yoke of greatness and 
 
4: * 
 
 regal splendor. If I then struggle and strive to become queen, this is 
 done, not because the ,vain pump and glory allure aie, but solely be- 
 cause through me, the Church, out of which is no salvation, may find a 
 fulcrum to operate on this weak and fickle King, and because I am to 
 biing him back again to the only true faith. 
 
 Very well placed! cried her father, who had stared her steadily in 
 the face while she was speaking. On my word, very well played. 
 Everything was in perfect harmony, the gesticulation, the play of the 
 eyes aud the voice. My daughter, 1 withdraw my censure. You have 
 perfect control over yourself. But let us speak of King Henry. Wc 
 will now subject him to a thorough analysis, and no fibre of his heart, 
 no atom of his brain shall remain unnoticed by us. We will observe 
 him in his domestic, his political aud his religious life, and get a perfect- 
 ly clear view of every peculiarity of his character, in order that we may 
 deal with him accordingly. Let us, then, speak first of his wives. Their 
 lives and deaths afford you excellent finger-posts ; for I do not deny that 
 it is an extremely difficult and dangerous undertaking to be Henry's 
 consort. There is needed for it much personal courage and very great 
 .self control. Know you which, of all his wives, possessed these in the 
 highest degree 1 It was his first consort, Catharine of Arragon ! By 
 heaven, she was a sensible woman and born a queen. Henry, avaricious 
 as he was, would have gladly given the best jewel in his crown, if he 
 could have detected but a shadow, the slightest trace of unfaithfulness in 
 her. But there was absolutely no means of sending this woman to the 
 scaffold, and at that time he was as yet too cowardly and too virtuous 
 to put her out of the way by poison. lie, therefore, endured her long, 
 until she was an old woman with grey hairs, and disagreeable for his 
 eyes to look upon. So after he had been married to her seventeen 
 years, the good pious King was all at once seized with a conscientious 
 scruple, and because he had read in the bible : Thou shalt not marry 
 thy sistjr, dreadful pangs of conscience came upon the noble and crafty 
 monarch. He fell on his knees and beat his breast and cried : " I have 
 committed a great sin \ for 1 have married my brother's wife, and con- 
 sequently my sister. But I will make amends for it. I will dissolve 
 this adulterous marriage !" — Do you know, child, why he would dissolve 
 it 1 ? 
 
 Because he loved Lady Anne Boleyn ! said Jane, with a smile. 
 
 Perfectly correct ! Catharine had grown old, and Henry was still a 
 young man, and his blood shot through his veins like streams of fire. 
 But he was yet somewhat virtuous and timid, and the main peculiarity 
 of his character was as yet undeveloped. He was not yel blood-thirsty, 
 that is to say, he had not yet licked blood. But you will see. how with 
 each new queen his desire for blood increased, till at length it has now 
 become a wasting disease. Had he then had the system of lies that he 
 now has, he would some how have bribed a slanderer, who would have 
 declared that he was Catharine's lover. But he was yet so innocent; he 
 wanted yet to gratify his darling lusts in a perfectly legal wav. So 
 
44 
 
 Anne Boleyn must become his queen,- that he might love her. And 
 in order to attain this, he threw down the glove to the whole world, be- 
 came an euemy to the Pope, and set himself in open opposition to the 
 holy head of the Church, Because the holy father would not dissolve 
 his marriage, King Henry become an apostate and atheist. He consti- 
 tuted himself head of his church, and by virtue of his authority as such, 
 he declared his marriage with Catharine of Arragon null and void, lie 
 said that he had not in his heart given his consent, to this marriage, and 
 that it had not consequently been properly consummated .* It is true, 
 Catharine had in the Princess Mary, a living witness of the consummation 
 of her marriage, but w hat did the enamoured and selfish King care about 
 that 1 Princess Mary was declared a bastard, and the Queen was now 
 to be nothing more than the widow of the Prince of Wales. It was 
 strictly forbidden to lunger give the title and to show the honor due to 
 a queen, to the woman who for seventeen years had been Queen of 
 England, and had been treated and honored as such. No one was per- 
 mitted to call her anything but the Princess of Wales, and that nothing 
 might disturb the good people or the noble Queen herself in this illusion, 
 Catharine was banished from the Court and exiled to a castle,, which she 
 had once occupied as consort of Arthur, Prince of Wales. And Henry 
 likewise allowed her only the attendance and pension which the law 
 appoints to the widow of the Prince of Wales. f 
 
 I have over held this to be one of the most prudent and subtle acts of 
 our exalted King, and in the whole history of this divorce, the King con- 
 ducted himself with admirable consistency and resolution. But this is 
 to say : he was excited by opposition. Mark this then, my child, for 
 this is the reason why I have spoken to you of these things so much at 
 length. Mark this then : King Henry is every way entirely unable to 
 bear contradiction, or to be subjected to restraint. If you wish to win 
 him to any purpose, you must try to draw him from it; you must sur- 
 round it with difficulties and hindrances. Therefore show yourself coy 
 and indifferent; that will excite him. Do not court his looks; then will 
 he seek to encounter yours. And when finally h,e loves you, dwell so 
 long on your virtue and your conscience, that at length Henry, in order 
 to quiet your conscience, will send this troublesome Catharine Parr to 
 the block, or do as he did with Cathariue of Arragon, and declare that 
 he did not mentally give his consent to this marriage, and therefore 
 Catharine is no queen, but only Lord Neville's widow. Ah, since he 
 made himself high priest of his church, there is no impediment for him 
 in matters of'this kind, for only God is mightier than he. 
 
 The beautiful Anne Boleyn, Henry's second wife, proved this. I have 
 seen her often, and I tell you, Jane, she was of wondrous beauty. Who- 
 ever looked upon her, could not but love her, and he, whom she smiled, 
 upon, felt himself fascinated and glorified. When she had borne to the 
 King, the Princess Elizabeth, I heard him say, that he had attained the 
 
 • Burnet, vol. 1 , page 87. 
 t Burnet, vol. 1, page 120. 
 
45 
 
 summit of his happiness, the goal of his wishes, for the Queen had borne 
 him a daughter, stnd so there was a regular aud legitimate successor 10 
 his throne. But this happiness lasted only a brief time. 
 
 The King conceived one day that Anne Boleyn was not, as he had 
 hitherto believed, the most beautiful woman ia the world ; but that there 
 were women still more beautiful at his Court, who therefore had a stronger 
 vocation to become Queen of England. lis fend seen Jane Seymour, 
 and she without, doubt was handsomer than Anne Boleyn, for she was 
 not as yet the King's consort, and there was an obstacle to his possession 
 of her — the Queen, Anne Boleyn. 
 
 This obstacle must be got out of the way. 
 
 Henry, by virtue of his plenitude of power, might again have been 
 divorced from his wife, but he did hot like to repeat himself, he wished 
 to be always original ; and no one was to be allowed to say that his 
 divorces were only the cloak of his capricious lewdness. 
 
 He had divorced Catharine of Arragon on account of conscientious 
 scruples ; therefore, some other means must be devised for Anne Boleyn. 
 
 The shortest way to be rid of her was the scaffold. Why should not 
 Anne travel that road, since so many had gone it before her? For a 
 new force had entered into the King's life; (lie tiger had licked blood ! 
 His instinct was aroused, and he recoiled no more from those crimson 
 rills which flowed in the veins of his subjects. 
 
 He had given Lady Anne Boleyn the crimson mantle of royalty, why 
 then should she not give him her crimson blood % For this, there was 
 wanted only a pretext, and this was soon found. Lady Rochfort was 
 Jane Seymour's aunt, and she found some men, of whom she asserted 
 that ihey had been lovers of the fair Anne Boleyn. She, as the Queen's 
 first lady of the bed chamber, could of course give the most'minute par- 
 ticulars concerning the matter, and the King believed her. He believed 
 her, though these four pretended lovers of the Queen, who were executed 
 for their crime, all, with the exception of a single one, asseverated that 
 Anne Boleyn was innocent, and that they had never been in her presence. 
 The only one who accused the Queen of illicit intercourse with him, was 
 James Smcaton, a musician.* But he had been promised his life for 
 this confession. However, it was not thought advisable to keep this 
 promise, for fear that, when confronted with the Queen, he might not 
 have the strength to sustain his assertion. But nut to be altogether un- 
 thankful to him for so useful a confession, they showed him the favor of 
 not executing him with the axe, but the more agreeable and easier 
 death of hanging was vouchsafed to him.f 
 
 So the fair and lovely Anne Boleyn must lay her head upon the block. 
 The day on which this took place, the King had ordered a great hunt, 
 and early that morning we rode out to Epping forest. The King was, 
 at first, unusually cheerful and humorous, and he commanded me to 
 ride near him, and tell him something from the chroniqve scandaleuse 
 
 •Tjtlrr. 
 
 tBuriet, vol. 1, page 305. 
 
40 
 
 of our Court. He laughed at my spiteful remarks, and the worse I 
 calumniated, the merrier was the King. Finally, we halted ; the King 
 had talked and laughed so much that he had at last become hungry. 
 So he encamped under an oak, and, in the midst of his suite and his 
 dogs, he took a breakfast, which pleased him very much, although he 
 had now become a little quieter and mote silent, and sometimes turned 
 his face towards the direction of London with visible restlessness and 
 anxiety. But suddenly was heard from that direction the dull sound o f 
 a cannon. We all knew that this was the signal which was to make 
 kuown to the King that Anne Boleyn's head had fallen. We knew it, 
 and a shudder ran through our whole frames. The King 'alone smiled, 
 and as he arose and took his weapon from my hand, he said, with cheer- 
 ful flice, "It is done, the business is finished. Unleash the dogs, and 
 let us follw the boar.' : * 
 
 That, said Lord Douglas, sadly, that was King Henry's funeral dis- 
 course over his charming and innocent wife. 
 
 Do you regret her. my father ? asked Lady Jane, with surprise. But 
 Anne Boleyn was, it seems to me, an enemy of our Church, and an ad- 
 herent of the accursed new doctrine. 
 
 Her father shrugged his shoulders almost contemptuously. That 
 did not prevent Lady Anne from being one of the fairest and loveliest 
 women of Old England. And, besides, much as she inclined to the 
 new doctrine, she did us essential good service, for she it was who bore 
 the blame of Thomas Move's death. Since he had not approved her 
 marriage with the King, she hated him, as the King hated him, because 
 he would not take the oath of supremacy. Henry, however, would 
 have spared him, for at that time he still possessed fome respect for 
 learning ard virtue, and Thomas More was so renowned a scholar that 
 the King held him in reverence. But Anne Boleyn demanded his death, 
 and so Thomas More must be executed. Oh, believe me, Jane, that 
 was an important and sad hour for nil England, the hour when Thomas 
 More laid his head upon the block. We only, we gay people in the palace 
 of Whitehall, we were cheerful and merry. We were dancing a new 
 kind of dance, the music of which was written by the King himself. 
 For you know the King is not merely an author, but also a composer, 
 and as he now writes pious books, so he then composed dances.f That 
 evening, after we had danced till we were tired, we played cards. Just 
 a=; I had won a few guineas from the King, the Lieutenant of the Tower 
 came with the tidings that the execution was over, and gave us a de- 
 scription of the last moments of the great scholar. The King threw 
 down his cards, and turning an angry look on Anne Boleyn, said in an 
 agitated voice : " You are to blame for the death of this man !" Then 
 ho arose and withdrew to his apartments, whither no one was permitted 
 to follow him, not even ^,he Queen. J You see, then, that Anne Boleyn 
 
 ♦The King's very words ; Tytler, page 883. The oak under which this took place is still pointed 
 out in Epping forest, and in fact is not less remarkable, as the oak of Charles II. 
 t Granger's Biographical History of England. Vol. 1, page 1ST. 
 % Tytler; page 351. 
 
17 
 
 had a claim on our gratitude, for the death of Thomas More delivered 
 Old England from another great peril. Melanchthon and Bucer, and 
 with them several of the greatest pulpit orators of Germany, had set 
 out to come to London, and, as delegates of the Germanic Protestant 
 Princes, to nominate the King as head of their alliance. But the terri- 
 ble news of the execution of their friend frightened them back, and 
 caused them to return when half way here.* 
 
 Peace, then, to the ashes of unhappy Anne Boleyn ! However, she 
 was avenged too, avenged on her successor and rival, for whose sake 
 she. was made to mount the scaffold ; avenged on Jane Seymour. 
 
 But she was the Kind's beloved wife, said Jane, and when she died 
 the King mourned for her two year?. 
 
 He mourned ! exclaimed Lord Douglas, contemptuously. He has 
 mourned for all his wives. Even for Anne Boleyn he put on mourn- 
 ing, and in his white mourning apparel, the day after Anne's execution, 
 he led Jane Seymour to the marriage altar. j- This outward mourning, 
 what does it signify? Anne Boleyn also mourned for Catharine of 
 Arragon, whom she had pushed from the throne. For eight weeks she 
 was seen in yellow mourning on account of Henry's first wife ; but 
 Anne Boleyn was a shrewd woman, and she knew very well that the 
 yellow mourning dress was exceedingly becoming to her J 
 
 But the King's mourning was not merely external, said Lady Jane. 
 He mourned really, for it was two years before he resolved on a new 
 marriage. 
 
 Earl Douglas laughed. But he cheered himself during these two 
 years of widowhood with a very beautiful mistress, the French Mar- 
 chioness of Montreuil, and he would have married her had not the pru- 
 dent beauty preferred returning to France, because she found it alto- 
 gether too dangerous to become Henry's consort. For it is not to be 
 denied, a baleful star hovers over Henry's queens, and none of them 
 has descended from the throne in a natural way. 
 
 Yet, father, Jane Seymour did so in a very natural way ; she died in 
 childbed. 
 
 Well, yes, in childbed. And yet by no natural death, for she could 
 have been saved. But Henry did not wish to save her. His love had 
 already grown cool, and when the physicians asked him : whether they 
 should save the mother or the child, he replied : "Save the child, and 
 let the mother die. I can get wives enough. "|| Ah, my daughter, [ 
 hope you may not die such a natural death as poor Jane Seymour did, 
 for whom, as you say, the King mourned two years. But after that 
 period, something new, something altogether extraordinary happened to 
 the King. He fell in love with a picture, and because, in his proud 
 self-conceit, he was convinced that the fine picture which Holbein had 
 made of him, was not at all flattered, but entirely true to nature, it did 
 
 • Tytler ; page 857. 
 
 t Left] ; vol. 1, page 1*0. Granger* rol. 1, page 119. 
 X Let! ; vol. 1, page ISO. Granger ; vol. 1, page 119. 
 1 Burnet. 
 
• .48 
 
 not occur to him that Holbein's likeness of the Princess Anne of Cleves 
 might be somewhat flattered, and not altogether faithful. So the King 
 fell in love with a picture, and sent Ambassadors to Germany to bring 
 the original of the portrait to England as his bride. He himself went 
 to meet her at Rochester, where she was to land. Ah, my child, I have 
 witnessed many queer and droll things in my eventful life, but the 
 scene at Rochester, however, is among my most spicy recollections. 
 The King was as enthusiastic as a poet, and deep in love as a youth of 
 twenty, and so began our romantic wedding trip, on which Henry dis- 
 guised himself and took part in it, assuming the name of My Cousin. 
 As the King's Master of Horse, I was honored wfth the commission of 
 carrying to the young Queen the greeting of her ardent husband, and 
 begging her to receive the Knight, who would deliver to her a present 
 from the King. She granted my request with a grin which made visi- 
 ble a frightful row of yellow teeth. I opened the door and invited the 
 King to enter. Ah, you ought to have witnessed that scene! It is the 
 only farcical passage in the bloody tragedy of Henry's married life. 
 You should have seen with what hasty impatience the King rushed in, 
 then suddenly, at the sight of her, staggered back and stared at the 
 Princess. Slowly retiring, he silently thrust into my hand the rich 
 present that he had brought, while at the same time he threw a look of 
 flaming wrath on Lord Cromwel), who had brought him the portrait of 
 the Princess and won him to this marriage. The romantic, ardent lover 
 vanished with this look at his beloved. He approached the Princess 
 again, but this time not as a cavalier, but, with harsh and hasty words, 
 he told her he was the King himself. He bade her welcome in a few 
 words, and gave her a cold, formal embrace. He then hastily took my 
 hand and drew me out of the room, beckoning the rest to follow him. 
 And when at length we were out of the atmosphere of this poor ugly 
 Princess, and far enough away from her, the King, with angry counte- 
 nance, said to Cromwell : " Call you that a beauty 1 She is a Flanders 
 Mare, but no Princess."* Anne's ugliness was surely given her of 
 God, that by it, the Church, in which alone is salvation, might be de- 
 livered from the great danger which threatened it. For had Anne of 
 Cleves, the sister, neice, grand daughter and aunt of all the Protestant 
 Princes of Germany, been beautiful, incalculable danger would have 
 threatened our Church. The King could not overcome his repugnance, 
 and again his conscience, which always appeared to be most tender and. 
 scrupulous, when it was farthest from it and most regardless, rmist come 
 to his aid. 
 
 The King declared that he had been, only in appearance, not in his 
 innermost conscience, disposed to this marriage, from which he now 
 shrunk back, because it would be, properly speaking, nothing more than 
 perfidy, perjury and bigamy. For Anne's father had once betrothed 
 her to the son of the Duke of Lorraine, and had solemnly pledged him 
 his word, to give her as a wife to the young Duke as soon as ''she was 
 * Burnet ; page 174, Tytler, page 417. 
 
49 
 
 of age; rings had been exchanged and the marriage contract already 
 drawn up. Anne of Cleves, therefore, was virtually already married, 
 and Henry, with his tender conscience, could not make one already mar- 
 ried, his wife.* He made her, therefore, his sister, and gave her the 
 palace at Richmond for a residence, in case she wished to remain in Eng- 
 land. — She accepted it; her blood, which crept coldly and quietly 
 through her veins, did not rise at the thought of being despised and re- 
 pudiated. She accepted it and remained in England. 
 
 She was rejected because «he was ugly ; and now the King selected 
 Catharine Howard for his fifth consort, because she was pretty. — Of this 
 marriage I know but little to tell you, for, at that time, Lhad already 
 gone to Dublin as Minister, whither you soon followed me. Catharine 
 was very beautiful, and the King's heart, now growing old, once more 
 flamed high with youthful love. He loved her more warmly than any 
 other of his wives. He was so happy in her, that, kneeling down pub- 
 licly in the Church, with a loud voice, he thanked God for the happiness 
 ■which his beautiful young queen atforded him. But this did not last 
 long. Even while the King was extolling it, his happiness had reached 
 its highest point, and the next day he was dashed down irrto the abyss. 
 I speak without poetical exaggeration, my child. The day before, he 
 thanked God for his happiness, and the next morning Catharine Howard 
 was already imprisoned and accused, as an unfaithful wife, a shameless 
 strumpet.f MoVe than seven lovers had preceded her royal spouse, and 
 some of them had accompanied her even on the Progress through York- 
 shire, which she made with the King, her husband. This time it was no 
 pretence, for he had not yet had time to fall in love with another wo- 
 man, and Catharine well knew how to enchain him and ever to kindle 
 new flames within him. But just because he loved her, he could not for- 
 give her for having deceived him. In love, there is so much cruelty and 
 hatred ; and Henry, who but yesterday lay at her feet, burned to day 
 with rage and jealousy, as yesterday with love and rapture. In his rage, 
 however, he still loved her, and when he held in his hand indubitaUe 
 proof of her guilt, he wept like a child. But since he could no longer 
 be her lover, he would be her hangman ; since she had spotted the crim- 
 son of his royal mantle, he would dye it afresh with her own crimson 
 blood. And he did so. Catharine Howard was forced to lay her beau- 
 tiful head upon the block, as Anne Boleyn had done before her; and 
 Anne's death was now once more avenged. Lady Rochfort had been 
 Anne Boleyn's accuser, and her testimony had brought that Queen to 
 the scaffold ; but now she was convicted of being Catharine Howard's 
 assistant and confidant in her love adventures, and with Catharine, Lady 
 Rochfort also ascended the scaffold. . 
 
 Ah, the King needed a long time to recover from this blow. Ho 
 searched two years for a pure, uncontaminated virgin, who might be- 
 come his queen without danger of the scaffold. But he found none; so 
 
 * Bnmet 
 
 t Tyll.T, page 4?.* 
 
.30 ' 
 
 he then took Lord Nevill's widow, Catharine Parr. — But you know, my 
 child, that Catharine is an unlucky name for Henry's queens. The first 
 Catharine he repudiated, the second he beheaded. What will he do 
 with the third I 
 
 Lady Jane smiled. Catharine does not love him, said she, and I be- 
 lieve she would willingly consent, like Aune of Cleves, to become his 
 sister, instead of his wife. 
 
 Catharine does not love the King ? inquired Lord Douglas in breath- 
 less suspense. She loves another, then ? 
 
 No, my father ! Her heart is yet like a sheet of white paper ; no sin- 
 gle name is yet inscribed there. 
 
 Then we must write a name there, and this name must drive her to 
 the scaffold, or into banishment ! said her father impetuously. It is 
 your business, my child, to take a steel graver, and in some way write a 
 name in Catharine's heart so deep and indelibly that the King may 
 some day read it there. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 Both now kept silent for a long time. Lord Douglas had leaned back 
 on the ottoman, and respiring heavily, seemed to breathe a little from 
 the exertion of his long discourse. But" while he rested, his large, pierc- 
 ing eyes were constantly turned to Jane, who, leaning back on the cush- 
 ion, was staring thoughtfully into the empty air, and seemed to be en- 
 tirely forgetful of her father's presence. 
 
 A cunning 1 ' smile played for a moment over the countenance of the 
 Earl as he observed her, but it quickly disappeared, and now deep folds 
 of care gathered on his brow. 
 
 As he saw that Lady Jane was plunging deeper and deeper into 
 revery, he at length laid his hand on her shoulder and hastily asked : 
 what are you thinking of, Jane ? 
 
 She gave a sudden start, and looked at the Earl with an embarrassed 
 
 air. 
 
 I am thinking of all that you have been saying to me, my father, re- 
 plied she calmly. I am considering what benefit to our object 1 can 
 draw from ifc. 
 
 Lord Douglas shook his head and smiled incredulously. At length 
 he said solemnly, take care, Jane, take care that your heart does not de- 
 ceive your head. If we would reach our aim here, you must, above all 
 
r>i 
 
 thing?, maintain a cool heart and a cool head. Do you still possess both, 
 Jane ? 
 
 In confusion she cast down her eyes before his penetrating look. Lord 
 Douglas noticed it, and a passionate word was already on his lips. But 
 he kept it back. As a prudent diplomats, he kuew that it is often more 
 politic to destroy a thing by ignoring it, thau to enter into an open con- 
 test with it. 
 
 The feelings are like the dragon's teeth of Theseus. If you contend 
 with them, they always grow again anew, and with renewed energy out 
 of the soil. 
 
 ■ Lord Douglas, therefore, was very careful not to notice his daughter's 
 confusion. Pardon me, my daughter, if, in my zeal and ray tender care 
 for you, I go too far. I kuow that your dear and beautiful head is cool 
 enough to wear a crown. I know that in your heart dwell only ambi- 
 tion and religion. Let us, then, farther consider what we have to do in 
 order to attain our end. r ,u 
 
 We have spoken of Henry as a husband, of Henry »fls a man • and I 
 hope you have drawn some useful lessons from the fate of his wives. 
 You have learned that it is necessary to possess all the good and all the 
 bad qualities of woman in order to control this stiff-necked and tyranni 
 cal. this lustful and bigoted, this vain and sensual man, whom the wrath 
 of God has made King of England. You must, before all things be per. 
 feet master of the difficult art of coquetry. You must become a female 
 Proteus. Today a Messalina, tomorrow a nun; today one of the 
 literati, to morrow a playful child ; you must ever seek to surprise the 
 King, to keep him on the stretch, to enliven him. You must never give 
 •way to the dangerous feeling of security, for in fact King Henry's wife 
 is never safe. The axe always hangs over her head, and you must ever 
 consider your husband as only a fickle lover, whom )ou must every 
 day captivate anew. 
 
 You speak as though I were already queen, said Lady Jane smiling* 
 and yet I cannot but think, that in order to come to that, many dif- 
 ficulties are to be overcome, which may indeed perhaps be insuperable. 
 
 Insuperable? exclaimed her father with a shrug of the shoulders. 
 With the aid of the Holy Church, no hindrance is insuperable. Only 
 ■we must be perfectly acquainted with our end and our means. Do not 
 despise, then, to sound the character of this King ever and again, and be 
 certain you will always find in him .some new hidden recess, some sur- 
 prising peculiarity. — We have spoken of him as a husband and the fa- 
 ther of a family, but of his religious and political standing, I have as yet 
 told you nothing. And yet that, my child, is the principal point in his 
 whole character. 
 
 In the first place, then, Jane, I will tell you a secret. The King, who 
 has constituted himself high pr?est of his Church, — whom the Pope once 
 called c, The Knight of the Truth and the Faith,"— the King has at the 
 bottom of his heart no religion. He is a wavering reed, which the wiud 
 turns this way to day, :\v,<\ that way to-morrow. He knows not his own 
 
52 
 
 will, and coquetting with both parties, to-day he is a heretic, in order to 
 exhibit himself as a >-trong, unprejudiced, enlightened man ; tomorrow a 
 Catholic, in order to show himself an obedient and humble servant of 
 God, who seeks and finds his happiness only in love and piety. But for 
 both confessions of faith he possesses at heart a profound indifference ; 
 and had the Pope at that time placed no difficulties in his way, had he 
 consentedvto his divorce from Catharine, Henry would have always re- 
 mained a very good and active servant of the Catholic Church. But 
 they were imprudent enough to irritate him by contradiction ; they stim- 
 ulated his vanity and pride to resistance; and so Henry became a 
 Church reformer, not from conviction, but out of pure love of opposi- 
 tion. And that, my child, you must never forget, for, by means of this 
 lever, you may very well convert him again to a devout, dutiful. and 
 obedient servant of our Holy Church. He has renounced the Pope, 
 and usurped the supremacy of the Church, but he cannot summon up 
 courage to earn out his work ant' throw himself wholly into the arms 
 of the Reformation. However much he has opposed the person of the 
 Pope, still he has always remained, devoted to the Church, although per- 
 haps he does not know it himself. He is no Catholic, and he hears 
 mass ; he has broken up the monasteries, and yet forbids priests to mar- 
 ry ; he has the Lord's supper administered under both kinds, and be- 
 lieves in the real transubstantiation of the wine into the Redeemer's 
 holy blood. He destroys the convents, and yet commands that vows of 
 chastity, spoken by man or woman, must be faithfully kept ; and lastly, 
 Auricular Confession is still a necessary constituent of his Church. And 
 the.se he calls his Six Articles * and the foundation of his English Church. 
 Poor, short-sighted and vain man ! Pie knows not that he has done all 
 this only because he wanted to be Pope himself, and that he is noth- 
 ing more than an anti-pope of the Holy Father at Rome, whom he, in his 
 blasphemous pride, dares call " the Bishop of Rome." 
 
 But for this audacity, said Jane, with looks of burning rage, the ana- 
 thema has struck him and laid a curse upon his head, and given him up 
 to the hatred, contempt and scorn of his own subjects. Therefore, the 
 holy Father has justly named him :( the apostate and lost son, the blas- 
 pheming usurper of the Holy Church." Therefore, the Pope has declar- 
 ed his crown forfeited, and promised it to him who will vanquish him 
 by force of arms. , Therefore, the Pope has forbidden any of his subjects 
 to obey him, and respect and recognize him as King f 
 
 And yet he remains King of England, and his subjects still obey him 
 in slavish submission, exclaimed Earl Douglas, shrugging his shoulders. 
 It was very unwise to go so far in threats, for one should never threaten 
 with punishment which he is not likewise able to really execute. This 
 Romish interdict has rather been an advantage to the King, than done 
 him harm, for it has forced the King into haughtier opposition, and 
 proved to his subjects that a man may really be under an interdict and 
 yet in prosperity and the full enjoyment of life. 
 
 "'Burnet, roll, page 259. Tvtler, page 402, t Lett, vol, 1, page 134, 
 
The Pope's excommunication has not hurt the King at all ; his throne 
 has not felt the slightest jar from it, but the apostaey of the King bus 
 deprived the Holy See at Rome of a very perceptible support ; therefore 
 we must bring the. faithless King back to the Holy Church, for she needs 
 him. And this, my daughter, is the work that God and the will of his 
 holy representative have placed in your hauds. A noble, glorious, and 
 at the same time profitable work, for it makes you a queen ! But I re- 
 peat, be cautious, never irritate the King by contradiction. Without 
 their knowing it, we must lead the wavering where salvation awaits 
 them. For, as we have said, he is a waverer; and in the haughty pride 
 of his royalty, he has the presumption to wish to stand above all parties, 
 and to be himself able to found a new Church, a Churoh which is neither 
 Catholic nor Protestant, but his Church ; to which, in the Six Articles, 
 the so-called "Bloody Statute," he has given its laws. 
 
 He will not be Protestant, nor Catholic, and in order to show his im- 
 partiality, he is an equally terrible persecutor of both parties. So that 
 it has come to pass that we must say : In England, Catholics are hanged, 
 and those not such, are burned.* It gives the King pleasure to hold with 
 steady and cruel hand the balance between the two parties, and on the 
 same day that he has a Papist incarcerated, because he has disputed the 
 King's supremacy, he has one of the Reformed put upon the rack, be- 
 cause he has denied the real transubstantiation of the wine, or perhaps 
 has disputed concerning the necessity of Auricular Confession. Indeed, 
 during tin- hist session of Parliament, five men were hanged because they 
 disputed the supremacy, and five others burned because. they professed 
 the reformed views ! And this evening, Jane, this, the King's wedding 
 night, by the special order of the King, who wanted to show his impar- 
 tiality as head of the Church, Catholics and Protestants have been coupled 
 together like dogs, and hurried to the stake, the Catholics being con- 
 demned as traitors, and the others as heretics. f 
 
 Oh, said Jane, shuddering and turning pale, I will not be Queen of 
 England. 1 have a horror of this cruel, savage King, whoso heart is 
 wholly without compassion or pity ! 
 
 Her father laughed. Do you not then know, child, how you can make 
 the hyena gentle, and the tiger tame 1 You throw them again and again 
 a fresh prey, which they may devour, and since they love blood so dear- 
 ly, you constantly give them blood to drink, so that they may never 
 thirst for it. The King's only steady and unchanging peculiarity is his 
 cruelty and delight in blood ; one then must always have some food 
 ready for these, then he will ever be a very affectionate and gracious 
 King and husband. 
 
 And there is no lack of objects for this blood-thirstiness. There are 
 
 so many men and women at his Court, and when he is precisely in a 
 
 blood-thirsty humor, it is all the same to Henry whose blood he drinks. 
 
 He has shed the blood of his wives and relatives ; he has executed those 
 
 • *"■ —-—- 
 
 * Leti, vol. 1, page 142 
 tTytlcr. rw^? . 
 
whom be called his most confidential friends ; he has sent the noblest 
 men of his kingdom to the scaffold. 
 
 Thomas More knew him very well, and in a few striking words he 
 summed up the whole of the King's character. Ah, it seems to me that 
 I see now the queit and gentle face of this wise man, as I saw him stand- 
 ing in yonder window-bay, and near him the King, his arms around the 
 ne°ck of High-Chancellor More, and listening to his discourse with a kind 
 of reverential devotion. And when the King had gone, I walked up to 
 Thomas More and congratulated him on the high and world-renowned 
 favor in which he stood with the King The King really loves you, said I. 
 " Yes," replied he, with his quiet, sad smile, "yes, the King truly loves 
 me ! ' But that would not for one moment hinder him from giving my 
 head for a valuable diamond, a beautiful woman, or a hand's breadth of 
 land in France."* He was right, and for a beautiful woman, the head 
 of this sa<*e had to fall, of whom the most Christian Emperor and King, 
 Charles V said : " Had I been the master of such a servant, of whose 
 ability and greatness we have had so much experience for many years ; 
 had [possessed an adviser so wise and earnest as Thomas Mure was, I 
 wouid rather have lost the best city of my realm, than so worthy a ser- 
 vant and counsellor."! • 
 
 No. Jane be that your first and most sacred rule, never to trust the 
 Kino 1 and never reckon on the duration of his affection and the manifes- 
 tations of his favor. For, in the perfidy of his heart, it often pleases him 
 to load with tokens of his favor, those whose destruction he has already 
 resolved upon,*and to adorn and decorate with orders and jewels to-day, 
 those whom to-morrow he is going to put to death. It flatters his self- 
 complacency, like the lion, to' play a little with the puppy he is about 
 to devour. Thus did he with Cromwell, for many years his counsellor 
 and friend, who had committed no other crime than that of having first 
 exhibited 'to the King the portrait of the ugly Anne of Cleves, whom 
 Holbein had turned into a beauty. But the King took good care not to 
 be angry with Cromwell, or to reproach him for it. Much more, in re- 
 co'-mition of his great services, he raised him to the Earldom of Essex, 
 decorated him with the Order of the Garter, and appointed him Lord 
 Chamberlain, and then, when Cromwell felt perfectly secure and proudly 
 basked in the sunshine of royal favor, then all at once the King had him 
 arrested and dragged to the tower, in order to accuse him of high treason.^ 
 And so Cromwell was executed, because Anne of Clevts did not please 
 the King, and because Hans Holbein had flattered her picture. 
 
 But now we have had enough of the past, Jane. Now let us speak of 
 the present and of the future, my daughter. Let us now first of all de- 
 vise the means to overthrow this woman who stands in our way. When 
 .she is once overthrown, it will not be very difficult for us to put you in 
 her place. For you are now here, near the King. The great mistake 
 in our earlier efforts was, that we were not present and could work only 
 
 • *Letl, vol. 1, page 194. 
 
 tTytler, page 854. % Tvtler, page 428. 
 
b^> 
 
 through go-betweens and confidants. The [King did not see you, and 
 siiee the unlucky affair with Anne of Cleves, he mistrusts likenesses. 
 I very well knew that, for I, my child, confide in no one, not even in the 
 most faithful and noblest friends. I rely upon nobody but ourselves. 
 Had we been here, you would now be Queen of England instead of 
 Catharine Parr. But, to our misfortune, I was still the favorite of the 
 Regent of Scotland, and as such, I could not venture to approach Henry. 
 It was necessary that I should fall into disgrace there, in order to bo 
 again sure of the King's favor here. 
 
 So I foil into disgrace and fled with you hither. Now, then, here we 
 are, and let the fight begin. And you have to day already tnken an 
 important step towards our end. You have attrActed the notice of the 
 King, and established yourself still more securely in the favor of Catha- 
 rine. 1 confess, Jane, 1 am charmed with your prudent conduct. You 
 have this day won the hearts of all parties, and it was wonderfully shrewd 
 in you to come to the aid of the Earl of Surrey, as you at the same time 
 won to you the heretical party, to which Anne Askew belutigs. Oh, it 
 was indeed, Jane, a stroke of policy that you made For the Howard 
 family is the most powerful and greatest at Court, and Henry. Earl of 
 Surrey, is one of its noblest representatives. Therefore we have now 
 already a powerful party at Court, which has in view only the high and 
 holy aim of securing a victory for the Holy Church, and which quietly 
 and silent! v works only for this : to again reconcile the King to the Pope. 
 Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, like his father, the Duke of Norfolk, is 
 a good Catholic, as his niece, Catharine Howard, was ; onry she, besides 
 God and the Church, was a little too fond of the images of God — fine 
 looking men. It was this that gave the victory to the other party and 
 forced the Catholic to succomb to the heretical party at Court. Yes, 
 for the moment, Cranmer with Catharine has got the better of us, but 
 soon Gardiner with Jane Douglas will overcome the heretics, and send 
 them to the scaffold. That is our plan, and, God permitting, we will 
 carry it out. 
 
 But it will be a difficult undertaking, said Lady Jane, with a sigh. 
 The Queen is a pure, transparent soul ; she has a shrewd head, and a 
 clear glance. She is moreover guileless in her thoughts, and recoils 
 with true maidenly timidity from every sin. 
 
 We must cure her of this timidity, and that is your task. Jane. 
 You must despoil her of these strict notions about virtue. With flat- 
 tering voice you must ensnare her heart, and entice it to .sin. 
 
 Oh, that is an infernal plot, said Lady Jane, turning pale. That, my 
 father, would be a crime, for that would be not only destroying her 
 earthly happiness, but also imperilling her soul. I must entice her to 
 a crime ; that is your dishonorable demand ? But 1 will not obey you ! 
 It is true, I hate her, for she stands in the way of my ambition. It is 
 true, I will destroy her, for she wears the crown which I wish to pos- 
 sess ; but never will I be so base as to pour into her very heart the 
 poison by which she shall fall Let her seek the poison for herself; 1 will 
 
not hold back her hand; I will not warn her. Let her seel; the ways 
 of sin herself; 1 will not tell her that she has erred ; bat I will, fVftm 
 afar, dog her, and watch each step, and listen for every word and sigh, 
 und when she has committed a crime, then will I betray her, and deliver 
 her up to her jucTges. That is what 1 can and will do. 1 will be the 
 demon to drive her from paradise in God's name, but not the serpent 
 to entice her in the devil's name to sin. 
 
 She paused, and, panting for breath, sunk back upon the cushion;" 
 but her father's hand was laid upon her shoulder with a convulsive 
 grip, and, pale with rage and with eyes flashing with anger, he stared 
 at her. 
 
 A cry of terror burst from Lady Jane. She, who never had seen her 
 father but smiling and full of -kindness, scarcely recognized that counte- 
 nance, distorted with rage. She could scarcely convince herself that this 
 mau, with eyes darting fire, scowling eyebrows and lips quivering with 
 rage, was really her father. 
 
 You will not! exclaimed he, with a hollow, threatening voice. You 
 dare rebel against the holy commands of the Church 1 Have you, then, 
 forgotten what you promised to the Holy Fathers, whose pupil you 
 are? Have you forgotten that the brothers and sisters of the Holy 
 League are permitted to have no other will than that of their master'? 
 Have you forgotten the sublime vow which you made to our master, 
 Ignatius Loyoia? Answer me, unfaithful and disobedient daughter of 
 the Church. Repeat to me the oath, which you took, when he received 
 you into the Holy Society of the Disciples, of Jesus! Repeat ) our 
 oath, I say ! 
 
 As if constrained by an invisible power, Jane had arisen, and now 
 stood, her hands folded across her breast, submissive and trembling be 
 fore her father, whose erect, proud and wrathful' form towered above 
 her. 
 
 1 have sworn, said she, to subject my own thought and will, my life 
 and endeavors, obediently to the will of the Holy Father. I have 
 sworn to be a blind tool in the hand of my masters, and to do only 
 what they command and enjoin. I have vowed to serve the Holy 
 Church, in which alone is salvation, in every way and with all the 
 means at my command ; that I will despise none of these means ; con- 
 sider none trifling, disdain none, provided it leads to the end. For the 
 end sanctifies the means, and nothing is a sin which is done for the hon- 
 or of God and the Church ! 
 
 Ad majorem Dei gloriam! said her father, devoutly folding his hands. 
 And know you, what awaits you, if you violate your oath 1 
 
 Earthly disgrace and eternal destruction await me. The curse of all 
 my brethren and sisters awaits me. Eternal damnation and punish- 
 ment. With thousands of torments- and tortures of the rack, will the 
 Holy Fathers put me to death, and as they kill my body and throw it as 
 food to the bea9ts of prey, they will curse my soul and deliver it over 
 to purgatory, 
 
And what awaits you if you remain faithful to your oath, and obey 
 the commands given you ? 
 
 Honor and glory on earth, eternal blessedness in Heaven. 
 
 Then you will be a queen on earth and a queen in Heaven. You 
 know, then, the sacred laws of the Societv, and jou remember your 
 oath ? 
 
 1 remember it. 
 
 And you know that the holy Loyola, before he. left us, gave the So- 
 ciety of Jesus, in England, a Muster and General, whom all the breth- 
 ren and sisters must serve and submit to ; to whom they owe blind 
 obedience and service without questioning. 
 
 1 know it. 
 
 And you know, likewise, by what sign the Associates may recognize 
 the General? 
 
 By Loyola's ring, which he wears on "the forefinger of his right hand. 
 
 Behold here this ring! said the Earl, drawing his hand out of his 
 doublet. 
 
 Lady Jane uttered a cry, and sank almost senseless at his feet. 
 
 Lord Douglas, smiling graciously, raised her in his arms. You see, 
 Jane, 1 am not merely your father, but your master aUo. And you 
 will obey me, will you not? 
 
 I will obey! said she, almost inaudibly, as she kissed the hand with 
 the fatal ring. 
 
 Ybu will be* to Catharine Parr, as you have expressed it, the serpent, 
 that seduces her to sin ? 
 
 I will. 
 
 You will beguile her into sin and entice her to indulge a love, which 
 must lead her to destruction ? 
 
 I will do it, my father. 
 
 I will now tell you whom she is to love, and who is to be the instru- 
 ment of destruction. You will so manage the Queen that she will love 
 Heury Howard, Earl of Surrey. 
 
 Jane uttered a scream, and clung to the back of a chair to keep from 
 falling. 
 
 Her father observed her with penetrating, angry looks. What means 
 this outcry ? Why does this choice surprise you ? asked he. 
 
 Lady Jane had already gained her self possession. It surprised me, 
 said she, because (he Earl is betrothed. 
 
 A singular smile played about the Earl's lips. It is not the first 
 time, said he, that even a man already married has become dangerous 
 to a woman's heart, and often the very impossibility of possession adds 
 fuel to the flames of love. Woman's heart is ever so full of selfishness 
 and contradiction. 
 
 Lady Jane cast down her eyes, and made, no reply. She felt 'that 
 the piercing and penetrating look of her father was resting on her face. 
 She knew that, just then, he was readii:^ her soul, although she did not 
 look at him. 
 
 I 
 
so 
 
 Then you no longer refuse 1 ? a3ked he, at length. You will inspire 
 the young Queen with love for the Earl of Surrey. 
 
 I will endeavor to do it, my father! 
 
 If you try, with a real and energetic determination, to succeed, you 
 will prevail. For, as)Ou said, the Queen's heart is still free; it is, 
 then, like a fruitful soil, which is only waiting for some one to sow the 
 seed in it, to bring forth flowers' and fruit. Catharine Parr does not. 
 love the King; you will, ihen, teach her to love Henry Howard. 
 
 Yet, my father, said Lady Jane, with a sarcastic smile, to bring about 
 this result, one must, before all things, be acquainted with a magic 
 spell, thiough the might of which the Earl will first glow with love for 
 Catharine. For the Queen has a proud soul, and she will never so forget 
 her dignity, as to love a man who is not inflamed with an ardent pas- 
 sion for her. But the Earl has not only a bride, but, as it is said, a 
 mistress also. 
 
 Ah, you consider it then perfectly unworthy of a woman to love a 
 man who does not adore her 1 ? asked the Earl, in a significant tone. I 
 am rejoiced to hear this from my daughter; aud thus to be certain that 
 she will not fall in lave with the Earl of Surrey, who is everywhere 
 else called " the lady-killer." And if you have informed yourself in 
 so surprising a manner as to the Earl's private relations, you have done 
 so, without doubt, only because your sagacious and subtle head has al- 
 ready guessed what commission I would give you with respect to the Earl. 
 Besides, my daughter, you are in error; and if a certain high, but not 
 on that account the less very unfortunate Lady, should happen to really 
 love the Earl of Surrey, her lot will, perhaps, be the common one : to 
 practice resignation. 
 
 An expression of joyful surprise passed over the countenance of Lady 
 Jane, while her father thus spoke; but it was forced to instantly give 
 way to a deathly paleness, as the Earl added : Henry Howard is des- 
 tined for Catharine Parr, and you are to help her to love so hotly this 
 proud, handsome Earl, who is a faithful servant of the Church, wherein 
 alone is salvation, that she will forget all considerations and all dangers. 
 
 Lady Jane ventured one more objection. She caught eagerly at her 
 father's words, to seek still for some way of escape. 
 
 You call the Earl a faithful servant of our Church, said she, and yet 
 a ou would implicate him also in your dangerous plot? You have 
 not, then, ray father, considered, that it is just as pernicious to love the 
 Queen, as to be loved by her ? And, without doubt, if love for the 
 Earl of Surrey bring the Queen to the scaffold, the head of the Earl 
 will fall at the same time, no matter whether he return her love or not. 
 
 The Earl shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 When the question is about the weal of the Church and our holy reli- 
 gion, the danger, which, thereby, it may be, threatens one of our number, 
 must not frighten us back. Holy sacrifices must be always offered to a 
 holy cause. Well and good, then, let the Earl's head fall, provided, 
 the only saving Church gains new vigor from this blood of martyrs. 
 
59 
 
 But, see, Jane, the morning already begins to dawn, and I mu3t hasten 
 to leave you, lest these courtiers, ever given to slandering, may in some 
 way or other, take the father for a lover, and cast suspicion on 
 the immaculate virtue of my Jane. Farewell, then, my daughter. 
 We both, now, know our roles, and will take care to play them with 
 success. You are the friend and confidant of the Queen, and I the 
 harmless courtier, who tries, now and then, to gain a smile from the 
 King by some kind of merry jest. That is all. Good morning, then, 
 Jane, and good night. For yon must sleep, my child, so that your 
 cheeks may remain fresh and your eyes bright. The King hates pining 
 pale-races. Sleep, then, future Queen of England! 
 
 He gently kissed her forehead, and left the room with lingering step. 
 
 Lady Jane stood and listened to the souud of his footstep-*, gradually 
 dying away, when she sank on her knees, wholly crushed, utterly 
 stunned. 
 
 My God, my God, murmured she, while streams of tears flooded her 
 face, and I am to inspire the Queen with love for the Earl of Surrey, 
 and I, I love him ! 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LENUEMAIN. 
 
 The, great levee was over. Sitting beside the King on the throne, 
 Catharine had received the congratulations of her Court; and the King's 
 smiling look, and the tender words which, in undertone, he now and then 
 addressed to the Queen, had manifested to the prudent^ and expert cour- 
 tiers that the King was to-day just as much enamored of his young 
 consort, as he had been yesterday of his bride. Therefore, every one 
 exerted himself to please the Queen, and to catch every look, every 
 smile, which she let fall, like sunbeams, here and there, in order to see 
 for whom they were intended, so that they might, perchance, by this 
 means, divine who were to be the future favorites of the Queen, and be 
 the first to become intimate with them. 
 
 But the young Queen directed her looks to no one in particular. She 
 was friendly and smiling, yet one felt that this friendliness was con- 
 strained, this smile full of sadness. The King alone did not notice it. 
 He was cheerful and happy, and it seemed to him, therefore, that no- 
 body at his Court could dare sigh, when he, the King, was satisfied. 
 
 After. the grand presentation, at which all the great and noble of tho 
 realm had passed in formal procession before the royal pair, the King 
 
60 
 
 had, according to the Court etiquette of the time, given his hand to his 
 consort, led her down from the throne and conducted her to the middle 
 of the hall,. in order to present to her the personages in wailing at her 
 Court. 
 
 But, this walk from the throne to the centre of the hall had greatly- 
 fatigued the King; this promenade of thirty steps was for him a very 
 unusual and troublesome performance, and the King longed to change 
 to something else more agreeable. So he beckoned to the Chief Mas- 
 ter of Ceremonies, and bade him open, the door leading into the dining 
 room. Then he ordered his *: house equipage " to be brought up, and 
 seating himself in it, with the utmost stateliness, he had the sedan 
 kept at the Queen's side, waiting, impatiently, till the presentation 
 should at last conclude, and Catharine accompany him to lunch. 
 
 The announcements of the Maids of Honor and female attendants had 
 been already made, and now came the gentlemen's turn. 
 
 The Chief Master of Ceremonies ^ead from his list the names of those 
 cavaliers, who werp, henceforth, to be in waiting near the Queen, and 
 which names the King had written down with his own hand. And at 
 each new appointment a slight expression of pl«*nsed astonishment flitted 
 across the faces of the assembled courtiers, for it was always one of the 
 youngest, handsomest, and most amiable Lords whom the Master of 
 Ceremonies had to name. 
 
 Perhaps the King proposed to play a cruel game of hazard, in sur- 
 rounding his consort with the young men of his Court; he wished to 
 plunge her into the midst of danger, either to let her perish there, or, 
 by her avoiding danger, to be able to place the unimpeachable virtue of 
 his young wife in the clearest light. 
 
 The list had begun with the less important offices, and, ever ascend- 
 ing higher, they now came to positions the highest and of greatest con- 
 sequence. 
 
 Still, the Queen's Master of the Horse and Chamberlain had no't been 
 named, and these were, without doubt, the most important charges at 
 the Queen's Court. For one or the other of these officers was always 
 very near the Qfieen. When she was in the palace, the Lord of the 
 Chamber had to remain in the anteroom, and no one could approach 
 the Queen but through his mediation. To him the Queen had to give 
 her orders with regard to the schemes and pleasures of the day. He 
 was to contrive new diversions and amusements. He had the right of 
 joining the Queen's narrow evening circle, and to stand behind the 
 Queen's chair, when the royal pair, at times, desired to sup without cer- 
 emony. 
 
 This place of Chief Chamberlain was, therefore, a very important one, 
 for since it confined him a large part of the day in the Queen's pres- 
 ence, it was scarcely avoidable, that the Lord Chamberlain should be- 
 come either the confidential and attentive friend, or the malevolent and 
 lurking enemy of the Queen ! 
 
 But the place of Master of Horse was of no less consequence. For 
 
61 
 
 as soon as the Queen left the palace, whether on foot or in»a carriage ; 
 whether to ride in the forest, or t> glide down the Thames in her gilded 
 yacht, the Master of Horse must be ever at her side, must ever attend 
 her. Indeed this service was still more exclusive, still more important. 
 For, though the Queen's apartments were open to the Lord Chamber- 
 lain, yet, however, he was never alone with her. The attending Maids of 
 Honor were always present and prevented there being any tcle-d-teles 
 or intimacy between the Queen and her Chamberlain. 
 
 But with the Master of Horse it was different. Since many oppor- 
 tunities presented themselves, when he could approach the Queen un- 
 noticed, or at least speak to her without being overheard, lie had to 
 offer her his hand to assist her in entering her carriage ; ht^could ride 
 near the door of her coach ; he accompanied her on water excursions and 
 pleasure rides, and these last were so much the more important because 
 they afforded him, to a certain extent, opportunity for a lHeu-tc!c with 
 the Queen. For only the Master of Horse was permitted to ride at her 
 side; he «ven had piecedence of the ladies of the suite, so as to be able 
 to give the Queen immediate assistance in case of any accident, or the 
 stumbling of her horse. Therefore, no one of the suite could perceive 
 what the Queen said to the Master of Horse, when he rode at her side. 
 
 It was understood, therefore, how influential this place might be. Ue- 
 sides, when the Queen was at Whitehall, the King was almost always 
 near her, while, thanks to his daily increasing corpulency, he was not 
 exactly in condition to leave the palace otherwise than in a carriage. 
 
 It was, therefore, very natural that the. whole company at Court await 
 ed, with eager attention and bated breath, the moment when the Master 
 of Ceremonies would name these two important personages, whose 
 names had been kept so secret, that nobody had yet learned them! 
 That morning, just before he handed the list to the Master of Ceremo- 
 nies, the King had written down these two names with his own hand. 
 
 But not the Court only, but also the King himself was watching for 
 these two names. For he wished to see the effect of them, and, by the 
 differed expression of faces, estimate the number of the friends of these 
 two'nominees. The young Queen alone exhibited the same unconcern 
 ed' affability ; her heart only beat with uniform calmness, for she did not 
 once suspect the importance of the moment. • 
 
 Even the voice of the Master of Ceremonies trembled slightly, as ho 
 now read : To the place of High Chamberlain to the Queen, his Majesty 
 appoints: My Lord Henry Howard," Earl of Surrey ! 
 
 An approving murmur was heard, and almost all faces manifested 
 glad surprise. 
 
 He has a great many friends, muttered the King. He is dangerous, 
 then ! An angry look darted from his eyes upon the young Karl, who 
 was now approaching the young Queen, to bend his Knee before her and 
 to press to his lips the proffered hand. 
 
 Behind the Queen stood Lady Jane, and as she beheld thus close be- 
 fore her, the young man, so handsome, -:v lung yearned for, and so sc- 
 
<}2 
 
 cretly adored ; and as she thought of her oath, she felt a violent pang, 
 raging jealousy, killing hatred towards the young Queen, who had, it is 
 true, without suspecting it, robbed her of the loved one, and condemned 
 her to the terrible torture of pandering to her. 
 
 The Chief Master of Ceremonies now read in a loud solemn voice: 
 To the place of Master of Horse, his Majesty appoints : My Lord Thom- 
 as Seymour, Earl of Sudley ! 
 
 It was very well that the King had at that moment directed his whole 
 attention to his courtiers, and sought to read in their appearance the im- 
 pression made by this nomination. 
 
 Had he observed his consort, he would have seen that an expression >£,. 
 of delighteiPsurprise flitted across Catharine's countenance, and a charm- 
 ing smile played around her lips. 
 
 But the King, as we have said, thought only of his Court ; he saw on- 
 ly that the number of those who rejoiced at Seymour's appointment did 
 not come up to that of those who received Surrey's nomination with so 
 much applause. 
 
 Henry frowned and muttered to himself: These Howards are too 
 powerful ! I will keep a watchful eye upon them ! 
 
 Thomas Seymour approached the Queen, and, bending his knee before 
 her, kissed her hand. Catharine received him with a gracious smile. 
 My Lord, said she, you will at once enter on service with me, and in- 
 deed, as I hope, in such manner as will be acceptable to the whole Court. 
 My Lord, take the fleetest of your coursers and hasten to castle Holt, 
 where the Princess Elizabeth is staying. Cany her this letter from her 
 royal father, and she will follow you hither. Tell her that I long to em- 
 brace in her a friend and sister, and that I pray her to pardon me, if I 
 cannot give up to her exclusively, the heart of her King and father; but 
 that I also must still keep a place in the same for myself. Hasten to 
 castle Holt, my Lord, and bring us Princess Elizabeth. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE KING'S FOOL. 
 
 Two years had passed away since the King's marriage, and still Catha- 
 rine Parr had always kept in favor with her husband ; still her enemies 
 were foiled in their attempts to ruin her, and raise the seventh queen to 
 the throne. 
 
 Catharine had been ever cautious, ever discreet. She had always 
 preserved a cold heart and a cool head. Each morning she had said to 
 herself that this day might be her last; that some incautious word, some 
 
65 
 
 ■whoever may intercede for him ! Ah, oven your supplication would 
 not have softened him, for the high priest of the English Church could 
 never have pardoned this young man for not being the legitimate son 
 of his father, for not having the right to bear his name, because his 
 mother was the spouse of another man whom Thomas must call father ! 
 
 Poor Heywood ! Yes^ now I understand. The King would, indeed, 
 never have forgiven this, and had he known It, your son would have in>- 
 evitably been condemned to the stake. 
 
 You saved him, Queen ! Do you not believe now that 1 shall be for- 
 ever thankful to you ? 
 
 I do believe it, said the Queen, with a pleasant smile, as she extended 
 her hand for him to kiss. 1 believe you, and I accept your service. 
 
 And you will need it, Queen, for a tempest is gathering over your 
 head, and soon the lightning will flash and the thunders roll. 
 
 Oh, I fear not! I have strong nerves! said Catharine, smiling. 
 When a storm comes, it is but a refreshing of nature, and I have al- 
 ways seen that after a storm, the sun shines again. 
 
 You are a brave soul ! said John Heywood, sadly. 
 
 That is, I am conscious of no guilt ! 
 
 But your enemies will invent a crime to charge you with. Ah, soon 
 as it is the aim to calumniate a neighbor and plunge him in misery, 
 men are. all poets ! 
 
 But you just now said that poets are crack-brained, and should be 
 huug to the first wee. We will, therefore, treat these slanderers as po- 
 ets, that is all. 
 
 No, that is not all ! said John Heywood energetically. For slan- 
 derers are like earthworms. You cut them in pieces, but instead of 
 thereby killing them, you multiply each one and give it several heads. 
 
 But what is it, then, that I am accused of? exclaimed Catharine, im- 
 patiently. Does not my life lie open and clea/ before you all ? Do I 
 ever take pains to nave any secrets? Is not my heart like a jjlass 
 house, into which you can all look, to convince yourselves that it is a 
 soil wholly unfruitful, and that not a single poor little flower grows 
 there ? 
 
 Though this be so, your enemies will sow weeds and make the King 
 believe that it is burning love which has grown up in your heart. 
 
 How? They will accuse me of having a love affair ! asked Catha- 
 rine, and her lips slightly trembled. 
 
 I do not know their plans yet; but I will find them out. There is a 
 conspiracy at work. Therefore, Queen, be on your guard ! Trust no- 
 body, for foes are ever wont to conceal themselves under hypocritical 
 faces and deceiving words. 
 
 If you know my enemies, name them to me ! said Catharine, impa- 
 tiently. Name them to me that I may beware of them. 
 
 1 have not come to accuse anybody, but to warn you. I shall, there- 
 fore, take good care not to point out your enemies to you; but I will 
 namo your friends to you. # 
 
 ft 
 
GO 
 
 Ah, then, I have friends, too !- whispered Catharine, with a happy 
 smile. 
 
 Yes, you have friends ; and, indeed, such as are ready to give their 
 blood and life for you. 
 
 Oh, name them, name them, to me? exclaimed Catharine, all of a 
 tremble with joyful expectation. 
 
 I name first,, Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. He is your true 
 and staunch friend, on whom y^ni can build. He loves you as Queen, 
 and he prizes you as the associate whom God has sent him to bring to 
 completion, here at the Court of this most Christian and bloody King, 
 the holy work of the Reformation, and to cause the light of knowl- 
 edge to illuminate this night of superstition and priestly domination. 
 Build strongly on Cranmer, for he is your surest and most invariable 
 supporter, and should he sink, your fall would inevitably follow. There- 
 fore, uot only rely on him, but also protect him, and look upon him as 
 your brother ; for what you do for him, you do for yourself. 
 
 Yes. you are right, said Catharine, thoughtfully. Cranmer is a noble 
 and staunch friend ; and often enough already he has protected me, in 
 the King's presence, against those little pin-prickings of my enemies, 
 which do not indeed kill, but which make the whole body sore and 
 faint. 
 
 Protect him, and thus protect yourself. 
 
 Well, and the other friends'? 
 
 I have given Cranmer the precedence ; but now, Queen, I name myself 
 as the second of your friends. If Cranmer is your staff, I will be your 
 dog ; and, believe me, so long as you have such a staff and so faithful 
 a dog, you are safe. Cranmer will warn you of every stone that lies 
 in your way, and T will bite and drive off the enemies, who, hidden be- 
 hind the thicket, lurk in the way to fall upon you from behind. 
 
 I thank you ! Really, 1 thank you ! said Catharine, heartily. Well, 
 and what more ? 
 
 More 1 ? inquired Heywood with a sad smile. 
 
 Mention a few more of my friends. 
 
 Queen, it is a great deal, if one in a life time has found two friends 
 upon whom he can rely, and whose fidelity is not guided by selfishness. 
 You are, perhaps, the only crowned head that can boast of such friends. 
 
 1 am a woman, said Catharine, thoughtfully, and many women sur- 
 round me and daily swear to me unchanging faithfulness and attach- 
 ment. How ? are all these unworthy the title of friend ? Is even 
 Lady Jane Douglas unworthy ; she, whom I have called my friend 
 these many long years, and whom I trust as a sister ? Tell me, John 
 Heywood, you, who, as it is said, know everything, and search out 
 everythin^'that takes place at Court ; tell me, is not Lady Jane Douglas 
 my friend ? 
 
 John Heywood suddenly became serious and gloomy, and looked on 
 the ground, absorbed in reflection. Then he swept his large, bright 
 eye? all around the room, in a scrutinizing manner, as if he wished to 
 
67 
 
 convince himself that no listener was really concealed there, and step- 
 ping close up to the Queen, he whispered : Trust her not ; she is a 
 papist, and Gardiner is her friend. 
 
 Ah, 1 suspected it ! whispered Catharine, sadly. 
 
 But listen, Queen; give no expression to this suspicion by look, or 
 words, or by the slightest indication. Lull this viper into the belief 
 that you are harmless ; lull her to *leep, Queen. She is a vencmous 
 and dangerous serpent, which must not be roused, lest, before you sus- 
 pect it, it bite you on the heel. Be always gracious, always confiden- 
 tial, always friendly towards her. Only, Queen, do not tell her what 
 you would not confide to Gardiner and Earl Douglas likewise. Oh, be- 
 lieve me, she is like the lion in the Doge's palace at Venice. The se- 
 crets that you confide to her, will become accusations against you before 
 the tribunal of blood. 
 
 Catharine shook her head with a smile. You are too severe, John 
 Ileywood. It is possible that the religion which she secretly professes 
 has estranged her heart from me, but she would never be capable of be- 
 traying me, or of leaguing herself with my foes. No, John, you are 
 mistaken. It would be a crime to belieVe thus. My God, what a wicked 
 and wretched ' world it must be in which we could not trust even our" 
 most faithful and dearest friends ! 
 
 The world is indeed wicked and wretched, and one must despair of it, 
 or consider it a merry jest, with which the devil tickles our noses. For 
 me, it is such a jest, and therefore, Queen, I have become the King's fool, 
 which at least gives me the right of spurting out upon the crawling brood 
 all the venom of the contempt I feel for mankind, and of speaking the 
 truth to those who have only lies, like dripping honey, ever on their 
 lips. The sages and poets are the real fools of our day, and since I did 
 not feel a vocation to be a king, or a priest, a hangman, or a lamb for 
 sacrifice, I became a fool. 
 
 Yes, a fool ; that is to say, an epigrammatist, whose biting tongue 
 makes the whole Court tremble. 
 
 Since I cannot, like my royal master, have these criminals executed, 
 I give them a few sword cuts with my tongue. Ah, I tell you, you will 
 much need this ally. Be on your guard. Queen ; I heard this morning 
 the first grow] of the thunder, and in Lady Jane's eyes I observed the 
 stealthy lightning. Trust her not. Trust no one here but your friends 
 Cramner and John Hrywood. 
 
 And you say, that in all this Court, among all these brilliant women, 
 these brave cavaliers, the poor Queen has not a single friend, not a soul, 
 whom she may trust, on whom she may lean? Oh, John Hey wood, 
 think again, have pity on the poverty of a queen. Think again. Say, 
 only you two ? No friend but you ? 
 
 And the Queen's eyes filled with tears, which she tiied in vain to 
 repress. 
 
 John Haywood saw it and sighed deeply. Detter than the Queen 
 herself perhaps, he had read the depths of her heart, and knew its deep 
 
wound. But he also had sympathy with her pain, and wished to miti- 
 gate it a little. 
 
 I recollect, said he, gently and mournfully — yes, I recollect, you have 
 yet a third friend at this Court. 
 
 Ah, a third friend! exclaimed Catharine, and again her voice sounded 
 cheery and joyous. Name him to me, name him ! For you see clearly 
 I am burning with impatience to hear his name, 
 
 John Heywood looked into Catharine's glowing countenance with a 
 strange expression, at once searching and mournful, and for a moment 
 dropped his heaii upon his breast and sighed. 
 
 Now, John, give me the name of this third friend ! 
 
 Do you not know him, Queen? asked Heywood, as he again stared 
 steadily in her face. Do you not know him? It is Thomas Seymour, 
 Earl of Sudley. 
 
 There passed as it were a sunbeam over Catharine's face, and she 
 uttered a low cry. 
 
 John Heywood said, sadly : Queen, the sun strikes directly in your 
 face. Take care that it does not blind your bright eyes. Stand in the 
 .shade, your Majesty, for, hark, there comes one who might report the 
 sunshine in your face for a conflagration. , 
 
 Just then the door opened and Lady Jane appeared on the threshold ! 
 She threw a quick, searching glance around the room, and an impercep- 
 tible smile passed over her beautiful pale face. 
 
 Your Majesty, said she solemnly, everything is ready ! You can 
 begin your ride when it pleases you. The Princess Elizabeth awaits 
 you in the ante-room, and your Master of Horse already hold the stir- 
 rup of your steed. 
 
 Aod the Lord Chamberlain ? asked Catharine, blushing. Has he no 
 message from the King to bring me ? 
 
 Aye ! said the Earl of Surrey as he entered. His Majesty bids me 
 tell the Queen that she may extend her ride as far as she wishes. The 
 glorious weather is well worth that the Queen of England should enjoy 
 it, and enter into a contest with the sun. 
 
 Oh, the King is the most gallant of cavaliers, said Catharine, with a 
 happy smile. Now, come, Jane, let us ride. 
 
 Pardon me, your Majesty, said Lady Jaue, stepping back. I cannot, 
 to-day, enjoy the privilege of accompanying your Majesty. Lady Anne 
 Ettersville is to day in attendance. 
 
 Another time, then, Jane ! And you, Earl Douglas, you ride with 
 us? 
 
 The King, your Majesty, has ordered me to his cabinet. 
 
 Behold now a Queen abandoned by all her friends ! said Catharine 
 cheerily, as with light, elastic step she passed through the hall to the 
 courtyard. 
 
 Here is something going on which 1 must fathom ! muttered John 
 Heywood, who had left the hall with the rest. A mousetrap is set^for 
 the cats remain at home, and are hungry for their prey. 
 
69 
 
 Lady Jane had remained behind in the hall with her father. Both 
 had stepped to the window, and were silently looking down into the 
 yard, where the brilliant cavalcade of the Queen and her suite was mov- 
 ing about in motley confusion. 
 
 Catharine had just mounted her palfrey ; the noble animal, recogniz- 
 ing his mistress, neighed loudly, and, giving a snort, reared up with his 
 noble burden.* 
 
 Princess Elizabeth, who was close to the Queen, uttered a cry of 
 alarm. You will fall, Queen, said she; you ride such a wild animal. 
 
 Oh, no indeed, said Catharine, smiling ; Hector is not wild. It is with 
 him a9 with me. The charming May air has made us both mettlesome 
 and happy. Away, then, my Ladies and Lords ; our horses must be 
 to-day swift as birds. We ride to Epping Forest. 
 
 And through the open gateway dashed the cavalcade. The Queen in 
 front ; at her right, the Princess Elizabeth ; at her left, the Master of 
 Horse, Thomas Seymour, Earl of Sudley. 
 
 When the train had disappeared, father and (laughter stepped back 
 from the window, and looked at each other with strange, dark and dis- 
 dainful looks. 
 
 Well, Jane? said Earl Douglas at length. She is still Queen, 
 and the King becomes daily more unwieldly and ailing. It is time to 
 give him a seventh queen. 
 
 Soon, my father, soon. 
 
 Loves the Queen Henry Howard at last? 
 
 Yes, he l->ves her ! said Jane, and her pale face was now colorless as 
 a winding .-aoet. 
 
 I ask. whether she loves him ? 
 
 She will love him ! murmured Jane, and then suddenly mastering 
 herself, she continued : but it is not enough to make the Queen in love; 
 doubtless it would be still more efficient if some one cemld instill a new 
 love into the King. Did you see, father, with what ardent looks his Ma- 
 jesty yesterday watched me and the Duchess of Richmond ? 
 
 Did I see it? The whole Court talked about it. 
 
 Well, now, my father, manage it so that the King may be heartily 
 bored to day, and then bring him to me. He will find the Duchess of 
 Richmond with me. 
 
 Ah, a glorious thought. You will surely be Henry's seventh queen. 
 
 I will ruin Catharine Parr, for she is my rival, and I hate her ! said 
 Jane, with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes. She has been Queen long 
 enough, and I have bowed myself before her. Now she shall fall in the 
 dust before me, and I will set my foot upon her head. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE RIDE. 
 
 It was a wondrous morning. The dew still lay on the grass of the 
 meadows, over which they had just ridden to reach ihe thicket of the 
 forest, in whose trees resounded the melodious voices of blithe birds. 
 Then they rode along the banks of a babbling forest stream, and spied 
 the deer that came forth into the glade on the other side, as if they 
 wanted, like the Queen and her train; to listen to the song of the birds 
 and the murmuring of the fountains. 
 
 Catharine felt a nameless, blissful pleasure swell her bosom. She 
 was to-day no more the Queen surrounded by perils and foes; no more 
 the wife of an unloved, tyrannical husband ; not the Queen trammeled 
 with the shackles of etiquette. She was a fee, happy woman, who, in 
 presageful, blissful trepidation, smiled at the future, and said to each 
 minute : stay, stay, for thou art so beautiful. 
 
 It was a sweet, dreamy happiness, the happiness of that hour. With 
 glad heart, Catharine would have given her crown for it, could she have 
 prolonged this hour to an eternity. 
 
 He was at. her side. He of whom John Hey wood had said, that he 
 was among her most trustful and trusty friends. He was there ; and 
 even if she did not dare to look at him often, often to speak to him, yet 
 she felt his presence, she perceived the glowing beams of his eyes, which 
 rested on her with consuming fire. Nobody could observe them. For 
 the Court rode behind them, and before them and around them 
 was naught but nature breathing love and smiling with joy, naught but 
 Heaven and God. 
 
 She had forgotten, however, that she was not quite alone, and that 
 while Thomas Seymour rode on her left, on her right was Princess 
 Elizabeth, — that young girl of fourteen years, — that child, who, how- 
 ever, under the fire of suffering and the storms of adversity, was early 
 forced to precocious bloom, and whose heart, by the tears and experience 
 of her unhappy childhood, had acquired an early ripeness. Elizabeth, 
 a child in years, had already all the strength and warmth of a woman's 
 feelings. Elizabeth, the disowned and disinherited Princess, had inher- 
 ited her father's pride and ambition, and when she looked on the Queen, 
 and perceived that little crown wrought on her velvet cap in diamond 
 embroidery, she felt in her bosom a sharp pang, and remembered, with 
 feelings of bitter grief, that this crown was destined never to adorn her 
 head, since the King, by solemn act of Parliament, had excluded her 
 from the succession to the throne.* 
 
 •Tvtler, page 340, 
 
71 
 
 But for a few weeks this pain had been more gentle, and loss burning. 
 Another feeling had silenced it Elizabeth, who was never to be queen, 
 or sovereign — Elizabeth might be a wife at least. Since >he was de- 
 nied a crown, they should at least allow her instead a wife's happiness; 
 they should not grudge her the privilege of twining in her hair a crown 
 of myrtle. 
 
 Shyhad'beJEjh earljr taught*, to cvevJiave a clear QPftscifliisnes^gfjUj 
 her feelings ; nor hacNke now slminlf*fram reaaing thVatn;], , w^i^K 
 
 hpn.rt-. wirh st.p..idv find snrp. eve. V ^^» 
 
 heart with steady and sure eye. 
 
 She fcnew that she loved, and that Thomas Seymour was..the man 
 whom she loved. • „ ** 
 
 But the Earl? Did he love her in rctu'fti ? Did he understand the 
 child's heart? Had he, beneath the childish face, already recognized the 
 passionate, proud woman? Had he guessed the secrets of ibj's soul, at 
 once so maidenly and chaste, and yet so passionate and energetic ? 
 
 Thomas Seymour had never betrayed a secret, and \vdiat ho had, it 
 may be, read in the eyes of the Princess, and what he had, perhaps, 
 spoken to her in the quiet, shady walks of Hampton Court, or in the loner, 
 dark corridors of Whitehall, was known to no one, save those two. For 
 Elizabeth had a strong masculine soul ; she needed no confidant to share 
 her secrets ; and Thomas Seymour had feared even, like the immortal 
 hair dresser of King Midas, to dig a hole and utter his secret therein ; for 
 he knew very well that, if the reed grew up and repeated his words he 
 might, for these words, lay his head on th*e block. - 
 
 Poor Eb/absth ! She did not even suspect that the Earl's secret and 
 her own w«re not however the same; she did not suspect that Thomas 
 Seymour, if he guessed her secret, might, perhaps, avail himself of it to 
 make thereof a brilliant foil for his own secret. 
 
 He had, like her, ever before his eyes, the diamond crown on the head 
 of the. young Queen, and he had noticed well how old and feeble the 
 King had become of late. 
 
 As he now rode by the side of the two Princesses, he felt his heart 
 swell with a proud joy, and bold and ambitious schemes alone occupied 
 his soul. 
 
 The two women understood nothing of this. They were both too 
 much occupied with their own thoughts; and while Catharine's eyes swept 
 with beaming look the landscape far and wide, the brow of the Princess 
 was slightly clouded, and her sharp eye rested with a fixed and watchful 
 gaze on Thomas Seymour. 
 
 She had noticed the impassioned look which he had now and then 
 fastened on the Queen. The slight, scarcely perceptible tremor of his 
 voice, when he spoke, had not escaped her. 
 
 Princess Elizabeth was jealous; she felt the first torturing motions of 
 that horrible disease, which she had inherited from her father, and in 
 the feverish paroxisms of which, the King had sent two of his wives to 
 the scaffold. 
 
 She was jealous, but not of the Queen ; much more, she dreamed not 
 
that the Queen might share and return Seymour's love. It never came 
 into her mind to accuse the Queen of an understanding with„the Earl. 
 She was jealous only of the looks which he directed towards the Queen; 
 and because she was watching those looks, she could not at the same 
 time read the eyes of her young stepmother also ; she could not see the 
 gentle flames which kindled by the tire of his looks glowed in hers, 
 ...-Thomas £pfcym»ur .had seenjiheun, and bad he^now been alone" with 
 ^C*tharine.Jie would have thrown himself at her' feet and confided to her 
 fill the d#ep and dangerous secrets that he had so long harbored in his 
 breast; *he would have left to her the choice of bringing him to the 
 blocl*for*of accepting the lgve which he consecrated to her. 
 
 But there, behind them, were the spying, all observing, all surmising 
 courtiers; there was the Princess Elizabeth, who, had he ventured to 
 speak to die Queen, would have conjectured from his manner, the words 
 which she could not understand ; for love sees so cfearly, and jealousy- 
 has such keen* ears. 
 
 Catharine suspected nothing of the thoughts of her companions. She 
 alone was happy ; she alone gave herself up with full soul to the enjoy- 
 ment of the moment. She drew in with intense delight the pure air ; 
 she drank in the odor of the meadow blossoms ; she listened with thirsty 
 ear to the murmuring song which the wind wafted to her from the boughs 
 of the trees. Her wishes extended not beyond the hour; she rested in 
 the full enjoyment of the presence of her beloved. He was there — what 
 needed she more to make her happy ! 
 
 Her wishes extended not beyond this hour. She was only conscious 
 how deWhtful it was, thus to be at her beloved's side, to breathe the 
 same air to see the same sun, the same flowers on which his »yes rested, 
 and on which their glances at least might meet in kisses, which were 
 denied to their lips. 
 
 But as they thus rode along, silent and meditative, each occupied with 
 his own thoughts, there came the assistance for which Thomas Seymour 
 had prayed, fluttering along in the shape of a fly. 
 
 At first this fly sported and buzzed about the nose of the fiery, proud 
 beast which the Queen rode ; and as no one noticed it, it was not disturbed 
 by Hector's tossing of his mane, but crept securely and quietly to the 
 top of the noble courser's head, pausing a little here and there, and sink- 
 ing his sting into the horse's flesh, so that he reared and began loudly 
 
 to neigh. 
 
 But Catharine was a bold and dexterous rider, and the proud spirit of 
 her horse only afforded her delight, and gave the Master of Horse an op- 
 portunity to praise her skill and coolness. 
 
 Catharine received with a sweet smile the encomiums of her beloved. 
 But the fly kept creeping on, and impelled by a diabolic delight, now 
 penetrated the horse's ear. 
 
 The poor, tormented animal made a spring forwards. This spring, in- 
 stead of freeing him from his enemy, made him penetrate the ear still 
 farther, and ^ink his sting still deeper into the soft fleshy part of the same. 
 
73 
 
 Stung by the maddening pain, the horse cast off all control, and, heed- 
 less of bridle and scorning' the bit, dashed forwards in a furious run — 
 forwards over the meadow swift as an arrow, resistless as the lightning. 
 
 On, on, to the Queen's rescue ! thundered the Master of Horse, and 
 with mad haste, away flew he also over the meadow. 
 ££jTo the help of the Queen ! repeated Princess Elizabeth, and she likewise 
 spurred her horse and hurried forwards, accompanied by the whole suite. 
 
 But what is the speed of a horse ever so swift, but yet in his senses, 
 compared with the raving madness of a crazy courser, that, despising all 
 subjection, and mocking at the bridle, dashes ahead, foaming with the 
 sense of freedom and unrestraint, uncontrollable as the spurge lashed by 
 the storm ! „ 
 
 Already far behind them lay the meadows, far behind them the avenues 
 leading through the woods, and over brooks and ditches, over meadows 
 and wastes, Hector was dashing on. 
 
 The Queen still sat firmly iu the saddle ; her cheeks were colorless; 
 her lips trembled ; but her eye was still bright and clear. She had not yet 
 lost her presence of mind ; she was perfectly- conscious of her danger. 
 The din of screaming, screeching voices, which she heard at first, had 
 long since died away in silence behind her. An immense solitude, the 
 deep silence of the grave was around her. . Naught was heard save the 
 panting and snorting of the horse ; naught but the crash and clatter of 
 his hoofs. 
 
 Suddenly, however, this sound seemed to find an echo. It was re- 
 peated over yonder. There was the same snorting and panting; there 
 was the same resounding trampling of hoofs. 
 
 And now, oh, now, struck on Catharine's ear the sound of a voice only 
 too well loved, and made her scream aloud with delight and desire. 
 
 But this cry frightened anew the enraged animal. For a moment, 
 exhausted and panting, he had slackened in his mad race ; now he sprang 
 forwards with renewed energy ; now he flew on as if impelled by the 
 wings of the wind. 
 
 But ever nearer and nearer sounded the loved voice, ever nearer the 
 tramp of his horse. 
 
 They were now upon a large plain, shut in on all sides by woods. 
 While the Queen's horse circled the plain in a wide circuit, Seymojr's 
 horse, obedient to the rein, sped directly, across it, and was close behind 
 the Queen's horse. 
 
 Only a moment more ! Only hold your arms firmly around the ani- 
 mal's neck, that the shock may wot hurl you off when I lay hold of the 
 rein ! shouted Seymour, and he set his spurs into his horse's flanks, so 
 that he sprang forwards with a wild cry. 
 
 This cry roused Hector to new fury. Panting for breath, he shot for- 
 ward with fearful leaps, now straight into the thicket of tho woods. 
 
 1 hear his voice no more, murmured Catharine. And at length over- 
 come with anxiety and the dizzy race, and worn out with her exertions, 
 she closed her eyes ; her senses appeared to be about leaving her. 
 
71 
 
 But at this moment, a firm hand seized with iron grasp the rein of her 
 horse, so that he bowed his head, shaking, tramblingand almost ashamed, 
 as though he felt he had found his lord and master. 
 
 Saved ! I am saved ! faltered Catharine, and breathless, scarcely in 
 her senses, she leaned her head on Seymour's shoulder. 
 
 He lifted her gently from the horse, and placed her on the soft moss 
 beneath an ancient oak. Then he tied the horses to a bough" and Catha- 
 rine, trembling and faint, sank on her knees to rest after such violent 
 exertion. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE DECLARATION. / 
 
 Thomas Seymour returned to Catharine. She still lay there with 
 closed eyes, pale and motionless. 
 
 He gazed on her long and steadily ; his eyes drank in, in long draughts, 
 the sight of this beautiful and noble woman, and he forgot at that mo- 
 ment that she was a queen. 
 
 • He was at length alone with her. At last, after two years of torture, 
 of resignation, of dissimulation, God had granted him this hour; for which 
 he had so long yearned, which he had so long considered unattainable. 
 Now it was there, now it was his. 
 
 And had the whole Court, had King Henry himself, come right then, 
 Tdiomas Seymour would not have heeded itj it would not have affrighted 
 him. The blood had mounted to his head and overcome his reason. 
 His heart, still raving and roaring so violently from his furious ride and 
 his anxiety for Catharine, allowed him to hear no other voice than that 
 of passion. 
 
 He knelt by the Queen and seized her hand. 
 
 Perhaps it was this touch which roused her from her unconsciousness. 
 She raised her eyes and gazed around with a perplexed look. 
 
 Where am 1 1 breathed she in a low tone. 
 
 Thomas Seymour pressed her hand^to his lips. You are with the most 
 faithful and devoted of your servants, Queen! 
 
 Queen ! This word roused her from her stupor, and caused her to 
 raise herself half up. 
 
 But where is my Court ? Where is the Princess Elizabeth 1 Where 
 are all the eyes that heretofore watched me 1 ? Where are all the listen- 
 ers and spies who accompany the Queen ? 
 
 They are far away from here, said Seymour in a tone which betrayed 
 
7'> 
 
 his secret delight. They arc fur away from here and need at least an 
 hour's time to come up with us. An hour, Queen ! are you aware what 
 that is to me? An hour of freedom, after two years of imprisonment! 
 An hour of happiness, after two years of daily torture, daily endurance 
 of the torments of hell ! 
 
 Catharine, who had at first smiled, had now become grave and sad. 
 
 Her eye rested on the cap which had fallen from her head and lay 
 near her on the grass. 
 
 She pointed with trembling finger to the crown and said softly : re- 
 cognize you that sign, my Lord 1 
 
 I recognize it, my Lady ; but in this hour, I no longer shrjnk back at 
 it. There are moments in which life is at its crowning point, and when 
 one heeds not the abyss that threatens close beneath. Such an hour is 
 the present. I am aware that this hour makes me guilty of high-treason 
 and may send me to the block ; but nevertheless I will not be silent. 
 The lire which burns in my breast consumes m€. I must at length give 
 it vent. My heart, that for years has burned upon a funeral p>re, and 
 which is so strong, that in the midst of its agonies, it has still ever felt a 
 sensation of blessedness. My heart must at length find death or favor. 
 You shall hear me, Queen ! 
 
 No, no, said she almost in anguish. I will not, I cannot hear you ! 
 Remember that I am Henry the Eighth's wife, and that it is dangerous 
 to speak to her. Silence then, Earl, silence, and let us ride on. 
 
 She would have arisen, but her own exhaustion and Lord Seymour's 
 hand caused her to sink back agaiifc 
 
 No, I will not be silent, said he. I will not be silent until I have told 
 you all that rages and glows within me. The Queen of England may 
 either condemn me or pardon me, but she shall know, that to me she is 
 not Henry the Eighth's wife, but only the most charming and graceful, 
 the noblest and loveliest woman of England. I will tell her, that I never 
 recollect she is my queen, or, if I do so, it is only to curse the King, who 
 was presumptuous enough to set this brightly sparkling jewel in his 
 bloody crown. 
 
 Catharine, almost horrified, laid her hand on Seymour's lips. Silence, 
 unhappy man, silence ! Know you that it is your sentence of death 
 which you are now uttering 1 Your sentence of death, if any soul hears 
 you? 
 
 But no one hears me. No one save the Queen, and God, who, how- 
 ever, is perhaps more compassionate and merciful than the Queen. Ac- 
 cuse me then, Queen ; go and tell your King that Thomas Seymour is a 
 traitor; that he dares love the Queen. The King will send me to the 
 scaffold, but I shall nevertheless deem myself happy, for I shall at least 
 die by your instrumentality. Queen, if I cannot li,ve for you, then beau- 
 tiful it is to die for you ! 
 
 Catharine listened to him wholly stupified, wholly intoxicated. This 
 was for her, language wholly new and never heard before, at which her 
 heart trembled in blissftd awe, which rushed around her in encha. 
 
7G 
 
 melodies and lulled her into a sweet stupefaction. Now she herself even 
 forgot that she was Queen, (hat she was the wife of Henry, the blood- 
 thirsty and the jealous. She was conscious only of this, that the man 
 whom she had so long loved, was now kneeling at her side. With rap- 
 ture she drank in his words, which struck upon her ear like exquisite 
 music. 
 
 Thomas Seymour continued. He told her all he had suffered. He 
 told her he had often resolved to die, in order to put an end to these 
 tortures, but that then a glance of her eye, a word from her lips had 
 given him the strength to live, and still longer endure these tortures, 
 which wer,e at the same time so full of rapture. 
 
 But now, Queen, now my strength is exhausted, and it is for you to 
 give me life or death. To-morrow I will ascend the scaffold, or you 
 shall permit me to live, to live for you. 
 
 Catharine trembled and looked at him well nigh astounded. He 
 seemed so proud and operative, she almost felt a fear of him, but it 
 was the happy fear of a loving, meek woman before a strong, command- 
 ing man. 
 
 Know you, said she with a charming smile, know you that you almost 
 have the appearance of wishing to command me to love you ? 
 
 No, Queen, said he proudly, I cannot command you to love me, but 
 I bid you tell me the truth. 1 bid you do this, for I am a man, who has 
 the right to demand the truth of a woman face to face. And 1 have told 
 you, you are not the Queen to me. You are but a beloved, an adored 
 woman. This love has nothing to do with your royalty, and while I 
 confess it to you, I do not think that you abase yourself when you re- 
 ceive it. For the true love of a man is ever the holiest gift that he can 
 present to a wotnau, and if a beggar dedicates it to a queen, she must 
 feel herself honored by it. Oh, Queen, 1 am a beggar. 1 lie at your 
 feet and raise ray hands beseechingly to you ; but 1 want not charity, I 
 want not your compassion and pity, which may, perhaps, grant me an 
 alms to lessen my misery. No 1 want you, yourself. I require all or 
 nothing. It will not satisfy me that you forgive my boldness, and draw 
 the veil of silence over my mad attempt. No, I wish you to speak, to 
 pronounce my condemnation, or a benediction on me. Oh, I know you 
 are generous and compassionate, and even if you despise my love and 
 will not return it, yet, it may be, you will not betray me. You will 
 spare me and be silent. But I repeat it, Queen, I do not accept this 
 offer of your magnanimity. You are to make me either a criminal or a 
 god ; for I am a criminal if you condemn my love, a god if you return it. 
 
 Aud do you know, Earl, whispered Catharine, that you are very cruel ? 
 You want me to be either an accuser or an accomplice. You leave me 
 no choice but that of being either your murderess or a perjured and adul- 
 terous woman— a wife who forgets her plighted faith and her sacred 
 duty, and defiles the crown, which my husband has placed upon my 
 head, with stains, which Henry will wash out with my own blood aud 
 with yours also. 
 
Let it be so then, cried the Ear], almost joyfully. Let my head fall 
 no matter how or when, if you but love me ; for then I shall still be im- 
 mortal ; for a moment in your arms is an eternity of bliss. 
 
 But I have already told you that not only your head, but mine also, is 
 concerned in this matter. You know the King's harsh and cruel disposi- 
 tion. The mere suspicion is enough to condemn me. Ah, if he knew 
 what we have just now spoken here, he would condemn me, as he con-' 
 demned Catharine Howard, though I am not guilty as she was. Ah, I 
 shudder at the thought of the block ; and you, Earl Seymour, you would 
 bring me to the scaftbld, and yet you say you love me'? 
 
 Seymour sunk his head mournfully upon his breast and sighed deeply. 
 You have pronounced my sentence, Queen, and though you are too noble 
 to tell me the truth, yet 1 have guessed it. No, you do not love me, 
 for you sec with keen eyes the danger that threatens you. and you fear 
 tor yourself. No, you love me not, else you would think of nothing 
 save love alone. The dangers would animate you, and the swojd which 
 hangs over your head, you would not see, or you would with rapture 
 grasp its edge, and say : "what is death to me, since I am happy ! What 
 care 1 for dying, since I have felt immortal happiness ! : ' Ah, Catharine, 
 you have a cold heart and a cool head. May God preserve them both 
 to you ; then will you pass through life quietly and safely ; but you will 
 yet be a poor wretched woman, and when you come to die, they will 
 place a royal crown upon your coffin, but love will not weep for you. 
 Farewell, Catharine, Queen of England, and since you cannot love him, 
 give Thomas Seymour, the traitor, your* sympathy at least ! 
 
 He bowed low and kissed her feet, then he arose and walked with firm 
 step to the tree where he had tied the horses. 
 
 But now Catharine arose, now she flew to him, and grasping his hand, 
 asked, trembling and breathless : what are you about to do ] Whither 
 are you going ? 
 
 To the King, my Lady ! 
 
 And what will you do there ? 
 
 I will show him a traitor who has dared love the Queen. You have 
 just killed my heart; he will kill only my body. That is less painful, 
 and I will thank him for it. 
 
 Catharine uttered a cry, and with passionate vehemence drew him 
 back to the place where she had been resting. 
 
 If you do whet you say, you will kill me, said she with trembling lips. 
 Hear me, hear ! The moment you mount your horse to go to the King, 
 I mount mine too ; but not to follow you, not to return to Loudon, but 
 to plunge with my horse down yonder precipice. Oh, fear nothing ; 
 they will not accuse you of my murder. They will say that 1 plunged 
 down there with my horse, and that the raging animal caused my death. 
 
 Queen, take good heed, consider well what you say ! exclaimed Thomas 
 Seymour, his countenance clearing up and hjs face beaming with delight. 
 Bear in mind that your words must be either a condemnation, or an 
 avowal. 1 wish death, or your love ! Not the love of a Queen, who 
 
to 
 
 thinks to be gracious to her subject, when for the moment she elevates 
 him to herself; but the love of a woman who bows her head in meekness 
 and receives her lover as at the same time her lord. Oh, Catharine, be 
 well on your guard ! If you come to me with the pride of a Queen, if 
 there be even one thought in you which tells you that you are bestow 
 ing'a favor on a subject as you take him to your heart, then be silent 
 and let me go hence. I am proud, and as noble bora as yourself, and 
 however love throws me conquered at your feet, yet it shall not bow my 
 head in the dust! But if you say that you love me. Catharine, for that 
 I will consecrate my whole life to you. I will be your. lord, but your 
 slave also. There shall be in me no thought, no feeling, no wish, that 
 is not devoted and subservient to you. And when I say that I will be 
 your lord, I mean not thereby that 1 will not lie forever at your feet 
 and bow my head in the dust, and say to you : tread on it, if it seem 
 good to you, for I am your slave ! 
 
 And, speaking thus, he dropped on his knees and pressed to her feet, 
 his face, whose glowing and noble expression ravished Catharine's heart. 
 
 She bent down to him, and gently lifting his head, looked with an 
 indescribable expression of happiness and love deep into his 'beaming, 
 eyes. 
 
 Do you love me 1 asked Seymour as he put his arm softly around 
 her slender waist, and arose from his kneeling attitude. 
 
 I love you ! said she with a firm voice and a happy smile. I love 
 you, not as a queen, but as a woman ; and if perchance this love bring 
 us both to the scaffold, well then, we shall at least die together, to meet 
 again there above! 
 
 No, think not now of dying, Catharine, think of living, of the beauti- 
 ful, enchanting future, which is beckoning to us. Think of the days 
 which will soon come, and in which our love will no longer require se- 
 crecy or a veil, but when we will manifest it to the whole worjd, and 
 can proclaim our happiness from a full glad breast ! Oh, Catharine, let 
 us hope that compassionate aud merciful death will loose at last the 
 unuatural bonds that bind you to that old man. Then, when Henry is 
 no more, then will you be mine, mine with your entire beir,g, with your 
 whole life ; and instead of a proud regal crown, a crown of myrtle shall 
 adorn your head ! Swear that to me, Catharine; swear, that you will 
 become my wife, as soon as death has set you free. 
 
 The Queen shuddered, and her cheeks grew pah. Oh, said she with 
 a sigh, death then is our hope and perhaps the scaffold our end ? 
 
 No, Catharine, love is our hope and happiness our end. Think of life, 
 of our future ! Grant my request. Swear to me, here, in the face of 
 God, and of sacred and calm nature around us, swear to me, that from 
 the day when death frees you from your husband you will be mine, my 
 wife, my consort! Swear to me, that you regardless of etiquette and 
 unmindful of tyrannical custom will be Lord Seymour's wife, before the 
 knell for Henry's death has 5ied away. We will find a priest, who may 
 bless our love and sanctify the covenant that we have this day conclud- 
 
79 
 
 ed for eternity ! Swear tome, that till that wished-for day, von will 
 keep for me your truth and love, and never forget that my honor is 
 \ouis also, that your happiness is also mine ! 
 
 I swear it ! said Catharine solemnly. You may depend upon rwe at 
 all times, and at all hours. Never will I be untrue to you ; never will I 
 have a thought that, is not yours. 1 will love you as Thomas Seymour 
 deserves to be loved, that is with a devoted and faithful heart. It will 
 be my pride to subject myself to you, and with glad soul will 1 serve 
 and follow you, as jour true and obedient wife. 
 
 1 accept your oat^i ! said Seymour solemnly. But in return I swear, 
 that 1 will honor and esteem you, as my Queen and mistress. I swear 
 to you, that you shall never find a more obedient subject, a more unself- 
 ish counsellor, a more faithful husband, a braver champion, than 1 will 
 be. My life for my Queen, my entire heart for my beloved ; this hence- 
 forth shall be my "motto, and 'may I be disowned and despised by God 
 and by you, if ever I violate this oath. 
 
 Amen ! said Catharine with a bewitching smile. 
 
 Then both were silent. It was that silence, which only love and hap 
 piness knows — that silence which is so rich in thoughts and feelings, and 
 therefore so poor in words ! 
 
 The wind rustled whisperingly in the trees, among whose dark branch- 
 er here and there a bird's warbling, or flute lil<e notes resounded. The 
 sun threw his emerald light over the soft velvety moss carpet of the 
 ground, which rising and falling in gentle undulating lines, formed lovely 
 little hollows and hillocks, on which now and then was seen here and there 
 the slender and stately figure of a hart, or a roe, that looking around 
 searchingly with his bright eyes, started back frightened into the thicket 
 on observing these two human figures and the group of horses encamp- 
 ed there. 
 
 Suddenly this quiet was interrupted by the loud sound of the hunter's 
 horn, and in the distance were heard confused cries and shouts which 
 were echoed by the dense forest and repeated in a thousand tones. 
 
 With a sigh the Queen raised her head from the Karl's shoulder. 
 
 The dream was at an end ; the angpl came with flaming sword to drive 
 her from paradise. 
 
 For she was no linger worthy of paradise. The fatal word had been 
 spoken, and while it brought her love, it had perjured her. 
 
 Henry's wife, his by her vow taken before the altar, had betrothed 
 herself to another and given him the love that she owed her husband. 
 
 Ft is past, said she mournfully. These sounds call me back to my 
 slavery. We must both resume our roles. I must become Queen 
 again. 
 
 But first swear to me, that you will never forget this hour ; that you 
 will ever think upon the oaths which wc have mutually sworn. 
 
 She looked at him almost astounded. My God, can truth and love be 
 forgotten? 
 
 You will remain ever true, Catharine ? 
 
81) 
 
 She smiled. See now, my jealous Lord, do I address such ques- 
 tions to you 1 
 
 Oh, Queen, you well know that you possess the charm that binds for- 
 ever. 
 
 Who knows ! said she dreamily, as she raised her enthusiastic look 
 to heaven, and seemed to follow the bright silvery clouds which were 
 sailing slowly across the blue ether. 
 
 Then her eyes fell upon her beloved, and laying her hand softly upon 
 his_ shoulder, she said : Love is like God — eternal, primeval and ever 
 present! But you must believe in it to feel its presence ; you must 
 trust it to be worthy of its blessing ! 
 
 But the hallooing and the clangor of the horns came nearer and 
 nearer. Even now was heard the barking of the dogs and the tramp of 
 horses. 
 
 The Earl had untied the horses, and led Hector, who was now quiet 
 and gentle as a Jamb, to his mistress. 
 
 Queen, said Thomas Seymour, two delinquents now approach you ! 
 Hector is my accomplice, and had it not been that the fly 1 now see on 
 his swollen ear had made him raving, I should be the most pitiable and 
 unhappy man in your Kingdom, while now I am the happiest and mosG 
 enviable. 
 
 The Queen made no answer, but she put both her arms around the 
 animal's neck and kissed him. 
 
 Henceforth, said she, then I will ride only Hector, and when he is 
 old and unfit for service 
 
 He shall be tended and cared for in the stud of Countess Catharine 
 Seymour ! interrupted Thomas Seymour, as he held the Queen's stir- 
 rup and assisted her into the saddle. 
 
 The two rode in silence towards the sound of the voices and horns, 
 both too much occupied by their own thoughts to interrupt them by 
 trifling words. 
 
 He loves me! thought Catharine. I am a happy, enviable woman, 
 for Thomas Seymour loves me. 
 
 She loves me ! thought he, with a proud, triumphant smile. I shall, 
 therefore, one day become Regent of England. 
 
 Just then they came out on the large level meadow, through which 
 they had previously ridden, and over which now came, scattered here 
 and there ,in motley confusion, the entire royal suite, Princess Eliza- 
 beth at the head. 
 
 One thing more ! whispered Catharine. If you ever need a messen- 
 ger to me, apply to John Heywood. He is a friend whom we can 
 trust. 
 
 And she sprang forward to meet the Princess, to recount to her all 
 the particulars of her adventure, and her happy rescue by the Master 
 of Horse. 
 
 Elizabeth, however, listened to her with glowing looks and thoughts 
 distracted, and as the Queen then turned to the rest of her suite, and 
 
81 
 
 surrounded by her ladies and lords, received their congratulations, a 
 slight sign from the Princess called Thomas Seymour to her side. 
 
 She allowed her horse to curvet some paces forwards, by which she 
 and the Earl found themselves separated a little from the rest, and were 
 sure of being overheard by no one. 
 
 My Lord, said she in a vehement, almost threatening voice, you have 
 often and in vain besought me to grant you an interview. I have de- 
 nied you. You intimated that you had many things to say to me, for 
 which we must be alone, and which must reach no listener's ear. Well, 
 now, to-day I grant you an interview, and I am at last inclined to lis- 
 ten to you ! 
 
 She paused and waited for a reply. But the Earl remained silent. 
 He only made a deep and respectful bow, bending to the very neck of 
 his horse. Well and good ; I will go to this rendezvous were it but to 
 blind Elizabeth's eyes, that .she may not see what she never ought to 
 see. That was all. 
 
 The young Princess cast on him an angry look, and a dark scowl 
 gathered on her brow. You understand well how to control your joy, 
 
 said she ; and any one to see you just now would think 
 
 That Thomas Seymour is discreet enough not to let even his 
 rapture be read in his countenance at this dangerous Court, interrupted 
 the Earl in a low murmur. When, Princess, may I see you, and 
 where 1 
 
 Wait for the message that John Hey wood will bring you to-day, 
 whispered Elizabeth, as she sprang forwards and again diew near the 
 Queen. 
 
 John Heywood, again ! muttered the Earl. The confidant of both, 
 and so, my hangman, if he wishes to be ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " LE KOI s'ENNUIT. 
 
 i> 
 
 King Henry was alone in his study. He had spent a few hours in 
 ■writing on a devout and edifying book, which he was preparing for his 
 subjects, and which, in virtue of his dignity as supreme Lord of the 
 Church, he designed to commend to their reading instead of tho Bible. 
 
 He now laid down his pen, and, with infinite complacency, looked 
 over the written sheets, which were to be to his people a new proof of 
 his paternal love and care, and so convince them that FT<-nry the Eighth 
 was not only the noblest and most virtuous of Kings, but also the 
 wisest. 
 
82 
 
 Bat this reflection failed to make the King more cheerful to-day ; per- 
 haps, because he had already indulged in it too frequently. To be alone, 
 annoyed and disturbed him. There were in his breast so many secret 
 and hidden voices, whose whispers he dreaded, and which, therefore, he 
 sought to drown. There were so many recollections of blood, which 
 ever and again rose before him, however oftfcn he tried to wash them 
 out in fresh blood, and which the King was afraid of, though he assumed 
 the appearance of never repenting, never feeling disquietude. 
 
 With hasty hand he touched the gold bell standing by him, and his 
 face brightened as he saw the door open immediately and Earl Doug- 
 las make his appearance on the threshold. 
 
 Oh, at length ! said the Lord, who had very well understood the ex- 
 pression of Henry's features ; at length the King condescends to be 
 gracious to his people. 
 
 I gracious 1 ? asked the King, utterly astonished. Well, how am I so? 
 
 By your Majesty's restihg at length from his exertions and giving a 
 little thought to his valuable and needful health. When you remember, 
 Sire, that England's weal depends solely and alone on the weal of her 
 Kin«, and that you must be and remain healthy, that your people like- 
 wise may be healthy. 
 
 The King smiled with satisfaction. It never came into his head to 
 doubt the Earl's words. It seemed to him perfectly natural that the 
 weal of his people depended on his person ; but yet it was always a 
 lofty and beautiful song, and he loved to have his courtiers repeat it. 
 
 The King, as we have said, smiled, but there was something unusual 
 in that smile, which did not escape the Earl. 
 
 He is in the condition of a hungry anaconda, said Earl Douglas to 
 himself. He is on the watch for prey, and he will be bright and lively 
 again just as soon as he has tasted a little human flesh and blood. Ah, 
 luckily we are well supplied in that way. Therefore, we will render 
 unto the King what is the King's. But we must be cautious and go 
 to work warily. 
 
 He approached the King and imprinted a kiss on his hand. 
 
 I kiss this hand, said he, which has been to day the fountain through 
 which the wisdom of the head has been poured forth on this blessed 
 paper. I kiss this paper, which will announce and explain to happy 
 England God's pure and unadulterated word; but yet I say let this 
 suffice for the present, my King ; take rest ; remember awhile, that you 
 are not only a sage, but also a man. 
 
 Yes, and truly a weak and decrepit one ! sighed the King, as with 
 difficulty he essayed to rise, and in so doing leaned so heavily on the 
 Earl's arm that he almost broke down under the monstrous load. 
 
 Decrepit ! said Earl Douglas, reproachfully. Your Majesty moves 
 to-day with as much ease and freedom as a youth, and my arm was by 
 no means needed to h«lp you up. 
 
 Nevertheless, we aie growing old ! said the King, who, from his wear- 
 iness, was unusually sentimental and low spirited to-day. 
 
83 
 
 Old ! repeated Earl Douglas. Old, with those eyes darting fire, that 
 lofty brow, and that face in every feature so noble. No, your Majesty. 
 Kings have this in common with the Gods — they never grow old. 
 
 And therein they resemble parrots to a hair ! said John Hey wood, 
 who just then entered the room. I own a parrot which my greatgrand- 
 father inherited from his great grandfather, who was hair-dresser to 
 Henry the Fourth, and which today still sings with the same vollubil- 
 ity as he did a hundred years ago : " Long live the King, long live this 
 paragon of virtue, sweetness, beauty and mercy. Long live the King !" 
 He has cried this for hundreds of years, and he has repeated it for 
 Henry the Fifth and Henry the Sixth, for Henry the Seventh and 
 Henry the Eighth ! And wonderful, the kings have changed, but the 
 song of praise has always been appropriate, and has ever been only the 
 simple truth. Just like yours, my Lord Douglas! Your Majesty may 
 depend upon it, he speaks the tru'h, for he is near akin to my parrot, 
 which always calls him " My Cousin," and has taught him his immor- 
 tal song of praise to kings. 
 
 The King laughed, while Earl Douglas cast at John Hey wood asharp, 
 spiteful look. 
 
 He is an impudent imp, is he not, Douglas? said the King. 
 
 He is a fool ! replied Ire with a shrug. 
 
 Exactly, and therefore I just now told you the truth. For you 
 know children and fools speak the truth. And I became a fool just on 
 this account, that the King, whom you all deceive by your lies, may 
 have about him some creature, besides his looking glass, to tell him the 
 truth. 
 
 Well, and what truth will you serve up for me to day ? 
 
 It is already served, your Majesty ! So lay aside for a little your 
 regal crown and your high priesthood, and conclude to be for awhile a 
 carniverous beast. It is very easy to become a King. For that, no- 
 thing more is necessary than to be born of a queen under a canopy. 
 But it is very difficult to be a man who has a good digestion. It re- 
 quires a healthy stomach and a light conscience. Come, King Flenry, 
 and let us see whether you are not merely a King, but also a man that 
 has a i>ood stomach. 
 
 And with a merry laugh he took the King's other arm and led him 
 with the Earl into the dining-room. 
 
 The King, who was an extraordinary eater, silently beckoned his suite 
 to take their places at the table, after he had seated himself in his gilded 
 chai r. 
 
 With grave and solemn air he then received from the hands of the 
 Master of Ceremonies the ivory tablet on which was the bill of fare for 
 the day. The King's dinner was a solemn and important affair. A 
 multitude of post-wagons and couriers were ever on the way to bring 
 from the remotest ends of the earth dainties for the royal table. The 
 bill of fare, therefore, to day, as ever, exhibited the choicest and rarest 
 dishes, and always when the King found one of his favorite ones writ- 
 
84 
 
 ten down, he made an assenting and approving motion of the head, 
 which always lighted up the face of the Master of Ceremonies like a 
 sunbeam. There were birds' nests brought from the East Indies by a 
 fast sailing vessel, built specially for the purpose. There were hens 
 from Calcutta, and truflles from Languedoc, which the poet-King Francis 
 the First of France had the day before sent to his royal brother as a 
 special token of affection. There was the sparkling wine of Cham- 
 pagne and the fiery wine of the Island of Cyprus, which the Republic 
 of 'Venice had sent to the King as a mark of respect. There were the 
 heavy wines of the Rhine, which looked like liquid gold, and diffused the 
 fragrance of a whole bouquet of flowers, and with which the Protestant 
 Princes of Northern Germany hoped to fuddle the King, whom they 
 would have gladly placed at the head of their league. There, too, were 
 the monstrous, gigantic partridge pasties, which the Duke of Burgundy 
 had sent and the glorious fruits of the south from the Spanish coast, 
 with which the Emperor Charles the Fifth supplied the King of Eng- 
 land's table. For it was well known, that in order to make the King 
 of England propitious, it was necessary first to satiate him ; that his 
 palate must first be tickled in order to gain his head or his heart. 
 
 But today all these things seemed insufficient to give the King the 
 blissful pleasure, which at other times was wont to be with him, when 
 he sat at table. He heard John Hey wood's jests and biting epigrams 
 with a melancholy smile and a cloud was on his brow. 
 
 To be in cheerful humor, the King absolutely needed the presence of 
 ladies. He needed them 'as the Hunter needs the roe to enjoy the 
 pleasure of the chase — that pleasure which consists in killing the de- 
 fenceless, and in declaring war against the innocent and peaceful. 
 
 The crafty courtier, Earl Douglas, readily divined Henry's dissatis- 
 faction, and understood the secret meaning of his frowns and sighs. He 
 hoped much from them, and was firmly resolved to draw some advantage 
 therefrom to the benefit of his daughter, and the harm of the Queen. 
 
 Your Majesty, said he, I am just on the point of turning traitor, and 
 accusing my King of an injustice. 
 
 The King turned his flashing eyes upon him, and put his hand, spark- 
 lintr with jeweled rings, to the golden goblet filled with Rhenish wine. 
 
 Of an injustice — me — your King? asked he with stammering tongue. 
 
 Yes, of an injustice, inasmuch as you are for me God's visible repre- 
 sentative on earth. 1 would blame God if he withdrew from us for a day 
 the brightness of the sun, the gorgeousness and perfume of his flowers, 
 for since we children of men are accustomed to 'enjoy these glories, we 
 have in a certain measure gained a right to them. So I accuse you be- 
 cause you have withdrawn from us the embodied flowers and the incar- 
 nate suns • because you have been so cruel, Sire, as to send the Queen to 
 Epping Forest. 
 
 Not so, the Queen wanted to ride, said Henry peevishly. The spring 
 weather attracted her, and since 1, alas, do not possess God's exalted 
 attribute of ubiquity, I was no doubt obliged to come to the resolution 
 
85 
 
 of being deprived of her presence. There is no horse capable of carry- 
 ing the King of England. 
 
 There is Pegasus, however, and in masfcrly'.manner you know how to 
 manage him. But how, your Majesty ? the Queen wanted to ride, though 
 she was deprived of your presence thereby ? She wanted lo ride, though 
 this pleasure-ride was at the same time a separation from you? Oh 
 how cold and selfish are women's hearts ! Were I a woman, 1 would never 
 depart from your side, 1 would covet no greater happiness than to be 
 near yon, and to listen to that high and exalted wisdom which pours 
 from your inspired lips. Were 1 a woman 
 
 Earl, 1 opine that your wish is perfectly fulfilled, said John Heywood 
 seriously. You make in all respects the impression of an old woman i 
 
 All laughed. But the King did not laugh ; he remained serious and 
 looked gloomily before him. 
 
 It is true, muttered he, she seemed excited with joy about this excur- 
 sion, and in her eyes shone a fire 1 have seldom seen there. There must 
 be some peculiar circumstance connected with this ride. Who accom- 
 panied the Queen ? 
 
 Princess Elizabeth, said John Heywood, who had heard everything, 
 and saw clearly the arrow that the Earl had shot at the Queen. Pim- 
 cess Elizabeth, her true and dear friend, who never leaves her side. 
 Besides, her maids of honor who, like the dragon in the fable, keep watch 
 over Lb* beautiful Princess. 
 
 Who else is in the Queen's company? enquired Henry, sullenly. 
 
 The Master of Horse, Earl of Sudley, said Douglas, and * 
 
 That was an observation in the highest degree, superfluous, interrupted 
 John Heywood ; it is perfectly well understood by itself that the Master 
 of Horse accompanies the Queen. That is just as much his office, as it 
 is yours to sing the song of your cousin, my parrot. 
 
 He is right ! said the King quickly. Thomas Seymour must accom- 
 pany her, and it is my will also. Thomas Seymour is a faithful 
 servant, and this he has inherited from his sister Jane, my much loved 
 Queen, now at rest with God, that he is devoted to his King in steadfast 
 affection. 
 
 The time has not yet come when one may assail the. Seymours, thought 
 the Earl. The King is yet attached to them ; so he will feel hostile to- 
 wards the foes of the Seymours. Let us then begin our attack on Henry 
 Howard — that is to say, on the Queen. 
 
 Who accompanied the Queen besides? enquired Henry ti.e Eighth, 
 emptying the golden beaker at a single draught, as though he would there- 
 by cool the fire which already began to blaze within him. But the fiery 
 Rhenish wine instead of cooling only heated him yet more; it drove, 
 like a tempest, the fire kindled in his jealous heart in bright flames to 
 his head, and made his brain glow like his heart. 
 
 Who else accompanied her besides these 1 asked Earl Douglas care- 
 lessly. ' Well, I think, the Lord Chamberlain, Earl of Surrey. 
 
*0 
 
 A dark .scowl gathered on the King's brow. The' lion had scented his 
 prey. 
 
 The Lord Chamberlain is not in the Queen's train ! said John Hey- 
 wood earnestly. 
 
 No ! exclaimed Earl Douglas. The poor Earl ! That will make him 
 very sad. 
 
 And why think you that will make him sad? asked the King in a 
 voice very like the roll of distant thunder. 
 
 Because the Earl of Surrey is accustomed to live in the sunshine of 
 royal favor, Sire ; because he resembles that flower which always turns 
 its head to the sun, and receives from it vigor, color and brilliancy. 
 
 Let him take care that the sun does not scorch him, muttered the King. 
 
 Earl, said John Hey wood, you must put on your spectacles so that 
 you can see better. This time you have confounded the sun with one 
 of its satellites. Earl Surrey i* far too prudent a man to be so foolish 
 as to gaze at the sun, and thereby blind his eyes and parch his brain. 
 And so he is satisfied to worship one of the planets that circle round the 
 sun. 
 
 What does the fool intend to say by that? asked the Earl contempt- 
 uously. 
 
 The wise will thereby give you to understand that you have this time 
 mistaken your daughter for the Queen, said John Heywood, emphasizing 
 sharply every word, and that it has happened to you, as to many a great 
 astrologer, you have taken a planet for a sun. 
 
 Eaii Douglas cast a dark, spiteful look at John Heywood, who an- 
 swered it with one equally piercing and furious. 
 
 Their eyes were hrmly fixed on each, others, and in those eyes they 
 both read all the hatred and all the bitterness which were working in the 
 depths of their souls. Both knew that they had from that hour sworn 
 to each other an enmity burning and full of danger. 
 
 The King had noticed nothing of this dumb but significant, scene. He 
 was looking down, brooding over his gloomy thoughts, and the storm- 
 clouds rolling around his brow gathered darker and darker. 
 
 With an impetuous movement he arose from his seat, and this time 
 he needed no helping hand to stand up. Wrath was the mighty lever 
 that threw him up. 
 
 The courtiers arose from their seats in silence, arid nobody besides 
 John Heywood observed the look of understanding which Earl Douglas 
 exchanged with Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, and Wriothesley, the 
 Lord Chancellor. 
 
 Ah, why is not Cranmer here ! said John Heywood to himself. I see 
 the three tiger-cats prowling, so there must be prey to devour some- 
 where. Well, I will at any rate keep my ears open wide enough to 
 hear their, roaring. 
 
 The dinner is over, gentlemen ! said the King hastily ; and the cour- 
 tiers and gentlemen in waiting bilently withdrew to the ante-room. 
 
87 
 
 Only Earl Douglas, Gardiner and Wriotheslej remained in the hall, 
 while John Hey wood crept softly into the King's cabinet and concealed 
 himself behind the hanging of gold brocade, which covered the door lead- 
 ing from the King's study to the outer ante-room. 
 
 Mv Lords, said the King, follow me intu my cabinet, /is we arc 
 dull, the most advisable thingfor us to do is todivert ourselves while 
 wc occupy ourselves with the. weal of ^our beloved subjects, and consult 
 concerning their happiness and what is conducive to their welfare. Fol- 
 low me then, and wc will hold a general consultation. 
 
 Earl Douglas, your arm ! and as the King leaned on it and walked 
 slowly towards the cabinet, at the entrance of which the Lord Chancel- 
 lor and the Bishop of Winchester were waiting for him, he asked in a 
 low voice : You say that Henry Howard dares ever intrude himself into 
 the Queen's presence ? 
 
 Sire, I did not say that; I meant only that he is constantly to be seen 
 in the Queen's presence. 
 
 Oh, you mean that she perhaps authorizes him to do so! said the 
 King, grinding his teeth. 
 
 Sire, I hold the Queen to be a noble and dutiful wife. 
 
 I should be quite inclined to lay your head at your feet if you did 
 not! said the King, in whose face the first lightning of the bursting cloud 
 of wrath began to flash. 
 
 My hoid belongs to the King! said Earl Douglas respectfully. Let 
 him d<> w nh it as he pleases. 
 
 But Howard — you mean then that Howard loves the Queen? 
 
 Yes, Sire, I dare affirm than. 
 
 Now, by the mother of God, I will tread this serpent under my feet, 
 as 1 did his sister! exclaimed Jlenry fiercely. The Howards are an 
 ambitions, dangerous and hypocritical race. 
 
 A race that never forgets that a daughter of their house has sat on 
 your throne. 
 
 But they shall forget it, cried the King, and I must wash these proud 
 and haughty thoughts out of their brain with their own blood. They 
 have not then learnt from the example of their sister, how I punish dis- 
 loyalty. This insolent race needs another fresh example. Well they 
 shall have it. Only put the means in my hand, Douglas, only a little 
 hook that I can strike into the flesh of these Howards, and I tell you, 
 with that little hook I will drag them to the scaffold. Give me proof of 
 the Earl's criminal love, and I promise you that for this f will grant you 
 what you ask. 
 
 Sire, I will give you this pioof. 
 
 When? 
 
 In four days, Sire ! At the great contest of the poets which you havo 
 ordered to take place on the Queen's birthday. 
 
 I thank you, Douglas, I thank you, said the King with an expression 
 almost of joy. In four days you will have rid me of the troublesome 
 race of Howards. 
 
88 
 
 Bat, Sire, if 1 cannot give the proof you demand without accusing one 
 other person? 
 
 The King, who was just about to pals the door of his cabinet, stood 
 still and looked steadily into the Earl's eyes. Then, said he, in a tone 
 peculiarly awful: you .mean the Queen? Well, if she is guilty I will 
 punish her. God h'as placed the sword in my hand that I may bear it 
 to his honor, and to the terror of mankind. If the Queen has sinned, 
 she will be punished. Furnish me the proof of Howard's guilt, and do 
 not trouble yourself, if we thereby discover the guilt of others. We 
 shall not timidly shrink back, but let justice take its course. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S FRIEND. 
 
 Earl Douglas, Gardiner and Wriothesley had accompanied the King 
 into his cabinet. 
 
 At last the great blow was to be struck, and the plan of the three en- 
 emies of the Queen, so long matured, and well considered, was to be at 
 length put in execution. Therefore, as they followed the King, who 
 with unwonted activity preceded them, they exchanged with each other 
 one more look of mutual understanding. 
 
 By that look Earl Douglas said : The hour has come. Be ready ! 
 
 And the looks of his friends responded : We are ready ! 
 
 John Heywood, who, hidden behind the hanging, saw and observed 
 everything, could not forbear a slight shudder at the sight of these four 
 men, whose dark and hard features seemed incapable of being touched 
 by any ray of pity or mercy. 
 
 There was first the King, that man with the Protean countenance, 
 across which storm and sunshine, God and the Devil traced each minute 
 new lines; who could be now an inspired enthusiast, and now a blood- 
 thirsty tyrant; now a sentimental wit and anon a wanton reveler ; the 
 King, on whose constancy nobody, not even himself, could rely; ever 
 ready, as it suited his caprice or his interest, to betray his most faithful 
 friend, and to send to the scaffold to day those whom but yesterday he had 
 caressed and assured of his unchanging affection ; — the King, who con- 
 sidered himself privileged to indulge with, impunity his low appetites, 
 his revengeful impulses, his blood-thirsty inclinations; who was devout 
 from vanity, because devotion afforded him an opportunity of indentify- 
 ing himself with God, and of regarding himself in some sort the patron 
 of Deity. 
 
si) 
 
 There was Earl Douglas, the crafty courtier wiih ever smiling face, 
 •who seemed to love everybody, while in fact he hated all ; who assumed 
 the nppearance of perfect harmlcssness and seemed to be indifferent to 
 everything but pleasure, while nevertheless secretly he held in his hand 
 :ill the strings of that great net, which compassed alike Court and King. 
 Earl Douglas, whom the King loved for this alone, because he generally 
 gave him the title of grand and wise High Priest of the Chinch, and who 
 was, notwithstanding this, Loyola's vicegerent, and a true and faithful 
 adherent of that Pope who had damned the King as a degenerate son 
 and given him over to the wrath of God. 
 
 Lastly there were the two men with dark malignant looks, with in- 
 flexible, stony faces, which were never lighted up by a smile, or a gleam 
 of joy ; who always condemned, always punished, and whose countenan- 
 ces never brightened save when the dying shriek of the condemned, or 
 the groans of some poor wretch upon the rack fell upon their ears; who 
 were the tormentors of humanity, while they called themselves the min- 
 isters and servants of God. 
 
 Sire, said Gardiner, when the King had slowly taken his sent upon the 
 ottoman ; Sire, let us first ask the blessing of the Lord our God on this 
 hour of conference. May God who is love, but who is wrath also, may 
 he enlighten and bless us ! 
 
 The King devoutly folded his hands, but it was only a prayer of wrath 
 that animated his soul. 
 
 Grant, O God, that I may punish thine enemies, and everywhere dash 
 in pieces the guilty. 
 
 Amen ! said Gardiner, as he repeated with solemn earnestness the 
 King's words. 
 
 Send us the thunderbolt of thy wrath, prayed Wriothesley, that we may 
 teach the world to recognize thy power and glory ! 
 
 Earl Douglas took care not to pray aloud. What he had to request 
 of God was not allowed to reach the ear of the King. 
 
 Grant O God, prayed he in his heart, grant that my work may pros- 
 per, and that this dangerous Queen may ascend the scaffold, to make 
 room for my daughter, who is destined to bring back into the arms of 
 our Holy Mother, the Church, this guilty and faithless King. 
 
 And now, my Lords, said the King fetching along breath, now tell me 
 how stand matters in my Kingdom, and at my Court. 
 
 Badly ! said Gardiner. Unbelief again lifts up its head. It is nn hy- 
 dra. If you strike off one of its heads, two others immediately spring 
 up in its place. This cursed sect of reformists and atheists multi] 
 day by day, and our prisons are no longer sufficient to contain them, and 
 when we drag them to the stake, their joyful and courageous death al- 
 ways makes fresh proselytes, and fresh apostates. 
 
 , matters are bad, said the Lord Chancellor Wriothesley ; in vain 
 have we promised pardon and forgiveness to all those who would return 
 nt and contrite ; they laugh to scorn our offers of pardon, and pre- 
 fer a death of torture to the royal clemency. What avails it, that we 
 
9Q 
 
 have burnt to death Miles Coverdale, who had the hardihood to trans- 
 late the Bible? His death appears to have been only the tocsin that 
 aroused other fanatics, and without our being able to divine or suspect 
 where all these books come from, they have overflowed and deluged the 
 whole land; and we now already have more than four translations of 
 \.hi Bible. The people read them with eagerness ; and the corrupt seed 
 of mental illumination and free-thinking waxes daily more powerful, and 
 more pernicious. 
 
 And now you. Earl Douglas? asked the King, when the Lord Chan- 
 cellor ceased. These noble Lords have told me how matters stand in 
 my Kingdom. You will advise me what is the aspect of things at my 
 Court! 
 
 Sire! said Earl Douglas, slowly and solemnly, for he wished each 
 word to sink into the King's breast like a poisoned arrow, Sire, the peo- 
 ple but follow the example which the Court sets them. How can you 
 require faith of the people, when under their own eyes, the Court turns 
 faith into ridicule, and when infidels find at Court aid and protection? 
 
 You accuse, but you give no names, said the King impatiently. Who 
 dares at my Court be a protector of heretics ? 
 
 Cummer, Archbishop of Canterbury ! said the three men, as withono 
 mouth. The signal word was spoken, the standard of a bloody struggle 
 setup. Cranmer? repeated the King thoughtfully. He has, however, 
 always been a faithful servant, and an attentive friend to me. It was 
 he who delivered me from the unholy bond with Catharine of Arragon; 
 it was he too -who warned me of Catharine Howard, and furnished me 
 with proofs of her guilt. Of what misdemeanor do you accuse him ? 
 
 He denies the Six Articles, said Gardiner, whose malicious face now 
 glowed with bitter hatred. He reprobates Auricular Confession, and 
 believes not that the voluntarily taken vows of celibacy are binding. 
 
 If he does that, then he is a traitor! cried the King, who was fond of 
 always throwing a reverence for chastity and modesty, as a kind of holy 
 mantle, over his own profligate and lewd life ; and whom nothing more 
 embittered than to encounter another on that path of vice, which lie him- 
 self by virtue of his royal prerogative, and his crown by the grace of 
 God, could travel in perfect safety. 
 
 If he does that, then he is a traitor! My arm of vengeance will smite 
 him ! repeated the King again. It was I, who gave my people the Six 
 Articles, as a sacred and authoritative declaration of faith ; and I will 
 not suffer this only true and right doctriue to be assailed and obscured. 
 But you are mistaken, my Lords ! I am acquainted with Cranmer and 
 I know that he is loyal and faithful. 
 
 And yet it is he, said Gardiner, who confirms these heretics in their 
 obduracy and stiffneckedness. He is the cause why these lost wretches 
 do not, from the fear of divine wrath at least, return to you, their sover- 
 eign and high priest. For he preaches to them, that God is love and 
 mercy ; he teaches them, that Christ came into the world in order to bring 
 to the world love and the forgiveness of sins, and that they alone are 
 
81 
 
 Christ's true disciples and servants, who emulate his love. Do you not 
 see then, Sire, that this is a covert and indirect accusation against 
 yourself, and that while he praises pardoning love, he at the same time 
 condemns and accuses your righteous and punitory wrath? 
 
 The King did not answer immediately, but sat with his eyes fixed 
 grave aud pondering. The fanatical priest had gone too far ; and %\ ith- 
 out being aware of it, it was he himself, who was that very instant ac 
 eusing the King. 
 
 Earl Douglas felt this. He read in the King's face that he was just 
 then in one of those moments of contrition, which sometimes came over 
 him when his soul held involuntary intercourse with itself. 
 
 It was necessary to arouse the sleeping tiger and point out to him 
 some prey, so as to make him again blood-thirsty. 
 
 It would be proper, if Cranmcr preached only Christian love, said 
 he. Then would he be only a faithful servant of his Lord and a fol- 
 lower of his King. But he gives to the world an abominable example 
 of a disobedient and peifidious servant ; he denies the truth of the Six 
 Articles, not in words but in deeds. You have ordered'that the priests 
 of the Church remain single. Now, then — the Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury is married ! 
 
 Married? cried the King, his visage glowing with rage. Ah, I will 
 chastise him, this transgressor of my holy laws! A minister of the 
 Church, a priest, whose whole life should be naught but an exhibition of 
 holiness, an endless communion with God, and whose high calling it is 
 to renounce fleshly lusts and earthly d3sires ! And he is married ! I 
 will make him feel the whole weight of my royal anger. He shall 
 learn from his own experience that the King's justice is inexorable, and 
 that in every case he smites the head of the sinner ; be he who he 
 may. 
 
 Your Majesty is the embodiment of wisdom and justice, said Doug- 
 las, and your faithful servants well know, if the royal justice is some- 
 times tardy in smiting guilty offenders, this happpens not through your 
 will, but through your servants who venture to stay the arm of justice. 
 
 When, and where, has this happened? asked Henry, and his face 
 flushed with rage and excitement. Where is the offender whom I have 
 not punished ? Where in my realm lives a being who has sinned 
 against God or his King, and whom I have not dashed to atoms? 
 
 Sire, said Gardiner solemnly, Anne Askew is yet alive 
 
 She lives to mock at your wisdom and to scoff at your holy creed ! 
 cried Wriothesley. 
 
 She lives, because Archbishop Cranmer wills that she should not die, 
 said Douglas shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 The King broke out into a short, dry laugh. Ah, Cranmer wills not 
 that Anne Askew die ! said he sneering. He wills not that this girl, 
 who has bo fearfully offended against her King and ngainst God, should 
 be punished ! 
 
 Yes, she has offended fearfully, and yet two years have passed away 
 
92 
 
 since her offence, cried Gardiner. Two years which she has spent in 
 deriding God and njockipg the King. 
 
 Ah, said the King, we have still hoped to (urn this young, misguided 
 creature from the ways of sin and error to the path of wisdom and re- 
 pentance. We wished for once to u'tve our people a shining example of 
 our willingness to forgive those who repent and renounce their heresy,, 
 and to restore them to a participation of our royal favor. Therefore it 
 was that we com missioned you, my Lord Bishop, by virtue of your 
 prayers and your forcible and convincing words, to pluck this poor child 
 from the claws of the devil, who has charmed her ear. 
 
 But she is unbending, said Gardiner, grinding his teeth. In vain have 
 I depicted to her the pains of hell, which await her, if she return not to 
 the faith ; in vain have I subjected her to every variety of torture and 
 penance ; in vain have I sent to her in prison other converts, and had 
 them pray with her night and day, incessantly ; she remains unyield-' 
 ing, hard as stone ; and neither the fear of punishment nor the prospect 
 of freedom and happiness have the power to soften that marble heart. 
 
 There is one means yet untried, said Wriothesley. — A means, more- 
 over, which is a more effective preacher of repentance than the most 
 enthused orators and the most fervent prayers ; and which I have to 
 thank for bringing back to God and the faith, many of the most har- 
 dened heretics. 
 
 And this means is? 
 
 The Hack, your Majesty ! 
 
 Ah, the Kack ! replied the King with an involuntary shudder. 
 
 All means are good that lead to the holy end ! said Gardiner, de- 
 voutly folding his hands. 
 
 The soul must be saved, though the body be pierced with wounds ! 
 cried Wriothesley. 
 
 The people must be convinced, said Douglas, that the lofty spirit of 
 the King spares not even those who are under the protection of influen- 
 tial and mighty personages. The people murmur that this time justice 
 is not permitted to prevail, because Archbishop Cranmer protects Anne 
 Askew, and the Queen is her friend. 
 
 The Queen is never the friend of a criminal ! said Henry vehemently. 
 
 Perchance she does not consider Anne Askew a criminal, responded 
 Earl Douglas with a slight smile. It is known indeed that the Queen 
 is a great friend of the Reformation; and the people, who dare not call 
 her a heretic, — the people call her " the Protestant." 
 
 Is it then really believed that it is Catharine who protects Anne 
 Askew, and keeps her from the stake % inquired the King thoughtfully. 
 
 It is so thought, your Majesty ! 
 
 They shall soon see that they are mistaken, and that Henry the Eighth 
 well deserves to be called the Defender of the Faith and the Head of 
 his Church, cried the King with burning rage. t For when have I shown 
 myself so long suffering, and weak in punishing, that people believe me 
 inclined to pardon and deal 'gently 1 Have I not sent to the scaffold 
 
93 
 
 even Thomas More,- and Cromwell, two renowned, and in a certain re- 
 spect noble and high minded men, because they dared defy my supre- 
 macy and oppose the doctrine and ordinance which 1 commanded them 
 to believe'? Have 1 not sent to the block two of my Queens — two 
 beautiful young women, in whom my heart was well pleased, even 
 when I punished them — because they had provoked my wrath? Who, 
 after such brilliant examples of our annihilating justice, who dare ac- 
 cuse ns of forbearance ? 
 
 But at that time, Sire, said Douglas in his soft, insinuating voice, but 
 at that time no Queen as yet stood at your side, who called heretics 
 true believers and favored traitors with her friendship. 
 
 The King frowned, and his wrathful look enoountoied the friendly and 
 submissive couutenance of the Earl. You know I hate these covert 
 attacks, said he. If you can tax the Queen with any crime, well now, 
 do so ! If you cannot, hold your peace! 
 
 The Queen is a noble and virtuous lady, said the Earl, only she some- 
 times permits herself to be led away by her magnanimous spirit. Or 
 how, your Majesty — can it possibly be with your permission that my 
 Lady, the Queen, maintains a correspondence with Anne Askew? 
 
 What say you? The Queen in correspondence with Anne Askew ? 
 cried the King in a voice of thunder. That is a lie, a shameless lie, 
 hatched up to ruin the Queen ; for it is very well known that the poor 
 King, who has been so often deceived, so often impospd npon, believes 
 himself to have at last found in this woman a being whom he can trust, 
 and in whom he can put faith. And they grudge him that. They wish 
 to strip him of this last hope also, that his heart may harden entirely 
 to stone, and no emotion of pity evermore find access to him. Ah, 
 Douglas, Douglas, beware of my wrath, if you cannot prove what you 
 say ! 
 
 Sire, I can prove it ! For Lady Jane herself, no longer ago than yes- 
 terday, was made to give up a note from Anne Askew to the Queen. 
 
 The King remained silent for awhile, and gazed fixedly on the ground. 
 His three confidants observed 1 him with breathless, trembling expecta- 
 tion. 
 
 At length the King raised his head again, and turned J his gaze, which 
 was now giave and steady, upon the Lord Chancellor. 
 
 My Lord Chancellor Wriothesley, said he, I empower you to conduct 
 Anne Askew to the torture-room, and try whether the torments which 
 are prepared for the body are perchance able to bring this erring soul 
 to an acknowledgement of her faults. My Lord Bishop Gardiner, I 
 give my word that I will give attention to your accusation against the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, and that, if, it be well founded, he shall nob 
 pe punishment. My Lord Douglas, I will give my people, and all 
 the world, proof that I am still God's righteous and avenging vicege- 
 rent on earth, and that no consideration can restrain my wrath, no after- 
 thought stay my arm, whenever it is ready to fall and smite the head 
 of the guilty. And now, my Lords, let us declare this session at an 
 
94 
 
 end. Let us breathe a little from these exertions, and seek some ire- 
 creation for one brief hour. 
 
 My Lords Gardiner and Wriothesley, you are now at liberty. You, 
 Douglas, will accompany me into the small reception room, i want to 
 see bright and laughing faces around me. Call John Hey wood, and if 
 you meet any ladies in the palace, of course, I beg them to shed on us 
 a little of that sunshine, which you say is peculiarly woman's. 
 
 He laughed and. leaning on the Earl's arm, left the cabinet. 
 
 Gardiner and Wriothesley stood there in silence watching the King, 
 who slowly and heavily traversed the adjacent hall, and whose cheery 
 and laughing voice came ringing back to them. 
 
 He is a weather-cock, turning every moment from side to side, said 
 Gardiner with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. • 
 
 He calls himself God's sword of vengeance, but he is nothing more 
 than a weak tool, which we bend and use at our will, muttered Wrioth- 
 esley with a hoarse laugh. Poor, pitiful fool, deeming himself so 
 mighty and sturdy; imagining himself a free King, ruling by his sove- 
 reign will alone, and yet he ii but our servant and drudge. Our great 
 work is approaching its end, and we shall one day triumph. Anne 
 Askew's death is the sign of a new covenant, which will deliver England 
 and trample the heretics like dust beneath our feet. And when at length 
 we shall have put down Cranmer, and 'brought Catharine Parr to the 
 scaffold, then will we give King Henry a Queen who will reconcile him 
 with God and the Church, out of which is no salvation. 
 
 Amen, so be it ! said Gardiner ; and arm in arm they both left the 
 cabinet. 
 
 Deep stillness now reigned in that little spot, and nobody saw John 
 HeywQod as he now came from behind the hanging, and completely 
 worn out aud faint, slipped for a moment into a chair. 
 
 Now I know, so far at least, the plan of these blood-thirsty tiger-cats, 
 muttered he. They wish to give Henry a popish queen, and so Cran- 
 mer must be overthrown, that, when they have deprived the Queen of 
 this powerful prop, they may destroy her also and tread her in the dust. 
 But as God liveth, they shall not succeed in this ! God is just, and he 
 will at last punish these evil-doers. And supposing there is no God, 
 then will we try a little with the Devil himself. No, they shall not des- 
 troy the noble Cranmer and this beautiful, high-minded Queen. I forbid 
 it — I, John Heywood, the King's fool. I will see everything, observe 
 everything, hear everything. They shall find me everywhere pp. their 
 path; and when they poison the King's ear with their diabolical whis- 
 perings, 1 will heal it again with my merry deviltries. The King's fool 
 will be the guardian angel of the Queen. 
 
95 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 JOHN HEYWOOD. 
 
 After so much care and excitement, the King needed an hour of re- 
 creation and amusement. Since the fair young Queen was seeking these 
 far away in the chase, and amid the beauties of nature, Henry must, no 
 doubt, be content to seek them for himself, and in a way different from 
 the Queen's. His unwieldiness and his load of flesh prevented him 
 from pursuing the joys of life beyond his own halls ; so the lords and 
 ladies of his Court had to bring them hither to him, and station the flit- 
 ting goddess of joy, with her wings fettered, in front of the King's trun. 
 die-chair. 
 
 The gout had that day again overcome that mighty King of earth ; 
 and a heavy grotesque mass it was, which sat there in the elbow-chair. 
 
 But the courtiers still called him a fine looking and fascinating man ; 
 nnd the ladies still smiled on him and said, by their sighs and by their 
 looks, that they loved him ; that he was ever to them the same hand- 
 some and captivating man that he was twenty years before, when yefc 
 young, fine looking and slim. How they smile upon him aud ogle him ! 
 How Lady Jane, the maiden otherwise so haughty and so chaste, does 
 wish to insnare him with her bright eyes as with a net ! How bewitch- 
 ingly does the Dutchess of Richmond, that fair and voluptuous woman, 
 laugh at the King's merry jests and double entendres ! 
 
 Poor King! whose corpulency forbids him to dance as he once had 
 done with so much pleasure and so much dexterity ! Poor King ! who^-o 
 age forbids him to sing as once he had done to the delight both of the 
 Court and of himself! 
 
 But there are yet, however, pleasant, precious, joyous hours, when the 
 man revives some little in the King ; when even youth once more again 
 awakes within him and smiles in a few dear blessed pleasures. 
 
 The King still has at least eyes to perceive beauty, and a heart to 
 feel it. 
 
 How beautiful Lady Jane is, this white lily with the dark star like 
 eyes! How beautiful Lady Richmond, this full-blown red rose with the 
 pearl-white teeth ! 
 
 And they both smile at him ; and when the King swears he loves 
 them, they bashfully cast down their eyes and sigh. 
 
 Do you sigh, Jane, because you love me ] 
 
 Oh, Sire, you mock me. It would be a sin for me to love you, for 
 Queen Catharine is living. 
 
 Yes, she is living ! muttered the King ; and his brow darkened - f and 
 for a moment the emile disappeared from his lips. 
 
96 
 
 Lady Jane had committed a mistake. She had reminded the King 
 of his wife, when it was yet too soon to ask for her death. 
 
 John Hey wood read this in the countenance of his royal master, and 
 resolved to take advantage of it. He wished to divert the attention of 
 the King, and to draw it away from the beautiful, captivating women, 
 who were juggling him with their bewitching charms. 
 
 Yes, the Queen lives! said he joyfully, and God be praised for it! 
 For how tedious and dull it would be at this Court had we not our fair 
 Queen, who is wise as Methuselah, and innocent and good as a new-born 
 babe. Do. you not, Lady Jane, say with me, God be praised that Queen 
 Catharine is living 1 ? 
 
 I say so with you ! said Jane with ill-concealed vexation. 
 
 And you, King Henry, do you not say it too 1 
 
 Of course, fool ! 
 
 Ah, why am 1 not King Henry ! sighed John Hey wood. King, I 
 envy you not your crown, or your royal mantle ; not your attendants, or 
 your money. I envy you only this, that you can say, God be praised 
 that my wife is still alive! while' I never know but one phrase: God 
 have pity, my wife is still alive ! Ah, it is very seldom, King, that I 
 have heard a married man speak otherwise ! You are in that too, as in 
 all things else, an exception, King Henry ; and your people have never 
 loved )ou more warmly and purely than when you say : I thank God 
 that my consort is alive ! Believe me, you are perhaps the only man 
 at your Court who speaks after this manner, however ready they may 
 be to be your parrots, and re echo what the Lord High Priest says. 
 
 The only man who loves his wife ! said Lady Richmond. Behold 
 now the rude babbler ! Do you not believe then that we women de- 
 serve to beloved ? 
 
 1 am convinced that you do not ! 
 
 And for what do you take us then? 
 
 For cats, which God, since he had no more cat-skin, stuck into a smooth 
 hide ! 
 
 Take care, John, that we do not show you our claws! cried the 
 Duchess laughing. 
 
 Do it anyhow, my Lady ! I will then make a cross and ye will dis- 
 appear. For devils, you well know, cannot endure the sight of the holy 
 cross, and ye are devils. 
 
 John Heywood, who was a remarkably fine singer, seized the mando- 
 lin, which lay near him, and began to sing. 
 
 It was a song, possible only in those days, and at Henry's voluptuous 
 and at the same time time canting Court. A song full of the most 
 wanton allusions; of the most cutting jests against both Monks and wo- 
 men ; a song which made Henry laugh, and the ladies blush ; and in 
 which John Heywood had poured forth in glowing dithyrambics, all 
 his secret indignation against Gardiner, the sneaking hypocrite of a priest, 
 and against Lady Jane, the Queen's false and treacherous friend. 
 
 But the ladies laughed not. They darted flashing glances at John 
 
07 
 
 Hey wood ; and Lady Richmond earnestly and resolutely demanded the 
 punishment of the perfidious wretch who dared to defame woman. 
 
 The King laughed still harder. The rage of the ladies was so exceed- 
 ingly amusing. 
 
 Sire, said the beautiful Richmond, he has insulted not us, but the 
 whole sex ; and in the name, of our sex, 1 demand revenge for the affront. 
 
 Yes, revenge ! cried Lady Jane hotly. 
 
 Revenge ! repeated the rest of the ladies. 
 
 See now, what pious and gentle hearted doves ye are ! cried John 
 Hey wood. 
 
 The King said laughingly : well now, you shall have your will, you 
 shall chastise* him. 
 
 Yes, yes, scourge me with rods, as they once scourged the Messiah, 
 because he told the Pharisees the truth. See here, I am already put- 
 ting on the crown of thorns. m 
 
 He took the King's velvet cap with solemn air, and put it on. 
 
 Yes, whip him, whip him! cried the King laughing, as he pointed to 
 the gigantic vases of Chinese porcelain, containing euormous bunches of 
 roses, on whose long stems arose a real forest of formidable looking 
 thorns. 
 
 Pull the large bouquets to pieces ; take the roses in your hand, and 
 whip him with the stems ! said the' King, and his eyes glistened with 
 inhuman delight, for the scene promised to be quite interesting. The 
 rose stems were long and hard, and the thorns on them pointed and 
 sharp as daggers. How nicely they would pierce the flesh, and how he 
 would yell and screw his face, the good natured fool ! 
 
 Yes, yes, let him take off his coat, and we will whip him ! cried the 
 Duchess of Richmond ; and the women, all joining in the cry, rushed 
 like furies upon John Heywood, and forced him to lay aside his silk 
 upper garment. Then they hurried to the vases, snatched out the bou- 
 quets, and with busy hands picked out the longest and stoutest stems. 
 And loud were their exclamations of satisfaction, if the thorns were 
 right large and sharp, such as would penetrate the flesh of the offender 
 right deeply. 
 
 The Ifing's laughter and shouts of approval animated them more and 
 more, and made them more excited and furious. Their cheeks glowed, 
 their eyes glared; they resembled Bachantes circling the god of riotous 
 joviality with their shouts of Evoe ! Evoe ! 
 
 Not yet ! do not strike yet! cried the King. You must first strength- 
 en yourselves for the exertion, and fire your arm for a powerful blow! 
 
 He took the largo golden beaker which stood before him and, tasting 
 it, presented it to Lady Jane. 
 
 Drink, my Lady, drink, that your arm may be strong ! 
 And they all drunk, and with animated smiles pressed their lips on 
 the spot which the King's mouth had touched. And now their eyes had 
 a brighter flame, and their cheeks a more fierjf glow. 
 
 A strange and exciting sight it was, to see those beautiful women 
 
98 
 
 burning with malicious joy and thirst fjr vengeance, who for the mo- 
 ment had laid aside all their elegant attitudes, their lofty and haughty 
 airs, to transform themselves into wanton Bachantes, bent on chastising 
 the offender, who had so often and so bitterly lashed them all with his 
 tongue. , 
 
 Ah, I would a painter were here, said the King. He should paint us 
 a picture of the chaste nymphs of Diana pursuing Acteeom. You are 
 Actaeom, John ! 
 
 But they are not the chaste nymphs, King; no, far from it, cried 
 Hey wood laughing; and between these fair women and Diana 1 find no 
 resemblance, but only a difference. 
 
 And in what consists the difference, John ? 
 
 Herein, Sire, that Diana carried her horn at her side ; but these fair 
 ladies make their husbands wear their horns on the forehead ! 
 
 A. loud peal of laughter from the gentlemen, a yell of rage from the 
 ladies, was the reply to this new epigram of John Heywood. 
 
 They arranged themselves in two rows, and thus formed a lane 
 through which John Heywood had to pass 
 
 Come, John Heywood, come and receive your punishment ; and they 
 raised their thorny rods threateningly, and flourished them with angry 
 gestures high above their heads. 
 
 The scene was becoming to John in all respects very piquant, for 
 these rods had very sharp thorns, and only a thin batist shirt covered 
 his back. 
 
 With bold step, however, he approached the fatal passage through 
 which he was to pass. 
 
 Already he beheld the rods drawn back ; and it seemed to him a9 if 
 the thorns were even now piercing his back. 
 
 He halted, and turned with a laugh to the King. Sire, since you 
 have condemned me to die by the hands of these nymphs, I claim the 
 right of every condemned criminal — a last favor. 
 
 The which we grant you, John 1 
 
 I demand that 1 may put on these fair women one condition — one con- 
 dition on which they may whip me. Does your Majesty grant me this? 
 
 I grant it! * 
 
 And you solemnly pledge me the word of a King that this condition 
 shall be faithfully kept and fulfilled 1 ? , 
 
 My solemn kingly word for it ! 
 
 Now, then, said John Heywood as he entered the passage, now then, 
 my ladies, my condition is this : That one of you who has had the most 
 lovers, and has oftenest decked her husband's head with horns, let her 
 lay the first stroke on my back* 
 
 A deep silence followed. The raised arms of the fair women sunk. 
 The roses fell from their hands and dropped to the^ground. Just be- 
 fore so bloodthirsty and revengeful, they seemed now to have become 
 the softest and gentlest of beings. 
 
 •Flogel's Geschichte der Hofnarren, page 899. 
 
90 
 
 But could (heir looks have hilled, their fire certainly would have con- 
 sumed poor John Ilcy wood, who now gazed at them with an insolent 
 sneer, and advanced into the very midst of their lines. 
 
 Now, my ladies, you strike him not? asked the King. 
 
 No, your Majesty, we despise him too much even to wish to chastise 
 him, said the Duchess of Richmond. 
 
 Shall your enemy who has injured you go thus unpunished ? asked 
 the King. No, no, my ladies; it shall not be said that there is a man 
 in my kingdom whom I have let escape when so rrchly deserving pun- 
 ishment. We will, therefore, impose some other punishment on him. 
 He calls himself a poet, and has often boasted that he could make 
 his pen fly as fast as his tongue! Now, then, John, show us in this 
 manner that you are no liar! I command you to write, for the great 
 Court festival which takes place in a few r days, a new interlude, and one 
 indeed, hear you, John, which is calculated to make the greatest growl- 
 er merry, and over which these ladies will be forced to laugh so heart- 
 ily that they will forget all their ire! 
 
 Oh, said John dolefully, what an equivocal and lewd poem it must 
 be to please these ladies and make them laugh. My King, we must, 
 then, to please these dear ladies, forget a little our chastity, modesty and 
 maiden bashfulness, and .speak in the spirit of the ladies — that is to say, 
 as lasciviously as possible. 
 
 You are a wretch ! said Lady Jane ; a vulgar, hypocritical fool. 
 
 Earl Douglas, your daughter is speaking to you, said John Hey wood 
 calmly. She flatters you much, your tender daughter. 
 
 Now then, John, you have heard my orders, and will you obey them 1 
 In four days will this festival begin; 1 give you two days more. In 
 six days, then, you have to write a new interlude. And if he fails to 
 do it; my ladies, you shall whip him until you bring the blood ; and 
 that without any condition. 
 
 Just then was heard without, a flourish of trumpets and the clatter of 
 horse-hoofs. * 
 
 The Queen has returned, said Joha Ileywood with a countenance 
 beaming with joy, as he fixed his smiling gaze full of mischievous satis- 
 faction on Lady Jane. Nothing further now remains for you to do, but 
 dutifully to meet your mistress upon the great staircase, for as you 
 }*o wisely said before, the Queen still lives. 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, John Heywood ran out aud rushed 
 through the ante-room and down the steps to meet the Queen. Lady 
 Jane watched him with a dark, angry look ; and as she turned slowly 
 to the door to go and meet ihe Queen, she muttered low between her 
 closely pressed lips : The fool must die, for he is tho Queen's friend. 
 
J 00 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE CONFIDANT. 
 
 The Queen was just ascending the steps of the great public stair- 
 case, and she greeted John Hey wood with a friendly smile. 
 
 My Lady, said he aloud, 1 have a few words in private to say to you 
 in the name of his Majesty. 
 
 Words in private ! repeated Catharine, as she stopped upon the ter- 
 race of the palace. Well then, fall back, my lords and ladies, we wish 
 to receive his Majesty's mysterious message. 
 
 The royal train silently and respectfully withdrew into the large ante- 
 room of the palace, while the Queen remained alone with John Hey- 
 wood on the terrace. 
 
 Now speak, John. 
 
 Queen, heed well my words, and grave them deep on your memory ! 
 A conspiracy is forged against you, and in a few days, at the great fes- 
 tival, it will be ripe for execution. Guard well, therefore, every word 
 you utter, aye, even your very thoughts. Beware of every dangerous 
 step, for you may be certain that a listener stands behind you ! And 
 if you need a confidant, confide in no one but me ! I tell you a great 
 danger lies before you, and only by prudence and presence of mind will 
 you be able to avoid it. 
 
 This time the Queen did not laugh at her friend's warning voice. She 
 was serious ; she even trembled. 
 
 She had lost her proud sense of security and her serene confidence — 
 she was no longer guiltless — she had a dangerous secret to keep, conse- 
 quently she felt a dread of discovery ; and she trembled not merely for 
 herself, but also for him whom she loved. 
 
 And V what consists this plot ? asked she with agitation. 
 
 .1 do not yet understand it ; I only know that it exists. But I will search 
 it out, and if your enemies lurk about you with watchful eyes, well 
 then, I will have spying eyes to observe them. 
 
 And is it 1 alone that they threaten % 
 
 No, Queen, your friend also. 
 
 Catharine trembled. What friend, John 1 ? 
 
 Archbishop Cranmer. 
 
 Ah, the Archbishop! replied she, drawing a deep breath. And is he 
 all, John 1 ? Does their enmity pursue only me and him 1 ? 
 
 Only you two ! said John Heywood sadly, for he had fully under- 
 stood the Queen's sigh of relief, and he knew that she had trembled for 
 another. But remember, Queen, that Cranmer's destruction would be 
 
toi 
 
 t 
 likewise your own, and that as you protect the Archbishop, he also will 
 protect you witli the King — you, Queen, and your friends. 
 
 Catharine gave a slight Start; and the crimson on her cheek grew 
 deeper. 
 
 I shall always be mindful of that, aud ever be a true and real friend 
 to him and to you ; for you two are my only friends. Is it not so? 
 
 No, your Majesty, I spoke to you of yet a third, of Thomas Seymour. 
 
 Oh, he ! cried she with a sweet smile. Then she said suddenly, and 
 in a low quick voice : you say that I must trust no one here but you. Now 
 theu, I will give you a proof of my confidence. Await me in the green 
 summer house at twelve o'clock to-night. You must be my attendant 
 on a daugerous excursion. Have you courage, John? 
 
 Courage to lay down my life for you, Queen! 
 
 Come then, but bring your weapon with you. 
 
 At your command ! aud is that your only order for to day ? 
 
 That is all, John ! only, added she, with hesitation and a slight blush, 
 only, if you perchance meet Earl Sudley, you may say to him that I 
 charged you to greet him in my name. 
 
 Oh ! sighed John Heywood sadly. 
 
 He has today saved my life, John, said she, as if excusing herself. It 
 becomes me well, then, to be grateful to him. 
 
 And giving him a friendly nod, the stepped 'into the porch of the 
 castle. 
 
 Now let any body say again, that chance is not the most mischievous 
 and spiteful of all devils! muttered John Heywood. This devil, chance, 
 throws in the Queen's way the very person she ought most to avoid ; 
 and she must b<», as in duty bound, very grateful to a lover. Oh, oh, so 
 he has saved her life. But who knows whether he may not be one day 
 the cause of her losing it ! 
 
 He dropped his head gloomily upon his breast, when suddenly he 
 heard behind him a low voice calling his name ; and, as he turned, he 
 saw the youi.g Princess Elizabeth hasteniug towards him with hurried 
 step. 
 
 She was at that moment very beautiful. Her eyes gleamed with the 
 fire of passion ; her cheeks glowed; and about her crimson lips there 
 played a gentle, happy smile. She wore, according to the fashion of the 
 time, a close-fitting high necked dress, which showed off to perfection 
 the delicate lines of her slender and youthful form, while the wide stand- 
 ing collar concealed the somewhat too great length of her neck, and 
 made her ruddy, as yet almost childish, face stand out as it were from a 
 pedestal. On either side of her high, thoughtful brow, fell, in luxurious 
 profusion, light flaxen curls ; her head was covered with a black velvet 
 cap, from which a white feather drooped to her shoulders. 
 
 She was altogether a charming and lovely apparition, full of noble- 
 ness and grace, full of fire and energy ; and yet in spite of her youthful- 
 ness, not wanting in a certain grandeur and dignity. .Elizabeth, though 
 still almost a child, and frequently bowed and humbled by misfortune, 
 
102 
 
 yefc ever remained her father's own daughter. And though Henry had 
 declared her a bastard and excluded her from the succession to the throne, 
 yet she bore the stamp of her royal blood in her high, haughly brow, in 
 her keen, flashing eye. 
 
 As she now stood before John Hey wood, she was not, however, the 
 haughty, imperious Princess, but merely the shy, blushing maiden, who 
 feared to entrust her fir^t girlish secret to another's ear, and ventured 
 only with trembling hand to draw aside the veil which concealed her 
 heart. 
 
 John Hey wood, said she, you have often told me that you loved me ; 
 and I know that my poor unfortunate mother trusted you, and summon- 
 ed you as a witness of her innocence. You could not at that time save 
 the mother, but will you now serve Anne Boleyn's daughter, and be her 
 faithful friend? 
 
 1 will, said Hey wood solemnly, and as. true as there is a God above 
 us, you shall never find me a traitor. 
 
 1 believe you, John ; I know that I may trust )Ou. Listen then, I will 
 now tell you my secret — a secret which no one but God knows, and the 
 betrayal of which might bring me to the scaffold. Will you then swear 
 to me, that you will never, under any pretext, and from any motive what- 
 soever, betray to any body, so much as a single word of what I am now 
 about to tell you? Will you swear to me, never to entrust this secret 
 to any one, even on your death-bed, and not to betray it, even in the 
 confessional 1 ? 
 
 Now, as regards that, Princess, said John with a laugh, you are per- 
 fectly safe. I never go to confession, for confession is a highly spiced dish 
 of popery on which 1 long since spoilt my stomach ; and as concerns my 
 death bed, one cannot, under the blessed and pious reign of Henry the 
 Eighth, altogether know whether he will be really a participant of any 
 thing of the kind, or whether he may not make a far more speedy and 
 convenient trip into eternity by the aid of the hangman. 
 
 Oh, be serious, John — do, I pray you ! Let the fool's mask, under 
 which you hide your sober and honest face, not hide it from me also. 
 Be serious, John, and swear to me that you will keep my secret. 
 
 Well then, I swear, Princess ; I swear by your mother's spirit to be- 
 tray not a word of what you are going to tell me. 
 
 I thank you, John. Now lean this way nearer to me, lest the breeze 
 may catch a single word of mine and bear it farther. John, — I love ! 
 
 She saw the half surprised, half-incredulous smile which played around 
 John Heywood's lips. Oh, continued she passionately, you believe me 
 not. You consider my fourteen years, and you think the child knows 
 nothing yet of a maiden's feelings. But remember, John, that those 
 girls who live under a warm sun are early ripened by his glowing rays, 
 and are already wives and mothers when they should still be dreaming 
 children. Well now, I too am the daughter of a torrid zone, only mine 
 has not been the sun of prosperity, and it has been sorrow and misfor- 
 tune which have matured my heart. Believe me, John, I love ! A 
 
1UJ 
 
 glowing, consuming fire rages within me; it is at once my delight and 
 my misery, my happiness and my future. 
 
 The King has robbed me of a brilliant and glorious future ; let them, 
 not thtm begrudge me a happy one at least. Since I am never to be a 
 queen, I will at least be a happy and beloved wife. If 1 am condemned 
 ti) live in obscurity and lowliness, at the very least I must not, be prohi- 
 bited from adorning this obscure and inglorious existence with flowers, 
 which thrive not at the. foot of the throne ; and to illurfiinate if, with stars 
 more sparkling than the refulgence of the most radiant kingly crown. 
 
 Oh. you are mistaken about your own self! said John Heywood sor 
 rowfully. You chose the one only because the other is dented. You 
 would love only because you cannot rule, and since your heart, which 
 thirsts for fame and honor, can find no other satisfaction, you would 
 quench its thirst with some other draught, and would administer love as 
 an opiate to lull to rest its burning pains. Believe me, Princess, you 
 do not yet know yourself! You were not born to be merely a loving 
 wife ; and your brow is much to high and haughty to wear only a crown 
 of myrtle! Therefore, consider well what you do, Princess! Be not 
 carried away by your father's passionate blood, which boils in your veins 
 also Think well before you act. Your foot is yet on one of the steps 
 to the throne. Draw it not back voluntarily ! Maintain your position ; 
 then, the next step brings you again one stair higher up. Do not vol- 
 untarily renounce your just claim, but abide in patience the coming of 
 the da\ of retribution and justice. Only do not yourself make it impos- 
 sible, tliat there may then be a full and glorious reparation. Princess 
 Elizabeth may yet one day be Queen, provided she has not exchanged 
 her name for one less glorious and noble. 
 
 John Heywood, said she .with a bewitching smile, I have told you, I 
 < love him. 
 
 Well, love him as much as you please, but do it in silence, and tell 
 him not of it; but teach your love resignation. 
 
 John, he knows it already ! 
 
 Ah, poor Princess, you are still but a child, that sticks its hands in 
 the fire with smiling bravery and scorches them, because it knows not 
 that fire burns. 
 
 Let it burn, John, burn ! and let the flames curl over my head. Bet- 
 ter be consumed in fire than perish slowly and horribly with a deadly 
 chill ! I love him, I tell you, and he already kuows it. 
 
 Well then love him, but at least do not marry him ! cried John Hey- 
 wood surlily. 
 
 Marry ! cried she with astonishment. Marry ! 1 had never thought of it. 
 
 She dropped her head upon her breast; and stood there silent and 
 thoughtful. 
 
 I am much afraid I made a blunder then ! muttered John Heywood. 
 I have suggested a new thought to her. Ah, ah, King Henry has done 
 well in appointing me his fool. Just when we deem ourselves the wise- 
 eat, we are the greatest fools ! 
 
104 
 
 John, said Elizabeth, as she raised her head again, and smiled to him 
 in a glow of excitement, John, you are entirely right; if we love, we 
 must marry. 
 
 But ( said just the contrary, Princess! » 
 
 All right! said she resolutely. All this belongs to the future;. we 
 will busy ourselves with the present. I have promised my lover an in- 
 terview. 
 
 An interview ! cried John TIeywood in amazement. You will not be 
 so fool hardy as to keep your promise? 
 
 John Hey wood, said she, with an air of approaching solemnity, King 
 Henry's daughter will never make a promise without fulfilling it. For 
 better or for worse 1 will always keep my plighted word, even if the 
 greatest misery and ruin were the result. 
 
 John Hey wood ventured t© offer no further opposition. There was 
 at this moment something peculiarly lofty, proud and truly royal in her 
 air, which impressed him with awe, and before which he bowed. 
 
 I have granted him an interview because he wished it, said Elizabeth, 
 and, John, I will confess it to you, my own heart longed for it. Seek 
 not, then, to shake ray resolution ; it is as firm as a rock. But if you 
 are not willing to stand by me, say so ; and I will then look about 
 me for another friend, who loves me enough to impose silence on his 
 thoughts. 
 
 But who, perhaps, will go and betray you. No, no, it has been once 
 resolved upon and unalterably; so no one but I must be your confidant. 
 Tell me, then, what I am to do, and I will obey you. 
 
 You know, John, that my apartments are situated in yonder wing, 
 overlooking the garden. Well, in my dressing-room, behind one of the 
 large wall pictures, I have discovered a door^ leading into a lonely, dark 
 corridor. From this corridor there is a passage up into yonder tower. 
 It is dnoccupied and deserted. Nobody ever thinks of entering that part 
 of the castle; and the quiet of the grave reigns throughout those apart- 
 ments, which nevertheless are furnished with a magnificence truly regal. 
 There will I receive him ! 
 
 But how shall he make his way thither ? 
 
 Oh, do not be concerned, I have thought over that many days siace ; 
 and while I was refusing my lover the interview for which he again and 
 again implored me. I was quietly preparing everything so as to be able 
 one day to grant it to him. To-day this object is attained, and to-day 
 have I fulfilled his wish, voluntarily and unasked ; for I saw he had no 
 more courage to ask again. Listen, then. From the tower, a spiral 
 staircase leads down to a small door, through which you gain entrance 
 into the garden. 1 have a key to this door. Here it is. Once in pos- 
 session of this key, he has nothing further to do but remain behind in 
 the park this evening, instead of leaving the castle ; and by means of this, 
 he will come to me ; for I will wait for him in the. tower — in the 
 large room directly opposite the staircase landing. Here, take the key j 
 give it to him, and repeat to him all that I have said. 
 
105 
 
 Well, Princess! there remains for you now only to appoint the hour 
 at which you will receive him there. 
 
 The hour, said she, as she turned away her blushing face. You under- 
 stand, John, that it is not feasible to receive him there by day, because 
 there is by day not a single moment in which I am not watched. 
 
 You will then receive him by night! said John Hey wood sadly. At 
 what hour? 
 
 At midnight ! And now you know all ; and I beg you, John, hasten 
 and carry him my message ; for, look, the sun is setting, and it will soon 
 be night. 
 
 She nodded to him with a smile and turned to go. 
 
 Princess, you have forgotten the most important point. You have 
 not yet told me his name. 
 
 My God ! and you do not guess it? John II ey wood, who has such 
 sharp eyes, sees not that there is at this Court but a single one who do- 
 serves to be loved by a daughter of th§ King ! 
 
 And the name of this single one is? 
 
 Thomas Seymour, Earl of Sudley ! whispered Elizabeth as she turned 
 away quickly and entered the castle. 
 
 Oh, Thomas Seymour ! said John Heywood, utterly astounded. As 
 if paralyzed with horror, he stood there motionless, staring up at the 
 sky and repeating over and over, Thomas Seymour! Th'omas Seymour! 
 So he is a sorcerer who administers a love- potion to all the women, and 
 befools them with his handsome, saucy face.' Thomas Seymour ! The 
 Queen loves him ; the Princess loves him ; and then there is this Duch- 
 ess of Richmond, who will by all means be his wife! This much how- 
 ever is certain, he is a traitor who deceives both, because to both he has 
 made the same confession of love. And there again Is that imp, chance, 
 which compels me to be the confidant of both these women. But I 
 will be well on my guard against executing both my commissions to 
 this sorcerer. Let him at any rate become the husband of the Princess ; 
 perhaps this would be the surest means of freeing the Queen from her 
 unfortunate love. 
 
 He was silent and still gazed up thoughtfully at the sky. Yes, s'aid 
 he then, quite cheerfully, thus shall it be. I will combut the one love 
 with the other. For the Queen to love jiim, is dangerous. I will there- 
 fore so conduct matters, that she must hate him. I will remain her con- 
 fidant. I will receive her letters and her commissions, but I will burn 
 her letters and not execute her commissions. I am not at liberty to 
 tell her that the faithless Thomas Seymour is false to her, for I have 
 solemnly pledged my word to the Princess never to breathe her secret 
 to any one ; and I will and must keep my word. Smile and love then ; 
 dream on thy sweet dream of love, Queen ; I wake for thee ; I will 
 cause the dark cloud resting on thee to pass by. It may, perhaps, touch 
 thine heart; but thy noble and beautiful head — that at least it shall not 
 be allowed to crush ; that 
 
 Now then, what are you staring up at the sky for, as if you read 
 
J Ob- 
 there a new epigram with which to make the King laugh, and the par- 
 sons rave? asked a voice near him; and a hand was laid heavily on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 John Hey wood did not look round at all \ he remained in the same 
 attitude, gazing up steadily at the sky. He had very readily recog- 
 nized the voice of him who had addressed him ; he knew very well that 
 he who stood near him was no other than the bold sorcerer, whom he 
 was just then cursing at the bottom of his heart ; no other than Thomas 
 Seymour, Earl of Sudley. 
 
 Say, John, is it really an epigram? asked Thomas Seymour again. 
 An epigram on the hypocritical, lustful and sanctimonious priestly rab- 
 ble, that with blasphemous hypocrisy fawn about the King, and are ever 
 watching how they can set a trap for one of us honorable and brave men ! 
 Is that what heaven is now revealing to you? 
 
 No, my Lord, I am only looking at a hawk which hovers about there 
 in the clouds. I saw him mount, Earl, and only think of the wonder ; 
 he had in each talon a dove. Two doves for one hawk. Is not that too 
 much — wholly contrary to law and nature? 
 
 The Earl cast on him a penetrating and distrustful look. But John 
 Hey wood, remaining perfectly calm and unembarrassed, continued look 
 iug at the clouds. 
 
 H'ow stupid Such a brute is, and how much to his disadvantage will 
 his very greediness be. For since he holds a dove in each claw, he will 
 not be able to enjoy either of them ; because he has no claw at liberty 
 with which to tear them. Soon as he wishes to enjoy the one, the other 
 will escape ; when he grabs after that, the other flies away ; and so at 
 last he will ha've nothing at all, because he was too rapacious and want- 
 ed more than he could use. 
 
 And you are looking after this hawk in the skies? But you are per- 
 haps mistaken, and he whom you seek is not above thereat all, but here 
 below, and perchance quite close to you? asked Thomas Seymour sig- 
 nificantly. 
 
 But John Heywood would not understand him. 
 
 Nay, said he, he still flies, but it will nod last long. Eor verily I saw 
 ' the owner of the dovecot from which the hawk has stolen the two doves. 
 He had a weapon ; and he, be y^e sure of it — he will kill this hawk, be 
 cause he has robbed him of his pet doves. , 
 
 Enough, enough ! cried the Earl impatiently. You would give me a 
 lesson, but you must know I take no counsel from a fool, even were he 
 the wisest. 
 
 In that you are right, my Lord, for only fools are so foolish as to 
 hearken to the voice of wisdom. Besides each man forges his own for- 
 tune. And now, wise sir, I will give you a key, which you yourself 
 have forged, and behind which lies your fortune. There, take this key ; 
 and if you at midnight slip through the garden to the tower over yon- 
 der, this key will open to you the door of the same, and you can then 
 without hesitation mount the spiral staircase and open the door which is 
 
hi: 
 
 opposite the staircase. Behind that you will finch the fortune which yoa 
 have forged for yourself, sir blacksmith, and which will bid you welcome 
 with warm lips and soft arms. And so commending you to God, I must 
 hasten home to th!*nk over the comedy which the King has commanded 
 me to write. 
 
 But you do not so much as tell me from whom this message comes l 
 said Earl Sudley, retaining him. You invite me to a meeting and yive 
 me a key, and 1 know not who will await me there in that tower. 
 
 Oh, you do not know ? There is then more than one who might await 
 you there? Well then, it is the youngest and smallest of the two doves 
 who sends you the key. 
 
 Princess Elizabeth J 
 
 You have named her, not I! said John Hey wood as he disengaged 
 himself from the Earl's grasp and hurried across the Court yard to be 
 take himself to his lodgings. 
 
 Thomas Seymour watched him with a scowl, and then slowly directed 
 his eyes to the key that Heywood had given him. 
 
 The Princess then awaits me, whispered he softly. Ah, who can read 
 it in the stars; who can know whither the cro n will roll when it tum- 
 bles from King Henry's head. I love Catherine, but I love ambition 
 still more ; and if it is demanded, to ambition must I sacrifice my heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GAMMER GURTOn's NEEDLE. 
 
 Slowly and lost in gloomy thought, John Heywood walked' towards 
 his lodgings. These lodgings were situated in the second or inner court 
 of the vast palace of Whitehall ; in that wing of the castle which con- 
 tained the apartments of all the higher officers of the royal household, 
 and so those of the Court-jesters also ; for the King's fool was at that 
 period a very important and respectable personage, who occupied a rank 
 equal to that of a gentleman of the royal bed-chamber. 
 
 John Heywood had just crossed this second court-yard, when all at 
 once loud wrangling voices, and the clear peculiar ring of a box. on the 
 ear, startled him out of his meditations. 
 
 He stopped and listened. 
 
 His face, before 60 serious, had now re assumed its usual merry and 
 shrewd expression; his large eyes again glittered with humor and mis- 
 chief. 
 
 There again verily is my sweet, charming housekeeper, Gammer Gur- 
 
I0£ 
 
 ton, said John Hey wood laughing; and she no doubt is quarreling again 
 with, my excellent servant, that poor, long-legged, blear-eyed Hodge. 
 Ah ! ha ! Yesterday I surprised her as she applied a kiss to him, at 
 which he made as doleful a face as if a bee had stung him. To-day I 
 hear how she is boxing his ears. He is perhaps now laughing at it, and 
 thinks it is a rose-leaf which cools his cheek. That Hodge is such a 
 queer bird! But we will at once see' what there is today, and what 
 farce is being performed now. 
 
 He crept softly up the stairs, and opening the door of his room, closed 
 it again behind him quickly and gently. 
 
 Gammer Gurton, who was in the room adjoining, had heard nothing, 
 seen nothing ; and had the heavens come tumbling down at that moment, 
 she would have scarcely noticed it ; fur she had eyes and sense only for 
 this long, lank lackey who stood before her shaking with fear, and star- 
 ing at her out of his great bluish-white eyes. Her whole soul lay in her 
 tongue ; and her tongue ran as fast as a mill-wheel and with the force of 
 thunder. 
 
 How then could Gammer Gurton well have time and ears to hear her 
 master, who had softly entered his chamber and softly crept to the door, 
 only half closed, which separated his room from that of the house- 
 keeper. 
 
 How ! screamed Gammer Gurton, you silly ragamuffin, you wish to 
 make me believe that it was the cat that ran away with my sewing 
 needle, as if my sewing needle were a mouse and smelt of bacon, you 
 stupid blear-eyed fool ! 
 
 Ah, you call me a fool, cried Hodge with a laugh, which caused 
 his mouth to describe a graceful line across his face from ear to ear ; 
 you call me a fool, and that is a great honor for me, for then I am a ser- 
 vant worthy of my master. And as to being blear-eyed, that must be 
 caused by the simple fact that 1 have nothing all day long before my 
 eyes but you, Gammer Gurton — you with your face like a full moon — 
 you sailing through the room like a frigate, and with your grappling- 
 irons, your hands, smashing to pieces everything except your own look- 
 ing-glass. 
 
 You shall pay me for that, you double-faced, thread-bare lout! scream- 
 ed Gammer Gurton, as she rushed on Hodge with clenched fist. 
 
 But John Hey wood's cunning servant had anticipated this ; he had 
 already slipped under the large table which stood in the middle of the 
 room. As the house-keeper now made a plunge to drag him out of his 
 extemporary fortress, he gave her such a hearty pinch on the leg, that 
 she sprang back with a scream, and sank, wholly overcome by the pain, 
 into the huge, leather-covered elbow-chair which was near her workstand 
 at the window. 
 
 You are a monster, Hodge, groaned she, exhausted. A heartless, hor- 
 rible monster. You have stolen my sewing needle — you only. For you 
 knew very well that it was my last one, and that if I have not that^I 
 must go at once to the shop-keeper to buy some needles. And that is 
 
100 
 
 just what you want, you weather cock, you. You only want me to go 
 out, that you may have an opportunity to play with Tib. 
 
 Tib? Who is Tib? asked Hodge as he stretched out his long neck 
 from under the table, and stared at Gammer Gurton with well assumed 
 astonishment. 
 
 Now this otter wants me yet to tell him who Tib is ! screamed the 
 exasperated Dame. Well then, I will tell you. Tib is the cook of the 
 Major Domo over there — a black-eyed, false, coquettish little devil, 
 who is bad and mean enough to troll away the lover of an honest and 
 virtuous woman, as I am ; a lover who is such a pitiful little thing that 
 one would think no one but myself could find him out and see him ; 
 nor could I have done it had 1 not now for forty years trained my eyes 
 to the search, and for forty years looked around for the man who was at 
 lengih to marry me, and make me a respectable mistress. Since my 
 eyes then were at last .steadily fixed on this phantom of man, and I 
 found nothing there, I finally discovered you, you cobweb of a man ! 
 
 What! you call me a cobweb? screamed Hodge as he crept from 
 under the table and drawing himself up to his full height, placed him- 
 self threateningly in front of Gammer Gurton's elbow chair. You call 
 me a cobweb ? Now f'swear to you that you shall henceforth never 
 more be the spider that dwells in that web. For you are a garden-spi- 
 der, an abominable, dumpy, old garden-spider, for whom a web, such as 
 Hodge is, is much too fine and much too elegant. Be quiet, therefore, 
 old spider, and spin your net elsewhere ! You shall not live in my net, 
 but Tib — for, yes, 1 do know Tib. She is a lovely, charming child 
 of fourteen, as quick and nimble as a kid, with lips red as the coral which 
 you wear on your fat pudding of a nec*k, with eyes which shine yet 
 brighter than your nose, and with a figure so slender and graceful that she 
 might have been- carved out of one of your fingers. Yes, yes, I know 
 Tib. She is an affectionate, good child, who would never be so hard 
 hearted as to abuse the man she loves, and could not be so mean and 
 pitiful, even in thought, as to wish to marry the man she did not love, 
 just because he is a man. Yes, I know Tib, and. now 1 will go straight 
 to her and ask her if she will marry a good, honest lad, who, to be sure, 
 is somewhat lean, but who doubtless will become fatter if he has any 
 other fare than the meagre, abominable stuff on which Gammer Gurton 
 feeds him ; a lad who, to be sure, is blear-eyed, but will soon get over 
 that disease when he no more sees Gammer Gurton, who acts on his 
 eyes like a stinking onion, and makes them always red aud running 
 water. Good-bye, old onion, I am going to Tib. 
 
 But, Gammer Gurton whirled up out of her elbow-chair like a top, and 
 was upon Hodge, whom she held by the coat tail, and brought him to a 
 stand. 
 
 You dare go to Tib again ! You dare pass that door and you shall 
 ace that the gentle, peaceable and patient Gammer Gurton is changed 
 iuto a lioness, when any one tries to tear from her that most sacred and 
 
J 10 
 
 dearest of treasures, her husband. For you are my husband, inasmuch 
 as [ have your word that you will marry me. 
 
 But I have not told you when and where I will do it, Gammer Gur- 
 ton ; and so you can wait to. all eternity, for only in heaven will I be 
 your husband. 
 
 That is an abominable, malicious lie ! screamed Gammer Gurton. A 
 good for nothing lie, say I ! For did you not long ago snivel and beg 
 till I was forced to promise you to make a will, and in it declare Hodge, 
 my beloved husband, sole heir of all my goods and chattels, and be- 
 queath to him everything I have scraped together in my virtuous and 
 industrious life? 
 
 But you did not make it, — the will. You broke your word j and, 
 therefore, I will do the same. 
 
 Yes, I have made it, you greyhound. 1 have made it ; and this very- 
 day I was going with you to the justice of the peace and have it signed, 
 and then to-morrow we would have got married. 
 
 You have made the will, you round world of love? said Hodge ten- 
 derly, as with his long, withered, spindling arms he tried to clasp the 
 gigantic waist of his beloved. You have made the will and declared 
 me your heir? Come, then, Gammer Gurtfjn, .conie, let us go to the 
 justice of the peace! 
 
 But do you not see, then, said Gammer Gurton, with a tender cat-like 
 purr, do you not see, then, that you rumple my frill when you hug me so ? 
 Let me go, then, and help me find my needle quickly, for without the 
 needle we cannot go to the justice of the peace. 
 
 What, without the needle not go to the justice of the peace? 
 
 No ; for only see this hole wnich Gib, the cat, tore in my prettiest 
 
 cap awhile ago, as I took the cap out of the box and laid it on the table. 
 
 " Indeed I cannot go to the justice of the peace with such a hole in my cap ! 
 
 Search then, Hodge, search, so that I can mend my cap, and go with 
 
 you to the justice of the peace ! 
 
 Lord God, where in the world can it be, the unlucky needle ! I must 
 have it, I must find it, so that Gammer Gurton may take her will to the 
 justice of the peace! 
 
 And in frantic desperation, Hodge searched all about on the floor for 
 the lost needle, and Gammer Gurton stuck her large spectacles on her 
 flaming red nose and peered about on the table. So eager was she in 
 the search, that she even let her tongue rest a little, and deep silence 
 reigned in the room. 
 
 Suddenly this silence was broken by a voice, which seemed to come 
 from the court yard. It was a soft, sweet voice that cried : Hodge, 
 dear Hodge, are you there? Come to me in the cotirt, only for a few 
 minutes ! I want to have a bit of a laugh with you ! 
 
 It was as though an electric shock had passed through the room with 
 that voice, and struck at the 9ame time both Gammer Gurton and 
 Hodge. 
 
Ill 
 
 Both startled, and discontinuing the search, stood there wholly im- 
 movable, as if petrified. 
 
 Hodge especially, poor Hodge, was aS if struck l\\ lightning. His great 
 bluish-w.hite eyes appeared to be coming out ot their sockets; his 
 lung arms hung down, flapping and dangling about like a flail ; his knees, 
 half bent, seemed already to be giving way in expectation of the ap- 
 proaching storm. ' 
 
 This storm did not in fact make him wait long. 
 
 That is Tib! screamed Gammer Gurton, springing like a lioness 
 upon Hodge and seizing him by the shoulders with both her hands. 
 That is Tib, you thtead-like, pitiful greyhound ! Well, was J not right, 
 now, when I called you a faithless, good for nothing scamp, that spares 
 not innocence, and breaks the hearts of the. women a< he. would a crack- 
 er, which he swallows down at his pleasure 1 Was I not right, in say- 
 ing that you were only watching for me to go out in order to go aud 
 sport with Tib? 
 
 Hodge, my dear, darling Hodge, cried the voice beneath there, and 
 this time louder and more tender than before. Hodge, oh come, do 
 now, come to me in the court, as you promised me ; come and get the 
 kiss for which you begged me this morning ! 
 
 I will be a damned otter, if I begged her for it, and if I understand a 
 single word of what she says, said Hodge, wholly dumbfounded and 
 quaking all over. 
 
 Ah, you understand not a word of what she says ? screamed Gam- 
 mer Gurton. Well, but I understand it. I understand that everything 
 between us is past and done with, and that I have nothing more to do 
 with you, you Moloch you. I understand that I shall not go and make 
 my will, to become your wife and fret myself to death over this skele- 
 ton of a husband, that J may leave you to chuckle as my heir. No, 
 no, it is past. I am not going to the justice of the peace, and I will 
 tear up my will ! 
 
 Oh, she is going to tear up her wMll ! howled Hodge ; and then I 
 have tormented myself in vain ; in vain have endured the horrible luck 
 of being loved by this old owl ! Oh, "oh, she will nor, make her will, 
 and Hodge will remain the same miserable dog he always wm. 
 
 Gammer Gurton laughed scornfully. Ah, you are aware at last what 
 a pitiful wretch you are, and how much a noble and handsome person, 
 as I am, lowered herself when she made up her mind to pick up such a 
 weed and make him her husband. 
 
 Yes, )es, I know it! whined Hodge; and [ pray you pick me up and 
 take me, and above all things make your will ! 
 
 No. I will iipt take you, and I shall not make my will ! It is all over 
 with, I tell you ; and now you can go as soon as you please to Tib, who 
 has called you so lovin»ly. But first give me back my sewing-needle, 
 you magpie, you! • Give me here my sewing-needle, which you have 
 stolen. It is of no use. to you now, for it is not necessary tor me t<» 
 go out in order lhat*you may go and see Tib. Wc have, nothing more 
 
119 
 
 to do with each other, and you can go where you wish. My sewing- 
 needle, say 1 — my needle, or I will hang you up as a scarecrow in my 
 pea patch, to frighten the sparrow's out of it. My sewing-needle, or 
 
 She shook her clenched fist threateningly at Hodge, fully convinced 
 that now, as always before, Hodge would retreat before this menacing 
 weapon of his jealous and irritable ladylove, and seek safety under the 
 bed or the table. 
 
 This time, however, she Was mistaken. Hodge, who saw thaj all was 
 lost, felt that his patience was at length exhausted ; and his timidity 
 was now changed to the madness of despair. The lamb was trans- 
 formed into # a tiger, and with a tiger's rage he pounced upon Gammer 
 Gurton, and throwing aside her fist, he dealt her a good sound blow on 
 the cheek. 
 
 The signal was given, and the battle begun. It was waged by both 
 sides with equal animosity and equal vigor; only Hodge's bony hand 
 made by far the most telling blows on Gammer Gurton's mass of flesh, 
 and was always certain, wherever he struck, to hit some spot of this 
 huge mass ; while Gammer Gurton's soft hand seldom touched that thin, 
 thread like figure, which dexterously parried every blow. 
 
 Stop, you fools ! suddenly shouted a stentorian voice. See you not, 
 you goblins, that your lord and master is here? Peace, peace then, 
 you devils, and do not be hammering away at one another, but love 
 each other. 
 
 It is the master ! exclaimed Gammer Gurton, lowering her fist in the 
 utmost contrition. 
 
 Do not turn me away, sir, moaned Hodge ; do not dismiss me from 
 your service^ because at last I have for once given the old hag a good 
 bruising. She has deserved it a long time, and an angel himself must 
 at last lose patience with her. 
 
 I turn you out of my service ? exclaimed John Hey wood as he wiped 
 his eyes, wet with laughing. No, Hodge, you are a real jewel, a mine 
 of fun and merriment ; and you two have, without knowing it, fur- 
 nished me with the choicest materials for a piece which, by the King's 
 order, I have to write within six days. I owe you, then, many thanks, 
 and will show my gratitude forthwith. Listen well to me, my amo- 
 rous and tender Ppair of turtle doves, and mark what I have to say to 
 you. One cannot always tell the wolf by his hide, for he sometimes 
 puts on a sheep's skin ; and so, too, a man cannot always be recognized 
 by his voice, for he sometimes borrows that of his neighbor. Thus, 
 for example, I know a certain John Heywood, who can mimic exactly 
 the voice of a certain little miss named Tib, and knows -how to warble 
 as sweetly as she herself: "Hodge, my dear Hodge!" • 
 
 And he repeated to them exactly, and with the same tone and expres- 
 sion, the words that the voice had previously cried. 
 
 Ah, it was you, sir 1 ? cried Hodge with a broad grin— that Tib in the 
 court there, that Tib about whom we have been piimmeling each other"? 
 
 I was that Tib, Hodge — I who was present during the whole of your 
 
113 
 
 quarrel, and found it hugely comical to send Tib's voice thundering into 
 the midst of your lovers' quarrel, like a cannon stroke ! Ah, ha. Hodge, 
 that was a fine bomb shell, was it not? And as 1 said "Hodge, my 
 dear Hodge," you tumbled about like a kernel of corn which a dung- 
 beetle blows with his breath. No, no, my worthy and virtuous Gam- 
 mer Gurton, it was not Tib who called the handsome Hodge, and more 
 than that, I saw Tib, as your contest began, go out at the court-yard 
 gate. 
 
 It was not Tib, exclaimed Gammer Gurton, much moved, and happy 
 as love could make her. It was not Tib, and she was not in the court 
 at all, and Hodge could not then go down to her, while I went to th« 
 shop-keeper's to buy needles. Oh, Hodge, Hodge, will you forgive me 
 for this ; will you forget the hard words which I spoke in the fury of my 
 anguish, and can you love me again 1 
 
 I will try, said Hodge gravely; and, without doubt, I shall succeed, 
 provided you go to-day forthwith to the justice, and make your will. 
 
 I will make my will, and tomorrow we will go to the priest; shall it 
 not be so, my angel 1 
 
 - Yes, we go to the priest to morrow ! growled Hodge, as with a fright- 
 ful grimace he scratched himself behind the ears. 
 
 And now come, my ang*el, and give me a kiss of reconciliation ! 
 
 She spread her arms out, and when Hodge did not come to her, but 
 remained immovable and steadfast in his position, she went to. Hodge 
 and pressed him tenderly to her heart. 
 
 Suddenly she uttered a shriek, and let go of Hodge. She had felt a 
 terrible pain in her breast. It seemed as though a small dagger had 
 pierced her bosom. 
 
 And there it was, the lost needle, and Hodge then was innocent and 
 pure as the early dawn. 
 
 He had not mischievously purloined the needle, so that Gammer 
 Gurttm would be compelled to leave her house in order- to fetch some 
 new needles from the shop keepers ; he had not intended to go to Tib, 
 for Tib was not in the court, but had gone out. 
 
 Oh, Hodge, Hodge, good Hodge, you innocent dove, will you for- 
 give me 1 
 
 Come to the justice of the peace, Gammer Gurton, and I forgive you ! 
 
 They sank tenderly into each others' arms, wholly forgetful of their 
 master, who still stood near them, and looked on, laughing and nodding 
 his head. 
 
 Now then, I have found the finest and most splendid materials for 
 my piece, said John Heywood, as he left the loving pair and betook 
 himself to his own room. Gammer Gurton has saved me, and King 
 Henry will not have the satisfaction of seeing me whipped by those 
 most virtuous and most lovely ladies of his Court. To work then, 
 straightway to work ! 
 
 He seated himself at his writing desk, and seized a pen and paper. 
 
 But how? asked h?, suddenly pausing. That is certainly a rich sub- 
 
U4 
 
 jfd for a composilion ; but I can never in the world get an interlude out 
 of it! What shall 1 do with it? Abandon this subject altogether, and 
 again jeer at the monks and ridicule the nuns? That is antiquated and 
 worn out ! 1 will write something new, something wholly new, and 
 something which will make the King so merry, that he will not sign a 
 death-warrant fur a whole day. Yes, yes, a merry play shall it be, and 
 then I will call it boldly and fearlessly a comedy ! 
 
 He seized his pen and wrote : Gammer Gurtori 's Needle, aright jnth.y, 
 pleasant and merry Comedy. 
 
 And thus originated the first English Comedy, by John Hey wood, 
 fool to King Henry the Eighth.* 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 % 
 
 LADY JANE. 
 
 All was quiet in the palace of Whitehall. Even the servants on 
 guard in the vestibule of the King's bedchamber had been a long time 
 slumbering, for the King had been snoring for several hours; and this 
 majestical sound was, to the dwellers in the palace, the joyful announce- 
 ment that for one fine night they were exempt from service, and might 
 be free men. 
 
 The Queen also had long since retired to her apartments, and dis- 
 missed her ladies at an unusually early hour. She felt, she said^pear- 
 ied by the chase, and much needed rest. No one; therefore, was to ven- 
 ture to disturb her, unless the King should order it. 
 
 But the King, as we have said, slept, and the Queen had no reason to 
 fear that her night's rest would be disturbed. 
 
 Deep silence reigned in the palace. The corridors were empty and 
 deserted, the apartments all silent. 
 
 Suddenly a figure tripped along softly and cautiously through the long 
 feebly lighted corridor. She was wrapped in a black mantle ; a veil 
 concealed her face. 
 
 Scarcely touching the floor with her feet, she floated away, and glided 
 down a little staircase. . Now she stops and listens. There is nothing 
 to hear ; all is noiseless and still. 
 
 Then on again. Now she wings her 6teps. For here she is sure of 
 
 * This Comedy was first printed in the year 1661, but it was represented at Christ College fully a 
 hundred years previously. W ho was the author of it, is not known with certainty ; but it is possible 
 that the writer of It was John Heywood, the epigrammatist and Court-jester. Seo Dramaturgte, od«r 
 Thoorie und Gcrohichte der dramatiachen Eunst, von Thoodore Muudt; vol. 1, page 809. Flogel's 
 GcBchichte der llofnarren ; page C99. 
 
1 1 :> 
 
 not being heard. It is the unoccupied wing of the castle of Whitehall. 
 Nobody watches her here. 
 
 On then, on, adown that corridor, descending those stairs. There she 
 stops before a door leading into the summer house. 6he puts her ear 
 to the door, and listens. Then she claps her hands thiee times. 
 
 The sound is re-echoed from the other side. 
 
 Oh, he is there, he is there! Forgotten now are her cares, foi gotten 
 her pains and tears, lie is there. She has him again. » 
 
 She throws open the door. It is dark indeed in the chamber, but 
 she sees him, for the eye of love pierces the night; and if she sees him 
 not, yet she feels his presence. 
 
 She rests on his heart ; he presses her closely to his breast. Leaning 
 on each other, they grope cautiously along through the dark, desolate 
 chamber to the divan at the upper end, and there, both locked in a hap- 
 py embrace, they sink upon the cushion. 
 
 At last I have you again ! and my arms again dasp this divine form, 
 and again my lips press this crimson mouth! Oh, my beloved, what 
 an eternity has this separation been! Six days! Six long nights of 
 agony ! Have you not felt how my soul cried out for you, and was 
 filled with trepidation ; how I stretched my amis out into the night, ami 
 let them fall again di.-cousolate and trembling with ancuish, becauso 
 they clasped nothing, — naught but the cold, vacant night breeze! Did 
 you not hear, my beloved, how I ciied to you with siiihs and tears; how 
 in glowing dithyrambics I poured forth to you my longing-, my love, 
 my rapture? But you, cruel you, remained ever cold, <>ver smiling. 
 Your eyes were ever flashing in all the pride and grandeur of a Juno. 
 The roses on your cheeks were not one whit the paler. No, no, .you 
 have not longed for me: your heart h;is not felt this painful, blissful an- 
 guish. You are first and above all things the proud, cold Queen, and 
 next, next the loving woman. 
 
 HOW unjust and hard you are, my Henry! whispered she softly. Ah, 
 I have indeed suffered ; and perhaps my pains have been more cruel and 
 bitter than yours, for I. I had to let them consume me within. You 
 could pour them forth, you could stretch out your arms after me, you 
 could utter lamentations and sighs. You were not, like me, condemned 
 to laugh and to jest, and to listen with apparently attentive ear to all 
 these often heard and constantly repeated phrases of praise and adora- 
 tion from those about me. You were at least free to suflW. 1 was not. 
 It is true. 1 smiled, but amidst the pains of death. It is true, my cheeks 
 did not blanch, but rouge was the veil with which I covered their pale- 
 ness; and then, Henry, in the midst of my pains and longings, I had, too, 
 a sweet consolation. Your letters, your poems, whioh fell like the dew 
 of heaven upon my sick soul, and restored it to health, for new torments 
 and new hopes. Oh how 1 love them — those poems, in whose noble and 
 enehantinp language your love and our sufferings are reechoed. How 
 my whole soul flew forth to meet them, when I received them, and how 
 pressed I my lips thousands and thousands of times ou the paper 
 
11(3 
 
 ■which seemed to me redolent with your breath and your sighs. How 
 I love that good, faithful Jane, the silent messenger of our love. When 
 1 behold her entering my chamber, with the unsullied paper in hand, 
 she is to me the dove with the olive leaf, that brings me peace and hap- 
 piness, and I rush to her, and press her to my bosom; and I give her all 
 the kisses I would give you, and feel how poor and powerless I am, be- 
 cause I cannot repay her all the happiness that she brings me. Ah, Hen- 
 ry, how many thanks do we owe to poor Jane ! 
 
 Why do you call her poor, whew she can be near you, always behold 
 you, always hear you 1 ? 
 
 1 call her poor, because she is unhappy. For she loves, Henry — she 
 loves to desperation, to madness, and she is not loved. She is pining 
 away with grief and pain, and wrings her hands in boundless woe. Have 
 you not noticed how pale she is, and how her eyes become daily more 
 dim? 
 
 No, I "have not seen it, for I see naught but you, arid Lady Jane is to 
 me a lifeless image, as are all other women. But what ! You tremble ; 
 and your whole frame writhes in my arms, as if in a convulsion ? And 
 what is that ? Are you weeping % 
 
 Oh, I weep, because I am so happy. I weep, because I was thinking 
 how fearful the suffering must be, to give the whole heart away, and re- 
 ceive nothing in return, naught but death ! Poor Jane ! 
 
 What is she to us 1 We, we love each other. Come, dear one, let 
 me kiss the tears from your eyes ; let me drink this nectar, that it may 
 inspire me, and transfigure me to a god ! Weep no more — no, weep not; 
 or, if you will do so, be it only in the excess of rapture, and because 
 word and heart are too poor to hold all this bliss ! 
 
 Yes, yes, let us shout for joy ; let us be lost in blessedness ! exclaim- 
 ed ihe passionately, as with frantic violence she threw herself on his 
 bosom. 
 
 Both were now silent, mutely resting on each other's heart. 
 
 Oh how sweet this silence; how entrancing this noiseless, sacred 
 night! How the trees without there murmur and rustle, as if they 
 were singing a heavenly lullaby to the lovers ; how inquisitively the 
 pale crescent moon peeps through the window, as though she were seek- 
 ing the twain whose blessed confidant she is. 
 
 But happiness is so swift winged, and time flies so fast, when love is 
 their companion. 
 
 Even now they must part again — now they must again say : Farewell. 
 
 Not yet, beloved, stay yet ! See, the night is still dark ; and hark, 
 the castle clock is just striking two. No, go not yet. 
 
 1 must, Henry, 1 must ; the hours are past in which I can be happy. 
 
 Oh, you cold, proud soul ! Does the head already long again for the 
 crown ; and can you wait no longer for the purple to again cover your 
 shoulders 1 Come, let me kiss your shoulder ; and think now, dear, 
 that my crimson lips are also a purple robe. 
 
 And a purple robe for which I would gladly give my crown, and my 
 
]17 
 
 life! cried she wilh the utmost enthusiasm, as she folded him in her 
 arms. 
 
 Do you love me then 1 ? Do you really love me? 
 
 Yes, I love you ! 
 
 Can you swear to me that you love no one except me ? 
 
 I can swear it, as true .is there is a God above us, who hears my oath. 
 
 Bless you for it, you dear, you only one, — oh, how shall 1 call you 
 
 you, whose name I may not utter ! Oh, do you know that it is cruel 
 never to name the name of the loved one? Withdraw that prohibition ■ 
 grudge mo not the painfully sweet pleasure of being able at least to call 
 you by your name. 
 
 No, said she with a shudder ; for know you not that the sleep-walkers 
 awake out of their dreams when they are culled by name ? 1 am a som- 
 nambulist, who with smiling courage moves along a dizzy height; call 
 me by namR, and I shall awake and, shuddering, plunge into the abyss 
 beneath. Ah, Henry, 1 hate my name, for it is pronounced by other 
 lips than yours. For you, I will not be named as other men call me. 
 Baptize me, my Henry ; give me another name — a name which is our 
 secret, and which no one knows besides us. 
 
 I name, you Geraldine, and as Geraldine I will praise and laud you 
 before all the world ; 1 will, in spite of all these spies and listeners, re- 
 peat again and again that 1 love you, and no one, not the King himself, 
 shall be able lu forbid me. 
 
 Hush, said she with a shudder, speak not of him. Oh, I conjure you, 
 my Henry, be cautious ; think, that you have sworn to me ever to think 
 of the danger that threatens us, and will, without doubt, dash us in 
 pieces if you, by only a sound, a look, or a smile, betray the sweet se- 
 cret that unites us two. Are you still aware what you have sworn to 
 me? 
 
 1 am aware of it ! But it is an unnatural Draconian law. What ! 
 even when I am alone with you, shall I never be allowed to address you 
 otherwise, than with that reverence and restraint which is due "the 
 Queen ? Even when no one can hear us, may I, by no syllable, by 
 none, not the lightest intimation, remind you of our love ? 
 
 No, no, do it not ; for this castle has everywhere eyes and ears, and 
 everywhere are spies and listeners behind the tapestry; behind the 
 curtains; everywhere are fhey concealed and lurking, watching every 
 feature, every smile, every word, whether it may not afford ground for 
 suspicion. No-, no, Henry ; swear to me by our love that you will never, 
 unless here in this room, address me otherwise than as" your Queen. 
 Swear to me, that beyond these walls, you will be to me only the re- 
 spectful servant of your Queen, and at the same time the proud Earl 
 and Lord, of whom it is said that never has a woman been able to 
 touch his rrart. Swear to me that you will not, by a look, by a smile, 
 by even the gentlest, pressure of the hand, betray what beyond this 
 room is a crime for both of us. Let this room be the temple of our 
 love : but when we once pass its threshold, we will not profane the 
 
He 
 
 sweet mysteries of our happiness, by allowing unholy eyes to behold 
 even a single ray of it. Shall it be so, my Henry ? 
 
 Yes, it shall be so! said he with troubled voice; although I must 
 confess that this dreadful illusion often tortures me almost to death. 
 Oh, Geraldiue, when I meet you elsewhere, when I observe the eye so 
 icy and immoveable, with which you meet my look, I /eel, as it were, 
 my heart convulsed ; and 1 say to myself: This is not she, whom 1 
 ] ove — no t the tender, passionate woman, whom in the darkness of the 
 night 1 sometimes lock in my arms. This is Catharine, the Queen, but 
 not my loved one. A woman cannot so disguise herself; art goes not 
 so far as to fabify the entire nature, the innermost being and life of a 
 person. Oh, there have been hours, awful, horrible hours, when it 
 seemed to me as though all this were a delusion, a mystification — as 
 though in some way an evil demon assumed the Queen's form by night 
 to mod? me, poor frenzied visionary, with a happiness that has no ex- 
 istence, but lives only in my imagination. When such thoughts come 
 to me, I feel a frenzied fury, a crushing despair, and I could, regardless 
 of my oath and even of the danger that threatens you, rush to you, 
 and before all the courtly rabble and the King himself, ask : Are you 
 really what you seem ? Are you, Catharine Parr, King Henry's wife — 
 nothing more, nothing else than that? Or are. you, my beloved, the wo- 
 man who is mine in her every thought, ner every breath ; who has 
 vowed to me eternal love and unchanging truth; and whom I, in spite 
 of the whole world, and the King, press to my heart as my own ? 
 
 Unhappy man, if you ever venture that, you doom us both to death. 
 
 Be it so, then ! In death you would at least be mine, and no one 
 would longer dare separate us, and your eyes would no longer look so 
 coldly and strangely upon me, as they often now do. Oh, I conjure 
 you, gaze not upon me at all, if you cannot do it otherwise than with 
 those cold, proud looks, that benumb my heart. Turn away your eyes 
 and speak to me with averted face. 
 
 Then, men will say that I hate you, Henry. 
 
 It is more agreeable to me for them to say you abhor me than for 
 them to see that I am wholly indifferent to you ; that bjom to you no- 
 thing more than the Earl of Surrey, your Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 No, no, Henry ! They shall see that you are more to me than merely 
 that. Before the whole assembled Court I will give you a token of my 
 love. Will you then believe, you dear, foolish enthusiast, that I love 
 you, and that it is no demon that rests here in your arms and swears 
 that she loves nothing but ^ou? Say, will youthen believe me? 
 
 I will believe you ? But no, there is no need of any sign, or any as- 
 surance. Nay, I know it ; 1 feel indeed the sweet reality that cuddles 
 to my side, warm, and filling me with happiness ; and it is only the 
 excess of happiness that makes me incredulous. % 
 
 I will convince you thoroughly ; and you shall doubt no more, not 
 even in the intoxication of happiness. Listen, then. The King, as you 
 know, is about to hold a great tournament and festival of the poets, 
 
J IS 
 
 and it will take place in a few days. Now, then, nt this feat I will pub'- 
 licly, in the. presence of the King and his Court, give you a rosette that 
 I wear oil my .shoulder, and in the silver fringe of which you will find 
 a note from me. Will that satisfy you, my Henry ? 
 
 And do you still question it, my dear? Do you question it, when 
 you will make me proud and happy above all others of your Court? 
 
 He pressed her closely to .his heart and kissed her. But suddenly 
 she writhed in his arms, and started up in wild alarm. 
 
 Day is breaking, day is breaking ! See there, a read streak is spread- 
 ing over the clouds. The sun is coming; day is coming, and already 
 begins to dawn. 
 
 lie endeavored to detain her still ; but she tore herself passionately 
 away, and again enveloped her head in her veil. 
 
 Yes, said he, day is breaking and it is growing light ! Let me then, 
 for a moment at least, see your face. My soul thirsts for it as the parched 
 earth for the dew. Come, it is light here at the window. Let me see 
 your eyes. 
 
 She tore herself vehemently away. No, no, you must begone! 
 Hark, it i" already three o'clock. Soon everything will be astir in the 
 castle. Did it not seem as if some person passed by the door here ? 
 Haste, haste, if you do not wish me to die of dread. She threw his 
 cloak over him ; she diew his hat over his brow, then once more she 
 threw her arm> around his neck and pressed on his lips a burning kiss. 
 
 Farewell, my beloved, farewell, Henry Howard. When we see each 
 other again to-day, you are the Earl of Surrey, and F, the Queen, not your 
 loved one— not the woman who loves you! Happiness is past and 
 suffering awakes anew. Farewell. 
 
 She herself opened the glass-door, and pushed her lover out. 
 
 Farewell, Geraldine ; good night, my dear ! Day comes, and 1 again 
 greet you as my Queen, and I shall have to endure again the torture'of 
 your cold looks and your haughty smiles. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 loyola's general. 
 
 She rushed to the window and gazed after him till he had disap- 
 peared, then she uttered a deep cry of anguish, and, wholly overcome 
 by her agony, she sank down on her knees weeping and wailing, 
 wringing her hands and raising them God. 
 
 But just before so happy and joyful, she was now full of woe and an- 
 guish ; and bitter sighs of complaint came trembling from her lips. 
 
120 
 
 Oh, oh, moaned she with sobs; what terrible agonies are these, and 
 how full of despair the anguish that lacerates my breast! I have lain 
 in his arms ; 1 have received his vows of love and accepted his kisses ; 
 and these vows are not mine, and these kisses he gave not to me. He 
 kissed me, and he loves in me only her, whom 1 hate. He lays his 
 hands in mine, and utters vows of love which he dedicates to her. He 
 thinks aud feels for her only — her alone. What a terrible torture this is ? 
 To be loved under her name ; under her name to receive the vows of 
 love that yet belong to me only — to me alone ! For he loves me, me 
 exclusively alone. They are my lips that he kisses, my form that he 
 embraces; to me are addressed his words and his letters ; and it is 1 
 that reply to them. He loves me, me only, and yet he puts no faith 
 in me. i am nothing to him, naught but a lifeless image, like other 
 women. This he has told me ; and I did not become frenzied ; and I 
 had the cruel energy to pass off the tears wrung from me by despair, 
 for tears of rapture. Oh, detestable, horrible mockery of fate — to be 
 what I am not, and not to be what I am. 
 
 And with a shrill cry of agony she tore her hair, and with her fist 
 smote upon her breast, and wept and moaned aloud. 
 
 She heard naught ; she saw naught ; she felt naught but her inexpres- 
 sible and despairing anguish. 
 
 She did not once tremble for herself; she thought not at all of this — 
 that she would be lost if she was found in this place. 
 
 And yet at the other side of the room a door had opened, softly and 
 noiselessly, and a man had entered. 
 
 He shut the door behind him and walked up to Lady Jane, who still 
 lay on the floor. He stood behind her while she uttgred her despairing 
 lamentation. He heard every word of her quivering lips ; her whole 
 heart painfully convulsed and torn with grief lay unveiled before him ; 
 and she knew it not. 
 
 Now he bent over her; and with his hand he lightly touched her 
 shoulder. At this touch she gave a convulsive start, as if hit by the 
 stroke of a sword, and her sobbing was immediately silenced. 
 
 An awful pause ensued. The woman lay on the floor motionless, 
 , breathless, and near her, tall and cold as a figure of bronze, stood the 
 man. 
 
 Lady Jane Douglas, said he then, sternly and solemnly, stand up. It 
 becomes not your father's daughter to be upon her knees, when it is not 
 God to whom she kneels. But you are not kneeling to God, but to an 
 idol, which you yourself have made, and to which you have erected a 
 temple in your heart. This idol is called : ''your own personal misfor- 
 tune." But it is written : "Thou shalt have no other Qods but me." 
 Therefore I say to you once more : Lady Jane Douglas, rise from your 
 knees, for it is not your God to whom you kneel. 
 
 And, as though these words exercised a magnetical power over her, 
 she raised herself slowly up from the floor, and now stood there before 
 her father, stern and cold as a statue of marble, 
 
181 
 
 Cast from you the sorrows of this world, which burden you, and hin- 
 der you in the sacred work that God has imposed on you ! continued 
 Earl Douglas in his metalic, solemn voice. It is written, " Come unto 
 Me all ye that labor and ard heavy laden, and I will give \ou rest," 
 saiih our God. But you, Jane, you are to throw clown your trouble at 
 the foot of the throne; and your buiden will become a crown that will 
 glorify your head. 
 
 He laid his hand on her head, but she wildly shook it off. 
 
 No, cried she with heavy, faltering tongue, as if confused in a dream. 
 Away with this crown ! I wish no crown upon which devils have laid a 
 spell. I wish no royal robe that has been dyed crimson with the blood 
 of my beloved. 
 
 She is still in the delirium of her anguish, muttered the Earl, as ho 
 contemplated the pale, trembling woman, who had now sunk again to 
 her knees, and was staring straight before her with eyes bewildered and 
 stretched wide open. But the looks of the Earl remained cold and un- 
 moved, and not the least compassion was aroused in him for his poor 
 daughter, now penetrated with anguish. 
 
 Arise, said he in a hard, steelj' voice. The Church, by my mouth, com- 
 mands you to serve her as you have vowed to do ; that is to say, with 
 glad heart and a sense of your reliance on God; that is to say,, with 
 smiling lips and a serene, beaming eye, as becomes a disciple inspired by 
 faith, and as you have sworn to do in the hands of our lord and master 
 Ignatius Loyola. 
 
 I cannot! I cannot! moaned she in a low tone. 1 cannot be glnd at 
 heart when despair, like a wild boar, is rending my heart ; I cannot com- 
 mand my eye to shine when my eyes are dimmed with tears of anguish. 
 Oh, have pity, have compassion ! Remember that you are my father ; 
 that I am your daughter ; the daughter of a wife whom you loved, and 
 who woilld find in the grave no rest if she knew how you are racking 
 and torturing me. My mother, my mother, if thy spirit is near me, 
 come and protect me. Let thy mild looks overshadow ray head, and 
 breathe a breath of thy love into the heart of this cruel father, who is 
 ready to sacrifice his child on the altar of his God. 
 
 God has called me, said the Earl, and like Abraham, I too will learn 
 to obey. But I will not adorn my victim with flowers, but with a royal 
 crown. I will not plunge a knife into her breast, but will put a golden 
 sceptre into her hand and say : thou art a queen before men, but before 
 God be thou a faithful and obedient servant. Thou hast all to command. 
 But the Holy Church, to whose service thou hast consecrated thys.-lf, 
 and who will bless thee if thou art faithful ; who will dash thee in pieces 
 with her curse, if thou darest deal treacherously ; she commands thee. 
 No, you are not my daughter but the priestess of the Church, consecra- 
 ted to her holy service. No, I have no sympathy with your tears and 
 this anguish, for I see the end of these sorrows, and I know that, these 
 tears will be as a diadem of pearls about your temples. Lady Jane 
 Douglas, it is the saintly Loyola who sends you his commands by my 
 
U2 
 
 mouth. Obey then, not because I am your father, but because I am the 
 General to whomyou have sworn obedience and fidelity unto your life's end. 
 
 Then kill me, my father ! said she feebly. Let this life end, which is 
 to me but a torture, a protracted martyrdom. Punish me for my dis- 
 obedience by plunging your dagger deep into my breast. Punish me, 
 and grudge me not the repose of the grave. 
 
 Poor enthusiast, said the father; suppose you, we would be foolish 
 enough to subject you to so light a punishment 1 ? No, no, if you dare, 
 in insolent disobedience, rebel against my commands, your penance shall 
 be a terrible one, and your punishment without end. I will not kill you, 
 but him whom you love ; it will be his head that falls ; and you will be 
 his murderess. He shall die on the scaffold and you — you shall live in 
 disgrace. 
 
 Oh horrible! groaned Jane, as she buried her face in her hands. 
 
 Her father continued : Silly, short-sighted child, who thought she could 
 play with the sword, and did not see that she herself might feel the stroke 
 of this double edged blade. You wanted to be the servant of the Church, 
 that you might thereby become mistress of the world. You would ac- 
 quire glory, but this glory must not singe your head with its fiery rays. 
 Silly child; he who plays with fire will be consumed. But we penetra- 
 ted your thoughts and the wish of which you yourself were unconscious. 
 We looked into the depths of your being, and when we found love 
 there, we made use of love for our own purposes and your salvation. 
 What do you bewail then, and why do you weep ? Have we not allowed 
 you to love 1 ? Have we not authorized you to give yourself entirely up 
 to this love? Do you not call yourself Earl Surrey's wife, though you 
 cannot name to me a priest that married you ? Lady Jane, obey, and 
 we envy you not the happiness of your love ; dare to rebel against us, 
 and disgrace and shame overtake you, and you shall stand before all the 
 world disowned and scoffed at ; you the strumpet, that 
 
 Stop, my father! cried Jane, as she sprang vehemently from the floor. 
 Desist from your terrible words if you do not wish me to die of shame. 
 Nay, I submit, 1 obey ! You are right, 1 cannot draw back. 
 
 And why would you either? Is it not a life pleasant and full of en- 
 joyment? Is it not rare good fortune to see our sins transfigured to vir- 
 tue ; to be able to account earthly enjoyment the service of heaven ? 
 And what do you bewail then? That he does not love you? Nay, he 
 does love you ; his vows of love still echo in your ears ; your heart still 
 trembles with the fruition of happiness. What matters it if the Earl 
 of Surrey with his inward eye sees the woman he folds in his arms to 
 be another than you ? Yet in reality he loves but you alone. Whether 
 you are for him named Catherine Parr or Jane Douglas, is all the same 
 if you only are his love. 
 
 But a day will come when he will discover his mistake, and when he 
 will curse me. 
 
 That day will never come. The Holy Church will find a way to avert 
 that, if you bow to her will and are obedient to her. < 
 
123 
 
 I do bow to it! sighed Jane. I will obey; only promise me, my 
 father, that no harm shall happen to him; that I shall not be his mur- 
 deress. 
 
 No, you shall become his 6aviour and deliverer. Only you must ful- 
 fill punctually the work I commit to you. First of all, then, tell me the 
 result of your meeting to day. He does not doubt that you are the 
 Queeu ? 
 
 No, he believes it so firmly that he would take the sacrament on it. 
 That is to say, he believes it now because I have promised him to give 
 hkn publicly a sigu by which he may recognize that it is the Queen that 
 loves him. 
 
 And- this sign ? enquired her father, with a look bu rning with joy. 
 
 I have promised him that at the great tournament, the Queen will 
 give him a rosette, and that in that rosette he will find a note from the 
 Queen. 
 
 Ah, the idea is an admirable one! exclaimed Lord Douglas, and only 
 a woman who wishes to avenge herself could conceive it. So then, 
 the Queen will become her own accuser, and herself give into our hands 
 a proof of her guilt. The ouly difficulty in the way is to bring the Queen, 
 without arousing her suspicion, to wear this rosette, and to give it to 
 Surrey. 
 
 She will do it if I beg her to do so, for she loves me ; and I shall so 
 represent it to her that she will do it as an act of kindness to me. 
 Catharine is good-natured and agreeable, and cannot refuse a request. 
 
 And I will apprise the King of it. That is to say, I shall take good 
 care not to do this myself, for it is always dangerous to approach a hun- 
 gry tiger in his cage and carry him his food, because he might in his 
 voracity very readily devour our own hand together with the proffered 
 meat. 
 
 But how ? asked she with an expression of alarm. Wi'.l he content 
 himself with punishing Catharine alone ; will he not also crush him — him 
 whom he must look upon as her lover? 
 
 He will do so. But you yourself shall save him and set him free. 
 You shall open his prison and give him freedom, and he will love you — 
 you, the saviour of his life. 
 
 Father, father, it is a hazardous game that you are playing; and it 
 may happen that you will become thereby your daughter's murderer. 
 For, listen well t<» what J tell you ; if his head falls, 1 die by my own 
 hands; if you make me his murderess, you become thereby mine. ; and 
 1 will curse you and execrate you in hell ! What to me is a roj al orowa 
 if it be stained with Iii:nry« Howard's blood ? What care 1 for renown 
 and honor, if he is not there to see my greatness, and if his beaming 
 eyes do not reflect back to me the light of my crown 1 Protect him there- 
 ; guard his life as the apple of your eye, if you wish me to accept 
 the royal crown that, \<>u otfrr me, so that the King of England may 
 become again a vassal of the Church ! 
 ^ And that the whole of devout Christendom may praise Jane Douglas, 
 
124 
 
 the pious queen, who has succeeded in the holy work of bringing the 
 rebellious and recreant son of the Church, Henry the Eighth, back to 
 the Holy Father in Rome, to the only consecrated Lord of the Church, 
 truly penitent. On, on, my daughter; do not despond. A high aim 
 beckons you; and a brilliant fortune awaits you! Our holy mother, 
 the Church, will bless and praise you, and Henry the Eighth will declare 
 you his Queen. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE PRISONER. 
 
 Still all was calm and quiet in the palace of Whitehall. Nothing 
 was stirring, and nobody had heard how Lady Jane Douglas left her 
 chamber and glided down the corridor. 
 
 No one had heard it, and no eye is awake, and none sees what is now 
 taking place in the Queen's room. 
 
 She is alone ; all alone. The servants are all asleep in their cham- 
 bers. The Queen herself has bolted the doors of the ante-room on the 
 inside, and no other door leads into her boudoir and bedroom, except 
 through this ante-room. 
 
 She is therefore perfectly secluded, perfectly secure. 
 
 Speedily and in haste she envelopes herself in a long black mantle, 
 the hood of which she draws well over her head and brow, and which 
 completely covers and conceals her form. 
 
 And now she presses on a spring inserted in the frame of a picture. 
 The picture flies back and shows an opening, through which a person can 
 quite conveniently pass out. 
 
 Catharine does so. Then she carefully pushes the picture back to its 
 place from the outside, and for a long time walks on in the passage hol- 
 lowed out of the solid wall, till groping along she at last lays hold again 
 of a knob in the wall. She presses on it ; and now at her feet opens a 
 trapdoor, through which a feeble light forces its way and renders visible 
 a small narrow staircase there situated. Catharine enters and descends 
 the steps with winged feet. Now at the foot of the staircase, she again 
 presses on a secret spring ; and again a door opens, through which the 
 Queen passes into a large hall. 
 
 Oh, whispered she, fetching a long breath, the green summer house 
 at last. 
 
 She quickly traversed it and opened the next door. 
 
 John Hey wood? 
 
J 25 
 
 I am here, Queen ! 
 
 Hush, hush, gently as possible, that the watch, who walks up and 
 down just behind the door, may not hear us. Come, we still have a long 
 walk", let us make haste. 
 
 Again she pressed on a spring inserted in the wall ; and again a door 
 opens. But before Catharine bolts this door, she takes the lamp burn- 
 ing on the table there, which is to lighten the dark and difficult path 
 through which they are now to wend their way. 
 
 Now she bolts the door behind them ; and they enter a long, dark 
 corridor, at the end of which is found still another staircase, and down 
 which they both go. . Numberless steps conduct them below ; gradually 
 the air becomes dense; the steps moist. The stillness of the grave is 
 around them. No sound of life, not the least noise is now perceptible. 
 
 They are in a subterranean passage, which stretches out in length be- 
 fore them further than the eye can reach. 
 
 Catharine turns to John Hey wood ; the lamp lights up her face, which 
 is pale, but exhibits an expression firm and resolute. 
 
 John Heywood, reflect once more ! I ask not whether you have 
 courage, for I know that. I only wish to know, whether you will em- 
 ploy this courage for your Queen ? 
 
 No, not for the Queen, but for the noble woman who has saved my 
 son. 
 
 You must then be my protector to-day if we meet with dangers. But 
 if it be God's will, we shall encounter no dangers. Let us go. 
 
 They go vigorously forward, silent all the way. 
 
 At length they come to a place wherie the passage grows broader, and 
 spreads out into a little open chamber; on the side walls of which a 
 few seats are placed. 
 
 We have now accomplished half of the journey, said Catharine ; and 
 here we will rest a little. 
 
 She placed the lamp on the small marbla table in the middle of the 
 passage and sat down, pointing to John Heywood to take a seat near 
 her. 
 
 I am not the Queen here, said she; and you are not the King's fool ; 
 but I am a poor weak woman, and you are my protector. You may, 
 therefore, well have the right to sit by me. 
 
 But John shook his head with a smile, and sat down at her feet. St. 
 Catharine, saviour of my son, 1 lie at thy feet, and devoutly return thanks 
 to thee. 
 
 John, are you acquainted with this subterranean passage? asked the 
 Queen. 
 
 John gave a sad smile. I am acquainted with it, Qupen. 
 
 Ah, you know it ? I supposed it was a secret of the King and Queen. 
 
 Then you will readily conceive that the fool knows it. For the King 
 of England and the fool are twin brothers. Yes, Queen, I know this 
 passage; and 1 once wended it in anguish and tears. 
 
 What! You yourself, John Heywood'? 
 
J 26 
 
 Yes, Queen. And now T ask you, do you know the history of this 
 underground passage 1 You are silent ? Now, well for you that you 
 do not know it. Jt is a long and bloody history, and if I should narrate 
 to you the whole of it, the night would be too short for it. When this 
 passage was built, Henry was still young, and possessed yet a heart. 
 At that time, he loved not merely his wives, but his friends and servants 
 also — specially Cromwell, the all-powerful Minister. He then resided 
 at Whitehall ; and Henry in the royal apartments of the T-ower. But 
 Henry was always longing for his favorite; and so Cromwell one day 
 surprised him with this subterranean passage, the construction of which 
 had occupied a hundred men a whole year. Ah, ah, the King was then 
 very much moved, and thanked his powerful Minister, for this surprise, 
 with tears and hugs. There passed scarcely a day that Henry did nob 
 go to Cromwell through this passage. So he saw each day how the pal- 
 a e of Whitehall became more and more splendid and glorious; and 
 when he returned to the Tower, he discovered that this residence was al- 
 together unworthy of a king; but that his Minister lived by far more 
 magnificently, than the King of England. That, Queen, was the cause of 
 Cromwell's fall ! — The King wanted Whitehall. The sly Cromwell no- 
 ticed it, and made him a present of his gem, the palace, on whose con- 
 struction and decoration he had labored ten years. Henry accepted the 
 present ; but now Cromwell's fall was irrevocable. The King could not, 
 of course, forgive Cromwell for having dared to offer him a present so 
 valuable, that Henry could not, or would not repay it. He remained 
 therefore, Cromwell's debtor; and since this tormented and vexed him, 
 he swore Cromwell's ruin. When Henry moved into Whitehall, it was 
 concluded that Cromwell must ascend the scaffold. Ah, the King is such 
 an economical builder. A palace costs him nothing but the head of a 
 subject. With Cromwell's head he paid for Whitehall ; and Wolsey 
 died for Hampton Court. 
 
 Not on the scaffold though, John. 
 
 Oh, no ; Henry proferred merely to break his heart, and not his head. 
 First, he had that wonderful pleasure villa, Hampton Court, with all its 
 treasuies presented him by Wolsey ; then, he removed him from all his 
 offices, and deprived him of all his honors. Finally, he was to go to the 
 Tower as a prisoner ; but he died on his way thither. No, you are right! 
 Wols<;y did not die on the scaffold, he was put to death much more 
 slowly and more cruelly. He was not killed with the sword, but prick- 
 ed to death with pins ! 
 
 Did you not say, John, that you had travelled this way once be- 
 fore 1 
 
 Yes, Queen, and I did it to bid farewell to the noblest of men, and 
 the truest of friends, Thomas More! I begged and besought Cromwell 
 so long that he had compassion on my anguish, and allowed me to go 
 thiough this passage to Thomas More, that! might at least receive the 
 blessing and last kiss of affection of this saint. Ah. Queen, speak no 
 more of it to me. From that day I became a fool ; for I saw it was not 
 
127 
 
 worth the trouble to be an earnest man, when such men as More are 
 executed as criminals. — Come Queen, let us go on! 
 
 Yes, on, John ! said she rising. But do you know then whither we 
 are going ? 
 
 Ah, Queen, do I not then know you ? and did 1 not tell you that Anne 
 Askew is to be stretched upon the. rack tomorrow, unless she recant ! 
 
 I see that you have understood me, said she, giving him a friendly 
 nod. Yes, I am going to Anne Askew ! 
 
 Hut how will you, without being seen and discovered, find ou! her 
 cell? 
 
 John, even the unhappy have friends. Yes, the Queen herself h.-'s a 
 few ! and so chance, or it may be even God's will, has to arranged mat- 
 ters, that Anne Askew is occupying, just at this time, that small room 
 in which this secret passage terminates. 
 
 Is she alone in that room ? 
 
 Yes, all alone. The guard stands without, before the door. 
 
 And should they hear you, and open the door? 
 
 Then without doubt I am lost, without God supports me. 
 
 They walked on in silence, both too much occupied with their own 
 thoughts to interrupt them by conversation. 
 
 But this long, extended walk at length wearied Catharine. She 
 leant exhausted against the wall. 
 
 Will you do me a favor, Queen 1 asked John Heywood Permit me 
 to cafYy you. Your little feet can bear you no farther ; make me your 
 feet, your Majesty ! 
 
 She refused with a friendly smile. No, John, these are the passion- 
 stations of a saint; and you know one must make the round of them 
 in the sweat of his face and on his knees. 
 
 Oh, Queen, how noble and how courageous you are ! exclaimed John 
 Heywood. You do good without display, and you shun n > danger, if 
 it avails towards the accomplishment of a noble work. 
 
 Yet, John, said she with a bewitching smile, I dread danger ; and 
 just on that account 1 begged you to accompany me. I shudder at the 
 long, desolate way, at the darkness and grave-like stillness o( this pas- 
 sage. Ah, John, I thought to myself, if I came here alone, ihe shades 
 of Anne Boleyn and Catharine would be roused from their sleep by 
 me who wear their crown ; they would hover about me, and seize mo 
 by the hand and lead me to their gra\es, to show me that there is yet 
 room there for me likewise. You see, then, that I am not at all cour- 
 ageous, but a cowardly and trembling woman. 
 
 And nevertheless, you came, Queen ? 
 
 I reckoned on you, John Heywood. It was my duty to risk this pas- 
 sage to save, perchanc\ the life of the poor enthusiastic girl. For it, 
 shall not be said that Catharine deserts her friends in misfortune, and 
 ♦ that she shrinks back at danger. 1 am but a poor weak woman, John, 
 who cannot defend her friends with weapons, and, therefore, 1 must re- 
 sort to other means. But see, John, here the path forks! Ah, my 
 
123 
 
 God, I know it only from the description that was given me, but no 
 one said anything of this to me. John, which way must we now turn ? 
 
 This way, Queen ; and here we are at the end of our journey. That 
 path there leads to the torture chamber, that is to say to a small grated- 
 window, through which one can overlook that room. When King 
 Henry was in special good humor, he would resort with his friend 
 to this grating to divert himself a little with the tortures of the damned 
 and blasphemers. For you well know, Queen, only such as have blas- 
 phemed God, or have not recognized King Henry as the Pope of their 
 Church, have the honor of the rack as their due. But hush ; here we 
 are at the door, and here is the spring that opens it. 
 
 Catharine set her lamp on the ground and pressed the spring. 
 
 The door turned slowly and noiselessly on its hinges, and softly, like 
 the shades, the two entered. 
 
 They now found themselves in a small, circular apartment, which 
 seemed- to have been originally a niche formed in the wall of the Tower, 
 rather than a room. Through a narrow grated opening in the wall only 
 a little air and light penetrated into this dungeon ;j the bald, bare walls 
 of which showed the stones of the masonry. There was no chair, no 
 table in the whole space ; only yonder in that corner on the earth they 
 had heaped up some straw. On this straw lay a pale, tender creature ; 
 the sunken, thin cheeks, transparently white as alabaster ; the brow so 
 pure and clear ; the entire countenance so peaceful ; the bare, meagre 
 arms thrown back over the head ; the hands folded over the forehead ; 
 the head bent to one side in quiet, peaceful slumber ; the delicate tender 
 fdm wrapped in a long black dress, gently stretched out, and on her lips 
 a smile, such as only the happy know. 
 
 That was Anne Askew, the criminal, the condemned. Anne Askew, 
 who was an atheist only for this, because she did not believe in the 
 King's vast elevation and godlikeness, and would not subject her own 
 free soul to that of the King. 
 
 She sleeps ! whispered Catharine deeply moved. Wholly involun- 
 tarily she folded her hands as she stepped to the couch of the sufferer, 
 and a low prayer trembled on her lips. 
 
 So sleep the just ! said Heywood. Angels comfort them in their 
 slumbers ; and the breath of God refreshes them. Poor girl ; how soon, 
 and they will wrench these noble, fair limbs, and torture thee for the 
 honor of God, and open to tones of distress that mouth which now 
 smiles so peacefully ! , 
 
 No, no, said the Queen hastily. I have come to save her, and God 
 will assist me to do it. 1 cannot spare her slumbers any longer. f must 
 wake her. 
 
 She bent down and pressed a kiss on the young girl's forehead. Anne, 
 awake; I am here! 1 will save you and set you free. An ue, Anne, 
 awake ! 
 
 She slowly raised her large brilliant eyes, and nodded a salutation to 
 Catharine. 
 
12V 
 
 Catharine Parr ! said she with a smile. I expected only a letter from 
 you ; and have you come yourself? 
 
 The guards have been dismissed, and the turnkeys changed, Anne ; 
 for our correspondence had been discovered. 
 
 Ah, you will write to me no more in future ! And yet your letters 
 were my only comfort, sighed Anne Askew. But that also is'well ; and 
 perhaps it will only make the path that I have to tread still easier ! The 
 Heart must set itself free from all earthly bonds, that the soul may move 
 its pinions freely and easily, and return to God. 
 
 Hear me, Anne, hear, said Catharine in a low and hurried voice. • A 
 terrible danger threatens you ! The King ha? given orders to move 
 you, by means of the rack, to recant. 
 
 Well, and what more? asked Anne with smiling face. 
 
 Unfortunate, you know not what you are saying! You know not 
 what fearful agonies await you ! You know not the power of pains, 
 which are perhaps still mightier than the spirit, and may overcome it. 
 
 And if I did know them now, what would it avail me ? asked Anne 
 Askew. You say they will put me to the rack. Well, then, I shall have 
 to bear it, for F have no power to change their will. 
 
 Yet, Anne, yet you have the power! Retract what you have said, 
 Anne ! Declare that you repent, and that you perceive that you have 
 been deluded ! Say that you will recognize the King as Lord of the 
 Church ; that you will swear to the Six Articles, and never believe in 
 the Pope of Rome. Ah, Anne, God sees your heart and knows your 
 thoughts. You have no need to make them known by your lips. He 
 has given you life, and you have no right to throw it away ; yt>u must 
 seek to keep it so long as you can. Recant then ! It is perfectly allow- 
 able to deceive those who would lfiurder us. Recant then, Anne, recant! 
 When they in their haughty arrogance demand of you to say what they 
 say, consider them as lunatics, to whom you make apparent concessions 
 only to keep them from raving. Of what consequence is it, whether 
 you do or do not say that the King is the head of the Church? From 
 His heavens above, God looks down and smiles at this petty earthly 
 strife which concerns not Him, but men only. Let scholars and theolo- 
 gians wrangle; we women have nothing to do with it. If we only be- 
 lieve in God, and bear Him in our hearts, the form in which we do it is 
 a matter of indifference. But in this ca*e the question is not about God, 
 but merely about external dogmas. Why should you trouble yourself 
 with these ? What have you to do with the controversies of the priests ? 
 Recant then, poor enthusiastic child, recant ! 
 
 While Catharine in a low tone and with fluttering breath thus spoke, 
 Anne Askew had slowly arisen from her couch, and now stood, like a 
 a lily, so slender and delicate, confronting the Queen. 
 
 Her noble countenance expressed deep indignation. Ilcr eyes shot 
 lightning ; and a contemptuous smile was on her lips. 
 
 What? Can you thus advise me? said she. Can you wish me to 
 deny my faith, and abjure my God, only to escape earthly pain ? And 
 
 9 
 
13« 
 
 your tongue does not refuse to utter this, and your heart does not shrink 
 with shame while y ou do it ? Luok at these arms ; what are they worth 
 that I should not sacrifice them to God ?. See these feeble limbs ! Are 
 they so precious that I, like a disgusting niggard, should spare them? 
 No, no, God is my highest good — not this feeble, decaying body ! For 
 God I sacrifice it. I should recant ? Never! Faith is not enveloped 
 in this or that garb ; it must be naked and open. So may mine be. And 
 if I then am chosen to be an example of the pure faith, that denies not, 
 and makes profession — well theu, envy me not this preeminence. " Many 
 are called, but few are chosen." If I am one of the chosen, I thank God 
 for it, and bless the erring mortals who wish to make me such by means 
 of the torture of the rack. Ah, believe me, Catharine, I rejoice to die, 
 for it is such a sad, desolate, and desperate thing to live. Let me die, 
 Catharine — die to enter into blessedness ! 
 
 But, poor pitiable child ! This is more than death; it is the torture 
 of earth that threatens you. Oh, bethink you, Anne, that you are only 
 a feeble woman. Who knows whether the rack may not yet conquer 
 your spirit, and whether you, with your mangled limbs, may not by the 
 fury of the pain yet be brought to that point that you will recant and 
 abjure. your faith ! 
 
 If I could do that, cried Anne Askew with flashing eyes, believe me, 
 Queen, as soon as J came to my senses I would lay violent hands on 
 myself, in order to give myself over to eternal damnation, as the 
 punishment of my recantation ! God has ordered that I shall be a sign 
 of the true faith. Be his command fulfilled ! / 
 
 Well then, so be it, said Catharine resolutely. Do not recant, but 
 save yourself from your executioners ! I, Anne, I will save you ! I 
 cannot bear— I cannot think of it — that this dear noble form should be 
 sacrificed to a vile delusion of man ; that they will torture to the honor 
 of God a noble likeness of the same God ! Oh, come, come, I will save 
 you ! J, the Queen ! Give me your hand. Follow me out of this-dun- 
 geon. 1 know a path that leads out of this place ; and I will conceal 
 you so long in my own apartments that you can continue your flight 
 without danger. 
 
 No, no, Queen, you shall not conceal her wi^h you ! said John Hey- 
 wood. You have been graciously pleased to allow me to be your confi- 
 dant ; envy me not then a share in your noble work also. Not with 
 you shall Anne Askew find refuge, but with me. Oh, come, Anne, fol- 
 low your friends. It is life that calls you, that opens the doors to you, 
 and desires to call you by a thousand names to itself! Do you not hear 
 them, all those sweet and alluring voices ; do you not see them, all those 
 noble and smiling faces, how they greet you and beckon to you? Anne 
 Askew, it is the noble husband that calls you ! You know him not as 
 yet, but he is waiting for you there in the world without. Anne Askew, 
 there are your children, who are stretching their tender arms out to you. 
 You have not yet borne them ; but love holds them in her arms and 
 will bring them to meet you. It is the wife and the mother that the 
 
131 
 
 world yet, demands of you, Anno. You ought not to shun the holy 
 calling which God has given you. Come then and follow us — follow your 
 Queen, who has the right to order her subject. Follow the friend, who 
 has sworn that he will watch over you and protect you as a father ! 
 
 Father in heaven protect me ! exclaimed Anne Askew, falling on her 
 knees and stretching her hands upward. Father in heaven, they would 
 tear away thy child, and alienate my heart from Theo ! They are lead« 
 ing me into temptation and alluring me with their words. Protect me, 
 my Father; make ray ear deaf, that I may not hear them ! Give mo a 
 sign that 1 am Thine ; that no one has any longer power over me, save 
 Thou alone ! A sign, that Thou, Father, callest me ! 
 
 And as if God had really heard her prayer, a loud knocking was now 
 perceived at the outer door, and a voice cried : Anne Askew, awake, 
 and hold yourself ready ! The High Chancellor and the Bishop of Win- 
 chester come to fetch you away ! 
 
 Ah, the rack ! groaned Catharine, as with a shudder she buried her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 Yes, the rack ! said Anne with a blissful smile. God calls me ! 
 
 John Hey wood had approached the Queen and impetuously seized her 
 hand. You see it is in vain, said he urgently. Make haste then to save 
 yourself! Hasten to leave this piison before the door there opens. 
 
 No, said Catharine firmly and resolutely. No, I stay. She shall not 
 surpass me in courage and greatness of soul ! She will not deny her 
 God ; well then, I also will be a witness of my God. I will not in shame 
 cast my eyes to the ground before this young girl ; like her I will frankly 
 and openly profess my faith ; like her I will say : God alone is Lord of 
 his Church, God 
 
 There was a movement without ; a key was heard to turn in the lock. 
 
 Queen, I conjure you, besought John Hey wood, by all that is holy to 
 you, by your love, come, come ! 
 
 No, no ! .cried she vehemently. 
 
 But now Anne seized her hand, and stretching the other arm towards 
 heaven, she said in a loud commanding voice : In the name of God I 
 order you to leave me ! 
 
 WJiilo Catharine drew back wholly involuntarily, John Hey wood 
 pushed her to the secret door, and urging her out almost with violence, 
 he drew the door to behind them both. 
 
 Just as the secret door had closed, the other on the opposite side 
 opened. 
 
 With whom were you speaking ? asked Gardiner, peering around the 
 room with a sharp look. 
 
 With the tempter, that wished to alienate me from God, said she. 
 With the tempter, who at the approach of your footsteps wanted to fool 
 my heart with fear, and persuade me to recant ! 
 
 You are then firmly resolved? you do not retract? asked Gardiner; 
 and a savage joy shone in his pale, hard countenance. 
 
 No, I do not recant ! said she with a faro beaming with *miles. 
 
132 
 
 Then in the name of God and of the King, I take yon into the torture 
 chamber! cried Chancellor Wiiothesley, as he advanced and laid his 
 heavy hand on Anne's shoulder. You would not hear the voice of love 
 warning you and calling you, so we will now try to arouse you from 
 your madness by the voice of wrath and damnation. 
 
 He beckoned to the attendants on the rack, who stood behind him in 
 the open door, and ordered them to seize her and carry her to the tor- 
 ture chamber. 
 
 Anne, smiling, turned them back. Nay, not so ! said she. The Saviour 
 went on foot, and bore his cross to the place of execution. I will tread 
 His path. Show me the way, Ulbllow you. But let no one dare touch 
 me. I will show you that not by constraint, but gladly and freely I 
 tread the path of suffering, which I shall endure for the sake of my God. 
 Rejoice, O my soul — sing, my lips, for the Bridegroom is near, and the 
 feast is about to begin. 
 
 And in exultant tones, Anne Askew began to sing a hymn," that had 
 not died away when she entered the torture chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 
 
 The King sleeps. Let him sleep ! He„is old and infirm, and God 
 has severely punished the restless tyrant with a vacilating, ever dis- 
 quieted, never satisfied spirit ; while he bound his body and made the 
 spirit prisoner of the body ; while he made the ambitious King, strug- 
 gling for the infinite, a slave to his own flesh. How high soever his 
 thoughts soar, still the King remains a clumsy, confined, powerless child 
 of humanity ; how much soever his conscience harrasses him with dis- 
 quiet and dread, yet he must be calm and endure it. He cannot run 
 away from his conscience; God has fettered him by the flesh. 
 
 The King is sleeping ! But the Queen is not ; and Jane Douglas is 
 not ; neither is Princess Elizabeth. 
 
 She has watched with heart beating high. She was restless, and pac- 
 ing her room up and down in strange confusion, waited for the hour 
 that she had appointed for the meeting. Now the hour had arrived. A 
 glowing crimson overspread the face of the young Princess ; and her 
 hand trembled as she took the light and opened the secret door to the 
 corridor. She stood btill for a moment, hesitating ; then, ashamed of 
 her irresolution, she crossed the corridor and ascended the small stair- 
 case which led to the tower chamber. With a hasty movement she 
 
133 
 
 pushed opened the door and entered the room. She was at the end of 
 her jouruey, and Thomas Seymour was already there. 
 
 As she saw him an involuntary trepidation came over her, and for 
 the first time she now became conscious of her hazardous step. 
 
 As Seymour, the ardent young man, approached her with a passion- 
 ate salutation, she stepped shyly hack and pushed away his hand. 
 
 How ! you will not allow me to kiss your hand 1 asked he, and she 
 thought she observed on his face a slight scornful smile. You make me 
 the happiest of mortals by inviting me to this interview, and now you 
 stand before me rigid and cold, and I am not once permitted to clasp 
 you in my arms. Elizabeth'? 
 
 Elizabeth ! He had called her by her first name without her having 
 given him permission to do so. That offended her. In the midst of 
 her confusion, that aroused the pride of the Princess, and made her 
 aware how much she must have forgotten her own dignity, when an- 
 other could be so forgetful of it. 
 
 She wished to regain it. At this moment she would have given a 
 year of her life if she had not taken this step; if she had not invited 
 the Earl to this meeting. 
 
 She wanted to try and regain in his eyes her lost position, and again 
 to become to him the Princess. 
 
 Pride in her was still mightier than love. She meant her lover should 
 at the same t iue bow before her as her favored servant. 
 
 Therefor she gravely said : Earl Thomas Seymour, you have often 
 begged us fur a private conversation ; we now grant it to you ! Speak, 
 then ! what matter of importance have you to bring before us? 
 
 And with an air of gravity she stepped to an easy chair, on which 
 she seated herself slowly and solemnly like a queen, who gives audience 
 to her vassals. 
 
 Poor, innocent child, that in her unconscious trepidation wished to 
 intrench herself behind her grandeur, as behind a shield, which might 
 conceal her maidenly fear and girlish anxiety ! 
 
 But Thomas Seymour, however, divined her thoughts ; and his proud 
 and cold heart revolted against this child's attempt to defy him. 
 
 He wanted to humble her; he wanted to compel her to bow before 
 him. and implore his love as a gracious gift. 
 
 He, therefore, bowed low to the Princess, and respectfully said : Your 
 Highness, it is true I have often besought you for an audience ; but you 
 have so long refused me, that at last I could no longer summon up 
 courage to solicit it; and I let my wish be silent and my heart dumb. 
 Therefore seek not now* when these pains have been subdued, to excite 
 them again. My heart should remain dead, my lips mute. You have 
 have so willed ; and I have submitted to your will. Farewell, then, 
 Princess, and may your days be happier and more serene than those of 
 poor Thomas Seymour ! 
 
 He bowed low before her, and then went slowly to the door. He 
 had already opened it and was about to step out, when a hand was 9ud- 
 
J34 
 
 denly laid on his shoulder and drew him with vehement impetuosity 
 back into the room. 
 
 Do you want to go? asked Elizabeth with fluttering breath and trem- 
 bling voice. You want to leave me, and, flouting me, you want now, 
 it may be, to go to the Duchess of Richmond, your mistress, and relate 
 to her with a sneer, that the Princess Elizabeth grauted you an inter- 
 view, and that you have flouted her? 
 
 The Duchess of Richmond is not my mistress, said the Earl ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 No, not your mistress; but she will very soon be your wife ! 
 
 She will never be my wife ! 
 
 And why not ? 
 
 Because I do not love her, Princess ! 
 
 A beam of delight passed over Elizabeth's pale, agitated face. Why 
 do you call me Princess? asked she. 
 
 Because you have come as a Princess to favor your poor servant with 
 an audience. But, ah, it would be greatly abusing your princely grace 
 did I want to protract this audience still further. 1 therefore retire, 
 Princess ! 
 
 And he again approached the door. But Elizabeth rushed after .him, 
 and laying hold of his amis with both hands, she wildly pushed him 
 back. 
 
 Her eyes shot lightning; her lips trembled; a passionate warmth 
 was manifested in her whole being. Now she was the true daughter of 
 her father, inconsiderate and passionate in her wrath, destroying in her 
 ferocity. 
 
 You shall not gO, muttered she with her teeth firmly set, I will not 
 let you go ! 1 will not let you confront me any longer with that cold, 
 smiling face. Scold me ; cast on me the bitterest reproaches, be- 
 cause I have dared brave you so long ; curse me, if you can. Any- 
 thing but this smiling calmuess. It kills me ; it pierces my heart like 
 a dagger. For you see well enough that I have no longer the power to 
 withstand you ; you see well enough that I love you. Yes, I love you 
 to ecstacy and to desperation ; with desire and dread. I love you as my 
 demon and my angel. I am angry, because you have so entirely crushed 
 the pride of my heart. I curse you, because you have made me so entirely 
 your slave; and the next moment I fall on my knees and beseech God 
 to forgive me this crime against you. 1 love you, I say — not as these 
 soft, gentle hearted women love, with a smile on the lip ; but with mad- 
 ness and desperation, with jealousy and wrath. I love you as my father 
 loved Anne Bole)n, whom, in the hatred of hi3 love and the cruel wrath 
 of his jealousy, he made to mouut the scaffold, because he had been told 
 that she was untrue to him. Ah, had I the power, 1 would do as my father 
 did ; I would murder you, if you should dare ever to cease to love me. 
 And now, Thomas Sejmour, now say whether you have the courage to 
 desire to leave me? 
 
 She looked bewitching in the flaming might of her passion ; she was 
 
I :J5 
 
 so young, so ardent; and Thomas Seymour was so ambitious! In his 
 eyes, Elizabeth was not merely the beautiful charming maiden, who 
 loved him j she was in ore than that: she was the daughter of Henry 
 the Eighth, the Princess of ttngland, perchance some, day the heiress 
 of the throne. It is true, her father had disinherited her, and by act of 
 Parliament declared her unworthy of succeeding to the throne.* But 
 Henry's vacillating mind might change, and the disowned Princess 
 mi»ht one day become Quern. 
 
 The Earl thought of this as he gazed on Elizabeth; as he saw her 
 before him, so charming, so young, and so glowing with passion. He 
 thought of it as he now clasped her in his arms, and pressed on her lips 
 a burning kiss. 
 
 No, I will not go, whispered he. I will never more depart from your 
 side, if you do not wish me to go. I am yours! — your slave, your 
 vassal; and I will never be anything eKe but this alone. They may* 
 betray me ; your father may'punish me for high treason ; yet will I exult 
 in my good fortune, for Elizabeth loves me, and it will be for Elizabeth 
 that I die! 
 
 Yuu shall not die! cried she clinging fast to him. You shall live, 
 live at my side, proud, great and happy ! You shall be my lord and 
 my master ; and if I am ever Queen, and I feel here in my heart that 
 ' I must become so. then will Thomas Seymour be King of England. 
 
 That is to >.i\, in the quiet and secrecy of your chamber I should per- 
 haps be so ! said he with a sigh. But there without, before the world, 
 I shall still be ever only a servant ; and, at the best, I shall be called 
 the favoiite. 
 
 Never, never, that I swear to you ! Said I not that I loved you ? 
 
 But the love of woman is so changeable ! Who knows how long it 
 will be before you will tre»d under your feet poor Thomas Seymour, 
 when once the crown has adorned your brow. 
 
 She looked at him well nigh horrified. Can this be, then ? Is it pos- 
 sible, that one can forget and forsake what he once loved ? 
 
 Do you ask! Elizabeth ?. Has not your father already his sixth wife •' 
 
 It is true, said she, as mournfully she dropped her head upon her 
 breast. But I, said she after a pause, 1 shall not be like my father in 
 that. I shall love\ou eternally ! And that you may have a guaranty 
 of my faithfulness, I offer myself to you as'your wife. 
 
 Astonished, he looked inquiringly into her excited, glowing face ! He 
 did not understand her. 
 
 But she continued passionately : Yes. you bhall be my lord and my 
 husband! Come, my beloved, come ! 1 have not called you to tnke 
 upon yourself the disgraceful role of the secret lover of a Princess. — I 
 have called you to be my husband. I wish a bond to unite us two, that 
 is so indissoluble that not even the wrath and will of my father, but 
 only death itself, can sever it. I will give you proof of my love and 
 my devotion ; and you shall be forced to acknowledge that I truly Jove 
 
 •Burnet: vol, 1, p»geJ88. 
 
i3(; 
 
 you. Come, my beloved, that I may soon hail you as my husband ! 
 
 He looked at her as though petrified. Whither will you lead me ? 
 
 To the private chapel ! said she innocently. 1 have written Cranmer 
 to await me there at daybreak. Let us hasten, then ! 
 
 Cranmer! You have written to the Archbishop? cried Seymour 
 amazed. How 1 ? what say you? Cranmer awaits us in the private 
 chapel ? 
 
 Without doubt he is waiting for us, as I have written him to do so. 
 
 And what is he to do ? What do you want of him ? 
 
 She looked at him in astonishment. What do 1 want of him ? Why, 
 that he may marry us ! 
 
 The Earl staggered back as if slunned. And have you written him 
 that also? 
 
 Nay, indeed, said she with a charming, childlike smile. I know very 
 •well that it is dangerous to trust such secrets to paper. [ have only 
 written him to come in his official robes, because 1 have an important 
 secret to confess to him. 
 
 Oh, God be praised ! We are not lost, sighed Seymour. 
 
 But how, I do not understand you ? asked she. You do not extend 
 me your, hand ? You do not hasten to conduct me to the chapel ? 
 
 Tell me, 1 conjure you, tell me only this one thing: Have you ever 
 spoken to the Archbishop of your — no — of our love ! Have you ever 
 betrayed to him so much as a syllable of that which stirs our hearts? 
 
 She blushed deeply beneath the steady gaze which he fixed on her. 
 Upbraid me, Seymour, whispered she. But my heart was weak and 
 timorous; and as often as I tried to fulfil the holy duty, and confess 
 everything honestly and frankly to the Archbishop, 1 could not do it ! 
 The word died on my lips ; and it was as though an invisible power 
 paralyzed my tongue 
 
 So then, Cranmer knows nothing? 
 
 No, Seymour, he knows nothing yet! But now he shall learn all ; 
 now we will go before him and tell him that we love each other, and 
 constrain him, by our prayers, to bless our union and join our hands. 
 
 Impossible ! cried Seymour. That can never be ! 
 
 How ? What do you say ? asked she in astonishment. 
 
 1 say that Cranmer will never be so insane, nay, so criminal, as to 
 fulfill your wish. 1 say that you can never be my wife. 
 
 She looked him full and square in the face. Have you not then told 
 me that \ou love me ? asked she. Have I not sworn to you that I love 
 you in return? Must we then not be married, in order to sanctify the 
 union of our hearts ? 
 
 Seymour sunk his eyes to the ground before her pure innocent look, 
 and blushed for shame. She did not understand this blush ; because he 
 was silent, she deemed him convinced. 
 
 Come, said she, come ; Cranmer is waiting for us ! 
 
 He again raised his eyes and looked at her in amazement. Do you 
 not see, then, this is all only a dream that can never become reality ? 
 
137 
 
 Do you not feel that this precious fantasy of your great and noble heart 
 will never be realized? How? are you then so little acquainted with 
 your father as not to know that he would destroy us both if we should 
 dare thus to set at naught his paternal and his royal authority ? Your 
 birth would not secure you from his destroying fury, for you well know- 
 he is unyielding and reckless in his wrath; and the voice of consan- 
 guinity sounds not so loud in him that it would not be drowned by the 
 thunder of his wrath. Poor child, you have learned that already ! Re- 
 member with what cruelty he has already revenged himself on you for 
 the pretended fault of your mother ; how he transferred to you his 
 wrath against her. Remember that he refused )our hand to the Dau- 
 phin of France, not for the sake of your happiness, but because he said 
 you were not worthy of so exalted a position. Anne Boleyn's bastard 
 could never become Queen of France. And after such a proof of his 
 cruel wrath against you, will you dare cast in his face this terrible in- 
 sult? — compel him to recognize a subject, a servant, as his son ? 
 
 Oh, this servant is, however, the brother of a Queen of England ! 
 said she shyly ! My father loved Jane Seymour too warmly not to for- 
 give her brother. 
 
 Ah, ah, you do not know your father ! He has no heart for the past ; 
 or if he has, it is only to take vengeance for an injury or a fault, but 
 not to reward love. King Henry would be capable of sentencing Anne 
 Boleyn's daughter to death, and of sending to the block and rack Cath- 
 arine Howard's brothers, because these two Queens once grieved him 
 and wounded his heart; but he would not forgive me the least offence 
 on account of my being the brother of a Queen who loved him faith- 
 fully and tenderly till her death. But I speak not of myself. I am a 
 warrior, and have too often looked death in the face to fear him now. 
 I speak only of you, Elizabeth. You have no right to perish thus. 
 This noble head must not be laid upon the block. It is destined to wear 
 a royal crown. A fortune still higher than love awaits you — fame and 
 power! I must not draw you away from this proud future. The 
 Princess Elizabeth, though abused and disowned, .may yet one day mount 
 the throne of England. The Countess Seymour never ! she disinherits 
 herself. Follow then your high destiny. Earl Seymour retires before 
 a throne. 
 
 That is to say, you disdained me? asked she angrily stamping the 
 floor with her foot. That is to say, the proud Earl Seymour holds the 
 bastard too base for his coronet ! That is to say, you love me not ! 
 
 No, it means|that 1 love you more than myself — better and more pure- 
 ly than any other man can love you ; for this love is so great that it . 
 makes my selfishness and my ambition silent, and allows me to think 
 only of you and your future. 
 
 Ah, sighed she mournfully, if you really loved me, you would not 
 consider — you would not see the danger, nor fear death. You would 
 think of nothing, and know nothing, save love. 
 
 Because 1 think of love, I think of you, said Seymour. I think that 
 
you are lo move along over the world, great, powerful and glorious, and 
 that I will lend you my arm for this. 1 think of this, thatjny queen of 
 the future needs a general who will win victories for her, and that 1 will 
 be that general. But when this goal is reached ; when you are queen ; 
 then you have the power fioin one of your subjects to make a husband ; 
 then it rests with your own will to elevate me to be the proudest, the 
 happiest, and the most enviable of all men. Extend me your hand then, 
 and I will thank and praise God that he is so gracious to me ; and my 
 whole existence will be spent in the effort to give you the happiness 
 that you are so well entitled to demand. 
 
 And until then? asked she mournfully. 
 
 Until then, we will be constant, and love each other ! cried he, as he 
 tenderly pressed her in his arms. 
 
 She gently repelled him. Will you also be true to me till then ? 
 
 True till death ! 
 
 They have told me that you would marry the Duchess of Richmond, 
 in order thereby to at length put an end to the ancient hatred between 
 the Howards and Seymours. 
 
 Thomas Seymour frowned and his countenance grew dark. Believe 
 me, this hatred is invincible, said he; and no matrimonial alliance could 
 wash it away. It is an inheritance from many years in our families; 
 and [ am firmly resolved not to renounce my inheritance. I shall just 
 us little marry the Duchess of Richmond, as Henry Howard will my 
 sister, the Countess of Shrewsbury. 
 
 Swear that to me ! Swear to me, that you say the truth, and that 
 this haughty and coquettish Duchess shall never be your wife. Swear 
 it to me, by all that is sacred to you ! 
 
 I swear it by my love! exclaimed Thomas Seymour solemnly. 
 
 1 s-hall then at least have one sorrow the less, sighed Elizabeth. I 
 shall have no occasion to be jealous. And is it not true, she then said, 
 is it not true, we shall often see each other? We will both keep this 
 secret of this tower faithfully and sacredly; and after days full of pri- 
 vation and disappointment, we will here keep festival the nights full of 
 blissful pleasure and sweet transport. But why do you smile, Seymour ? 
 
 I smile, because you are pure and innocent as an angel, said he as he 
 reverently kissed her hand. I smile because you are an exalted, god-l : ke 
 child, whom one ought to adore upon his knees, and to whom one ought 
 to pray, as to the chaste goddess Vesta ! Yes, my dear, beloved child, 
 here we will, as you say, pass nights full of blissful pleasure ; and may 
 I be reprobate and damned, if I should ever be capable of betraying this 
 sweet, guileless confidence, with which you favor me, and sully your 
 angel purity ! 
 
 A.h, we will* be very happy, Seymour ! said she smiling. 1 lack only 
 one thing ! — a friend, to whom I can tell my happiness, to whom I can 
 speak of you. Oh, it often seems to me as if this love, which must al- 
 ways be concealed, always shut up, must at last burst my breast; as if 
 this secret must with violence break a passage, and roar like a tempest 
 
L39 
 
 over the whole world. Seymour, I w.tnt a confidant of my happiness 
 and my love. 
 
 Guard yourself well against desiring to seek such a one ! exclaimed 
 Seymour anxiously. A secret that three know, is a secret no more ; and 
 o*e day your confidant will betray us. 
 
 Not so ; I know a woman who would be incapable of that — a woman 
 who loves me well enough to keep my secret as faithfully as 1 myself; 
 a woman who could be more than merely a confidant, who could be the 
 protectress of our love. Oh, believe me, if we could gain her to our 
 side, then our future would be a happy and blessed one, and we might 
 easily succeed in obtaining the King's consent to our marriage. 
 
 And who is this woman ? 
 
 It is the Queen. 
 
 The Queen ? cried Thomas Seymour, with such an expression of hor- 
 ror that Elizabeth trembled ; the Queen your coufidant? But that is 
 impossible ! That would be plunging us both inevitably into ruin. Un- 
 happy child, be very careful not to mention even but a word, a syllable 
 of your relation to me. Be very careful not to betray to her, even by 
 the slightest intimation, that Thomas Seymour is not indifferent to you ! 
 Ah, her wrath would dash to pieces you and me ! 
 
 And why do you believe that? asked Elizabeth gloomily. Why do 
 you suppose that Catharine would fly into a passion because Earl Sey 
 mour loves me] Or how? — It is she perhaps, that you love, and you 
 dare not therefore let h*er know that you have sworn your love to me 
 also ? Ah, I now see through it all ; I understand it all ! You love the 
 Queen, — her only. For that reason you will not go to the chapel with 
 me; for that reason you swore that you would not marry the Dutchess 
 of Kichmondj; and therefore — oh, my presentiment did not deceive me — 
 therefore that frantic furious ride in Epping Forest to-day. Ah, the 
 Queen's horse must of course become raving, and run away, that his 
 lordship, the Master of Horse, might follow his lady, and with her get 
 lost in the thicket of the woods! — And now, said she her eyes flashing 
 with anger, and raising her hand to heaven as if taking an oath, now I 
 say to you : Take heed to yourself! Take heed to yourself, Seymour, 
 that you do not even by a single word, or a single syllable betray your 
 secret, for that word would crush you ! Yes, I feel it, that I am no 
 bastard, that 1 am my father's own daughter; 1 feel it in this wrath and 
 this jealousy, that rages within me! Take heed to yourself, Seymour, 
 for 1 will go hence and accuse you to the King, and the traitor's head 
 will fall upon the scaffold ! 
 
 She was beside herself. With clenched fists and a threatening air, she 
 paced the room up and down. Tears gushed from her eyes; but she 
 shook them out of her eyelashes, so that they fell scattering about her 
 like pearls. Her father's impetuous and untractable nature stirred with- 
 in her ; and his blood seethed in her veins. 
 
 But Thomas Seymour had already regained his selfcommand and 
 
140 
 
 composure. He approached the Priucess and despite her struggles 
 clasped her in his arms. 
 
 Little fool ! said he between his kisses. Sweet, dear fool, how beau- 
 tiful you are in your anger and how I love you for it. Jealousy is be- 
 coming to love ; and 1 do not complain, though you are unjust and criftl 
 towards me. The Queen is much too cold, and proud a heart, ever to 
 be loved by any man. Ah, only to think this, is already treason to her 
 virtue and modesty ; and surely she has not deserved this from us two, 
 that we should disdain and insult her. She is the first that has always 
 been just to you ; and to me she has ever been only a gracious mistress ! 
 
 It is true, murmured Elizabeth completely ashamed, she is a true friend 
 and mother ; and I have her to thank for my present position at this 
 Court. 
 
 Then, after a pause, she said, smiling and extending her hand to the 
 Earl : You are right. It would be a crime to suspect her ; and I am a 
 fool. Eorgive me, Seymour, forgive my absurd and childish anger ; and 
 1 promise you in return to betray our secret to no one, not even to the 
 Queen. * 
 
 Do you swear that to me ? 
 
 1 swear it to you ! and I swear to you more than that : I will never 
 again be jealous of her. 
 
 Then you do but simple justice to yourself and to the Queen also, said 
 the Earl with a smile, as he drew her again to his arms. 
 
 But she pushed him gently back. 1 must now away. The morning 
 dawns and the Archbishop awaits me in the royal chapel. 
 
 And what will you say to him, beloved 1 ? 
 
 I will make my confession to him ! 
 
 How ! so you will then betray our love to him % 
 
 Oh, said she with a bewitching smile, that is a secret between us and 
 God ; and only to him alone can we confess it ; because he alone can 
 absolve us from it. Farewell then, Seymour, farewell, and think of me 
 till we see each other again ! But when — say, when shall we meet again ? 
 
 When there is a night like this one, beloved, when the moou is not in 
 the heavens. 
 
 Oh, then I could wish that there were a change of the moon every 
 week, said she with the charming innocence of a child. Farewell, Sey- 
 mour, farewell ; we must part. 
 
 She clung to his tall, sturdy form as the ivy twines around" the truuk 
 of the oak. Then they parted. The Priucess slipped again softly and 
 unseen into her apartments, and thence into the royal chapel ; the Earl 
 descended again the spiral staircase which led to the secret door to the 
 garden. 
 
 Unobserved and unseen he returned to his palace ; even his valet, who 
 slept in the ante- room, did not see it, as the Earl crept past him lightly 
 on his toes, and betook himself to his sleeping-room. 
 
 But no sleep came to his eyes that night, and his soul was restless 
 
J41 
 
 and full of fierce torment. He was angry with himself, and accused him- 
 self of treachery and perfidy ; and then again, full of proud haughtiness, 
 he still tried to excuse himself and tf> silence his conscience, which was 
 sitting in judgment on him. 
 
 1 love her — her only ! said he to himself. Catharine possesses my 
 heart, my soul ; I am ready to devote my whole life to her. Yes, 1 love 
 her ! I have this day so sworn to her ; and she is mine for all eternity ! 
 
 And Elizabeth 1 asked his conscience. Have you not sworn truth 
 and love to her also? 
 
 No ! said he. I have only received her oath ; I have not given her 
 mine in return. And when I vowed never to marry the Duchess of 
 Richmond ; when I swore this " by my love," then I thought only of 
 Catharine — of that proud, beautiful, charming woman, at once maidenly 
 and voluptuous; but not of this young, inexperienced, wild child — of this 
 unattractive little Princess ! 
 
 But this Princess may one day become a Queen, whispered his am- 
 bition. 
 
 That, however, is very doubtful, replied he to himself. But it is cer- 
 tain lhat Catharine will one day be the Regent, and if I am»at that time 
 her husband, then I am Regent of England. 
 
 That was the secret of his duplicity and his double treachery. Thomas 
 Seymour loved nothing but himself, nothing but his ambition. He was 
 capable of risking his life for a woman ; but for renown and greatness 
 he would have gladly sacrificed this woman. 
 
 For him there was only one aim, one struggle : to become great and 
 powerful above all the nobles nf the kingdom — to be the first man in 
 England. And to reach this aim, he would be afraid of no means ; he 
 would shrink from no treachery and no sin. 
 
 Like the disciples of Loyola, he said in justification of himself, the 
 end santifies the means. 
 
 And thus for him every means was right which conducted him to the 
 end ; that is to say, to greatness and glory. 
 
 He "was firmly convinced that he loved the Queen ardently ; and in 
 his nobler hours he did really love her. Depending on the moment, a 
 son. of the hour, in him feeling and will varied with the rapidity of light- 
 ning, and he was ever wholly and completely that with which the mo- 
 ment inflamed him. 
 
 When, therefore, he stood before the Queen, he did not lie when he 
 swore that he loved her passionately. He really loved her, with double 
 warmth, since she had to his mind in some sort identified herself with 
 his ambition. He adored her, because she was the means that might 
 conduct him to his end ; because she might some day hold in her hands 
 the sceptre of England. And on the day when this came to pass, he 
 wished to be her lover and her lord. She had accepted him as her lord, 
 and he was entirely certain of his future sway. 
 
 Consequently he loved the Queen, but his proud and ambitious heart 
 could never be so completely animated by one love, as that there should 
 
142 
 
 not be room in it for a second, provided this second love presented him 
 a favorable chance for the attainment of the aim of his life. 
 
 Princess Elizabeth had this chance. And if the Queen would certain- 
 ly become one day Regent of England, yet Elizabeth might some day 
 perchance become Queen thereof. Of course it was as yet only a per- 
 haps, but one might manage out of this perhaps to make a reality. Be- 
 sides, this young, passionate child loved him, and Thomas Seymour was 
 himself too young and too easily excitable to be able to despise a love 
 that presented him with such enticing promises, and bright dreams of 
 the future. 
 
 It does not become man to live for love alone, said he to himself as 
 he now thought over the events of the night. He must struggle for the . 
 highest and wish to reach the greatest, and no means of attaining this 
 end ought he to leave unemployed. Besides, my heart is large enough 
 to satisfy a two-fold love. 1 love them both ; both of these fair women 
 who fetch me a crown. Let fate decide to which of the two I shall one 
 day belong ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
48 
 
HENRY VIII AND HIS COURT, 
 
 OR, 
 
 CATHARINE PARR. 
 
 % historical $M 
 
 BY L. M.UHLBACH. 
 
 lFrom t&c ffirrman, 
 BY RET. H. N. PIERCE, D. D 
 
 VOLUME H. 
 
 MOBILE: 
 S. EL GOETZEL, PUBLISHER. 
 
 1865. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 
 
 S. H. GOETZEL, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Alabama, 
 
 for the Confederate States of America. 
 
HENRY VIII. AND HIS COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER, I. 
 
 HENRT HOWARD, EARL OF SCRRET. 
 
 The great Court festival so long expected was at last to take placo 
 today. Kuights and Lords were preparing for the tournament ; poets 
 and scholars for the feast of the poets. For the witty and brave Kino- 
 wished to unite the two in this festival today, in order to give the world 
 a rare and great example of a King who could claim all virtue and wis- 
 dom as his own ; who could be equally great as a hero and as a divine ■ 
 equally great as a poet and as a philosopher and scholar. 
 
 The Knights were to fight for the honor of their ladies ; the poets 
 were to sing their songs, and John Heywood to bring,out his merry 
 farces. Aye, even the great scholars were to have a part in this festi- 
 val; for the King had specially, for this, summoned to London from 
 Cambridge, where he was then Professor in the University, his former 
 teacher in the Greek language, the great scholar Croke, to whom belonged 
 the merit of having first made the learned world of Germany, as well 
 as of England, again acquainted with the poets of Greece * He wished 
 to recite with Croke some scenes from Sophocles to his wondering Court ; 
 and though, to be sure, there was no one there who understood the Greek 
 tongue, yet all, without doubt, must be enraptured with the wonderful 
 music of the Greek and the amazing erudition of the King. 
 
 Preparations were going on everywhere ; arrangements were being 
 made; every one was making his toilet, whether it were the toilet of 
 the mind, or of the body. 
 
 Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, made his also ; that is to say, he had 
 retired to his cabinet, and was busy filiDg away at the sonnets, which 
 he expected to recite today, and in which he lauded the beauty and the 
 grace of the fair Geraldine. 
 
 He had the paper in his hand, and was lying on the velvet ottoman 
 which stood before his writing table. 
 
 Had Lady Jane Douglas seen him now, she would have been filled 
 •TtUw, r*f«90r. 
 
with painful rapture to observe how, with head leaned back on the 
 cushion, his large blue eyes raised dreamily to heaven, he smiled and 
 whispered ger tie -words. 
 
 He was wholly absorbed in sweet reminiscenses ; he was thinking of 
 those rapturous, blessed hours, which he a few days before had spent 
 with his Geraldine, and as he thought of them he adored her ; and he 
 repeated to her anew in his mind his oath of eternal love and inviolable 
 truth. * 
 
 His enthusiastic spirit was completely filled with a sweet melancholy ; 
 and he felt perfectly intoxicated by the magical happiness afforded him . 
 by his Geraldine. 
 
 She was his — his at last ! After struggles so long and painful ; after 
 such bitter renunciation, and such mournful resignation, happiness had 
 at last arisen for him ; the never expected had at last become indeed a 
 reality. Catharine loved him. With a sacred oath she had sworn to 
 him that she would one day become his wife ; that she would become 
 his wife before God and man. 
 
 But when is the day to come on which he may show her to the world 
 as his consort 1 When will she be at length relieved from the burden 
 of her royal crown? When at length will fall from her those golden 
 chains that bind her to a tyrannical and bloodthirsty husband; to the 
 cruel and arrogant King 1 When will Catharine at length cease to be 
 Queen, in order to become Lady Surrey ? 
 
 Strange ! As he asked himself this, there ran over him a shudder, and 
 an unaccountable dread fell upon his soul. 
 
 It seemed to him as if a voice whispered to him : " Thou wilt never 
 live to see that day ! The King, old as he is, wil' nevertheless live 
 longer than thou! Prepare thyself to die, for death is already at thy 
 door !" 
 
 And it was not the first time that he had heard that voice. Often 
 before it had spoken to him, and always with the same words, the same 
 warning. Often it seemed to him in his dreams as if he felt a cutting 
 pain about the neck ; and he had seen a scaffold, from which his own 
 head was rolling down. 
 
 Henry Howard was superstitious; for he was a poet, and to poets it 
 is given to perceive the mysterious connexion between the visible and 
 the invisible world ; to believe that supernatural powers and invisible 
 forms surround man, and either protect him, or else curse him. 
 
 There were hours in which he believed in the reality of his dreams ; 
 in which he did not doubt of that melancholy and horrible fate which 
 they foretold. 
 
 Formerly he had given himself up to it with smiling resignation ; 
 but now, since he loved Catharine, since she belonged to him — now he 
 would not die. Now, when 'life held out to him its most enchanting 
 enjoyments, its intoxicating delights — now he would not leave them — 
 now he dreaded to die. He was, therefore, cautious and prudent ; and 
 knowing the King's malicious, savage and jealous character, he had al- % 
 
ways been extremely careful to avoid everything that might excite him, 
 that might arouse the royal hyena from his slumbers. 
 
 But it seemed to him as though the King bore him and his family a 
 special spite; as though he could never forgive them, that the consort, 
 whom he most loved, and who had the most bitterly wronged him, had 
 sprung from their stock. In the King's every word, and every look, 
 Henry Howard felt and was sensible of this secret resentment of the 
 King ; he suspected that Henry was only watching for the favorable 
 moment when he could seiie and strangle him. 
 
 He was therefore on his guaid. For now, when Geraldine loved him, 
 his life belonged no longer to himself alone ; she loved him ; she had a 
 claim on him ; his days were, therefore, hallowed in his own eyes. 
 
 So he had kept silence under the petty annoyances and vexations of 
 the King. He had taken it even without murmuring, and without de- 
 manding satisfaction, when the King had suddenly recalled him from the 
 army that was fighting against France, and of which he was commander- 
 in-chief, and in his stead had sent Lord Hertford, Earl of Sudley. to the 
 army which was encamped before Boulogne and Montreuil. He had 
 quietly and without resentment returned to his palace; and since he 
 could no longer be a general and warrior, he became again a scholar and 
 poet. His palace was now again the resort of the scho'ars and writers 
 of England ; and he was always .ready, with true princely munificence, 
 to assist oppressed and despised talent ; to afford the persecuted scholar 
 an asylum in his palace. He it was who saved the learned Fox from 
 starvation, and took him into his house, where Horatius Junius and the 
 poet Churchyard, afterwards so celebrated, had both found a home — the 
 former as his physician and the latter as his page.* 
 
 Love, the arts and the sciences, caused the wounds that the King had 
 given his ambition, to heal over ; and he now felt no more rancor ; now 
 he almost thanked the King. For to his recall onl\ did he owe his good 
 fortune; and Henry, who wished to injure him, had given him his sweet- 
 est pleasure. 
 
 He now smiled as he thought how Henry, who had taken from him 
 the batoon, had, without knowing it, given him in return his own Queen, 
 and had exalted him, when he wished to humble him. 
 
 He smiled, and again took in hand the poem in which he wished to 
 celebrate in song, at the Court festival that day, the honor and praise of 
 his lady-love, who no one knew, nor even suspected — the fair Geraldine. 
 
 The verses are stiff, muttered he ; this lauguage is so poor ! It has 
 not the power of expressing all that fulness of adoration and ee 
 which I feel. Petrarch was more fortunate in this re>pect. Hi-- beauti' 
 ful, flexible language sounds like music, and it is, even just by itself, the 
 harmonious accompaniment of his love. Ah, Petrarch, I envy thee, and 
 yet would not be like thee. For thine was a mournful and bitter sweet 
 lot. Laura never loved thee ; and she was the mother of twelve child- 
 ren, not a single one of whom belonged to thee. 
 
 * Nott'i Life of (he Earl of Surrey. 
 
G 
 
 He laughed with a sense of his own proud success in love, and seized 
 Petrarch's sonnets, which lay near him on the table, to compare his own 
 new sonnet wiih a similar one of Petrarch's. 
 
 He was so 'absorbed in these meditations, that he had not at all observ- 
 ed that the hanging, which concealed the door behind him, was pushed 
 aside, and a marvellous young woman, resplendent with diamonds and 
 sparkling with jewelry, entered his cabinet. 
 
 For an instant she stood still upon the threshold, and with a smile 
 observed the Earl, who was more and more absorbed in his reading. 
 
 She was of imposing beauty ; her large eyes blazed and glowed like 
 a volcano ; her lofty brow seemed in all respects designed to wear a 
 crown. And, indeed, it was a ducal coronet that sparkled on her black 
 hair, which in long ringlets curled down to her full, voluptuous shoulders. 
 Her tall and majestic form was clad in a white-satin dress, richly trim- 
 med with ermine and pearls; two clasps of costly brilliants held fast to 
 her shoulders the small mantilla of crimson velvet, faced with ermine, 
 which covered her back and fell down to her waist. 
 
 Thus appeared the Duchess of Richmond, the widow of King Henry's 
 natural son, Henry Richmond ; the sister of Lord Henry Howard, Earl 
 of Surrey ; and the daughter of the noble Duke of Norfolk. 
 
 Since her husband died and left her a widow at twenty, she resided in 
 her brother's palace and had placed herself under his protection, and in 
 the world they were known as ' the affectionate brother and sister." 
 
 Ah, how little knew the world, which is ever wont to judge from ap- 
 pearances, of the hatred and the love of these two ; how little suspicion 
 had it of the real sentiments of this brother and sister ! 
 
 Henry Howard had offered his sister his palace as her residence, be- 
 cause he hoped by his presence to lay on her impulsive and voluptuous 
 disposition a restraint which should compel her not to overstep the 
 bounds of custom and decency. Lady Richmond had accepted this offer 
 of his palace because she was obliged to ; inasmuch as the avaricious and 
 parsimonious King gave his son's widow only a meagre income, and her 
 own means she had squandered and lavishly thrown away upon her 
 lovers. 
 
 Henry Howard had thus acted for the honor of his name ; but he 
 loved not his sister ; nay, he despised her. But the Duchess of Rich- 
 mond hated her brother, because her proud heart felt humbled by him, 
 and under obligations to gratitude. 
 
 But their hatred and their contempt were a secret that they both pre- 
 served in the depths of the heart, and which they scarcely dared confess 
 to themselves. Both had veiled this their inmost feeling with a show of 
 affection, and only once in a while was one betrayed to the other by 
 some lightly dropped word, or unregarded look. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 Lightly oii the tips of her toes, the Duchess stole towards her brother, 
 who did not yet observe her. The thick Turkish carpet made her steps 
 inaudible. She already stood behind the Earl, and he had not yet no- 
 ticed her. • 
 
 Now she bent over his shoulder, and fastened her sparkling eyes on 
 the paper in her brother's hand. 
 
 Then she read in a loud, sonorous voice the ti'lc of it: " Com- 
 plaint, because Geraldine never shows herself to her lover unless cov- 
 ered by her veil."* Ah, ^>aid the Duchess laughing, now then I have 
 spied out your secret, and you must surrender to me at discretion. So 
 you are to love; and Geraldine is the name of the chosen one to whom 
 you address your poems ? I swear to you, my biother, you will repay 
 me dear for this secret. 
 
 It is no secret at all, sister, said the Earl with a quiet smile, as he 
 rose from the divan and saluted the Duchess. It is so little a secret 
 that I shall recite this sonnet at the Court festival this very evening. I 
 shall not, therefore, need your secrecy, Rosabella. 
 
 So the fair Geraldine never shows herself to you unless in a dark 
 veil, black as the night, said the Duchess musingly. But tell me, 
 brother, who then is the fair Geraldine? Of the ladies at Court, I know 
 not a single one who bears that name. 
 
 So you see from that, the whole is only a fiction — a creation (5f my 
 fancy. 
 
 No, indeed, said she smiling ; one does not write with such warmth 
 and enthusiasm unless he is really in love. You sing your lady-love, 
 and you give her another name. That is very plain ! Do not deny it, 
 Henry, for I know indeed that you have a lady-love. It may be read 
 in your eyes. And look you ! it Hon account of this dear one that I 
 have come to you. It pains me, Henry, that you have no confidence 
 in me, and allow me no sham in your joys and sorrows. Do you not 
 know, then, how tenderly I love you. my dear, noble brother? 
 
 She put her arm tenderly round his neck, and wanted to ki»s him. 
 He bent his head back, and laying his hand on her rosy, round chin, he 
 looked inquiringly and smilingly into her eyes. 
 
 You want something of me, Kosabella! said he. I have never yet 
 enjoyed your tenderness and sisterly affection, except when you needed 
 mv services. 
 
 * lkm»»t by Sarrty. 3«« HotCi Lite tod W«rk« ef Krr«y. 
 
How suspicious you are ! cried she with a charming pout, as she 
 shook his hand away from her face. 1 have come from wholly disin- 
 terested sympathy; partly to warn you, partly to find out whether 
 your love is perchance fixed upon a lad) that would render my warn- 
 ing useless. 
 
 Well, so you see, Rosabella, that I was right, and that your tender- 
 ness was not aimless. Now then, you want to warn me? I have 
 yet to learn that I need any warning. 
 
 Nay, brother ! For it would certainly be very dangerous and mis- 
 chievoos for you, if your love should chance not to be in accordance with 
 the command of the King. 
 
 A momentary flush spread over Henry Howard's face, and his brow 
 darkened. . 
 
 With the King's command ? asked he in astonishment. I did not 
 know that Henry the Eighth could control my heart. And, at any rate, 
 1 would never concede him that right. Say quickly, then, sister, what 
 is it? What means this about the King's command, and what matri 
 monial scheme have you women been again contriving 1 ? For 1 well 
 know, that you and mv mother have no rest with the thought of seeing 
 me still unmarried ! You want to bestow on me, whether or no, the 
 happiness of marriage ; yet, nevertheless, it appears to me, that you 
 both have sufficiently learned from experience that this happiness is 
 only imaginary, and that marriage in reality is, at the very least, the 
 vestibule of hell. 
 
 It is true, laughed the Duchess ; the only happy moment of my mar- 
 lied life was when my husband died. For in that 1 am more fortunate 
 than my mother, who has her tyrant still living about her. Ah, how 
 1 pity my mother ! 
 
 Dare not to revile our noble father ! cried the Earl almost threat- 
 eningly. God alone knows how much he has suffered from our 
 mother, and how much he still suffers. He is not to blame for this 
 unhappy marriage. But you have not come to talk over these sad 
 and disgraceful family matters, sister ! You wish to warn me, did 
 you say ? 
 
 Yes, warn you ! said the Duchess tenderly, as she took her brother's 
 hand and led him to the ottoman. Come, let us sit down here, Henry, 
 and let us for once chat confidentially and cordially, as becomes brother 
 and sister. Tell me, who is Geraldine? 
 
 A phantom, an ideal ! I have told you that already. 
 
 You really love then no lady at this Court? 
 
 No, none ! There is among all these ladies, with whom the Queen 
 has surrounded herself, not one whom I am able to love. 
 
 Ah, your heart then is free, Henry-; and you will be so much the 
 more easily inclined to comply with the King's wish. 
 
 What does the King wish ? 
 
 She laid her head on her brother's shoulder,, and said in a low whis- 
 per : That the Howard and Seymour families be at last reconciled ; that 
 
at last they may reconcile the hatred, which has for centuries separated 
 them, by- means of' a linn and sincere bond of love. 
 
 Ah, the King wants that! cried the Earl scornfully. Forsooth now, 
 he hus made a good beginning towards bringing about this reconciliation. 
 He has insulted me before all Europe, by removing me frorft my com- 
 mand and investing a Seymour with my rank and dignity; and he 
 requires that I in return shall love this arrogant Earl, who has robbed me 
 of what js my due: who has long intrigued and besieged the King's 
 ear with lies and calumnies, Vill he has gained his end and supplanted me. 
 
 It is true the King recalled you from the army ; but this- was done in 
 order to give you the first place at his Court — to appoint you Lord 
 Chamberlain to the Queen. 
 
 Henry Howard trembled and was silent. It is true, he then mut- 
 tered ; I am obliged to the King for this place. 
 
 And then, continued the Duchess with an innocent air, then I do not 
 believe either, that Lord Hertford is to blame for your recall. To prove 
 this to you, he has made a proposal to the King, and to me also, which 
 is to testify to you and to all the world, how great an honor Lord Hert- 
 ford esteems it to be allied to the Howards, and above all things to 
 you, by the most sacred bonds. 
 
 Ah, that noble, magnanimous Lord, cried Henry Howard, with a 
 bitter laugh. As matters do not advance well with laurels, he tries the 
 myrtles; sinw he can win no battles, ho wants to make marriages. 
 Now, sister, let me hear what he has to propose. 
 
 A double marriage, Henry. He asks my hand for his brother, Thomas 
 Seymour, provided you choose his sister, Lady Margaret, for your wife. 
 
 Never! cried the Earl. Never will Henry Howard present his hand 
 to a daughter of that house ; never condescend so far as to elevate a 
 Seymour to be his wife. That is well enough for a King — not for a 
 Howard ! 
 
 Brother, you insult the King ! 
 
 Well, I insult him then ! He has insulted me, too, in arranging this 
 base scheme. 
 
 Brother, reflect; the Seymours are powerful, and stand high in the 
 King's favor. 
 
 Yes, in the King's favor, they stand high ! But the people knows 
 their proud, cruel and arrogant disposition ; and people and nobility de- 
 spise them. The Seymours have the voice of the King in their favor ; 
 the Howards the voice of the whole country ; and that is of more con- 
 sequence. The King can exalt the Seymours, for they stand far beneath 
 him. He cannot exalt the Howards, for they are his equals. Nor can 
 he degrade them. Catharine died on the scaffold — the King became 
 thereby only a hangman — our escutcheon was not sullied by that act ! 
 
 These are very proud words, Henry ! 
 
 They become a son of the Norfolks, Rosabella ! Ah, see that petty 
 Lord Hertford, Earl Seymour. He covets a ducal coronet for his sis- 
 ter. He wants to give her to me to wife ; for as soon as our poor father 
 
1U 
 
 dies, I wear his coronet ! The arrogant upstarts ! For the sister's 
 escutcheon, my coronet ; for the brother's, your coronet. Never, say I, 
 shall that be ! 
 
 The Duchess ha*d become pale, and a tremor ran through her proud 
 form. Her eyes flashed, and an angry word was already suspended on 
 her lips ; but she still held it back. She violently forced herself to 
 calmness and self possession. 
 
 Consider onoe more, Henry, said she ; do not decide at once. You 
 speak of our greatness ; but you do not b&ar in mind the power of the 
 Siymours. 4 tell you, they are powerful enough to tread us in the dust, 
 despite all our greatness. And they are not only powerful at the pres- 
 ent ; they will be so in the future also ; for, it is well known in what 
 disposition and way of thinking the Prince of Wales is trained up. 
 The King is old, weak and failing ; death lurks behind his throne, and 
 will soon enough press him in his anns. Then, lidward is King. With 
 him, the heresy of protestantism triumphs ; and however great and nu- 
 merous our party may be, yet we shall be powerless and subdued. 
 Yes, we shall be the oppressed and persecuted. 
 
 We shall then know how to fight, and if it must be so, to die also ! 
 cried her brother. It is more honorable to die on the battlefield, than 
 to purchase life by humiliation. 
 
 Yes, it is honorable to die on the field of battle ; but, Henry, it is 
 a disgrace to come to an end upon the scaffold. And that, my brother, 
 may be your fate, if you do not this time bend your pride ; if you do 
 •not grasp the hand that Lord Hertford extends to you in reconciliation, 
 but mortally offend him. He will take bloody vengeance, when once 
 he comes into power. 
 
 Let him do it, if he can ! my life is in God's hand ! My head belongs 
 to the King, but my heart to myself; and that I will never degrade to 
 merchandise, which 1 may barter for a little security and royal favor. 
 
 Brother, I conjure you, consider it ! cried the Duchess, no longer able 
 to restrain her passionate disposition, and -all ablaze in her savage wrath. 
 Dare not in proud arrogance to destroy my future also ! You may die 
 on the scaffold, if you choose ; but 1 — I will be happy ; I will at last, 
 after so many years of sorrow and disgrace, have my share of life's joys 
 also. It is my due, and I will not relinquish it ; and you shall not be 
 allowed to tear it from me. i Know then, my brother, I love Thomas 
 Seymour ; all my desire, all my hope is fixed on him ; and I will not 
 tear this love out of my heart; I will not give him up. 
 
 Well, if you love him, marry him then ! exclaimed her brother. Be- 
 come the wife of this Thomas Seymour ! # Ask the Duke, our father, for 
 his consent to this marriage, and 1 am certain he will not refuse you, for 
 he is prudent and cautious, and will, better than I, calculate the advan- 
 tages which a connexion with the Seymours may yield our family. 
 Do that, sister, and marry your dearly beloved. I do not hinder you ! 
 
 Yes, you do hinder me; you al'rne! cried his sister flaming with 
 wrath. Yoq will refuse Margaret's hand ; you will give the Seymours 
 
H 
 
 mortal offence. You thereby make my union with Thomas Seymour 
 impossible! In the proud selfishness of your haughtiness, you see not 
 that you are dashing to atoms my happiness, while yon are thinking on- 
 ly of your desire to offend the Seymours. But I tell you : I love Thom- 
 as Seymour — nay, I adore him. He is my happiness,* my future, my 
 eternal bliss. Therefore have pity on me, Henry ! Grant me this hap- 
 piness, which I implore you for as Heaven's blessing. Prove to me 
 that you love me, and are willing to make this sacrifice for me. Henry, 
 on my knees, I conjure you ! Give me the man I love ; bend your proud 
 head ; become Margaret Seymour's husband, that Thomas Seymour may 
 become mine. 
 
 She had actually sunk upon her knees; and her face deluged with 
 tears, bewitchingly beautiful in her passionate emotion, 9he looked up 
 imploringly to her brother. 
 
 But the Earl did not lift her up ; on the contrary, with a smile, he fell 
 back a step. How long is it now, Duchess, asked he mockingly, -since 
 you swore that your secretary, Mr. Wilford, was the man whom you 
 loved 1 Positively, 1 believed you — I believed it till lone day found you 
 in the arms of your page. On that day, I swore to myself never to be- 
 lieve you again, though you vowed to me, with an oath ever so sacred, 
 that you loved a man. Well now, you love a man ; but what one, is a 
 matter ufinuifr.-rcnce. To-day his name i> Thomas, to morrow Archi- 
 bald, or Eo\\..id,as you please! 
 
 For the fit st time the Earl drew the veil away from his heart, and let 
 his sister see all the contempt and anger that he felt towards her. 
 
 The Duchess also felt wounded by his words, as by a red hot iron, 
 
 She sprung up from her knees; and with flurried breath, with looks 
 flashing with rage, every muscle of her countenance convulsed and tremb- 
 ling, there she stood before her brother. 
 
 She was a woman no more; she was a lioness, that without compas- 
 sion or pity, will devour him who has dared irritate her. 
 
 Earl of Surrey, you are a shameless wretch, said she with compressed, 
 quivering lips. Were I a man, I would slap you in the face, and call 
 you a scoundrel. But by the eternal God, you shall not say that you 
 have done this with impunity ! Once more, and for the last time, I now 
 ask you : Will you comply with Lord Hertford's wish 1 Will you mar- 
 ry Lady Margaret and accompany me with Thomas Seymour to the 
 altar ! 
 
 No, I will not, and 1 will never do it! exclaimed her brother solemn,- 
 ly. The Howards bow not before the Seymours; and never will Hen 
 ry Howard marry a wife that he does not love ! 
 
 Ah, you love her not ! said she breathless, gnashing her teeth, You 
 do not love Lady Margaret; and for this reason must your sister re- 
 nounce her love, and give up this man whom she adores. Ah, you love 
 not this sister of Thomas Seymour ? She is not the Gerald ine whom 
 you adore — to whom you dedicate your verses ? Well now, 1 will find 
 her out — your Geraldine. I will discover her : and then, woe to you 
 
\i 
 
 and to her ! You refuse me your hand to lead me to the altar with 
 Thomas Seymour; well now, 1 will one day extend you my hand to 
 conduct you and your Gerald ine to the scaffold ! 
 
 And as she saw how the Earl startled and turned pale, she continued 
 with a scornful laugh : Ah, you shiink, and horror creeps over ) ou ! 
 Does your conscience admonish you that the hero, rigid in virtue, may 
 yet sometimes make a false step? You thought to hide )our secret, if 
 you enveloped it in the veil of night, like your Geraldine, who, as you 
 wailingly complain in that poem there, never shows herself to you with- 
 out a veil as black as night. Just wait, wait! 1 will strike a light for 
 you, before which all your night-like veils shall be torn to shreds ; I will 
 light up the night of your secret with a torch, which will be large enough 
 to set on fire the fagot piles about the stake to which you and your Ger- 
 aldine are to go ! 
 
 Ah, now you let me see for the first time your real countenance, said 
 Henry Howard shrugging his shoulders. The angel's mask /alls from 
 your face ; aud I behold the Fury that was hidden beneath it. Now 
 you are your mother's own daughter ; and at this moment I comprehend 
 for the-first time what my father has suffered, and why he shunned not 
 even the disgrace of a divorce, just to be delivered from such a Megcera. 
 
 Oh, I thank you, thank you ! cried she with a savage laugh. You 
 are filling up the measure of your iniquity. It is not enough that you 
 drive your sister to despair ; you'ievile yonr mother also! You say 
 that we are Furies; well indeed, for we shall one day be such to you, 
 and we will show you our Medusa-face, before which you will be stiff 
 ened to stone. Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, from this hour out, I 
 am your implacable enemy; look out for the head on your shoulders, 
 for my hand is raised against it, and in my hand is a sword! Guard 
 well the secret that sleeps in your breast; for you have transformed 
 me to a vampyre that will suck }Our heau's blood. You have reviled 
 my mother, and I will go hence and tell her of it. She will believe me ; 
 for she well knows that you hate her, and that you are a genuine son of 
 your father; that is to say, a canting hypocrite, a miserable fellow, who 
 carries virtue on the lips and crime in the heart. 
 
 ('ease, 1 say, cease, cried the Earl, if you do not want me to forget 
 that you are a woman and my sister! 
 
 Forget it by all means, said she scornfully. I have forgotten long 
 since that you are my brother, as you have long since forgotten that you 
 are the son of your mother. Farewell, Earl of Surrey ; I leave you and 
 your palace, and will from this hour out abide with my mother, the di- 
 vorced wife of the Duke of Norfolk. But mark you this: we two are 
 separated from you in our love — but not in our hate! Our hatred to 
 you remains eternal and unchangeable ; and one day it will crush you ! 
 Farewell, Earl of Surrey ; we meet again in the King's presence ! 
 
 She rushed to the door — Henry Howard did not hold her back. He 
 looked after her with a smile as she left the cabinet, and murmured al- 
 most compassionately : Poor woman ! I have perhaps cheated her out 
 
17 
 
 nice h;id sent the King as ;i wedding gift, and which reflected the figure 
 of the Queen sparkling with diamond*, she smiled ; for she was obliged 
 to confess to herself that she was very beautiful to day : and &he thought 
 that to-day Thomas Seymour would look upon his love with pride. 
 
 As she thought, of him, a deep crimson overspread her f\ce, and a 
 thrill flew through her frame. How handsome he had been at the tour- 
 nament that day ; how splendidly he leaped over the barriers ; how his 
 eye flashed; how contemptuous b8d been his smile! And then, that 
 look, which he directed over to her at the moment when he had conquer- 
 ed his antagonist, Henry Howard, and hurled the lance from his hand! 
 Oh, my God ! her heart was ready to burst with delight and rapture ! 
 
 Whollv'given up to her revery, she sank iu her gilded arm-chair and 
 cast her eyes to the ground, dreaming and smiling. 
 
 Behind her stood her women in respectful silence, waiting for u sign 
 from their mistress. But the Queen no longer thought at all of them ; 
 she imagined herself alone ; she saw nobodj but that handsome, manly 
 face, for which she had reserved a place in her heart. 
 
 Now the door opened, and Lady Jane Douglas entered. ' She, too, 
 was magnificently dressed, jland sparkling with diamonds; she, too, was 
 beautiful, but it was the pallid, dreadful beauty of a demon; and ho 
 who looked on her just then, as she entered the room, would have trem- 
 bled and his heart would have been seized with an undefined fear. 
 
 She threw a quick glance on her mistress lost in revery ; and as she 
 saw that her toilet was finished, she made a sign to the women, who si- 
 lently obeyed, and left the room. i 
 
 Still Catharine noticed nothing. Lady Jane stood behind her and ob- 
 served her in the mirror. As she saw the Queen smile, her brow dark- 
 ened and fierce wrath flashed in her eyes. 
 
 She shall smile no more, said she to herself. I suffer thus terribly by 
 her ; well now, she shall suffer too. 
 
 Softly and noiselessly she slipped into the next room, the door of 
 which stood ajar, and opened with hurried hand a carton filled with rib- 
 bons and b<>ws. Then she drew from the velvet pocket, wrought with 
 pearls, which hung at her side suspended by a gold chain, a dark red ro- 
 sette, and threw it into the box. That was all. 
 
 Lady Jane now returned to the adjoining mom ; and her countenance, 
 which had been previous!) gloomy and threatening, \\a^ now proud and 
 joyful. 
 
 With a bright smile she walked up to the Queen, and kneeling down 
 at her side, she press- d a fervent It i 33 on the hand th.it was hanging 
 down. 
 
 What is my Queen musing over 1 asked the, as she laid her head on 
 Catharine's knee and tenderly looked up al her. 
 
 The Queen gave a slight start, and raised her head. ! Lady 
 
 - tender smile, and her yet Bearohing looks. 
 
 she fell i It, at leasl of guilty thoughts, she, was 
 
 on her guard, and remembered John He} wood's warning. 
 
18 
 
 She is observing me, said she to herself; she seems affectionate ; so 
 she is brooding over some wicked plot. 
 
 Ah, it is well you have come, Jane, said she aloud. You can help 
 me ; for to tell you the truth, 1 am in great perplexity. I am in want of 
 a rtiyme, and I am thinking in vain how I shall rind it. 
 
 Ah, aie you composing poetry, Queen 1 
 
 Why,. Jane, does that surprise you? Shall I, the Queen, be able then 
 to bear off no prize? I would give my precious jewels, if I could suc- 
 ceed in composing a poem to which the. King was obliged to award the 
 prize. But I am wanting in a musical ear; ! cannot find the rhyme, and 
 so shall be obliged at last to give up the idea of winning la#rels also. 
 How the King would enjoy it, though! For, to confess the truth to 
 you, 1 believe he is a little afraid that Henry Howard will bear oil' the 
 prize, and he would be very thankful to me if I could contest it with 
 him. You well know, the King has no love for the Howards. 
 
 And )0U, Queen ? asked Jane ; and she turned so pale that the Queen 
 herself noticed it. 
 
 You are unwell, Jane, said she syrnpathizingly. Really, Jane, you 
 seem to be suffering. You need recreation ; you should rest a little. 
 
 But Jane had already regained her calm and earnest air, and she suc- 
 ceeded in smiling. 
 
 No, indeed ! said she. I am well and satisfied to be permitted to be 
 near you. But will you allow me, Queen, to make a request of you ? 
 
 Ask, Jane, ask, and it is granted beforeh md ; for 1 know that Jane 
 will request nothing that her friend cannot grant. 
 
 Lady. Jane was silent and looked thoughtfully upon the ground. 
 With firm resolution she struggled with herself. Her proud heart rear- 
 ed fiercely up at the thought of bowing before this woman, whom she 
 hated, and of being obliged to approach her with a fawning prayer. She 
 felt such raging hate against, the Queen, that in that hour she would will 
 ingly have given her own life, if she could have first seen her enemy at 
 her feet, wailing and crushed. 
 
 Henry Howard loved the Queen ; so Catharine had robbed her of the 
 heart of him whom she adored. Catharine had condemned her to the 
 eternal torment of renouncing him. — to the rack of enjoying a happiness 
 and a rapture that was not hers — to warm herself at a fire which she like 
 a thief had stolen from the altar of another's God. 
 
 Catharine was condemned and doomed., 
 
 Jane had no more compassion. She must crush her. 
 
 Well, asked the Queen, you are silent? You do not tell me what I 
 am to grant you ? 
 
 Lady Jane raised her eyes, and her look was serene and peaceful. 
 Queen, said she, I encountered in the ante room, one who is unhappy, 
 deeply bowed down. In your hand alone is the power to raise him up 
 again.' Will you do it? 
 
 Will I do it ! exclaimed Catharine quickly- Oh, Jane, you well know, 
 how much my heart longs to help atH be serviceable to the unfortuuate ! 
 
19 
 
 Ah, so many wounds are inflicted at this Court, an J the Queen is so poor 
 in balm to heal them. Allow me this pleasure then, Jane, and I shall 
 be thankful to you, not you t<> me ! Speak then, Jane, speak quickly ; 
 who is it that needs my help] 
 
 Not your help, Queen, but your compassion and your grace. Earl 
 Sudley has conquered poor En! Surrey iu the tournament today, and 
 you comprehend that your Lord Chamberlain feels himself deeply bow- 
 ?d and humbled. 
 
 Can I alter i hat, Jane? Why did the visionary Earl, the enthusiastic 
 poet, allow himself in a content wiih a herolwho always knows what ho 
 wants, and ever accomplishes what he wills'? Oh, it was wonderful to 
 look upon, with what lightening speed Thomas Seymour lif ed him out 
 of the saddle* And tin- ptou'd, Earl Surrey . the wi»e and learned man, the 
 poweiful party leader, was foiced to bow before the hero, who like an 
 angel Michael had thrown him in the dust. 
 
 The Queen laughed. 
 
 That laugh went, through Jane's heart like a cutting sword. 
 
 She shall pay me for that! said she softly to her>.elf. .Queen, said 
 she aloud, you are perfectly right; he has deserved' this humiliation; 
 but now, after he is punished, you should lift him up. Nay, do not shako 
 your beautiful head. Do it/or your own sake, 'Queen ; do it from pru- 
 dence. Earl Sin rev, with his father, is the head of a powerful party, 
 whom this humiliation of the Howards fills with a still more burning 
 hate against me Seymours, and who will in time to come take a bloody 
 revenge for it. 
 
 Ah, you frighten me! said the Queen, who had now become serious. 
 
 Lady Jane continued : 1 saw ho*' the Duke of Norfolk bit his lips, as 
 his son had to yield to Seymour; I heard how one, here and thercj mut- 
 tered low curses and vows of vengeance against the Seymours. 
 
 Who did that? Who dared do it? exclaimed Catharine springing up 
 impetuously from h^.r arm chair. Who at this Court is so audacious as 
 to wish to injure those whom the Queen loves? Name him to me 
 •fane; 1 will know his name ! 1 will kn »w it, that I may accuse him to 
 the King. For the King does not want that these noble Seymours 
 should give way to the Howards; he dm s nor, want that the nobler, the 
 better and more glorious should bow before these quarrelsome, domineer- 
 ing papists. The King love* the noble Seymours, and his poweiful arm 
 will protect them against all their enemies. 
 
 And, without doubt, your Majesty will assist him in it? faid Jane 
 smiling. 
 
 This smile brought the Queen back to her senses again. 
 
 She perceived that she had gone too far; that she had betrayed too 
 much of her secret. She must, t! pair the damage, and allow 
 
 her excitement to be f<»rgoit 
 
 Therefore sir- said calmly: Certain'; the King to 
 
 be just. But never will I be unjust, not even against these papists. If 
 
20 
 
 I cannot love them, nevertheless no one shall say that I hate them. 
 And besides, it becomes a Quetii to rise above parties. Say then', Jane, 
 what can I do for poor Surrey ? With what shall we bind up these 
 wounds, that the brave Seymour has inflicted on him? 
 
 You have publicly given the victor in the tournament a token of your 
 great favor — you have crowned him. 
 
 Jt was the King's order! exclaimed Catharine warmly. 
 
 Well! H« will not, however, command you to reward the Earl of 
 Surrey also, if he, likewi.se,|hould gain the victory this evening. Do it, 
 therefore, of your own accord. Queen. Give him openly, before your 
 whoie Court, a token of your favor. My God, it is so easy for princes 
 to make meu happy, to comfort the unfortunate. A smile, a friendly 
 word, a pressure of the hand is sufficient for it. A ribbon that you wear 
 on your dress, makes him to whom you present it proud and happy, and 
 raises him high above all others. Ponder it well, Queen ; I speak not 
 for Earl Surrey's sake; I am thinking more of yourself. If you have 
 the courage, publicly and in spite of the disgrace with which King Henry 
 threatens the Howards, to be nevertheless just to them, and to recognize 
 their merits as well as that of others — believe me, if you do that, the 
 whole of this powerful party, which is now hostile to you, will fall at 
 your feet overcome and conquered. You »will at last become the all- 
 powerful and universally loved Queen of England \ anc| like the here- 
 tic*, the papists also will call you their mistress arltl protectress. 
 Consider no longer ! Let your noble and generous heart prevail ? 
 Spiteful fortune has prostrated Henry Howard in the dust. Extend 
 him your hand, Queen, that he may rise again, and again stand there 
 at your Court, proud and radiant as he 'always was. Henry Howard 
 well deserves that you should be gracious to him. Great and beaming 
 like a star, he shines on high above all men ; and there is no one who 
 can say that he nimself is more prudent or braver, wiser or more 
 learned, nobler or greater, • than the noble, the exalted Surrey. All 
 England resounds with his fame. The women repeat with enthusiasm 
 his beautiful sonnets and love songs; the learned are proud to call him 
 their equal, and the warriors speak with admiration of his feats of arms. 
 Be just, then, Queen ! You have so highly honored the merit of valor ; 
 now, honor the merit of mind also! You have in Seymour, honored 
 the warrior ; now in Howard, honor the poet and the man ! 
 
 I will do- it, said Catharine, as with a charming smile she looked 
 into Jane's glowing and enthusiastic countenance. I will do it, Jane, 
 but upon one condition ! 
 
 And this condition is 1 
 
 Catharine put her arm around Jane's neck, and drew her close to her 
 heart. That you confess to me, you love Henry Howard, whom you 
 know how to defend so enthusiastically and warmly. 
 
 Lad\- Jane uave a start, and for a moment lent her head on the 
 Queen's shoulder exhausted. 
 
21 
 
 Well, asked she, do .you confess it? Will you acknowledge that 
 your proud, cold heait is obliged to declare itself overcome and con- 
 quered ? 
 
 Yes, I confess it, cried Lady Jane, as with passionate vehemence she 
 threw herself at Catharine's feet. Yes. 1 love him — I adore him. f 
 know it is a disdained and unhappy love; but what, would you have? 
 My heart is mightier than everything else. 1 love him; he is my god 
 and my lord; I adore him as my saviour and lord. Queen, ) ou know 
 all my secret ; betray ,m«, if $ou will! Tell it to my father, if you 
 wish him to curse me. Tell it to Henry Howard, if it pleases you to 
 hear how he scoffs at me. For he, Queen — he loves me not ! 
 
 Poor unfortunate Jane! exclaimed the Queen compassionately. 
 
 Jane uttered a low cry, and rose from her knees. That, was too 
 much. Her enemy commiserated her. She, who was to blame for 
 her sorrow — she bemoaned her fate. 
 
 Ah, she could have strangled the Queen; she could have plunged a 
 dagger into her heart, because she dared to commiserate her. 
 
 1 have complied with your condition, Queen, said she, breathing hur- 
 riedly. Will you now comply with my request? 
 
 And will you really be an advocate for this unthankful, cruel man, 
 who does not love you ? Proudly and coldly he passes your beauty by, 
 and you — you inteicede for him ? 
 
 Queen, tf.uv lovi thinks not of itself; it sacrifices itself! It makes 
 no question ot" the reward it receives, but only of tho happiness which 
 it bestows. I saw in his pale, sorrowful face, how much he suffered ; 
 ought I not to think of comforting him ? 1 approached him, 1 addressed 
 him ; I heard his despairing lamentation over that misfortune, which, 
 however, wrrs not the fault of his activity and courage, but, as all the 
 world saw, the fault of his horse, which was shy and stumbled. And 
 as he, in all the bitterness of his pain, was lamenting that you, Queen, 
 would despise and scorn him, I, with full trust in your noble and mag- 
 panffnotta heart, promised Him that you would, at my request, yet give 
 him to day, before your whole Court, a token of ^ our favor. Catharine, 
 did I do wrong ? 
 
 No, Jane, no! You did right; and your words shall be made good. 
 But how shall I begin ? What shall I do? 
 
 The Earl this evening, after the King has read the Greek scene with 
 Croke, will recite some new sonnets which he has composed. When 
 he has Hone so. give him some kind of a present — be it what, it may, 
 no matter — as a token of your fevor. 
 
 But how, Jane, if his sonnets deserve no praise and no acknou ledg 
 inent? 
 
 You may be sure that they do deserve it. For Henry Howard is a 
 noble and true poet, and his verges are full of heavenly melody and 
 exalted thoughts. 
 
 The Queen smiled. Yes, said she, you love him ardently ; for you 
 
have no doubt as to him. We will, therefore, recognize him as a great 
 poet. But with what shall I ie\vard hi in ? 
 
 Give him a rose that 3 ou wear in )Our bosom — a rosette that is fas- 
 tened to your dress and shows your colors. 
 
 But alas, Jane, to-day I wear neither a rose, nor a rosette. 
 
 Yet you can wear one, Queen ! A rosette is indeed wanting here on 
 your shoulder. Your purple mantle is too negligently fastened. We 
 must put some trimming here. 
 
 She went hastily into the next room and returned with the box, in 
 ■which were kept the Queen's ribbons embroidered with gold, and bows 
 adorned with jewels. 
 
 Lady Jane searched and selected, here and there, a long time. Then 
 she took the crimson velvet rosette, which she' Uerself had previously 
 thrown into the box, and showed it to the Queen. 
 
 See; it is at the same time tasteful and rich, for a diamond clasp 
 confines it in the middle. Will you allow me to fasten this rosette on 
 your shoulder, and will you give it to the Earl of Surrey -1 
 
 Yes, Jane, I will give it to him, because you wish it. But, poor Jane, 
 what will you gain by my doing it ? 
 
 At any. rate, a friendly smile, Queen. 
 
 And is that enough for ^ou 1 Do you love him so much, then 1 
 
 Yes, I love him ! said Jane Douglas with a sigh of pain, as she fas- 
 tened the rosette on the Queen's shoulder. 
 
 And now, Jane, go and announce to the Master of Ceremonies that 
 I am ready, as soon as the King wishes it, to resort to the gallery. 
 
 Lady Jane turned to leave the chamber. But already upon the 
 threshold, she returned once more. 
 
 Forgive me, Queen, for venturing to make one more request of you. 
 You have, however, just shown yourself too much the noble and true 
 friend of earlier days fov me not to venture one more request. 
 
 Now, what is it, poor Jane ? - 
 
 1 have entrusted my secret not to the Queen, but to Catharine Parr, 
 the friend of my youth. Will she keep it, and betray to none my dis- 
 grace and my humiliation 1 
 
 My word for that, Jane. Nobody but God and ourselves shall ever 
 know what we have here spoken. 
 
 Lady Jane humbly kissed her hand and murmured a few words of 
 thanks ; then she left the Queen's room to go in quest of the Master of 
 Ceremonies. 
 
 In the Queen's ante room she stopped a moment, and leant against the 
 wall exhausted and as it were crushed. Nobody was here who could 
 observe and listen to her. She had no need to smile, no need to conceal, 
 beneath a calm and equable appearance, all those tempestuous and de- 
 spairing feelings which were working within. She could allow her hatrtd 
 and her resentment, her rage and her despair, to pour forth in words 
 and gestures, in tears and imprecatious, in sobs and sighs. She could 
 
23 
 
 ftill ou her knees and beseech God for grace and mercy, and call on the 
 Devil for revenge and destruction. 
 
 When she' had so done, she arose, and her demeanor resumed its 
 wonted eold and calm expression. Only her cheeks w.tre still pa er ; only 
 a still gloomier fire darted from her eyes, and a scornful smile plaved 
 about her thin, compressed lips'. 
 
 She traversed the rooms and corridors, and now she entered the 
 King's ante. room. As she observed Gardiner, who was standing alone 
 and separated from the rest in the embrasure of the window, she went 
 up to him; and John Hey wood, who was still hidden behind the cur- 
 tain, shuddered at the frightful and scornful expression of her features. 
 
 She offered the Bishop her hand, and tried to smile, it is done, said 
 she almost inaudibly. 
 
 What 1 ? The Queen wears the rosette? asked Gardiuer vivaciously. 
 
 She wears the rosette, and will give it to him. 
 
 And the note is in it? 
 
 It is concealed undefthe diamond claspTl ',', 
 
 Oh, then she is lost! muttered Gardiner. If the King finds this pa- 
 per, Catharine's death warrant is signed. 
 
 Hush! said Lady Jane. See! Lord Hertford is coming towards us. 
 Let us go to m«ei him ! 
 
 They both left the window and walked out into the hall. 
 
 John Hey wood immediately slipped from behind the curtain, and, 
 softly gliding along by the wall, left the hall perceived by no < ne. 
 
 Outside, he stopped and reflected. 
 
 I must see this conspiracy to tha bottom, said he to himself. I must 
 find out through whom and by what they wish to destroy her; and I 
 must have sure and undeniable proof in my hands, in order to be able 
 to convict them, and successfully accuse them to the King. Therefore 
 it is necessary to be cautious and prudent. So let us consider what to 
 do. The simplest thing would be to beg the Queen not to wear the 
 rosette. But that is only to demolish the web for this time, without, 
 however, being able to kill the spider that wove it. So she must wear 
 the rosette; for besides, without that I should never be able either to 
 find out to whom she is to give it. But the. paper that is concealed in 
 the rosette — that I must have — that must not be in it. "If the King 
 finds this paper, Catharine's death-warrant is signed." Now, my rev- 
 erend priest of the devil, the King will not find that paper, for .lohn 
 llevwood will not have it so. But how shall I begin? Shall 1 tell the 
 Queen what I heard? No! She would lose her cheerful spirit and be- 
 come embarrassed, and the embarrassment would be in the King's eyes 
 the most convincing proof of her guilt. No, I roust take this paper out 
 of the rosette without, the Queen's being aware of it. Boldly to work 
 then ! I must have this paper and tweak these hypocrites by the nose. 
 How it can be done, it is n'ot clear to me yet; but 1 will do it — that is 
 enough. Halloo, forward to the Queen! 
 
 With precipitant haste he ran through the halls and corridors, while 
 
2 4 
 
 with a' smile he muttered away to himself: Thank God, I enjoy the 
 houor of being the fool ; fur only the King and the fool have the privi 
 lege of being able to enter unannounced every room, even the Queen's. 
 
 Catharine was alone in her boudoir, when the small door, through 
 which the King was accusl omed to resort to her, was softly opened. 
 
 Oh, the King is coming! said she, walking to the duor to greet her 
 husband. ' 
 
 Yes, the King is coming, for the fool is already here, said John Iley- 
 •wood, who entered through the private door. Are we alone, Queen 1 
 Does nobody overhear us? 
 
 No, Johu Hey wood, we are all alone. What do you bring me! 
 
 A letter, Queen. 
 
 From whom ? asked she. and a glowing crimson flitted over her cheek. 
 
 From whom? repeated John Heywood with a waggish smile. 1 do 
 not know, Queen ; but at any rate it is a begging letter; and without 
 doubt you vyiuld do ^j 11 ny;'to read it at all ; -.'or I bet you, the shame- 
 less writer of this letter demands of you some impossibility — it may 
 be a smile, or a pressure of the hand, a lock of your hair, or perchance 
 even a kis^. So, Queen, do not read the begging letter at all. 
 
 John, said she smiling and yet trembling with impatience, John, give 
 me the letter. 
 
 I will sell it to you, Queen. I have learned that from the King, who 
 likewise gives nothing away generously, without taking in return more 
 than he gives. So let us trade. I give you the letter ; you give me 
 the rosette which you wear on your shoulder there. 
 
 Nay, indeed, John ; choose something else — 1 cannot give you the 
 rosette. 
 
 And by the Gods be it sworn, exclaimed John with comic pathos, I 
 give you not the letter, if you do not give me the rosette. 
 
 Silly loon, said the Queen. I tell you I cannot! Choose something 
 else, John ;* and I conjure you, dear John, give me the letter. 
 
 Then only, when you give me the rosette. 1 have sworn it by the 
 the gods, and what 1 vow to them, that 1 stick to ! No, no, Queen — not 
 those sullen airs, not that angry frown. For if I cannot in earnest re- 
 ceive the rosette as a present, then let us do like the Jesuits and papists, 
 who even trade with .the dear God and snap their fingers at him. I 
 must keep my oath ! I give you the letter, and you give me the rosette ; 
 but listen — you only lend it to me; and when 1 have had it in my hand 
 a moment, I am generous and bountiful, like the King, and I make you a 
 present of your own property. 
 
 With a quick motion, the Queen tore the rosette from her shoulder 
 and handed it to John Heywood. 
 
 Now give me the letter, JohD. 
 
 Here it if, said John Heywood as he received the rosette. Take it; 
 and you will see that Thomas Seymour is my brother. 
 
 Your brother ? asked Catharine with a smile, as with trembling hand 
 shp. broke the seal. 
 
23 
 
 Yes, my brother, for he is a fool ! Ah, I Have a great many brothers. 
 The family of fools is so very large ! 
 
 The Queen no lunger heard. She was reading the letter of her lover. 
 She had eyes only for those lines, that told her that Thomas Seymour 
 loved her, adored her, and was pining away with longing alter her. 
 
 She did not see how John Hey wood, with nimble hand, unfastened the 
 diamond clasp from the rosette, and took out of it the little paper that 
 was concealed in the folds of the ribbon. , 
 
 She is saved ! murmured he, while he thcust the fatal paper into his 
 doublet, and fastened the clasp again with 'the pin. She is saved, and 
 the King .will not sign her death-warrant this time. 
 
 Catharine had read the letter to the end, and hid it in her bosom. 
 
 Queen, you have sworn to bum up every letter that I bring you from 
 him ; for, forbidden love letters are dangerous things. One day they 
 may find a tongue and testify against you ! Queeu, I will not bring 
 you again another letter, if you do not first burn that one. 
 
 John, I will burn it up # wheu once I have really read it. Just now*I 
 read it only with my heart, not with my eyes. Allow me, then, to wear 
 it on my heart a few hours more. 
 
 Do you swear to me that you will burn it up this very day ? 
 
 1 swear it. 
 
 Then 1 will be satisfied this time. Here is your rosette ; and like the 
 famous fox in the fable, that pronounced the grapes sour because he could 
 not get them, I say : take your rosette back ! I will have noneof it. 
 
 He handed the Queen the rosette, and she smilingly fastened It on her 
 shoulder again. 
 
 John, said she with a bewitching smile, extending her hand to him, 
 John, when will you at lcng'.h permit me to thank you otherwise than 
 with words? When will you at length allow your Queen to reward 
 you, for all this service of love, otherwise than with words? 
 
 John Hey wood kissed her hand, and said mournfully : 1 will demand 
 a reward of you on the day when my tears and my prayers succeed in 
 persuading you to renounce this wretched and dangerous love. On that 
 day I shall have really deserved a reward, and I will accept it from you 
 with a proud heart. 
 
 Poor John ! So then you will never receive your reward ; for that 
 day will never come ! 
 
 So then I shall probably receive my reward, but from the King ; and 
 it will be a reward whereby one loses hearing and sight, and head to 
 boot. Well, we shall see! Till then, farewell. Queen. I must to the 
 King; for somebody might surprise me here, and come to the shrewd 
 conclusion that John Heywood is not always a fool, but sometimes alio 
 the messenger of love! I kiss the hem of your garment; farewell, 
 Queen ! 
 
 He glided again through the private door. 
 
 Now we will at once examine this paper, said he, as he reached the 
 corridor and was sure of being seen by no one. 
 
JO 
 
 lie drew the paper out of his doublet and opened it. I do not kuow 
 the hand writing, muttered lie, but it was a woman that wrote it. 
 
 The letter read : " Do you believe me now, my beloved 1 I swore 
 to deliver to you today, in the presence of the Kit. g and of all my 
 Court, this rosette; and 1 have done so. For you, 1 gladly risk my life ; 
 for you are my life; and still more beautiful were it to die with )ou, 
 than to live without you. I live only when I rest in your arms; and 
 those dark nights, when you can be with me, are the light and sunshine 
 of my days. Let us pray Heaven a dark night may soon come ; for 
 such a night restores to me ,the loved one, and to you, your happy 
 wile, Geialdine." 
 
 Geraldine! who is Geraldine? muttered John Heywood, slipping the 
 paper into his doublet again. 1 must disentangle this web of lying and 
 deceit. I must know what all this means. For this is more than a 
 conspiracy — a false accusation. It concerns, as it seems, a reality. This 
 letter the Queen is to give to a man; and in it, sweet recollections, 
 Uappy nights are spoken of. So he who receives this letter is in league 
 with them against Catharine, and I dare say her worst enemy, for he 
 makes use of Jove against her. Some treachery or knavery is concealed 
 behind this. Either the man, to whom this letter is addressed, is de- 
 ceived — and he is unintentionally a tool in the hands of the papists — or 
 he is in league with them, and has given himself up to the villiany of 
 phiy ing the part of lover to the Queen. But who can he be 1 Perchance 
 Thomas Seymour? It were possible; for he has a cold and deceitful 
 heart, and he would be capable of such tieachery. But woe be to him 
 if it is he. Then : t will be I who accuses him to the King ; and by God, 
 his head shall fall. Now away to the King ! 
 
 Just as he entered the King's ante- room, the door of the cabinet opened, 
 and the Duchess of Richmond, accompanied by Earl Douglas, walked 
 out. 
 
 Lady Jane and Gardiner were standing, as if by accident, near the 
 door. 
 
 Well, have we attained our end there also 1 asked Gardiner. 
 
 We have attained it, said Earl Douglas.' The Duchess has accused 
 her brother of a liaison with the Queen. She has deposed that he some- 
 times leaves the palace by night, and does not return to it before morn- 
 ing. She has declared that lor four nights she herself dogged her brother 
 and saw him as he entered the wing of the castle occupied by the Queen ; 
 and one of the Queen's maids has communicated to the Duchess that 
 the Queen was not in her room on that night. 
 
 And the King listened to the accusation, and did not throttle you in 
 his wrath 1 
 
 He is yet in that dull state of rage in which the lava, which the crater 
 will afterwards pour forth, is just prepared. As yet all is quiet, but be 
 sure, there will be an eruption, and the stream of red-hot lava will bury 
 tho-e who have dared excite the god Vulcan. 
 
 And does he know about the rosette ? asked Lady Jane. 
 
He knows everything. And until that moment lie will allow no one 
 to suspect his wrath and fury. He says he will make the Queen per- 
 fectly secure, in order to get into his hands thereby sure proof of her 
 guilt. Well, we will furnish htal this evidence; and hence it follows 
 that the Queen is inevitably lost. 
 
 But hark ! The doors are opened, and the Master of Ceremonies 
 comes to summon us to the golden gallery. 
 
 Just walk in, muttered .John Hey wood, gliding along behind them. 
 I am still here; and I will be the mouse that gnaws the net in which 
 you want to catch my noble-minded lioness. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S K06ETTE. 
 
 The golden gallery, in which the tourney of the poets was to take 
 place, presented today a truly enchanting and fairy-like aspect. Mirrors 
 of gigantic size, set in broad gilt frames, ornamented with the most per- 
 fect carved woik, covered the walls, and threw back a thousand times 
 reflected, the ewormous chandeliers which, with their hundreds and hun- 
 dreds of candles, shed the light of day in the vast hall. Here and there 
 were seen, arranged in front of the mirrors, clusters of the rarest and 
 choicest flowers, which poured through the hall their fragrance, stupefy- 
 .Hid yet so enchanting, and out-hone in brilliancy of colors even 
 the Tutkish carpet, which stretched through the whole room and changi d 
 the flour into one immense flower bed. Between the clumps of flowers 
 •were seen tables with golden va->es, in which were refreshing beverage- ; 
 while at the other end of the enormous gallery stood a gigantic side- 
 board, which contained the choicest and rarest dishes. At present, the 
 doors of the sideboard, which, when open, formed a room of itself, were 
 yet closed. 
 
 They had not yet come to the material enjoyments; they were still 
 occupied in absorbing the spiritual. The brilliant and select company 
 that filled the hall, was still for some time condemned to be silent and 
 t> shut up within them their laughter and gossip, their backbiting and 
 slander, 'heir (littery and hypocri-s 
 
 Just now a p;oise ensued. The King, with Croke. had recited to his 
 Court a scene from "Antigone;" and they were just taking bieath 
 from the wonderful and exalted enjoyment of having heard a language, 
 of which they understood not a wmd, but which they fuund to be i 
 beautiful, since the King admired it. 
 
m 
 
 Henry the Eighth had again leant back on his golden throne, and, 
 paining, rested from his prodigious exertion; and while he jested and 
 dreamed, an invisible band played a piece of music composed by the 
 King himself, and which, with ids serious and solemn movement,, 
 strangely contrasted with t his room so brilliant and cheerful — with this 
 splendid, laughing and jesting assembly. 
 
 For the King had bidden them amuse themselves and be gay ; to give 
 themselves up to mirestiained chitchat. It was, therefore, natural for 
 them to laugh, and to appear not to notice the King's exhaustion and 
 repose. 
 
 Besides, they had not for a long time seen Henry so cheerful, so full 
 of youthful life, so sparkling with wit and humor, as on this evening. 
 His mouth was overflowing with jests that made the gentlemen laugh 
 and the beautiful, brilliant women blush, and above all, the young 
 Queen, who sat by him on the rich and splendid throne, and now and 
 then only threw stolen and longing glances at her lover, for whom she 
 would willingly and gladly have given her royal crown and her throne. 
 
 When the King saw how Catharine biushed^he turned to her, and in 
 his tenderest tone begged her pardon for his jest, which, however, in its 
 sauciness, served only to make his Queen still more beautiful, still more 
 bewitching. His words were then so tender and heartfelt, his looks so 
 full of love aud admiration, that nobody could donbt but that the 
 Queen was in highest favor with her husband, and that he loved her 
 most tenderly. 
 
 Only the few who knew the secret of this tenderness of the King, so 
 open and so unreservedly displayed, comprehended fully the clanger 
 which threatened the Queen ; for the King was never more to be dreaded 
 than when he fluttered ; and on no one did his wrath fall more crush- 
 ingly than on him whom to had just kissed and assured of his favor. 
 
 This- was what Earl Douglas said to himself, when he saw with what 
 a cordial look Henry the Eighth chatted with his consort. 
 
 Behind the throne of the royal pair was- seen John Heywood, in his 
 fantastic and dressy costume, with his face at once noble and cunning ; 
 and the King just then broke out into loud, resounding laughter at his 
 sarcastic and satirical observations. 
 
 King, your laugh does not please me to-day, said John Heywood 
 earnestly. It smacks of gall. Do you not find it so, Queen ? 
 
 The Queen was startled from her sweet reveries, and that was what 
 John Heywood had wished. He, therefore, repeated his question. 
 
 No indeed, said she; 1 find the King today quite like the sun. He 
 is radiant and bright, like it. 
 
 Queen, you do not mean the sun, but the full moon, said John Hey- 
 wood. But only see, Henry, how cheerfully Earl Archibald Douglas 
 over there is chatting with the Duchess of Richmond. I love that good 
 Earl. He always appears like a blindworm, which is just in the notion 
 of stinging some one on the heel, and hence it comes, that when near the 
 JSarl, 1 always transform myself into a crane. I stand on one leg ; be- 
 
30 
 
 caus'e. I am then sure- to have the other ait least safe from the Earl's sting. 
 King, were I like you, I would not have those killed that the blind 
 worm has stung; but. 1 would root out. tin; blindwonns, that the feet of 
 honorable men might be secure from them. 
 
 The King east at him a quick, searching look, which John Ileywood 
 answered with a smile. > 
 
 Kill the. bliudworms, King Henry, said he ; and w hen yon are once 
 at work destroying vermin, ic will do no harm if you once more give 
 these, priests also a good kick. It is now a long time since we burnt 
 any ot them, and they are again becoming arrogant and malicious, as 
 they always were and always will be. 1 see even the [ions and meek 
 BishOp of Winchester, the noble Gardiner, who is entertaining himself 
 with Lady Jane over there, smiling very cheerfully, and that is a bad 
 sign ; for Gardiner smiles only when he has again caught a poor soul, 
 and prepared it as a breakfast for his lord. I do not mean you, King, 
 but his lord — the Devil. For the Devil is always hungry for noble hu 
 man souls ; and to him who catches one for him he gives indulgence 
 for his sin- for an hour. Therefore Gardiner catches so many souls; 
 for since he sins every hour, every hour he needs indulgence. 
 
 You are very spiteful today, John Key wood, said the Queen smiling, 
 while the King fixed his eyes on the ground, thoughtful and musing. 
 
 John Heywood's words had touched the sore place of his heart, and, 
 e of himself, filled his suspicious heart with new doubts. 
 
 He mistrusted not merely the accused, bat the accusers also; and if 
 he punished the one as criminals, he would have willingly punished the 
 others also as informants. I 
 
 He asked himself: What aim had Earl Douglas and Gardiner in accus- 
 ing the Queen ; and why had they startled him out of hi.- quiet and 
 confidence ? At that moment, when he looked on his beautiful wife, who 
 sat by him in bucK serene tranquility, unembarrassed and smiling, he 
 felt a deep anger fill his heart, not against Catharine, but. against Jane, 
 who accused her. 
 
 She was so lovely and beautiful! Why did they envy him her? 
 Why did they not leave him in his sweet delusion? But perhaps she 
 was not guilty. No, she was not. The eye of a culprit is not thus 
 bright and clear. The air of a strumpet is not thus unembarrassed — of 
 such maidenly delicacy. 
 
 Moreover the. King was exhausted and disgusted. One can become 
 satiated even with cruelty ; and, at this hour, Henry felt completely sur- 
 feited with bloodshed. 
 
 His heart — for in such moments of mental relaxation and bodily cn- 
 feeblement, the King even had a heart — his heart was already in the 
 rotion of pronouncing the word pardon, when the King-s eye fell on 
 Henry Ho -ard. who, with his father, the Duke of Norfolk, and surround- 
 ed by a circle of brilliant and noble lords, was standing not far from tho 
 royal throne. 
 
30 
 
 The King felt a deadly stab in his breast, and his eyes darted light- 
 ning over towards that group. 
 
 How proud and imposing the figure of the noble Earl looked ; how 
 high he overtopped all others; how noble and handsome his counte- 
 nance; how kingly his bearing, his whole appearance was! 
 
 Henry must admit all this ; and because he must do so, he hated him. 
 
 Nay ! no mercy for Catharine! If what her accusers had told him was 
 tint: — if they could give him the proofs of the Queen's guilt, then she 
 was doomed. And how could he doubt it? Had they not told 
 him that in the rosette, which the Queen would give Earl Surrey, was 
 C'.iilain.-d a love letter from Catharine, which he would find? Had not 
 Earl Surrey, in a confidential hour, yesterday imparted this to his sister, 
 the Duchess of Richmond, when he wished to bribe her to be the mes- 
 s. ..-tiger of love between the Queen and himself? Had she not accused 
 the Queen of having meetings by night with the Earl in the deserted 
 tower ] 
 
 Nay, no compassion for his fair Queen, if Henry Howard was her 
 lover. 
 
 He must again look over at his hated enemy. There he still stood 
 by his father, the Duke of Norfolk. How sprightly and gracefully the 
 old Duke moved; how slim his form; and how lofty and imposing his 
 bearing! The King was younger than the Duke; and yet he was fet- 
 tered to his truckle-chair ; yet he sat on his throne like an immovable 
 Colossus, while he moved freely and lightly, and obeyed his own will, 
 not necessity. Henry could have crushed him — this proud, arrogant 
 Earl, who was a free man, whilst his King was nothing but a prisoner 
 to his own flesh, a slave of his unwieldly body. 
 
 1 will exterminate it — this proud, arrogant race of Howards! mutter- 
 ed the King, as he turned with a friendly smile to the Earl of Surrey. 
 
 You have promised us some of your poems, cousin ! said he. So let 
 us now enjoy them ; for you see, indeed, how impatiently all the beau- 
 tiful women look on England's noblest and greatest poet ; and how very 
 angry with me. they would be, if I still longer withhold this enjoyment 
 from them. Even my fair Queen is full of longing after your songs, so 
 rich in fancy ; for you well know, Howard, she loves poetry, and above 
 all things, yours ! 
 
 Catharine had scarcely heard what the King said. Her looks had en- 
 countered Seymour's, and their eyes were fixed on each other's. But she 
 had then cast down to the floor her eye, still completely filled with the 
 sight of her lover, in order to think of him, since she no longer dared 
 gaze at him. 
 
 When the King called her name, she? started up and looked at him in- 
 quiringly. She had not heard what he said to her. 
 
 Not even for a moment does she look towards me ! said Henry How- 
 ard to himself. Oh, she loves me not ; or at least her understanding is 
 mightier than her love. Oh, Catharine, Catharine, fearest thou death so 
 much that thou canst on that account deny thy love ? 
 
31 
 
 With desperate haste he drew out his portfolio. I will compel her to 
 look at me, to ihiukojime, to remembei her oath, thought he. Woe to 
 her, if she dues not fulfill it. — if she ^ives me not the rosette which she 
 promised me with so solemn a vow. If she does it not, then 1 will break 
 this dreadful silence, and before her King, and before her Court, accuse 
 her of treachery to her love. Then, at least, she will not be able to cast 
 me off; f'ov we shall mount the scaffold together. 
 
 Does my exalted Queen allow me to begin? asked he aloud, wholly 
 forgetting that the King had already given him" the. order to do so, ana 
 that it was he only who could grant such a permission. 
 
 Catharine looked at him in astonishment. Then her glance fell On 
 Lady Jane Douglas, who was gazing over at her with an imploring ex- 
 pression. The Queen smiled ; for she now remembered that it was 
 Jane's beloved who had spoken to her. and ihat she had promised the 
 poor young girl to raise again the dejected Earl of Surrey and to be gra- 
 cious to him. 
 
 Jane is right, thought she ; he appears to. be deeply depressed and 
 suffering. Ah, it. must be very painful to see those, whom one loves, 
 suffering! 1 will, therefore, comply with Jane's request, for the says 
 thjs might revive the Earl 
 
 With a smile she bowed to the Earl. I beg yon. said she, to lend 
 our festival its fairest ornament, — to adorn it with the flagrant flowers 
 of your poesy. You see we are all burning with desire to hear your 
 verses. 
 
 The King shook with rage ; and a crushing word was already poised 
 upon his lip. But he restrained himself. He warned to have proofs 
 fust ; he, wanted to see them not merely accused, but doomed also; and 
 for that he needed proofs of their guilt. 
 
 Henry Howard now approached the throne of the royal pair, and \\i ; h 
 beaming looks, with animated countenance, with a voice trembling with 
 emotion, he read his love songs to the fair Geraldine. 
 
 A murmur of applause arose when he had read his first sonnet. Tho 
 King only looked gloomily with fixed eyes; the Queen alone remained 
 uninterested and Cold. 
 
 She is a complete actress, thought Henry Howard in the madness of 
 his pain. Not a muscle of her face stirs ; and jet this sonnet must re- 
 mind Ivr of the fairest and most sacred moment of our love. 
 
 The Queen remained unmoved and cold. But had Henry Howard 
 looked at Lady Jane Douglas, he would have seen how she tuyied pale 
 and blushed ; how she smiled with rapture, and how, nevertheless, her 
 eyes filled with tears. 
 
 Earl Surrey, however, s.iw nothing but the Queen ; nnd the sight of 
 her made him tremble with rage and pain. His eyes darted lightning ; 
 his countenance glowed with pis-ion; his whole being was in desperate, 
 enthusiast!^ excitement, At that moment he would have glaMly 
 breathed out his life at Geraldine'fl feet, if she would only recognize 
 him — if she would only have the courage to call him her beloved. 
 
But her smiling calmness, her friendly coolness, brought him to de- 
 spair. 
 
 He crumpled the paper in his hand ; the letters danced before his 
 eyes; he could read no more. 
 
 But he would not remain, mute, either. Like the dying swan, he 
 would breathe out his pain in a last song, and give sound and words to his 
 despair and his agony. He could no longer read ; but he improvised. 
 
 Like a glowing stream of lava, the words flowed from his lips; in 
 fiery dithyrambic, in fmpasssioned hymns, he poured forth his love and 
 pain. The genius of poesy hovered over him and lighted up his noble 
 and thoughtful brow. 
 
 He was radiantly beautiful in his enthusiasm ; and even the Queen 
 felt herself carried away by his words. 
 
 His plaints of love, his longing pains, his rapture and his sad fancies 
 found an echo in her heart. 
 
 She understood him ; for she felt the same joy, the same sorrow and 
 th^ same rapture ; only she did not feel all this for him. 
 
 But, as we have said, he enthused her; the current of his passion 
 carried her away. She wept at his laments ; she smiled at his hymn3 of 
 joy. 
 
 When Henry Howard at length ceased, profound silence reigned in 
 the vast and brilliant royal hall. 
 
 All. races betrayed deep emotion; and this universal silence was the 
 poet's fairest triumph ; for it showed that even envy and jealousy were 
 dumb, and that scorn itself could find no words. 
 
 A momentary pause ensued ; it resembled that sultry, ominous still- 
 ness which is wont to precede the bursting of a tempest ; when nature 
 stops a moment in breathless stillness, to gather strength for the uproar 
 of the storm. , 
 
 If was a significant, an awful pause; but only a few understood its 
 meaning. 
 
 Lady Jane leant against the wall completely shattered and breathless. 
 She felt that the sword was hanging over their heads, and that it would 
 destroy her if it struck her beloved. 
 
 Earl Douglas and the Bishop of Winchester had involuntarily drawn 
 near each other, and stood there hand in hand, united for this unholy strug 
 gle ; while John Hey wood had crept behind the King's throne, and in 
 his sarcastic manner whispered in his ear some epigrams, that made the 
 King smile in spite of himself. 
 
 But n6\v the Queen arose from her seat and beckoned Henry Howard 
 nearer to her. 
 
 My Lord, said she almost with solemnity, as a queen and as a woman 
 I thank you for the noble and sublime lyrics which you have composed 
 in honor of a woman! And for that the grace of my King has exalted 
 me to be the first woman in England, it becomes me, in the name of all 
 women, to return you my thanks. To the poet is due a reward other 
 than that of the warrior. To the victo" on the battle-field is awarded a 
 
laurel crown ! But you have gained a victory, not. less glorious, for you 
 have conquered hearts ! We acknowledge ourselves vanquished, and in 
 the name of all these noble women, I proclaim you their Knight ! In 
 token of which, accept this rosette, iny Lord! It entitles you to wear 
 the Queen's colors ; it lays you under obligation to be the Knight of all 
 women ! 
 
 She loosened the rosette from her shoulder and handed it to the 
 Earl. 
 
 He had sunk on one knee before her, and already extended his hand 
 to receive this precious and coveted pledge. 
 
 But at this moment the King arose, and, with an imperious gesture, 
 held back the Queen's hand. 
 
 Allow me, my Lady, said he in a voice quivering with ioge. Allow 
 me first to examine this rosette, and cmvince myself that it is enough 
 worth to be presented to the noble Earl, as his sole reward. Let me 
 see this rosette. 
 
 Catharine looked with astonishment into that face convulsed with pas 
 sion and fury, but without hesitation she handed him the rosette. 
 
 We are lost! murmured Earl Surrey ; while Earl Douglas and Gard- 
 iner exchanged with each other looks of triumph; and Jane Douglas 
 murmured in her trembling heart prayers of anxiety and dread, scarcely 
 hearing the malicious and exultant words which the Duchess of Rich- 
 mond was whispering in her ear. 
 
 The King held the rosette in his hand and examined it. But his hands 
 trembled so much that he was unable to unfasten the clasp which held 
 it together. 
 
 He, therefore, handed it to John Hoy wood. These diamonds are poor, 
 said he in a curt dry tone. Unfasten the clasp, fool; we will replace it 
 with this pin here. Then will the present gain Cor the Earl a double 
 value; for it will come at the same time from me and from the Queen. 
 
 How gracious you are to-day, eaid John Hey wood smillcg — As gra- 
 cious as the cat, thnt plays a little longer with the mouse before she de- 
 vours it. 
 
 Unfasten the clasp ! exclaimed the King in a thundering voice, no 
 longer ab'e to conceal his rnge. Slowly John Heywood unfastened the 
 cla<p from the ribbon. He did it with intentional slowness and delibe- 
 ration; he let the King see all of his movements, every turn of his fin- 
 gers; and it delighted him to hold those who had woven this plot, in 
 dreadful suspense and expectation. 
 
 Whilst he appeared perfectly innocent and unembarrassed, his keen 
 piercing glance ran over the whole assembly ; and he noticed well the 
 trembling impatience of Gardiner and Earl Douglas ; and it did not es- 
 cape him how pale Lady J&oe was, and bow full of expectation the. iu- 
 tent features of the Duchess of Richmond. 
 
 They are the ones with whom ihis conspiracy originated, said John 
 Heywood to himself. But I will keep silence till I can one day convict 
 them. 
 
.34 
 
 There ! here is ihe clasp ! said he then aloud to the King, ft stuck as 
 lightly in the ribbon, as malice in the heart of priests and courtiers! 
 
 The King snatched the ribbou out of his hand, and examined it by 
 drawing it through his fingers. 
 
 Nothing! nothing at all ! said he gnashing his teeth ; and now, deceiv- 
 ed in his expectations and suppositions, he could no longer muster 
 strength to withstand that roaring torreut of wrath which overflow- 
 ed his heart. — The tiger was again aroused in him; he had calmly wait- 
 ed for the moment when ihe promised prey would be brought to him ; 
 now, when it seemed to be escaping him, his savage and cruel disposi- 
 tion started up within him. The tiger panted and thirsted for blood ; 
 and that he was not to get it, made him raging with fury. 
 
 With' a wild movement he threw the rosette on the ground, and rais- 
 ed his arm menacingly towards Henry Howard. 
 
 Dare not to touch that rosette, cried he in a voice of thunder, before 
 you have exculpated yourself from the gui^t of which you are accused. 
 
 Earl Surrey looked him steadily and boldly in the eye. Have I been 
 accused then? asked he. Then 1 demand first of all, that I be confront- 
 ed with my accusers, and that my fault be named ! 
 
 Ha, traitor ! Do you dare to brave me 1 yelled the Kiug. stamping fu- 
 riously with his foot. Well now, I will be your accuser, and I will be 
 your judge! 
 
 And surely, my King and husband, you will be a righteous judge, said 
 Catharine, as she inclined imploringly towards the King and grasped his 
 hand. You will not condemn the noble Earl Surrey without having 
 heard him ; and if you find him guiltless, you will punish his accusers. 
 
 But this intercession of the Queen made the King raging. He threw 
 her hand from him, and gazed at her with looks of such flaming wrath, 
 that she involuntarily trembled. 
 
 Traitoress yourself! jelled he wildly. Speak not of innocence — you 
 who are yourself guilty ; and before you dare defend the Earl, defend 
 yourself! 
 
 Catharine rose from her seat and looked with flashing eyes into the 
 King's face blazing with wrath. King Henry of England, said she so- 
 lemnly, ) ou have openly, before your whole Court, accused your Queen 
 of a crime. I now demand that you name it! 
 
 She was of wondrous beauty in her proud bold bearing; in her impo- 
 sing, majestic tranquility. 
 
 The decisive moment had come; and she was conscious that her life 
 and her future were struggling with death for the victory. 
 
 She looked over to Thomas Seymour, and their eyes met. She saw 
 how he laid his hand on his sword, and nodded to her a smiling greeting. 
 
 He will defend me ; and before he will suffer me to be dragged to the 
 Tower, he himself will plunge his sword into my breast! thought she, 
 and a joyous, triumphant assurance •fjlled her whole heart. 
 
 Sha saw nothing but him who had sworn to die with her when the 
 decisive moment came. She looked with a smile on that blade which 
 
35 
 
 he had already half drawn from its scabbard ; and she hailed it asa dear, 
 long yearntd-for friend. 
 
 She saw not that Henry Howard also had laid his hand on his sword ; 
 that he, too, was ready for her defence, (irmly resolved to slay the King 
 himself, before his mouth uttered the sentence of death over the Queen. 
 
 But Lady Jane Douglas saw it. She understood how to read the 
 Earl's countenance ; she fell that he was ready to go to death for hia 
 beloved ; and it filled her heart at once with woe and rapture. 
 
 She, too, was now firmly resolved to follow only her heart and her love : 
 and forgetting all else besides these, she hastened forwards, and was now 
 standing by Henry Howard. 
 
 Be prudent, Earl Surrey, said she in a low whisper. Take your hand 
 from your sword. The Queen, by my mouth, commands you to do 
 so ! 
 
 Henry Howard looked at her astonished and surprised ; but he let his 
 hand slip from the hilt of his sword, and again looked towards the 
 Queen. / 
 
 She had repeated her demand ; she had once more dejnanded of the 
 King — who, speechless and completely overcome with anger, had fallen 
 back into his seat — to name the crime of which she was accused. 
 
 Now then, my Queen ; you demand it, and you shall hear it, cried 
 he. You want to know the crime of which you are accused 1 Answer 
 me, then, my Lady ! They accuse you ol not always staying at night 
 in your sleeping-room. It is alleged that you sometimes leave it for 
 many hours ; and that none of your women accompanied you, when you 
 glided through the corrid >rs and up the secret stairs to the lonely tower, 
 in which was waiting for you your lover, who at the same time entered 
 the tower through the small street-door. 
 
 He knows all ! muttered Henry Howard; and again he laid his hand 
 on his sword, and was about to approach the Queen. 
 
 Lady Jane held him back. Wait for the issue, said she. There is 
 still lime to die ! 
 
 He knows all ! thought the Queen also; and now she felt within her- ' 
 self the daring courage to risk all, that at least she might not stand there 
 a traitoress in the eyes of her lover. 
 
 He shall not believe that I have been untrue to him, thought she. I 
 will tell all — confess all, that he may know why I went and whither. 
 
 Now answer, my Lady Catharine, thundered the King. Answer; and 
 tell me whether you have been falsely accused. Is it true that you, 
 eight days ago, in the night between Monday and Tuesday, left jour 
 sleeping-room at the hour of midnight and went secretly to the lonely 
 tower 1 ? Is it true that yon received there a man who is your lover? 
 
 The Queen looked at him in angry pride. Henry, Henry, woe to you 
 that you dare thus insult your own wife, cried she. 
 
 Answer me ! You were not on that night in your sleeping-room ? 
 
 No! said Catharine with dignified composure. I was not there. 
 
 The King sank back in his seat, and a real roar of fury sounded from 
 
30 
 
 his lips. It made the women turn pale, and even the men felt them- 
 selves tremble. 
 
 Catharine alone had not heeded it at all ; she alone had heard nothing 
 save that cry of amazement which Thomas Seymour uttered; and she 
 saw only the angry and upbraiding looks which he threw across at her. 
 
 She answered these looks with a friendly and confident smile, and 
 pressed both her hands to her heart as she looked at him. 
 
 ] will justify myself before him at least, thought she. 
 
 The King had recovered from his first shock. He again raised him- 
 self up, and his countenance no'w exhibited a fearful, threatening cool- 
 ness. 
 
 You eonfess, then, asked he, that you were not in your sleeping-room 
 on that night?. 
 
 I have already said so ! exclaimed Catharine impatiently. 
 
 The King compressed his lips so violently that they bled. And a 
 man was with you ? asked he. A man with whom you made an assig- 
 nation, aud whom you received in the lonely tower? , 
 
 A man was with me. But I did not receive him in the lonely tow- 
 er ; and it was no assignation. ' 
 
 Who was that man ? yelled the King. Answer me ! Tell me his 
 name, if you do not want me to strangle you myself! 
 
 King Henry, I fear death no longer ! said Catharine with a contempt- 
 uous smile. 
 
 Who was that man ? Tell me his name ! yelled the King once 
 more. 
 
 The Queen raised herself more proudly, and her defiant look ran 
 over the whole assembly. 
 
 The man, said she solemnly, who was with me on that night — he is 
 named 
 
 He is named John Hey wood ! said this individual, as he seriously 
 and proudly walked forward from behind the King's throne ! Yes, Hen- 
 ry, your brother, the fool John Heywood, had on (hat night the proud 
 •honor of accompanying your consort on her holy errand ; but, I assure 
 you, that he was less like the King, than the King is just now like the 
 fool. 
 
 A murmur of surprise ran through the assembly. The King leant 
 back in his royal seat speechless. 
 
 And now, King Henry, said Catharine calmly — now I will tell you 
 whither 1 went with John Heywood on that night! 
 
 She was silent, and for a moment leant back on her seat. She felt 
 that the looks of all were directed to her ; she heard the King's wrath- 
 ful groan ; she felt her lover's flashing, reproachful glances ; she saw the 
 derisive smile of those haughty ladies, who had uever forgiven her — 
 that she, from a simple Baroness, had become Queen. But all this made 
 her only still more courageous and bolder. 
 
 She had arrived at the turning point of her life, where she must risk 
 everything to avoir! sinking into the abyss. 
 
But Lady Jane also had arrived at such a decisive moment of her 
 existence. Sin-, ton, said to herself: I must at this hour risk all, if I do 
 not want to lose all. She saw Henry Howard's pale, expectant f. ce. 
 She knew if the Queen now spoke, the whole web of their conspiracy 
 would be revealed to him, 
 
 She must, therefore, anticipate the Queen. She must warn Henry 
 Howard. 
 
 Fear nothing! whispered she to him. We were prepared fur that. 
 1 have put into her hand the means of escape ! 
 
 Will you now at last speak ? exclaimed the King, quivering with 
 impatience and rage. Will you at last tell us where you were on that 
 night 1 
 
 I will tell ! exclaimed Catharine, rising up again boldly and resolute- 
 ly. But woe be to those who drive me to this! For 1 tell you be 
 forehand, from the accused 1 will become an accuser who demands jus- 
 tice, if not before the throne of the King of England, yet before the 
 throne of the Lord of all Kings! King Henry of England, do you ask 
 me whither I went on that night with John Heywood ? I might, per- 
 haps, as your Queen and consort, demand that )Ou put this question to 
 me, not before so many witnesses, but in the quiet of our chamber ; 
 but you seek publicity, and I do not shun it. Well, hear the truth 
 then — all of \ ou ! — On that ni^ht, between Monday and Tuesday. 1 
 was not in m j sleeping apartment, because I had a grave and sacred 
 duty to pei fni iu ; because a dying woman called on me for help and 
 pity ! Would yon know, my lord and husband, who this dying woman 
 was? It was Anne Askew ! 
 
 Anne Askew! exclaimed the King in astonishment ; and his counte- 
 nance exhibited a less wrathful expression. 
 
 Anne Askew ! muttered the others ; and John He) wood very well 
 saw how Bishop Gardiner's brow darkened, and how Chancellor Wrioth- 
 esley turned pale and cast down his eyes. 
 
 Yes, I was with Anne Askew ! continued the Queen — with Anne 
 Askew, whom those pious and wise lords yonder had condemed, not so 
 much on account of her faith, but because they knew that I loved her. 
 Anne Askew was to die, because Catharine Parr loved her ! She was 
 to go to the stake, that my heart also miyht burn with fiery pains ! And 
 because it was so, I was obliged to risk everything in order to save her. 
 Oh, my King, say yourself, did I not owe it to this poor girl to try eve 
 r) thing in order to save her? On my account she was to suffer" these 
 tortures. For they had shamefully stolen from me a letter which Anne 
 Askew, in the distress of her heart, had addressed to me; and they 
 showed this letter to )ou, in order to cast suspicion on me and accuse 
 me to you. But your noble heart repelled the suspicion ; and now their 
 wrath fell again on Anne Askew, and she must suffer, because they did 
 not find me punishable. She must atone for having dared to write to 
 They worked matters with you so that she wa9 put to the rack. 
 But when my husband gave way to their urging, yet the noble King re- 
 
38 
 
 niained still awake in him. " Go," said he, " rack her and kill her ; 
 but see first, whether she will not recant." 
 
 Henry looked astonished into her noble and defiant face. Do you 
 know that? asked he. And yet we were alone, and no human being 
 present Who could tell you that? 
 
 When man is no longer able to help, then God undertakes! said 
 Catharine solemnly, it was God who commanded me to go to Anne 
 Askew, and try whether 1 could save her. And 1 went. But though 
 the wife of a noble and great King, 1 am still but a weak and timid wo- 
 man. 1 was afraid to tread this gloomy and dangerous path alone ; I 
 needed a strong, manly arm to lean upon ; and so John Hey wood lent 
 me his. 
 
 And you were really with Anne Askew, interposed the King thought- 
 fully — with that hardened sinner, who despised mercy, and in the stub- 
 borness of her soul would not be a partaker of the pardon that I offered 
 her? 
 
 My lord and husband, said the Queen with tears in her eyes, she 
 whom you have just accused, stands even now before the throne of the 
 Lord, and has received from her God the forgiveness of her sins ! 
 Therefore, do you likewise pardon her; and may the flames of the stake, 
 to which yesterday the noble virgin body of this girl was bound, have 
 consumed also the wrath and hatred which had been kindled in your 
 heart against her. Anne Askew passed away like a saint; for she for- 
 gave all her enemies and blessed her tormenters. 
 
 Anne Askew was a damnable sinner, who dared resist the command 
 of her lord and King ! interrupted Bishop Gardiner, looking daggers at her. 
 
 And dare you maintain, my Lord, that you at that time fulfilled the 
 commands of your royal master simply and exactly ? asked Catharine. 
 Did you keep within them with respect to Anne Askew ? No ! I say ; 
 for the King had not ordered you to torture her ; he had not bidden you 
 to lacerate in blasphemous wrath a noble human form, and distort that 
 liktness of God into a horrible caricature. And that, my Lord, you 
 did! Before God and your King, I accuse you of it— 1, the Queen ! 
 For you now know, my lord and husband, I was there when Anne 
 Askew was racked. I saw her agony ; and John Heywood saw it 
 with me. 
 
 The eyes of all were now directed inquiringly to the King, of whose 
 ferocity and choler every one now expected a violent outbreak. 
 
 But this time they were mistaken. The King was so well satisfied 
 to find his consort clear of the crime laid to her charge, that he willingly 
 forgtive her for having committed a crime of less weighty character. 
 Besides, it filled him with respect to see his consort confronting her ac- 
 cusers so boldly and proudly ; and he felt towards them just as burn- 
 ing wrath and hatred, as he had before harbored against the Queen. 
 He was pleased, that the malignant and peisistent persecutors of his 
 fair and proud wife should now be humbled by her before the eyes of 
 ftll his Court, 
 
39 
 
 Therefore he looked at her with an imperceptible smile, and said with 
 deep interest: But how could this happen, my lady ? By what path 
 did you get thither \ 
 
 That is an inquiry which any one except the King is authorized to 
 make! King Henry alone knows the way that I went! said Catharine 
 with a slight smile. 
 
 John Hey wood, who was still standing behind the King's throne, now 
 bent down close to Henry's ear, and spoke with him a long t ; me in a 
 quick, low tone. 
 
 The King listened to him attentively ; then he murmured so loud 
 that the bystanders could very well understand him : By God, she is a 
 spirited and brave woman; and we should be obliged to cod fess that, 
 even were she not our Queen ! 
 
 Continue, my Lady ! said he then aloud, turning to the Queen with a 
 gracious look; Relate to me, Catharine, what saw you then in the tor- 
 ture-chamber ? 
 
 Oh, my King and lord, it horrifies me only to think of it, cried she 
 shuddering and turning pale. 1 saw a poor young woman, who writhed 
 in fearful agony, and whose staring eyes were raised in mute supplica- 
 tion to heaven. She did not beg her tormenters for mercy ; she wanted 
 from them no compassion and no pity ; she did not scream and whine 
 from the pain, though hep limbs cracked and her" flesh snapped apart 
 like glass ; she raised her clasped hands to God. and her lips murmured 
 low prayers, which, perhaps, made the angels of heaven weep, but 
 were not able to touch the hearts of her tormenters. You had ordered 
 her to be racked, if she would not retract. They did not ask her 
 whether she would do this — they racked her. But her soul was strong 
 and full of courage; and under the. tortures of the executioner, her 
 lips remained mute. Let theologians say and determine whether 
 Anne Askew's faith was a false one; but this they will not dare 
 deny : that in the noble enthusiasm of this faith, sho was a heroine who 
 at least did not deny her God. At length, worn out with so much use 
 less exertion, the assistant, executioners discontinued their bloody woi':. 
 to rest from the tortures which they had prepared for Anne Askew. 
 The Lieutenant of the Tower declared the work of the rack ended. 
 The highest degrees had been applied, and they had proved powerless ; 
 cruelty was obliged to acknowledge itself conquered. But the priests 
 of the Church, with savage vehemence, demanded that she should be 
 racked once more. Dare deny that, y<- lords, whom I behold standing 
 there opposite with faces pale as death. Yes, my King, the servants of 
 the rack refused to obey the servants of God; for in the hearts of the 
 hangman's drudges there was more pity than in the hearts of the priests! 
 And when they refused to proceed in thrir bloody work, and when the 
 Lieutenant of the Tower, in virtue of the existing law, declared 
 the racking at. an end. then I saw one of the first ministers of our Church 
 throw aside his sacred garments ; then the priest of God transformed 
 himself into a hangman's drudge, who, with blood thirsty delight, lacer- 
 
40 
 
 ated anew the noble mangled body of the young girl, and more cruel 
 than the attendants of the rack, unsparingly broke and dislocated the 
 limbs, which they had only squeezed in their screws.* — Excuse me, my 
 King, from sketching this scene of horror still farther ! Horrified and 
 trembling, I fled from that frightful place, and returned to my room 
 shattered, and sad at heart. 
 
 Catharine ceased, exhausted, and sank back into her seat. 
 
 A breathless stillness reigned around. All faces were pale and color- 
 less. Gardiner and Wriothesley stood with their eyes fixed gloomy 
 and defiant, expecting that the King's wrath would crush and destroy 
 them. 
 
 But the King scarcely thought of them; he thought only of his fair 
 youn" Queen, whose boldness inspired him with respect, and whose in- 
 nocence and purity filled him with a proud and blissful joy. 
 
 He was, therefore, very much inclined to forgive those, who in reality 
 had committed no offence farther than this, that they had carried out a 
 little too literally and strictly the orders of their master. 
 
 A long pause had ensued — a pause full of expectation and anxiety for 
 all who were assembled in the hall. Only Catharine reclined calmly in 
 her chair, and with beaming eyes looked across to Thomas Seymour, 
 whose handsome countenance betrayed to her the gratification and satis- 
 faction which he felt at this clearing up of her mysterious night wander- 
 ing. 
 
 At last the King arose, and bowing low before his consort, said in a 
 loud, full toned voice: I have deeply and bitterly injured you, my noble 
 wife ; and as I publicly accused you, I will also publicly ask your for- 
 giveness ! You have a right to be angry with me ; for it behooved me 
 above all, to believe with unshaken firmness in the truth and honor of 
 ray wife. My lady, you have made a brilliant vindication of yourself; 
 and, I, the King, first of all bow before you, and beg that you may forgive 
 me and impose some penance. 
 
 Leave it to me, Queen, to impose a penance on this repentant sinner ! 
 crfed John Heywood gaily. Your Majesty is much too magnanimous, 
 much too timid, to treat him as roughly as my brother King Henry 
 deserves. Leave it to me then to punish him ; for only the fool is wise 
 enough to punish the King after his deserts. 
 
 Catharine nodded to him with a grateful smile. She comprehended 
 perfectly John Hey wood's delicacy and nice tact; she apprehended that 
 he wanted by a joke to relieve her from her painful situation, and put 
 an end to the King's public acknowledgement, which at the same time 
 must turn to her bitter reproach — bitter, though it were only self re- 
 proach. 
 
 Well, said ;he smiling, what punishment then will you impose upon 
 the King ? 
 
 The punishment of recognizing the fool as his equal! 
 
 God is my witness, that I do so ! exclaimed the King almost solemn- 
 * Burnet's History of tho Reformation ; to). 1, page 182. 
 
41 
 
 ly. Fools we are, one and all, and we fall short of the renown which we 
 have before men. 
 
 But niy sentence is not yet complete, brother ! continued John Hay- 
 wood. 1 furthermore give sentence, that you also forthwith allow me 
 to recite my poem to you, and that you open your ears in order to hear 
 what John Heywood, the wise, has indited ! 
 
 You have then fulfilled my command and composed a uew interlude? 
 cried the King vivaciously. 
 
 No interlude, but a wholly novel, comical affair — a play full of lampoons 
 and jokes, at which your eyes are to overflow, yet not with weeping, but 
 with laughter. To the right noble Earl of Surrey belongs the proud 
 honor of having presented to our happy England her first sonnets. Well 
 now, I also will give her something new. I present her the first come- 
 dy ; and as he sings the beauty of his Geraldine, so I celebrate the fame 
 of Gammer Gurton's sewing needle 1 — Gammer Giyton's needle, so my 
 piece is called ; and you, King Henry, shall listen to it as a punishment 
 for your sins ! 
 
 I will do so, cried the King cheerfully, provided you permit it, Kate ! 
 But before I do so, I make also one more condition. A condition, for 
 you, Queen ! Kate, you have disdained to impose a penance on me, 
 but grant me at least the pleasure of being allowed to fulfil some wish 
 of yours ! Make me a request, that I may giant it you! 
 
 Well then, my lord and King, said Catharine with a charming smile, 
 I beg you to thiuk no more of the incidents of this day, and to forgive 
 those, whom 1 accused only because their accusation was my vindica- 
 tion. They who brought charges against me, have in this hour felt con- 
 trition for their own fault. Let that suffice, King, and forgive them, as 
 I do! 
 
 You are ever a noble and great woman, Kate ! cried the King ; and 
 as his glance swept over towards Gardiner with an almost contemptuous 
 expression, he continued : Your request is granted ! But woe to them 
 who shall dare accuse you again. And have you nothing farther to de- 
 mand, Kate ? 
 
 Nay, one thing more, my lord and husband ! — She leant nearer to the 
 King's ear and whispered : They have also accused your noblest and 
 most faithful servant; they have accused Cranmer. Condemn him not, 
 King, without having heard him ; and if 1 may beg a favor of you, it is 
 this : Talk with Cranmer yourself. Tell him of what they have charged 
 him, and hear his vindication. 
 
 It shall be so. Kate, said the King, and you shall be present ! But let 
 this be a secret between us, Kate, and we will carry it out in perfect si- 
 lence. And now then, John Heywood, let us hear \ our composition ; 
 and woe to you, if it does not ftqooinplhh what you promised — if it does 
 not make us laugh. For you well know, that you then are irevitably 
 exposed to the rods of our injured ladies. 
 
 They shall have leave to whip me to death, if I do not make you 
 laugh! cried John Heywood gaily, as he drew out his manuscript. 
 
42 
 
 Soon the hall rung again with loud laughter ; and in the jniversal mer- 
 riment, no one observed that Bishop Gardiner and Jtarl Douglas slipped 
 quietly away. 
 
 In the anteroom without, they stopped and looked at each other, long 
 and silently ; their countenances expressed the wrath and bitterness 
 which fii led thein within; and they understood this mute language of 
 their features. 
 
 She must die ! said Gardiner in a short and quick tone. She has for 
 once escaped from our snares; we will tie them all the tighter next 
 time ! 
 
 And I already hold in my hand the threads out of which we will form 
 these snares, said Earl Douglas. We have today falsely accused her 
 of a love-affair. When we do it again, we shall speak the. truth. Did 
 you see the looks that Catharine exchanged with the heretical Earl Sud- 
 ly, Thomas Seymour^? 
 
 J saw them, Earl ! 
 
 For these looks she will die, my Lord. The Queen loves Thomas Sey- 
 mour; and this love will b? her death. 
 
 Amen ! said Bishop Gardiner solemnly, as he raised his eyes devout- 
 ly to heaven. Amen! The Queen has grievously and bitterly injured 
 us to day ; she has insulted and abused us before all the Court. We 
 will requite her for it some day ! The torture-chamber, which she has 
 depicted in such lively colors, may yet one day open for her, too — not 
 that she may behold another's agonies, but that she may suffer agonies 
 herself. We shall one day avenge ourselves ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 REVENGE. 
 
 Miss Holland, the beautiful and much admired mistress of the Duke 
 of Norfolk, was alone in her magnificently adorned boudoir. It was the 
 hour when ordinarily the Duke was wont to be with her; for this rea- 
 son she was charmingly attired, and had wrapped herself in that light 
 and voluptuous negligee which the Duke so much liked, because it set. 
 off" to so much advantage the splendid form of his friend. 
 
 But to-day the expected one did not make his appearance ; in his 
 stead, his valet had just come and brought the fair Miss a note from his 
 master. This note she was holding in her hand, while with passionate 
 violence she now walked up and down her boudoir. A glowing crimson 
 blazed upon her cheeks, and her large, haughty eyes darted wild flashes 
 PjF wrath* 
 
43 
 
 She was disdained — she, Lady Holland, was forced to endure the dis- 
 grace of being dismissed by her lover. 
 
 There, there in that letter which she held in her hand, and which burn- 
 ed her fingers like red-hot. iron — there it stood in black and white, that 
 he would see her no more ; that he renounced her love ; that he releas- 
 ed her. 
 
 Her whole frame shook as she thought of this. It was not the an- 
 guish of a loving heart which made her tremble; it was the wouuded 
 pride of the woman. 
 
 He had abandoned her. Her beauty, her youth bo longer had the 
 power to enchain him — the man with while hairs and withered features. 
 
 He had written her, that he was satiated and weary, not of her. but 
 only of love in general ; that his heart had become old and withered 
 like his face ; and that there was still in his breast no more room for 
 love, but only for ambition. 
 
 Was not that a revolting, an unheard of outrage : To abandon the 
 finest woman in England for the sake of empty, cold, stern ambition? 
 
 She opened the letter once more. Once more she read that place. 
 Then grinding her teeth, she said with tears of anger in her eyes: He 
 shall pay me for this! I will take veugeance for this insult ! 
 
 She thrust the letter into her bosom, and touched the silver bell. 
 
 Have my carriage brought round ! was her order to the servaut who 
 entered ; and he withdrew in silence. 
 
 I will avenge myself! muttered she, as with trembling hands she 
 wrapped herself in the large Turkish shawl. I will avenge myself; and 
 by the eternal God, it shall be a bloody and swift vengeance. 1 will 
 show him, that 1, too, am ambitious, and that my pride is not to be hum 
 bled. He says he will forget me ; Oh, I will compel him to think of 
 me, even though it be only to curse me ! 
 
 With hasty step she sped through the glittering apartments, which the 
 liberality of her lover had furnished so magnificently, and descended to 
 the carriage standing ready for her. 
 
 To the Duchess of Norfolk's ! said she to the footman standing at the 
 door of the carriage, as she entered it. 
 
 The servant looked at her in astonishment and inquiringly. 
 
 To the Duke of Norfolk ; is it not, my Lady ? 
 
 No indeed, to the Duchess ! cried she with a frown, as she leant back 
 on the cushion. 
 
 After a short time, the carriage drew up before the palace of the 
 Duchess, and with haughty tread and commanding air she passed through 
 the porch. 
 
 Announce me to the Duchess immediately, was her order to the lackey 
 who was hurrying to meet her. 
 
 Your name, my Lady? 
 
 Mi>s Arabella Holland. 
 
 The servant stepped back, and stared at her in surprise. Miss Ara- 
 bella Holland ? And you order me to announce you to the Duchess ? 
 
44 
 
 A contemptuous smile played a moment about the thin lips of the 
 beautiful Miss. I see you know me, said she; and you wonder a little 
 to see me here. Wonder as much as you please, good friend ; only con- 
 duet me immediately to the Duchess. 
 
 I doubt whether her ladyship receives calls to day, stammered the ser- 
 vant hesitatingly. 
 
 Then go and ask ; and that 1 may learn her answer as soon as possi- 
 ble, I will accompany you. 
 
 With a commanding air, she motioned to the servant to go before 
 her ; and he could not summon up courage to gainsay this proud beauty. 
 
 in silence they traversed the suite of stately apartments, and at length 
 stood before a door hung with tapestry. 
 
 I must beg you to wait here a moment, my Lady, so that I can an- 
 nounce you to the Duchess, who is there in her boudoir. 
 
 No indeed ; I will assume that office myself, said Miss Holland, as 
 with strong hand she pushed back the servant and opened the door. 
 
 The Duchess was sitting at her writing table, her back turned to the 
 door through which Arabella had entered. She did not turn round ; 
 perhaps she had not heard the door open. She continued quietly 
 writing. 
 
 Miss Arabella Holland with stately step crossed the room, and now 
 stood close to the chair of the Duchess. 
 
 Duchess. I would like to speak with you, said she cooly and calmly. 
 
 The Duchess uttered a cry and looked up. Miss Holland ! cried she 
 amazed, and hastily rising. Miss Holland ! you here with me, in my 
 house ! What do you want here? How dare you cross my threshold ? 
 
 I s e you still hate me, my lady ! said Arabella smiling. You have 
 not yet forgiven me that the Duke, your husband, found more delight 
 in my young, handsome face, than in yours now growing old ; that my 
 sprightly, wanton disposition pleased him better than your cold, stately air. 
 
 The Duchess turned pale with rage ; and her eyes darted lightning. 
 Silence, you shameless creature, silence, or I will call my servants to rid 
 me of you ! 
 
 You will not call them ; for I have come to be reconciled with you, 
 and to offer you peace. 
 
 Peace with you ! sneered the Duchess. Peace with that shameless 
 woman who stole from me my husband, the father of my children 1 — who 
 loaded m« with the disgrace of standing before the whole world, as a re- 
 pudiated and despised wife, and of suffering myselfto.be compared with 
 you, that th.e world might decide which of us two was worthier of his love % 
 Peace with you, Miss Holland 1 — with the impudent strumpet who squan- 
 ders my husband's means in lavish luxury, and, with scoffing boldness, 
 robs my children of their lawful property 1 
 
 It is true, the Duke is very generous, said Miss Holland composedly. 
 He loaded me with diamonds and gold. 
 
 And meanwhile I was doomed almost to suffer want, said the Duchess 
 grinding her teeth. 
 
45 
 
 Want of love, it may be, my Lady, but not want of money ; for you 
 are very magnificently fitted up; and every one knows that the Duchess 
 of Norfolk is rich enough to be able to spare the trifles that her husband 
 laid at my feet. By Heaven, my Lady, I would not have deemed it 
 worth the trouble to stoop for them, if f had not seen among there 
 trilles his heart. The heart of a man is well worth a woman's- stooping 
 for! You had neglected that, my Lady, and therefore you lost your hus- 
 band's heart. 1 picked it up. That is all. Why will you make a crime 
 of that ? 
 
 That is enough ! cried the Duchess. It does not. become me to dis- 
 pute with you ; I desire only to know what gave you the courage to 
 come to me ? 
 
 My Lady, do you hate me only ? Or do you also hate the Duke, 
 your husband ? 
 
 She asks me whether I hate him ! cried the Duchess with a wild, 
 scornful laugh. Yes, Miss Holland, yes ! I hate him as ardently as I 
 despise you. 1 hate him so much that I would give my whole estate — 
 aye, years of my life — if I could puni-h him for the disgrace he has put 
 upon me. 
 
 Then, my Lady, we shall soon understand each other; for I too hate 
 him, said Miss Holland, quietly seating herself on the velvet divan, and 
 smiling as she observed the speechless astonishment of the Duchess. 
 
 Yes, my Lady, I hate him ; and without doubt still more ardently, still 
 more intensely than you yourself; for I am young and fiery ; you are 
 old, and have always managed to preserve a cool heart. 
 
 The Duchess was convulsed with rage ; but silently, and with an effort, 
 she gulphed down the drop of wormwood which her wicked rival mingled 
 in the cup of joy which she presented to her. 
 
 You do hate him, Miss Holland 1 ? asked she joyfully. 
 
 I hate him, and I have come to league. myself with you against him. 
 He is a traitor, a perfidious wretch, a perjurer. I will take vengeance 
 for my disgrace ! 
 
 Ah, has he then deserted you also 1 
 
 He has deserted me also. ' 
 
 Well then, God be praised ! cried the Duchess, and her face beamed 
 with joy. God is great and just; and he has punished you with the 
 same weapons with which you sinned ! For your sake, he deserted me; 
 and for the sake of another woman, he fnr<akes you. 
 
 Not so, my Lady ! said Miss Holland proudly. A woman like me is 
 not forsaken on account of a woman ; and he who loves me will love no 
 other afier me. There, read his letter! 
 
 She handedthe Duchess her husband's letter. 
 
 And what do you want to do now ? asked the Duchess after she had 
 read it. 
 
 I will have revenge, my Lady ! He says he no longer has a heart to 
 love. ; well now, we will so manage, that he may no longer have a head 
 to think. Will you be my ally, my Lady ? 
 
46 
 
 1 will. 
 
 And 1 also will be, said the Duchess of Richmond, who just then 
 opened the door and came out of the adjoining room. 
 
 Not a word of this entire conversation had escaped her, and she very 
 well understood that the question was not about some p«tty vengeance, 
 but her father's head. She knew that Miss Holland was not a woman 
 that, when irritated, pricked with a pin ; but one that grasped the dagger 
 to strike her enemy a mortal blow. 
 
 Yes, I too will be your ally, cried the Duchess of Richmond ; we have 
 all three been outraged by the same man. Let, then, our revenge be a 
 common one. The father has insulted you ; the son, me. Well then, 
 I wiil help you to strike the father, if you in return will assist me to 
 destroy the son. 
 
 1 will assist you, said Arabella smiling ; for I also hate the haughty 
 Earl of Surrey, who prides himself on his virtue, as if it were a golden 
 fleece which God himself had stuck on his breast. I hate him; for he 
 never meets me but with proud disregard ; and he alone is to blame for 
 his father's faithlessness. 
 
 1 was present when with tears he besought the Duke, our father, to 
 free himself frotn your fetters, and give up this shameful and disgraceful 
 connexion with you, said the young Duchess. 
 
 Arabella [answered nothing. But she pressed her hands firmly to- 
 gether, and a slight pallor overspread her cheeks. 
 
 And why are you angry with your brother? asked the old Duchess 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Why am 1 angry with him, do you ask, my mother? I am not angry 
 with him ; but 1 execrate him, and I have sworn to myself never to rest 
 till I have avenged myself. My happiness, my heart, and my future, lay 
 in his hands; and he has remorselessly trodden under his haughty feet 
 these — his sister's precious treasures. It lay with him to make' me the 
 wife of the man 1 love ; and he has not done it, though I lay at his feet 
 weeping and wringing my hands. 
 
 But it was a great sacrifice that you demanded, said her mother. He 
 had to give his hand to a woman he did not love, so that you might be 
 Thomas Seymour's wife. 
 
 Mother, you defend him ; and yet he it is that blames you daily ; 
 and but yesterday it seemed to him perfectly right and natural that the 
 Duke had forsaken you, our mother. 
 
 Did he do that? inquired the Duchess vehemently. Well now, as 
 he has forgotten that 1 am his mothar, so will I forget that he is my 
 son. lam your ally! Revenge for our injured hearts! Vengeance 
 on father and son ! 
 
 She held out both hands, and the two young women laid their hands 
 in hers. 
 
 Vengeance on father and son ! repeated they both ; and their eyes 
 flashed, and crimson now mantled their cheeks. 
 
 I am tired of living like a hermit in my palace, and of beiDg ban- 
 
47 
 
 ished from Court by the fear that I may encounter my husband there. 
 
 You shall encounter him there no more, said her daughter laconically. 
 
 Tliey shall not laugh and jeer at me, cried Arabella. And when they 
 learn that he has forsaken me, they shall also know, how 1 have avenged 
 myself for it. 
 
 Thomas Seymour can never become my husband, so long as Henry 
 Howard lives; for he has mortally offended him, as Henry has rejected 
 the hand of his sister. Perhaps I may become his wife, if Henry How 
 ard is no more, said the young Duchess. So let us consider. How 
 shall we begiu, so as co strike them surely and certainly ? 
 
 When three women are agreed, they may well be certain of their suc- 
 cess, said Arabella shrugging her shoulders. We live — God be praised 
 for it — under a noble and high minded King, who beholds the blood of 
 his subjects with as much pleasure as he does the crimson of his royal 
 mautle, and who has never yet shrunk back when a death warrant was 
 to be signed. 
 
 But this time he will shrink back, said the old Duchess. He will 
 not dare to rob the noblest and most powerful family of his kingdom of 
 its head. 
 
 That very risk will stimulate him, said the Duchess of Richmond 
 laughing ; and the more difficult it is to bring down these heads, so 
 much the more impatiently will he hanker after it. The King hate* 
 them both ; and he will thank us, if we change his hatred into retribu- 
 tive justice. 
 
 Then let us accuse both of high treason ! cried Arabella The Duke 
 is a traitor ; for 1 will and can swear that he has often enough called 
 the King a blood-thirsty tiger, a relentless tyrant, a man without truth 
 aud without faith, although he coquettishly pretends to be the fountain 
 and rock of all faith. 
 
 If he has said that, and you heard him, you are in duty bound to com 
 municate it to the King, if you do not want to be a traitoress yourself, 
 exclaimed the young Duchess solemnly. 
 
 And have you not noticed, that the Duke has for som<* time borne 
 the same coat of arms as the King? asked the Duchess of Norfolk. It 
 is not enough for his haughty and ambitious spirit to be the first ser- 
 vant of this land ; he strives to be lord and king of it. 
 
 Tell that to the King, and by to morrow the head of the traitor falls. 
 For the King is as jealous of his kingdom as ever a woman was of her 
 lover. Tell him that the Duke bears his coat of arras, and his destruc- 
 tion is certain. 
 
 J will tell him so, daughter. 
 
 We are sure of the father, but what have we for the son ? 
 
 A sure and infallible means, that will as certainly despatch him into 
 eternity as the hunter's tiny bullet slays the proudest stag. Henry 
 loves the Queen ; and I will furnish the King proof of that, said the 
 young Duchess. 
 
 Then let us go to the King! cried Arabella impetuously. 
 
48 
 
 No, indeed ! That would make a sensation, and might easily frus- 
 trate our whole plan, said the Duchess of Richmond. Let us first talk 
 with Earl Douglas, and hear his advice. Come ; every minute is pre- 
 cious ! We owe it to our womanly honor to avenge ourselves. We 
 cannot, and will not leave unpunished those who have despised our 
 love, wounded our honor and trodden under foot the holiest ties of na- 
 ture ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 
 
 The Princess Elizabeth was sitting in her room, melancholy and ab 
 sorbed in thought. Her eyes were red with weeping ; and she pressed 
 her hand on her heart, as if she would repress its cry of anguish. 
 
 With a disconsolate, perplexed look she gazed around her chamber, 
 and its solitude was doubly painful to her today, for it testified to her 
 forsaken condition, to the disgrace that still rested on her. For were 
 it not so, today would have been to. the whole Court a day of rejoicing, 
 of congratulations. 
 
 To day was Elizabeth's birth day ; fourteen years ago to-day, Anne 
 Boleyn's daughter had seen the light of this world. 
 
 Anne Boleyn's daughter! That was the secret of her seclusion. 
 That was why none of the ladies and lords of the Court had remem- 
 bered her birth- day ; for that .would have been at the same time a re- 
 membrance of Anne Boleyn, of Elizabeth's beautiful and unfortunate 
 mother, who had been made to atone for her grandeur and prosperity 
 by her death. 
 
 Moreover, the King had called his daughter Elizabeth a bastard, and 
 solemnly declared her unworthy of succeeding to the throne. 
 
 Her birthday, therefore, was to Elizabeth only a day of humiliation 
 and pain. Reclining on her divan, she thought of her despised and 
 joyless past, of her desolate and inglorious future. 
 
 She was a Princess, and yet possessed not the rights of her birth ; she 
 was a young maiden, and yet doomed, in sad resignation, to renounce all 
 all the delights and enjoyments of youth, and to condemn her passionate 
 and ardent heart to the eternal sleep of death. For when the Infant of 
 Spain sued for her hand, Henry the Eighth had declared that the bastard 
 Elizabeth was unworthy of a princely husband. But in order to intim- 
 idato other suitors also, he had loudly and openly declared that uo sub- 
 
ject should dare be so presumptuous as to offer his hand to one of his 
 royal daughters, and he who dared to solicit them in marriage should be 
 punishe.l as a traitor. 
 
 So Elizabeth was condemued to remain unmarried ; and nevertheless 
 she loved ; and nevertheless she harbored only this une wish, to be the 
 wife of her beloved, and to be able to exchange the proud title of Prin- 
 cess for. the name of Countess Sevmour. 
 
 Since she loved him, a new world, a new sun had arisen od her ; and 
 before the sweet and enchanting whispers of her love, even the proud 
 and alluring voices of her ambition had to be silent. She no longer 
 thought of it, that she would never be a queen ; she Tvas only troubled, 
 that she could not be Seymour's wife. 
 
 She no longer wanted to rule, but she wauted to be happy. But her 
 happiness reposed on him alone — on Thomas Seymour. 
 
 Such were her thoughts, as *he was in her chamber on the morning 
 of her birth day, alone and lonely ; and her eyes reddened by tears, 
 her painfully 'convulsed li;>s betrayed how much she had wept to-day ; 
 how much this young girl of fourteen years had already suffered. 
 
 But she would think no more about it ; she would not allow the lurk- 
 ing, everywhere-prying, malicious and wicked courtiers the triumph of 
 seeing the traces of her tears, and rejoicing at her pains and her humil- 
 iation. She was a proud and resolute soul ; she would rather have died, 
 thau to have accepted the sympathy and pity of the courtiers. 
 
 1 will work, said she. Work is the best balm for all pains. 
 
 And she took up the elaborate silk embroidery which she had begun 
 for her poor, unfortunate friend, Anne of Cleves,. Henry's divorced wife. 
 But the work occupied only her fingers; not her thoughts. 
 
 She threw it aside and seized her books. She took Petrarch's Son- 
 neis; and his love-plaints and griefs euchained and stirred her own love- 
 sick heart. 
 
 With streaming tears, and yet smiling and full of sweet melancholy, 
 Elizabeth read these noble and tender poems. It appeared to her as if 
 Petrarch hid only said what she herself so warmly felt. There were 
 her thoughts, her griefs. He had said them in his language ; she must 
 now repeat them in her own. k She seated herself, and with hands trem- 
 bling with enthusiasm, flattering breath, perfectly excited and glowing, 
 in glad haste, *he. began a translation o^ Petrarch's first sonnet.* 
 
 A loud knock interrupted her; and in the hastily opened door now; 
 appeared the lovely form of the Queen. 
 
 The Queen ! exclaimed Etizabeth with delight. Have you come to 
 me at such an early morning hour? 
 
 And should 1 wail till evening to wish my Elizabeth happiness on 
 her festival? Should J fust Kt the sun go down on this day, which 
 
 * Elizabeth, who even a* n trirl of twelve yearn old (poke four languages, wns very fond of com- 
 posing verses, and of translating the poems of foreign authors. But aho kept her skill in this re- 
 aped very secret, and was alwnys *rry angry if any one by i-hance saw h;k- <>r her pnema. After 
 her death there were found nm ng hi-r papers many trani Bonnets 
 
 wbich.wero the work of her earliest youth.— Lcli, vol. 1, page ISO, 
 
 I 
 
50 
 
 gave to England so noble and fair a Princess? asked Catharine. Or 
 you thought, perhaps, I did not know that this was your birthday, and 
 that today my Elizabeth advances from the years of childood, as a 
 proud maiden full of hope ? 
 
 Full of hope? said Elizabeth sadly. Anne Boleyn's daughter has 
 no hopes ; and when you speak of my birthday, you remind me at the 
 same time of my despised birth ! 
 
 It shall be despised no longer ! cried Catharine, and, as she put her 
 arm tenderly around Elizabeth's neck, she handed her a roll of parch- 
 ment. , 
 
 Take that, Elizabeth ; and may this paper be to you the promise of 
 a joyful and brilliant future! At my request the King has made this 
 law, and he, therefore, granted me the pleasure of bringing it to you. 
 
 Elizabeth opened the parchment and read; and a radiant expression 
 overspread her countenance. 
 
 Acknowledged! I am acknowledged! cried she. The disgrace of 
 my birth is taken away ! Elizabeth is no more a bastard — she is a 
 royal Princess ! 
 
 And she may some day be a queen ! said Catharine smiling. 
 
 Oh, cried Elizabeth, it is not that which stirs me with such joy. But 
 the disgrace of ray birth is taken away ; and I may freely hold up my 
 head and name my mother's name ! Now. thou mayest sleep calmly in 
 thy grave, for it is no longer dishonored ! Anne Bolevn was no strum- 
 pet ; she was King Henry's lawful wife, and Elizabeth is the King's 
 legitimate daughter ! I thank thee, my God — 1 thank thee! 
 
 And the young, passionate girl threw herself on her knees, and raised 
 her hands and her eyes t© heaven. 
 
 Spirit of my glorified mother, said she solemnly, I call thee ! Come 
 to me! Overshadow me with thy smile, and bless me with thy breath! 
 Queen Anne of England, thy daughter is no longer a bastard, and no one 
 dare venture more to insult her. Thou wert with me when I wept and 
 suffered, my mother; and often in my disgrace and humiliation, it was as 
 if I heard thy voice which whispered comfort to me; as if I saw thy 
 heavenly eyes which poured peace and love into my breast! Oh, abide 
 with me now also, my mother — now when my disgrace is taken away, 
 abide with me in my prosperity ; and guard my heart, that it may be 
 kept pure from arrogance and pride, and remain humble in its joy ! 
 ^Anne Boleyn, they laid thy beautiful, innocent head upon the block ; but 
 this parchment sets upon it again the royal crown ; and, woe, woe to 
 those who will now still dare insult thy memory ! 
 
 She sprang from her knees and rushed to the wall opposite, on which 
 was a large oil painting, which represented Elizabeth herself as a child 
 playing with a dog. 
 
 Oh, mother, mother! said she. This picture was the last earthly 
 thing on which thy looks rested ; and to these painted lips of thy child 
 thou gave;-t, thy last kiss, which thy cruel hangmen would not allow to 
 thv living child. 
 
hand to olFer to his ambition at once power and glory — it may bo oven 
 a crown. Oh, Catharine, on my kmes I conjure you — assist me to re- 
 peal this hated law, which wants to bind my heart and my hand. 
 
 In passionate excitement she had fallen before the Queen, and was 
 holding up her hands imploringly to her. 
 
 Catharine, smiling, bent down and raised her up in her arms. En- 
 thusiast, said she, poor young enthusiast! Who knows whether you 
 will thank me for it one day, if I accede to your wish ; and whether you 
 will not some time curse this hour which has brought you, perhaps, in- 
 stead of the hoped-for pleasure, only a knowledge of your delusion and 
 misery. 
 
 And were it even so! cried Elizabeth energetically, still it is better 
 to endure a wretchedness we ourselves have chosen, than to be forced 
 to a happy lot. Say Catharine — say will you lend me your assistance 1 ? 
 Will you induce the King to withdraw this hated clause? If you do it 
 not, Queen, I swear to you by the soul of my mother, that 1 will not 
 submit to this law ; that I will solemnly, before all the world, renounce 
 the privilege that is offered me; that I 
 
 You are a dear, foolish child, interrupted Catharine — a child, that in 
 youthful presumption might dare wish to fetch the lightnings down from 
 heaven, and borrow from Jupiter his thunderbolt. Oh, you are still so 
 young and inexperienced, not to know that fate regards not our mur- 
 murs and our-r-ighs, and despite our reluctance and our refusal, still leads 
 us its own ways, not our own. You will have to learn that yet, poor 
 child ! 
 
 But I will not! cried Elizabeth stamping on the floor with all the pet- 
 tishness of a child. I will not ever and eternally be the victim of an 
 other's will ; and fate itself shall not have power to make me its slave ! 
 
 Well, we will see now, said Catharine smiling. We will try this 
 time, at least, to contend against fate; and I will assist you if I can. 
 
 And I will love you for it as my mother and my sister at once, cried 
 Elizabeth, as with ardor she threw herself into Catharine's arms. Yes, 
 I will love you for it ; and I will pray God, that he may one day give 
 me the opportunity to show my gratitude, and to reward you for your 
 magnanimity and goodness. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 INTRIGUES. 
 
 For a few days past the King's gout had grown worse, and to hrs 
 wrath and grief it confined him as a prisoner to his rolling chair. 
 
 The King was, therefore, very naturally gloomy and dejected, and, 
 hurled the lightnings of his wrath on all those who enjoyed the melan- 
 choly prerogative of being in his presence. His pains, instead of soften 
 ing his disposition, seemed only to heighten still more his natural fero- 
 city ; and often might be heard through the halls of the palace of White- 
 hall the King's angry growl, and his loud thundering invectives, which 
 no longer spared any one, nor stowed respect for any rank or dignity. 
 
 Earl Douglas, Gardiner and Wrioihesley very well knew how to take 
 advantage of this wratjfeful humor of the King for their purposes, and to 
 afford the King, tortured with pain, one satisfaction at least — the" satis- 
 faction of making others sutfer ajso.. 
 
 Never had there been seen in England so many burnt at the stake, as 
 in those days of the King's sickness ; never had the prisons been so 
 crowded ; never had so much blood flowed as King Henry now caused 
 to be shed.* 
 
 But all this did not yet suffice to appease the blood-thirstiness of the 
 King, and his friends and councellors, and his priests. 
 
 Still there remained untouched two mighty pillars of protestantism 
 that Gardiner and Wriothesley had to overthrow. These were the 
 Quceu and Archbishop Cranmer. 
 
 Still there were two powerful and haled enemies whom the Seymour's 
 had fco overcome ; these were the Duke of Norfolk and his son, the Earl 
 of Surrey. 
 
 But the various parties that in turn beseiged the King's ear and con- 
 trolled it, were in singular and unheard of opposition, and at the same 
 time inflamed with bitterest enmity, and they strove to supplant each 
 other in the favor of the King. 
 
 To the popish party of Gardiner and Earl Douglas, everything de- 
 pended on dispossessing the Seymours of the King's favor ; and they, 
 on the other hand, wanted above all things to continue in power the 
 young Queen already inclined to them, and to destroy for the papists 
 one of their most powerful leaders, the Duke of Norfolk. 
 
 The one party controlled the King's ear through the Queen ; the other 
 through his favorite Earl Douglas. 
 
 ♦During the King's reign, and at the instigation of the clergy, 2800 pereons were burnt and ex- 
 ecuted, becaus* they would not recognize the religious institutions, established by the King, as the 
 only right and true ones. Leti, vol. 1, page 84 
 
Never had the King been 'more gracious and affable to his consort ; 
 never had he required more Earl Douglas' presence than in those days 
 of his sickness and bodily anguish. 
 
 But there was yet a third party that occupied an important place in 
 the King's favor — a power that every one feared, and which seemed 1<> 
 keep itself perfectly independent and free from all foreign influences. 
 This power was John Heywood, the King's fool, the epigrammatist, who 
 was dreaded by the whole Court. 
 
 Only one person had influence with him. John Heyw.ood was the 
 friend of the Queen. For tho moment, then, it appeared as the " hereti 
 cal parly," of which the Queen was regarded as the head, was the most 
 poweiful at Court. 
 
 It. was, therefore, very natural for the popish party to cherish an ardent 
 hatred against the Queen ; very natural for them to be contriving new 
 plots and machinations to ruin her, and hurl her from the throne. 
 
 But Catharine knew very well the danger that threatened her ; and 
 she was on her guard. She watched her every look, her every word ; 
 and Gardiner and Douglas could not examine the Queen's manner of 
 life each day and hour, more suspiciously than she herself did. 
 
 She saw the sword that hung daily over her head ; and thanks to her 
 prudence and presence of mind — thanks to the ever thoughtful watchful- 
 ness and cunning of her friend Heywood ; she had still known how to 
 avoid the falling of that sword. 
 
 Since that fatal ride in the wood of Epping Forest, she had not. again 
 spoken to Thomas Seymour aloue ; for Catharine very well knew that 
 everywhere, whithersoever she turned her steps, some spying eye might 
 follow her, 6ome listener's ear might be concealed, which might hear her 
 words however softly whispered, and repeat them where they might be 
 interpreted into a sentence of death against her. 
 
 She had. therefore, renounced the pleasure of speaking to her lover 
 otherwise than before witnesses, and of seeing him otherwise than in 
 the presence of her whole Court. 
 
 What need had she either for secret meetings 1 What mattered it, to 
 her pure and innocent heart tha' she was not permitted to be alone with 
 him 1 Still she might see him, and drink courage and delight from the 
 sight of his haughty and handsonre face; still she might' be near him, 
 and could listen to the music of his voice, and intoxicate her heart with 
 his fine euphonious and vigorous discourse. 
 
 Catharine, flu* woman of eight and twenty, had preserved the enthusi- 
 asm and innocence of a youtfg girl • f fourteen. Thomas Seymour was 
 her first love ; and she loved him with that purity and guileless warmth 
 which is indeed peculiar to the first love only. 
 
 It sufficed her, therefore, to see him ; to be near him ; to know that 
 he loved her; that he was true to her; that all his thoughts and wishes 
 belonged to her ; as hers to him. 
 
 And that she knew. For there ever remained to her the sweet en- 
 joyment of his letters — of those passionate written avowals of his love, 
 
It she was not permitted to say also to him how warmly and ardently 
 she returned this love, vet she could write-it to him. 
 
 It was John Hey wood, the true and discreet friend, that brought her 
 these letters, and bore her answers to him, stipulating, as a reward for 
 this dangerous commission, that they both should regard him as the sgle 
 confidant of their love; that both should burn up the letters which he 
 brought them. He had not been able to hinder Catharine from this 
 unhappy passion, but wanted at least to preserve her from the fatal con- 
 sequences of it. Since he knew that this love needed a confidant, he as- 
 sumed this role, that Catharine, in the vehemence of her passion, and in 
 the simplicity of her innocent heart, might not make others sharers of 
 her dangerous secret. 
 
 John Hey wood therefore watched over Catharine's safety and happi- 
 ness, as she watched over Thomas Seymour aud her friends. He pro- 
 tected and guarded her with the King, as she guarded Cranmer, and pro- 
 tected him from the constantly renewed assaults of his enemies. 
 
 This it was that they could never forgive the Queen — that she had 
 delivered Cranmer, the noble aud liberal-minded Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury, from their snares. More than once Catharine had succeeded in 
 destroying their intrigueing schemes, and in rending the nets that Gardi- 
 ner and Earl Douglas, with so sly and skillful hand, had spread for 
 Cranmer. . 
 
 If therefore they would overthrow Cranmer, they must first overthrow 
 the Queen. For this there was a real means — a means of destroying at 
 once the Queen and the hated Seymours, who stood in the way of the 
 papists. 
 
 If they coulJ prove to the King that Catharine entertained criminal 
 intercourse with Thomas Seymour, then were they both lost; then were 
 the power and glory of the papists secured. 
 
 But whence to fetch the proofs of this dangerous secret, which the 
 crafty Douglas had read only in Catharine's eyes, and for which he had 
 no other support than his bare conviction? How should they begin to 
 influence the Queen to some inconsiderate step, to a speaking witness of 
 her love? 
 
 Time hung so heavily on the King's hands ! It would have been so 
 easy to persuade him to some cruel deed — to a hasty sentence of death ! 
 
 But it was not the blood of the Seymours for which the King thirsted. 
 Earl Douglas very well knew that. He, who observed the King day 
 and night— rhe, who examined and sounded his every sigh, each of his 
 softly murmured words, every twitch of his mouth, every wrinkle of 
 his brow — he well knew what dark and. bloody thoughts stirred the 
 King's soul, and whose blood it was for which he thirsted. 
 
 The royal tiger would drink the blood of the Howards; and that they 
 still lived in health and abundance and glory, while he, their King and 
 master, lonely and sad, was tossing on his couch in pain and agony — that 
 was the worm which gnawed at the Kiug's heart, which made his pains 
 yet more painful ; his tortures yet keener. 
 
5S 
 
 The King was jealous — jealous of the power and greatness of I he 
 Howards, it filled hind with gloomy hatred, to think that the Duke of 
 Norfolk, when he rode through the streets of London, was everywhere 
 received with the acclamations and rejoicing of the people, while he, the 
 4ung, was a prisoner in his palace. It was a gnawing pain for him to 
 know that Henry Howard, Earl Surrey, was praised as the handsomest 
 and greatest man of England ; that he was called the noblest poet; the 
 greatest scholar; while yet he, the King, had also composed Ins poems 
 and written his learned treatises, aye even a particular devout book, 
 which he had had printed for his people, and ordered them to read it 
 instead of the Bible.* 
 
 It was the Howards who everywhere disputed his fame. The How 
 ards supplanted him in the favor of his people, and usurped the love 
 and admiration which were due. to the King alone, and which should be 
 directed towards no one but him. He lay on his bed of pain, and with 
 out doubt the people would have forgotten him, if he had not by the 
 block, the stake and the scaffold, daily reminded them of himself. He 
 lay on his bed of pain, while the Duke, splendid and magnificent, exhibit- 
 ed himself to the people and transported them with enthusiasm by the 
 lavish and kingly generosity with which he scattered his money among 
 the people. 
 
 Yes, the Duke of Norfolk was the King's dangerous rival. The crown 
 was not secure upon his head so long as the Howards lived. And who 
 could conjecture whether in time to come, when Henry closed his eyes, 
 the exultant love of the people might not call to the throne the Duke 
 of Norfolk, or his noble son, the Earl of Surrey, instead of the rightful 
 heir — instead of the little boy Edward, Henry's only son? 
 
 When the King thought of that, he had a feeling as though a stream 
 of fire were whirling up to his brain ; and he convulsively clenched his 
 hands, and screamed and roared that he would take vengeance — ven- 
 geance on those hated Howards, who wanted to snatch the crown from 
 his son. 
 
 Edward, the little boy of tender age — he alone was the divinely con- 
 secrated, legitimate heir to the King's crown. It had cost his father so 
 great a sacrifice to give his people this son and successor ! In order to 
 do it, he had sacrificed Jane Seymour, his own beloved wife; he had 
 let the mother be put to death, in order to preserve the son, the heir of 
 his crown. 
 
 And the people did not once thank the King for this sacrifice that Jane 
 Seymour's husband had made for them. The people received with 
 shouts the Duke of Norfolk, the father oi that adulterous Queen whom 
 Henry loved so much, that her infidelity had struck him like the stab of 
 a poisoned dagger. 
 
 These were the thoughts that occupied the King on his bed of pain, 
 and upon which he dwelt with all the wilfulness and moodiness of a sick 
 man. 
 
 *Bnrn*t, vol 1, ?hge 98. 
 
• M 
 
 We shall have to sacrifice these Howards to him ! said Earl Douglas 
 to Gardiner, as they had just again listened to a burst of rage from their 
 royal master. If we would at last succeed in ruining the Queen, w« 
 must first destroy the Howards. 
 
 The pious Bishop looked at him inquiringly and in astonishment. ♦ 
 
 Earl Douglas smiled. Your Highness is loo exalted and noble to be 
 always able to comprehend the things of this world. Your look, which 
 seeks only God and heaven, does not always see the petty and pitiful 
 things that happen here on the earth below. 
 
 Oh but, said Gardiner with a cruel smile, I see them, and it charms 
 my eye when 1 see how God's vengeance punishes the enemies of the 
 Church here on earth. Set up then, by all means, a stake or a scuffold 
 tor these Howards, if their death can be to us a means to our pious and 
 godly end. You are certain of my blessing and>my assistance. Only I 
 do not quite comprehend how the Howards can stand in the way of our 
 plots which are formed against the Queen, inasmuch as they are numbered 
 among the Queen's enemies, and profess themselves of the Church, in 
 which alone is salvation. 
 
 The Earl of Surrey is an apostate who has opened his ear and heart 
 to the doctrine of Calvin ! , 
 
 Then Jet his head fall, for he is a criminal before God, and no one 
 ought to have compassion on him ! And what is there that we lay to 
 the charge of the father ? 
 
 The Duke of Norfolk is well nigh yet more dangerous than his son ; 
 for although a catholic, he has not nevertheless the right faith ; and his 
 soul is fulJ of unholy sympathy and injurious mildness. He bewails 
 those whose blood is shed because they are devoted to the false doctrine 
 of the priests of Baal ; and he calls us both the King's bloodhounds. 
 
 Well then, cried Gardiner with an uneasy dismal smile, we will show 
 him that he has called us by the right name ; we will rend him in pieces ! 
 
 Besides, as we have said, the Howards stand in the way of our schemes 
 in relation to the Queen, said Earl Douglas earnestly. The King's mind 
 is so completely filled with this one hatred and this one jealousy, that 
 there is no room iu it for any other feeling, for any other hate: It is true 
 he signs often enough these death-warrants which we lay before him ; but 
 he does it, as the lion, with utter carelessness and without auger, crushes 
 the littlawnouse that is by chance under his paws. But if the lion is to 
 rend in pieces his equal, he must beforehand be put into a rage. When 
 he is raging, then you must let him have his prey. The Howards shall 
 be his first prey. But, then, we must exert ourselves, that when the lion 
 again shakes his mane, his wrath may fall upon Catharine Parr and the 
 Seymours. 
 
 The Lord our God will be with us, and enlighten us, that we may 
 find the right means to strike his enemies a sure blow ! exclaimed Gar- 
 diner, devoutly folding his hands. 
 
 1 believe the right means are already found, said Earl Douglas with a 
 smile ; and even before this day descends to its close, the gates of the 
 
61 
 
 Tower will open to receive this haughty and soft hearted Duke of Nor- 
 folk, and this apostate Earl Surrey. Perchance, we may even succeed 
 v in striking at one blow the Queen together with the Howards. See ! 
 an equipage stops before the grand entrance, and 1 see the Duchess of 
 Norfolk and her daughter, the Duchess of Richmond, getting outof the 
 carriage. Only see! they aie making signs to us. I have promised to 
 conduct these two noble and pious lauies to the King ; and I shall do so. 
 Whilst we are there, pray for us, your Highness, that our words, like 
 well aimed arrows, may strike the King's heart, and then rebound upon 
 the Queen and the Seymour? ! 
 
 CHAPTER Vilf. 
 
 THE ACCUSATION. 
 
 In vain had the King hoped to master his pains, or at least to forget 
 them, while he tried to sleep. Sleep had fled from the King's couch •, 
 and as he now sat in his rolling-chair, sad, weary and harrassed with pain, 
 he thought w'th gloomy spite, that the Duke of Norfolk told him but 
 yesterday that sleep was a thing under his control, and he coulri sum. 
 mon it to him whenever it seemed good to him. 
 
 This thought made him raving with anger ; and grinding his teeth he 
 muttered : He c;m sleep ; and 1, his lord and King — I am a poor beggar 
 that in vain whines to God above for a little sleep, a little forgetfulness 
 of his pains! But it is this traitorous Norfolk that pi events me from 
 sleeping. Thoughts of him keep me awake and restless. And I cannot 
 crush this'traitor with these hands of mine; I am a King, and yet so 
 powerless and weak, that 1 can find no means of accusing this traitor, 
 and convicting him of bis sinful arid blasphemous deeds. Oh, where may 
 I find him — that true friend, that devoted servant, who ventures to un- 
 derstand my unuttered thoughts, and fulfill the wishes to which 1 dare 
 not give a name. 
 
 Just as he was thus thinking, the door behind him openpd and in 
 walked Earl Douglas. His countenance was proud and triumphant, 
 and so wild a joy gleamed from his eyes that even the King was sur- 
 prised at it. 
 
 Oh, said he peevishly, you call yourself my friend; and you are 
 cheerful, Douglas, while your King is a poor prisoner, whom the gout 
 has chained with bra/en bands to this chair? 
 
 You will recover, my King; and go forth from this imprisonment, as 
 the conqueror, dazzling and bright, that by his appearance under God's 
 
62 
 
 blessing treads all his enemies in the Just — that triumphs over all those 
 who are against him, and -would betray their King ! 
 
 Are there then any such traitors, who threaten their King? asked 
 Henry with a dark frown. 
 
 Aye, there are such traitors ! 
 
 Name them to me ! said the King, trembling with passionate impa- 
 tience. Name them to me, that my arm may crush them and my 
 avenging justice overtake the heads of the guilty. 
 
 It is superfluous to mention them, for you, King Henry, the wise 
 and all-knowing — you know their names. 
 
 And bending down closer to the King's ear, Earl Douglas continued : 
 King Henry, I certainly have a right to call myself your my most faithful 
 and devoted servant, for 1 have read your thoughts. I have understood 
 the noble grief that disturbs your heart, and banishes sleep from your 
 eyes and peace from your soul. You saw the foe that was creeping in the 
 dark ; you heard the low hiss of the serpent that was darting his vene- 
 mous sting at your heel. But you were so much the noble and intrepid 
 King, that you would not yourself become the accuser — nay, you would 
 not once draw back the foot menaced by the serpent. Great and mer- 
 ciful, like God himself, you smiled upon him whom \ou knew to be 
 your enemy. But 1, my King — I have other duties. I am like the 
 faithful dog, that has eyes only for the safety of his master, and falls 
 upon every one that comes to menace him. I have seen the serpent 
 that would kill you, and I will bruise his head"! 
 
 And what is the name of this serpent of which you s'peak ? asked 
 the King ; and his heart beat so boisterously that he felt it on his trem- 
 bling lips. 
 
 It is called, said Earl Douglas earnestly and solemnly — it is called 
 Howard ! 
 
 The King uttered a cry, and, forgetting his gout and his pains, arose 
 from his chair. 
 
 Howard ? said he with a cruel smile. Say you that a Howard 
 . threatens our life 1 ? Which one is it? Name me the traitor * 
 
 I name them both — father and son ! I name the Duke of Norfolk 
 and the Earl of Surrey ! I say that they both are traitors, who threat- 
 en the life and honor of my King, and with blasphemous arrogance dare 
 stretch out their hands even to the crown ! 
 
 Ah, I knew it, I knew it! screamed the King. And it was this that 
 made me sleepless, and ate into my body like red hot iron. 
 
 And as he fastened on Douglas his eyes flashing with rage, he asked 
 with a grim smile : Can you prove that these Howards are traitors ? 
 Can you prove that they aim at my crown ? 
 
 I hope to be able to do so, said Douglas. To be sure there are no 
 great convincing facts 
 
 Oh, said the King interrupting him with a savage laugh, there is no 
 need of great facts. Give into my hand but a little thread j and I will 
 
* (53 
 
 make out of it, a cord that shall be strong enough to haul the father and 
 son up to the gallows at one time. 
 
 Oh, for the son there is proof enough, said the Earl with a ^rnile - 
 and as regards the father, I will produce your Majesty some accusers' 
 against him, who will be important, eno'ngh # to bring the Duke also to 
 the block. Will you allow me to bring them to you immediately ] 
 
 Yes, bring them, bring them! cried the King. Every minute is pre 
 cious that may lead these traitors sooner to their punishment. 
 
 Earl Douglas stepped to the door and opened it. Three veiled fe- 
 male figures entered and bowed reverentially. 
 
 Ah, whispered the King with a cruel smila, as he sunk back again 
 into his chair, they are the three Fates' that spin the Howards' thread or* 
 life, and will now, it is to be hoped, break it off. I will furnish them 
 with the scissors for it ; and if they are not sharp enough, 1 will, with 
 my own royal hands, help them to break the thread. 
 • Sire, said Earl Douglas, as at a sign from him the three women un- 
 veiled themselves, Sire, the wife, the daughter and the mistress of the 
 Duke of Norfolk have come to accuse him of high treason. .The mother 
 and the sister of the Earl of Surrey are here to charge him with a crime* 
 equally worthy of death. 
 
 Now verily, exclaimed the King, it must be a grievous and blasphemous 
 sin, which so much exasperates the temper of these noble women, and 
 makes them deaf to the voice of nature. 
 
 It is indeed such a sin, said the Duchess of Norfolk in a solemn tone ; 
 and approaching a few paces nearer to the King, she continued : Sire, I 
 accuse the Duke, my divorced husband, of high treason and disloyalty 
 to his King. He has been so bold as to appropriate your own royal 
 coat of arms; and on his seal and equipage, and over the entrance of 
 his palace, is displayed the arms of the Kings of England. 
 
 That is true ! said the King, who, now that, he was certain of the de 
 struction of the Howards, had regained his calmness and self-possession, 
 and perfectly re assumed the air of a strict, impartial judge. Yes, he 
 bears the royal arms on his shield, but yet if we remember rightly, the 
 crown and paraph of our ancestor Edward the Third are warning. 
 
 He has now added this crown and this paraph to his coat of amis, 
 mid Miss Holland. He says he is entitled to them; for that, like the 
 King, he also is descended in direct line from Edward the Third ; and, 
 therefore, the royal arms belong likewise to him. 
 
 If he says that, he is a traitor who presumes to call his king and mas- 
 ter his equal, cried the King, coloring up with a grim joy at now at 
 length having his enemy in his power. 
 
 lb- is indeed a traitor, continued Miss Holland. Often have I heard 
 him say, he had the same right to the throne of England as Henry the 
 Eighth ; and that a day might come when he would contend with U> n- 
 ry's s< n for that crown. fc 
 
 Ah! cried the King, and his eyes darted dishes so fierce that even 
 Earl Douglas shrank before them, ah, he will contend with my son for 
 
04 
 
 the Crown of England ! It is well now; for now it is my sacred duty, 
 as a King and as a father, to crush this serpent that wants to bite me oil 
 the heel ; and no compassion and no pity ought now to restrain me lon- 
 ger. And were there no other proofs of his guilt and his crime, than these 
 words that he has spoken to you, yet are they sufficient, and will rise up 
 against him, like the hangman's aids who are to conduct him to the 
 block. 
 
 But thftre are yet other proofs, said Miss Holland laconically. 
 
 The King was obliged to unbutton his doublet. Ii seemed as though 
 joy would suffocate him. 
 
 Name them ! commanded he. 
 
 He dares deny the King's supremacy ; he calls the Bishop of Rome 
 the sole Head and Holy Father of the Church. 
 
 Ah, does he so? exclaimed the King laughing. Well, we shall see 
 now, whether this Holy Father will save this faithful son from the scaf- 
 fold which we will erect fur him. Yes, yes, we must give the world a. 
 new example of our incorruptible justice, which overtakes every one, 
 however high and mighty he may be, and however near our throne he 
 *may stand. Really, really, it grieves our heart to' lay low this oak. 
 which we had planted so near our throne, that we might lean upon it 
 and support ourselves by it; but justice demands this sacrifice, and we 
 will make it — not in wrath and spite, but only to meet the sacred and 
 painful duty of our royalty. We have greatly loved this Duke, and it 
 grieves us to tear this love from our heart. 
 
 And with his hand, glittering with jewels, the King wiped from his 
 eyes the tears which were not there. 
 
 But how? asked the King then after a pause, will you have the 
 courage to repeat your accusation publicly before Parliament ? Will 
 you, his wife, and you, his mistress, publicly swear with a sacred oath 
 to the truth of your declaration? 
 
 I will do so, said the Duchess solemnly ; for he is no longer my hus- 
 band ; no longer the father of my children, but simply the enemy of my 
 King ; and to serve him is my most sacred duty. 
 
 I will do so, cried Miss Holland with a bewitching smile; for he is no 
 longer my lover, but only a traitor, an atheist, who is audacious enough 
 to recognize as the Holy Head of Christendom that man at Rome, who 
 has dared hurl his curse against the sublime head of our King. It is this 
 indeed, that ha,s torn my heart from the Duke, and that has made me 
 now hate him as ardently as I once loved him. 
 
 With a gracious smile", the King presented both his hands to ther two 
 women. You have done me a great service to day, my ladies, said he, and 
 I will find a way to reward you for it. 1 will give you, Duchess, the 
 half of his estate, as though you were his rightful heir and lawful widow. 
 And you, Miss Holland, I will leave in undisputed possession of all the 
 goods and treasures that the enamoured Duke has given you. 
 
 The two ladies broke out into loud expressions of thanks, and into en- 
 thusiastic rapture over the liberal and generous King, who was so gia- 
 
05 
 
 cious as to give them what they already had, and to bestow on them 
 what was already their own property. 
 
 Well, and are you wholly mute, my little Duchess? asked the King 
 after a pause, turning to the Duchess of Richmond, who had withdrawn 
 to the embrasure of a window. 
 
 Sire, said the Duchess smiling, I was only waiting for my cue. 
 
 And this cue is? - 
 
 Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey ! As your Majesty knows, I am a 
 merry and harmless woman ; and 1 understand better how to laugh and 
 joke, than to talk much seriously. The two noble and fair ladies have 
 accused the Duke, my father ; and they have done so in a very dignified 
 aiid solemn manner. 1 wish to accuse my brother, Henry Howard ; 
 but you must exercise forbearance, if my words sound less solemn and 
 elevated. They have told you, Sire, that the Duke of Norfolk is a 
 traitor and a criminal, who denominates the Pope of Rome, and not 
 you, riiy exalted King, the Head of the Church. Now, the Earl of Sur- 
 rey is neither a traitor nor a papist ; and he has neither devised criminal 
 plots against the throne of England ; nor has he denied the supremacy 
 of the King. No, Sire, the Earl of Surrey is no traitor, and no papist ! 
 
 The Duchess paused, and looked with a malicious and droll smile in- 
 to the astonished faces of those present. 
 
 A dark frown gathered on the King's brow, and his eyes, which just 
 before had looked so cheerful, were now fixed with an angry expression 
 on the young Duchess. 
 
 Why then, my Lady, have you made your appearance here ? asked 
 he. Why have you come here, if you have nothing farther to say than 
 what I already know — that the Earl of Surrey is a very loyal subject, and 
 a man without any ambition, who neither courts the favor of my people, 
 nor thinks of laying his traitorous hands on my crown? 
 
 The young Duchess shook her head with a smile. 1 know not wheth- 
 er he does all that, said she. 1 have indeed heard, that he said with bit- 
 ter scorn, that you,, my King, wanted to be the protector of religion, yet 
 you yourself were entirely without religion and without belief. Also, 
 he of late broke out into bitter curses against you, because you had rob- 
 bed him of his field-marshal's staff, and given it to Earl Hertford, that 
 noble Seymour. Also, he meant to see whether the throne of England 
 was so firm and steady that it had no need of his hand and his arm to 
 prop it. All that, 1 have of course heard from him ; but you are right, 
 Sire ; it is unimportant — it is not worth mentioning, and, therefore, I do 
 not even mal<e it as an accusation against him. 
 
 Ah, you are always a mad little witch, Arabella ! cried the King, who 
 had again regained his cheerfulness. You say you will not accuse him, 
 and yet you make his head a plaything that you poise upon your crim- 
 son lips. Cut, take care, my little Puchess — take care, that this head 
 does not fall from your lips with your laughing and roll down to the 
 ground; for I will not stop it — this head of the Earl of Surrey, of whom 
 you jay that he is no traitor. 
 
6(5 
 
 Bat is it not monotonous and tiresome, if we accuse the father and son 
 of the same crime? asked the Duchess laughing. Let us have a little 
 variation ! Let the Duke be a traitor; the son, my King, is by far a 
 still wOrse" criminal ! • 
 
 Is there then a still worse and more execrable crime than to be a 
 traitor to his King and master, and to speak of the Anointed of the Lord 
 without reverence and love? • 
 
 Yes, your Majesty, there is a still worse crime ; and of that I accuse 
 the Earl of Surrey. He is an adulterer ! 
 
 An adulterer? repeated the King with an expression of abhorrence. 
 Yes, my Lady, you are right; that is a more execrable and unnatural 
 crime, and we shall judge it strictly. For it shall not be said that mo- 
 desty and virtue found no protector in the King of this land, and that 
 he will not as a judge punish and crush all those who dare sin against 
 decency and morals. Oh, the Earl of Surrey is an adulterer, is he? 
 
 That is to say, Sire, he dares with his sinful love to pursue a virtu- 
 ous and chaste wife. He dares to raise his wicked looks to a woman 
 who stands as high above him as the sun above mortals, and who, at 
 least, by the greatness and high position of her husband, should be se- 
 cure from all impure desires and lustful wishes. 
 
 Ah, cried the King indignantly, I see already whither that tends. It 
 is always the same accusation ; and now I say, as you did just now, let 
 us have a little variation ! The accusation, I have already often heard ; 
 but the proofs are always wanting. 
 
 Sire, this time, it may be, we can give the proofs, said the Duch- 
 ess earnestly. Would you know, my noble King, who the Geraldine is 
 to whom Henry Howard addresses his love songs ? Shall I tell you 
 the real name of this woman to whom, in the presence of your sacred 
 person and of your whole Court, he uttered his passionate protestations 
 of love and his oaths of eternal faithfulness ? Well uow, this Geraldine, 
 so adored, so deified — is the Queen ! 
 
 That is not true ! cried the King, crimson with anger ; and he clenched 
 his hands so firmly about the arms of his chair that it cracked. That 
 is not true, my Lady ! 
 
 It is true ! said the Duchess haughtily and saucily. It is true, Sire ; 
 for the Earl of Surrey has confessed to me myself that it is the Queen 
 whom he loves, and that Geraldine is only a melodious appellation for 
 Catharine. 
 
 He has confessed it to you yourself? inquired the King, with gaspiDg 
 breath. Ah, he dares love his King's wife ? Woe to him, woe ! 
 
 He raised his clenched fist threateningly to heaven, and his eyes dart- 
 ed lightning. But how? said he after a pause; has he not recently read 
 before us a poem to his Geraldine, in which he thanks her for her love, 
 and acknowledges himself eternally her debtor for the kiss she gave 
 him ? 
 
 He has read before your Majesty such a poem to Geraldine ! 
 
 The King uttered a low cry, and raised himself in his seat. Proof?, 
 
67 
 
 said he in a hoarse, hollow voice — proofs — or, I tell you, your own head 
 shall atone for this accusation ! 
 
 This proof, your Majesty, I will give you ! said Earl Douglas sol- 
 emnly. It pleases your Majesty, in the fulness bf your gentleness and 
 mercy, to want to doubt the accusation of the noble Duchess. Well 
 now, 1 will furnish you infallible proof that Henry Howard, Earl of 
 Surrey, really loves the Queen, and that he really dares to extol and 
 adore the- King's wife as his Geraldine. You shall with your own ears, 
 Sire, hear ho\v Earl Surrey swears his love to the Queen. 
 
 The scream which the King now uttered was so frightful, and gave 
 evidence of so much inward agony and rage, that it struck the Earl dumb, 
 and made the cheeks of the ladies turn pale. 
 
 Douglas, Douglas, beware how you rouse the lion \ gasped the King. 
 The lion might rend you yourself in pieces ! 
 
 This very night, 1 will give you the proof that you demand, Sire. This 
 very night, you shall hear how Earl Surrey, sitting at the feet of his 
 Geraldine, swears to her his love. 
 
 It is well ! said the King. This night then ! Woe to you, Douglas, 
 if you cannot redeem your word! 
 
 1 will do so, your Majesty ! For this, it is only necessary that yo\j 
 will be graciously pleased to swear to me that you will not, by a sigh, 
 or a breath, betray yourself. The Earl is suspicious ; and the fear of an 
 evil conscience has sharpened his ear. He would recognize you by your 
 sigh ; and his lips would not speak those words and avowals which you 
 desire to hear. 
 
 I swear to you, that I will not, by any sigh or breath, betray my pre- 
 sence ! said the King solemnly. 1 swear, this to you by the Holy Moth- 
 er of God ! But now let that suffice. Air — air — I suffocate ! Every- 
 thing swims before my eyes. Open the window, that a little air may 
 flow in ! Ah, that is good ! This air at least is pure, and not infected 
 with sin and slander ! 
 
 And the King had Earl Douglas roll him to the opened window, and 
 inspired in long draughts that pure fresh air. Then he turned to the 
 ladies with an agreeable smile. 
 
 My Ladies, said he. I thank you ! You have to day shown yourselves 
 my true and devoted friends ! 1 shall ever remember it, and I beg you, 
 if at any time you need a friend and protector, to apply to me with all 
 confidence. We shall never forget what great service you have to day 
 rendered us. . 
 
 He nodded to them in a friendly manner, whilst, with a majestic wave 
 of the hand, he dismissed them, and concluded the audience. 
 
 And now, Douglas, exclaimed the King vehemently, as soon as the 
 ladies had retired — now 1 have had enough of this dreadful torture ! Oh, 
 you say I am to punish the traitors — these Surreys — and you inflict on 
 me the most frightful pains of the rack ! 
 
 Sire, there was no other meiin of delivering up this Surrey to you. 
 
68 
 
 You were wishing that he were a criminal; and 1 shall prove to you 
 that he is so. 
 
 Oh, I shall then be able at least to tread his hated head under my 
 feet! said*the King grinding his teeth. 1 shall no more tremble before 
 this malicious enemy, who goes about among my people with his hypo- 
 critical tongue, while I, tortured with pain, sit in the dungeon of my sick- 
 room. Yes, yes, I thank you, Douglas, that you will hand him over to 
 my arm of vengeance; and my soul is full of joy and serenity at it. 
 Ah, why were you obliged to cloud this fair, this sublime hour? Why 
 was it necessary to weave the Quetn into this gloomy web of guilt 
 aud crime'? Her cheerful smile and her radiant looks have ever been 
 an enjoyment so dear to my eyes. 
 
 Sire, 1 do not by any means say, that the Queen is guilty. Only 
 there was no other means to prove to you Earl Surrey's guilt, than that 
 you should hear for yourself his confession of love to the Queen. 
 
 And I will hear it ! cried the King, who had now already overcome 
 the sentimental emotion of his heart. Yes, 1 will have full conviction 
 of Surrey's guilt; and woe to the Queen, should I find her also guilty ! 
 This night then, Earl ! But till then, silence and secresy ! We will 
 fcave father and son seized and imprisoned at the same hour; for other- 
 wise the imprisonment of the one might easily serve as a warning to 
 the other, and he might escape my just wrath. Ah, they are so sly — 
 these Howards — and their hearts are so full of cunning and malice ! But 
 now ihey shall escape me no more; now they are ours ! How it does 
 me good to think that! And how briskly and lightly my heart leaps ! 
 It is as though a stream of new life were rushing through my veins, and 
 a new power were infused into my blood. Oh, it was these Howards 
 that made me sick. I shall be well again when I know that they are 
 in the Tower. Yes, yes, my heart leaps with joy, and this is to. be a 
 happy and blessed- day. Call the Queen hither to me, that I may once 
 more enjoy her rosy face before I make it turn pale with terror. Yes, 
 let the Queen come, and let her adorn herself; I want to see her once 
 more in the full splendor of her youth and her royalty, before her star 
 goes out in daikness. 1 will once more delight myself with her before 
 1 make her weep. Ah, know you, Douglas, that there is no enjoyment 
 keener, more devilish, and more heavenly, than to see such a person who 
 smiles and suspects nothing, while she is already condemned ; who still 
 adorns her head with roses, while the executioner is al/eady sharpening 
 the axe that is. to lay that head low ; who still has hopes of the future, 
 aud of joy and happiness, while her hour of life has already run out; 
 while 1 have already bidden her stop and descend into the grave. So, 
 call the Queen to me ; and tell her that we are in a merry mood and 
 want to jest and laugh with her ! Call all the ladies and lords of our 
 Court ; and have the royal saloons opened ; and let them be radiant 
 with the brilliancy of the lights; and let us have music— loud, crashing 
 music — for we want at least to make this a merry day for us, since it 
 seems as though we should have a sad and unhappy night. Ye3, yes. 
 
(to 
 
 a merry day we will have; and after that, let come what come may. 
 The saloons shall resound with laughter and joyfulness ; and naught bub 
 rejoicing anil fun shall bo heard in the great royal saloons. And invite 
 also the Duke of Norfolk, my noble cousin, who shares with me my 
 royal coat of arms. Yes, invite him, that 1 may enjoy once more his 
 haughty and imposing beauty and grandeur before this august sun is ex- 
 tinguished and leaves us again in night and darkness. Then invite 
 Wriothesley, the High Chancellor, and let him bring with him a few- 
 gallant and brave soldiers of our bodyguard. They are to be the noble 
 
 Duke's suite, when he wishes to leave our feast and go homewards 
 
 homewards — if not to his palace, yet to the Tower, and to the grave. 
 Go, go, Douglas, and attend to all this for me ! And send me here di- 
 rectly my merry fool, John Heywood. He must pass away the time 
 for me till the feast begins. He must make me laugh and be gay. 
 
 I will go and fulfil your orders, Sire, said Earl Douglas. I will order 
 the fea*t, and impart your commands to the Queen and your Court. 
 And first of all I will send John Heywood to you. But pardon me, 
 your Majesty, if I venture to remind you, that you have given me your 
 royal word, not to betray our secret by a single syllable, or even by a 
 sigh. 
 
 I gave my word, and I will keep it! said the King. Go now, Earl 
 Douglas, and do what 1 have bidden you ! 
 
 Wholly exhausted by this paroxysm of cruel delight, the King sank 
 back in Iih seat, and moaning and groaning he rubbed his leg, thepierc- 
 iog painu of which he had for a moment forgotten, but which now re- 
 minded him of their presence with so much the more cruel fury. 
 
 Ah, ah, moaned the King. He boasts of being able to sleep when he 
 pleases. Well, this time we will be the one to lull this haughty Earl 
 to sleep. But it will be a sleep out of which he is never to awake 
 again ! 
 
 While the King thus wailed and suffered, Earl Douglas hastened with 
 quick, firm step through the suite of royal apartments. A proud trium- 
 phant smile played about his lips, and a joyful expression of victory 
 flashed from his eyes. 
 
 Triumph ! triumph ! we shall conquer ! said he, as he now entered his 
 daughter's chamber and extended his hand to Lady Jane. Jane, we have 
 at last reached the goal; and you will toon be King Henry's seventh 
 wife ! 
 
 A rosy shimmer flitted for a moment over Lady Jane's pale colorless 
 cheeks, and a smile played about her lips — a smile, however, which was 
 more sad than loud sobs could have been. 
 
 Ah, said she in a Jow tone, I fear only that my poor head will bo too 
 weak to wear a royal crown. 
 
 Courage, courage, Jane, lift up your head, and be again my strong, 
 proud daughter ! 
 
 But I suffer so much, my father, sighed she. It is hell, that burns 
 within me ! 
 
70 
 
 But soon, Jane, soon you shall feel again the bliss of heaven ! 1 had 
 forbidden you to grant Henry Howard a meeting because it might bring 
 us danger. Well then, now your tender heart shall be satisfied. To- 
 night you shall embrace your lover again ! 
 
 Oh, murmured she, he will again call me his Geraldine, and it will not 
 be I, but the Queen, that he kisses in my arms ! 
 
 Yes, to-day, it will still be so, Jane; but I swear to you that to-day 
 is the last time, that \ ou are obliged to receive him thus. 
 
 The last time that I see him 1 ? asked Jane with an expression of alarm. 
 
 No, Jane, only the last time that Henry Howard loves in you the 
 Queen, aud not you yourself. 
 
 Oh, he will never love me ! murmured she sadly. 
 
 He will love you, for you it will be that will save his life. Hasten 
 then, Jane, ha^te ! Write him quickly one of those tender notes that 
 you indite with so masterly a hand. Invite him to a meeting to-night 
 at the usual time and place. 
 
 Oh, I shall at last have him again ! whi>pered Lady Jane ; and she 
 stepped to the writing-table and with trembling hand began to write- 
 But suddenly she stopped and looked at her father sharply and suspi- 
 ciously. 
 
 You swear to me, my father, that no danger threatens him, if he 
 comes ? 
 
 I swear to you, Jane, that you shall be the one to save his life! I 
 swear to you, Jane, that you shall take vengeance on the Queen — ven- 
 geance for all the agony, the humiliation and despair that you have suf- 
 fered by her. To-day she is yet Queen of England ! Tomorrow she 
 will be nothing more than a criminal, who sighs in the confinement of 
 the Tower fur the hour of her execution. And you will be Henry's se- 
 venth queen ! Write then, my daughter, write ! And may love dictate 
 to you the proper words. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE FEAST OF DEATH. 
 
 For, a long time, the King had not appeared in such good spirits as 
 on this festive evening. For a long time, he had not been so complete- 
 ly the tender husband, the good natured companion, the cheerful bon 
 vivant. 
 
 The pains of his leg seemed to have disappeared, and even the weight 
 of his body seemed to be less burdensome than usual, for more than 
 
7i 
 
 once he arose from his chair and walked a few steps through the brilliant- 
 ly lighted saloon, in which the ladies and lords of his Court, in festive 
 attire, were moving gently to and fro; in which music and laughter re- 
 sounded. 
 
 How tender he showed himself towards the Queen to-day ; with whit 
 extraordinary kindness he met the Duke of Norfolk; with what smiling 
 attention he listened to the Earl of Surrey as he, at the King's desire, 
 recited some new sonnets to Geraldine! ' 
 
 This marked preference for the noble Howards enraptured the Roman 
 Catholic party at Court, and filled it with new hopes and new confidence. 
 
 But one there was, who did not allow himself to be deceived bv this 
 mask, which King Henry had to-day put on over his wrathful face." 
 
 John Hey wood had faith neither in the King's cheerfulness, nor in his 
 tenderness. He knew the King; he was aware that those to whom he 
 was most friendly often had the most to fear from him. Therefore, he 
 watched him ; and he saw, beneath this mask of friendliness, the King's 
 real angry countenance sometimes flash out in a quick, hasty look 
 
 The resounding music and the mad rejoicing no more deceived John 
 Ileywood! He beheld death standing behind this dazzling life; he 
 smelt the reek of corruption concealed beneath the perfume of these 
 brilliant flowers. 
 
 John Ileywood no longer laughed and no longer chatted. He watched. 
 
 For tho first time in a long while the King did not need to-day the 
 exciting j -t and the stinging wit of his fool in order to be cheerful and 
 in good humor. 
 
 So the fool Jiad time and leisure to be a reasonable and observant 
 man ; and he improved the time. 
 
 He saw the looks of mutual understanding and secure triumph that 
 Earl Douglas exchanged with Gardiner, and it made him mistrustful to 
 notice that these favorites of the King, at other times so jealous, did not 
 seem to be at all disturbed by the extraordinary marks of favor, which 
 the Howards were enjoying this evening ! 
 
 Once he heard how Gardiner asked Wriothesley as he passed by : 
 "And the soldiers of the Tower V* and how he replied just as laconically : 
 " They stand near the coach and wait." 
 
 It was, therefore, perfectly clear that somebody would be committed 
 to prison this very day. There was, therefore, among the laughing, 
 richly attired and jesting guests of this Court, one, who this very night, 
 when he left these halls radiant with splendor and pleasure, was to be- 
 hold the dark and gloomy chambers of the Tower. 
 
 The only question was, who that one was for whom'the brilliant come- 
 dy of this evening was to be changed to so sad a drama. 
 
 John Ileywood felt his heart oppressed with an unaccountable appre- 
 hension ; and the King's extraordinary tenderness towards the Queen 
 terrified and horrified him. 
 
 As now he smiled on Catharino, as he now stroked her check, so had 
 the King smiled on Anne Boleyn in the same hour that he ordered her 
 
arrest ; so had he stroked Buckingham's cheek on the same day that he 
 signed his death-warrant. 
 
 The fool was horrified at this brilliant, feast, resounding music, and the 
 mad merriment of the King. He was horrified at the laughing faces and 
 frivolous jests, which came streaming from all those mirthful Jips. 
 
 My God ! They laughed and death was in the midst of them ; they 
 laughed — and the gates of the Tower were already opened to admit 
 one of those merry guests of the King into that house, which no* one 
 in those days of Henry the Eighth left again, save to go to the stake or 
 to ascend the scaffold ! 
 
 Who was the condemned ? For whom were the soldiers below at 
 the carriage waiting?" John Hey wood in vain racked his brain with 
 this question. 
 
 Nowhere could he spy a trace that might lead him on the right track ; 
 nowhere a clue that might conduct him through this labyrinth of hor- 
 rors ! 
 
 When you are afraid of the Devil, you do well to put yourself under 
 his immediate protection, muttered John Hey wood ; and sad and de- 
 spondent at heart, he crept behind the King's throne and crouched down 
 by it on the ground. 
 
 John Heywood had such a little, diminutive form, and the King's 
 throne was so large and broad, that it altogether concealed the little 
 crouching fool. 
 
 No one had noticed that John Heywood was concealed there behind 
 the King. Nobody saw his large, keen eyes peeping out from behind 
 the throne and surveying aud watching the whole hall. , 
 
 John Heywood could see everything and hear everything going on 
 in the vicinity of the King. He could observe every one who ap- 
 proached the Queen. 
 
 He saw Lady Jane likewise, who was standing by the Queen's seat. 
 He saw how Earl Douglas draw near his daughter, and how she turned 
 deadly pale as he stepped up to her. 
 
 John Heywood held his breath and listened. 
 
 Earl Douglas stood near his daughter, and nodded to her with a pe- 
 culiar smile. Go, now, Jane, go and change your drese. It is time. 
 Only see how impatiently and longingly Henry Howard is already look- 
 ing this way, and with what languishing and enamored glances he seems 
 to give a hint to the Queen. Go then, Jane ; and think of your pro- 
 mise. 
 
 And will you, my iather, also think of your promise 1 ? inquired Lady 
 Jane with trembling lips. Will no danger threaten him ? 
 
 t will, Jane ! But now make haste, my daughter, and be prudent and 
 adroit. 
 
 Lady Jane bowed, and murmured a few unintelligible words. Then 
 she approached the Queen and begged permission to retire from the 
 feast ; because a severe indisposition had suddenly overtaken her. 
 
 Lady Jane's countenance was so pale and death-like, that the Queen 
 
73 
 
 might well believe in the indisposition of her first Maid of Honor ; and 
 she allowed her to retire. 
 
 Lady June left the hall. The Queen continued her conversation with 
 Lord Hertford, who was standing by her. 
 
 It was a, very lively and warm conversation, and the Queen therefore 
 did not heed what was passing around her; and she heard nothing of the 
 conversation between the King and Earl Douglas. 
 
 John Hcywood, still crouching behind the King's throne, observed 
 everything and heard every word of this softly whispered conversation. 
 
 Sire, said Earl Douglas, it is late and the hour of midnight is draw- 
 ing niyh. Will your Majesty be pleased to conclude the feast ? For 
 you well know that at midnight we must be over there in the green 
 summer house, and it is a long way there. 
 
 Yes, yes, at midnight! muttered the King. At midnight the carnival 
 is at an end ; and we shall tear off our mask, and show our wrathful 
 countenance to the criminals ! At midnight we must be over in the 
 green summer house. Yes, Douglas, we must make haste; for it would 
 be cruel to let the tender Surrey wait still longer. So we will give his 
 Geraldine liberty to leave the feast; and we ourselves must begin our 
 journey. Ah, Douglas, it is a hard path that we have to tread, and the 
 Furies and gods of vengeance bear our torches. To work, then — to 
 work ! 
 
 The King arose from his seat, and stepped to the Queen, to whom he 
 presented his hand with a tender smile. 
 
 My Lidy, it is late, said he ; and we, who are King of so may sub- 
 jects — we are, nevertheless, in turn the subject of a King. — This is the 
 physician ; and we must obey him. He has ordered me to seek my 
 couch before midnight, and, as a loyal subject must do, I obey. We 
 wish you, therefore, a good night, Kate; and may your beautiful eyes 
 on the morrow also shine as star-like as they do to-night. 
 
 They will shine to-morrow as to-night, if my lord and husband is still 
 as gracious to me to-morrow as today, said Catharine with perfect art- 
 lessness and without embarrassment, as she gave her hand to the King. 
 
 Henry cast on her a suspicious, searching look, and a peculiar, mali- 
 cious expression was manifested in his face. 
 
 Do you believe then, Kate, that we can ever be ungracious to you ? 
 asked he. 
 
 As to that, I think, said she with a smile, that even the sun does not 
 aTWays shine ; and that a gloomy night always succeeds his splendor. 
 
 The King did not reply. He looked her steadily in the face ; and his 
 features suddenly assumed a gentler expression. 
 
 Perhaps he had compassion on his young wife. Perhaps he felt pity 
 for her youth and her enchanting smile, which had so often revived and 
 -iied his heart. 
 
 Earl Douglas at least feared so. 
 re, said he, it is late. The hour of midnight is drawing nigh. 
 
 Then let us go, exclaimed the King with a sigh. Yet once again, 
 
74 
 
 good night, Kate ! Nay, do uot aceompany-me ! I will leave the hall 
 quite unobserved ; and 1 shall be pleased, if my guests will still pro- 
 long the fair feast till morning. All of you remain here ! No one but 
 Douglas accompanies me. 
 
 And your brother, the fool! said John Hey wood, who lopg before 
 had come out of his hiding place and was now standing by the King. 
 Yes, come, brother Henry ; let us quit this feast. It is not becoming 
 for wise men of our sort to grant our presence still longer to the feast 
 of fools. Come to your couch, King, and I will lull your ear to sleep 
 with the sayings of my wisdom, and enliven your soul with the manna 
 of my learning. 
 
 While John Heywood thus spoke, it did not escape him that the fea- 
 tures of the Earl suddenly clouded :md a dark frown settled on his brow. 
 
 Spare your wisdom for today, John, said the King; for you would 
 indeed be preaching only to deaf ears. 1 am tired, and 1 require not 
 your erudition, but sleep. Good night, John. 
 
 The King left the hall, leaning on Earl Douglas's arm. 
 
 Earl Douglas does not wish me to accompany the King, whispered 
 John Heywood. He is afraid the King might blab out to me a little of 
 that diabolical work which they will commence at midnight. Well, I 
 call the Devil, as well as the King, my brother, and with his help, I 
 too will be in the green room at midnight. Ah, the Queen is retiring ; 
 and there is the Duke of Norfolk leaving the hall. I have a slight long- 
 ing to see whether the Duke goes hence luckily and without danger, or 
 if the soldiers that stand near the coach, as Wriothesley says, "will per- 
 chance be the Duke's body guard for this night. 
 
 Slipping out of the hall with the quickness of a cat, John Heywood 
 passed the Duke in the ante-room and hurried on to the outer gateway, 
 before which the carriages were drawn up. 
 
 John Heywood leant against a pillar and watched. — A few minutes, 
 and the Duke's tall and proud form appeared in the entrance hall ; and 
 the footman, hurrying forwards, called the Duke's carriage. 
 
 The carriage rolled up ; the door was opened. 
 
 Two men wrapped in black mantles sat by the coachman ; two oth- 
 ers stood behind as footmen, while a fifth was by the open door of the 
 carriage. 
 
 The Duke first noticed him, as his foot had already touched the step 
 of the carriage. 
 
 This is not my equipage ! These are not my people ! said he ; and 
 he tried to step back. But the pretended servant forced him violently 
 into the carriage and shut the door. 
 
 Forwards ! ordered he. The carriage rolled on. A moment still, 
 John Heywood saw the Duke's pale face appear at the open carriage- 
 window, and it seemed to him as though he were stretching out his 
 arms, calling for help — then the carriage disappeared in the night. 
 
 Poor Duke! murmured John Heywood. The gates of the Tower 
 are heavy, and your arm will not be strong enough to open them again, 
 
when they have once closed behind you. But it avails nothing to think 
 more about him now. The Queen is also in danger ! Away then to 
 the Queen ! 
 
 With fleet foot, John Hey wood hastened back into the castle. Through 
 passages and corridors he slipped hurried along. 
 
 Now he stood in the corridor which led to the apartments of the Queen. 
 
 I will constitute her guard to night, muttered John Hey wood, as he 
 hid himself in one of the niches in the corridor. The fool by his pray- 
 ers wilJL keep far from the door of his saint the tricks of the Devil, and 
 protect her from the snares which the pious Bishop Gardiner and the 
 crafty courtier Douglas want to lay for her feet. My Queen shall not 
 fall and be ruined. The fool yet lives to protect her. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE QUEEN. 
 
 From the niche in which John Hey wood had hid himself, he could sur- 
 vey the entire corridor and all the doors opening into it — could see eve- 
 rything, and hear everything without being himself seen ; for the pro- 
 jecting pilaster completely shaded him. 
 
 So John- Hey wood stood and listened. All was quiet in the corridor. 
 In the distance was now and then heard the deadened sound of the mu- 
 sic; and the confused hum of many voices from the festive halls forced 
 its way to the listener's ear. 
 
 This was the only thing that John Hey wood perceived. All else was 
 still. 
 
 But this stillness did not last long. The corridor was lighted up, and 
 the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps was heard. * 
 
 It was the gold-laced lackeys who bore the large silver candelabra to 
 light the Queen, who, with her train of ladies, was passing through the 
 corridor. 
 
 She looked wondrously beautiful ! The glare of the candles borne 
 before her illumined her countenance, which beamed with cheerfulness. 
 As she passed the pillar behind which John Hey wood was sanding, she 
 was talking in unrestrained gaiety with her second Maid of Honor ; and a 
 clear and lively laugh rung from her lips, which disclosed both rows of 
 her dazzling white teeth. Her eyes sparkled ; her cheeks were flushed 
 with a rich red ; bright as stars glittered the diamonds in the di idem 
 that encircled her lofty brow; like liquid gold shone her dress of gold 
 brocade, the long trail of which, trimmed with black ermine, was borne 
 by two lovely pages. 
 
7b' 
 
 Arrived at the door of her bedchamber, the Queen dismissed her 
 pages and lackeys, and permitted only the Maid of Honor to cross the 
 threshold of her chamber with her. 
 
 In harmless gossip, the pages glided down the corridor and the stair- 
 case. Then came the lackeys who bore the candelabra. They also left 
 the corridor. 
 
 Now all was quiet again. Still John Heywood stood and listened, 
 firmly resolved to speak to the Queen yet that night, even should he 
 be obliged wake her from sleep. Only he wanted to wait till the Maid 
 of Honor also had left the Queen's room. 
 
 Now the door opened, and the Maid of Honor came out. She crossed 
 the corridor to that side where her own apartments were situated. 
 John Heywood heard her open the door and then slide the bolt on the 
 inside. 
 
 Now but a brief time longer, and I will go to the Queen, muttered 
 John Heywood. 
 
 He was just going to leave his lurking place, when he perceived a 
 noise as if a door was slowly and cautiously opened. 
 
 John Heywood cowered again close behind the pillar and held his 
 breath to listen. , 
 
 A bright light fell over the corridor. A dress came rustling nearer 
 and nearer. 
 
 John Heywood gazed astounded and amazed at the figure, which just 
 brushed past without seeing him. 
 
 That figure was Lady Jane Douglas. — Lady Jane, who, on account of 
 indisposition, had retired from the feast in order to betake herself to 
 rest. Now, when all rested, she watched — when all laid aside their 
 festive garments, she had adorned herself with the same. Like the 
 Queen, she wore a dres3of gold brocade, trimmed with ermine, ancHike 
 her, a diadem of diamonds adorned Lady Jane's brow. 
 
 Now she stood before the Queen's door and listened. Then a fierce 
 sneer flitted across her deathly pale face, and her dark eyes flashed still 
 more. 
 
 She sleeps, muttered she. Only sleep, Queen — sleep till we shall 
 come to awake you ! Sleep, so that I can wake for you. 
 
 She raised her arm threateningly towards the door, and wildly shook 
 her head. Her long black ringlets encircled and danced around her 
 sullen brow like the snakes of the Furies; and pale and colorless, and 
 with demon-like beauty, she resembled altogether the goddess of ven- 
 geance, in scornful triumph, preparing to tread her victim beneath her 
 feet. 
 
 With a low laugh she now glided adown the corridor, but not to that 
 staircase yonder, but farther down to the end, where on the wall hung 
 a life-size picture of Henry the Sixth. She pressed on a spring; the pic- 
 ture flew open ; and through the door concealed behind it, Lady Jane 
 left the corridor. 
 
 She is going to the green- room to a meeting with Henry Howard ! 
 
whispered John Hey wood, who now stepped forth from hchind the pil- 
 lar. Oh, now I comprehend it all ; now the whole of this devilish plot 
 is clear to me ; Lady Jane is Earl Surrey's lady-love, and they want to 
 make the King believe that it is the Queen. Doubtless this Surrey is 
 with them in the conspiracy ; and perhaps he will call Jane Douglas by 
 the name of the Queen. They will let the King see her but a moment. 
 She wears a gold-brocade-dress and a diamond diadem like the Queen ; 
 and thereby they hope to deceive Henry. She has the Queen's form 
 precisely ; and everybody knows the astonishing similarity and likeness 
 of Lady Jane's voice to that of the. Queen. Oh, oh, it is a tolerably 
 cunning plot ! But, nevertheles-s, you shall not succeed, and you s-h;ill 
 not yet gain the victory. Patience, only patience ! We likewise will 
 be in the green room ; and face to face with this royal counteifeit, we 
 will place the genuine Queen ! 
 
 With hurried step John Heywood also left the corridor which was now 
 lonely and still, for the Queeu had gone to rest. 
 
 Yes, the Queen slept, and yet over yonder in the green room every- 
 thing was prepared for her reception. 
 
 It was to be a very brilliant and extraordinary reception ; for the 
 King, in his own person, had betaken himself to that wing of the castle, 
 and the Chief-Master of Ceremonies, Earl Douglas, had accompanied him. 
 
 To the King, this excursion, which he had to make on foot, had been 
 very troublesome; and this inconvenience had made him only still 
 more furious and excited, and the last trace of compassion for his Queen 
 had disappeared from the King's breast, for on Catharine's account he 
 had been obliged to make this long journey to the green room ; and 
 with a grim joy Henry thought only how terrible was to be his punish 
 metlt for Henry Howard and also for Catharine. 
 
 Now that Earl Douglas had brought him hither, the King no longer 
 had any doubts at all of the Queen's guilt. It was no longer an accusa- 
 tion — it was proof. For never in the world would Earl Douglas have 
 dared to bring him, the King, hither, if he was not certain that he would 
 give him here infallible proofs. 
 
 The King, therefore, no longer doubted ; at last Henry Howard was in 
 his power, and he could no more escape him. So he was certain of 
 being able to bring these two hated enemies to the block, and of feeling 
 his sleep no longer disturbed by thoughts of his two powerful rivals 
 
 The Duke of Norfolk had already passed the gates of the Tower, and 
 his son must soon follow him thither. 
 
 At this thought the King felt an ecstacy so savage and blood-thirsty, 
 that he wholly forgot that the same sword that was to strike Henry 
 Howard's head, was drawn on his Queen also. 
 
 They were now standing in the green room; and the King leant pant- 
 ing and moaning on Karl Douglas's arm. 
 
 The large wide room, with its antique furniture and its faded glory, 
 was only gloomily and scantily lighted in the middle by the two .wax 
 candles of the candelabrum that Earl Douglas had brought with him ; 
 
while further away it was enveloped in deep gloom, and seemed to the 
 eye through this gloom to stretch out to an interminable length. 
 
 Through that door over there, comes the Queen, said Douglas; and 
 he himself shrunk at the loud sound of his voice, which in the large, 
 desolate room became of awful fulness. And that there, is Henry How- 
 ard's entrance. Oh, he knows that path very thoroughly ; for he has 
 often enough already travelled it in the dark night, and his foot no lon- 
 ger stumbles on any stone of offence ! 
 
 But he will perchance stumble on the headsman's block! muttered 
 the King with a cruel laugh. 
 
 I now take the liberty of asking one question more, said Douglas ; 
 and the King did not suspect how stormily the Earl's heart beat at this 
 question, is your Majesty satisfied to see the Earl and the Queen make 
 their appearance at this meeting? Or, do you desire to listen to a little 
 of the Karl's tender protestations? 
 
 I will hear not a little, but all! said the King. Ah, let us allow the 
 Earl yet to sing his swan-like song before he plunges into {.he sea of 
 blood ! 
 
 Then, said Earl Douglas, then we must put out this light, and your 
 Majesty must be content merely to hear the guilty ones, and not to see 
 them also. We will then betake ourselves to the boudoir here, which 
 I have opened for this purpose, and in which is an easy-chair for your 
 Majesty. We will place this chair near the open door, and then your 
 Majesty will be able to hear every word of their tender whispering. 
 
 But how shall we, if we extinguish this our only light, at last attain to 
 a sight of this dear loving pair, and be able to afford them the dramatic 
 surprise of our presence. 
 
 Sire, as soon as She Earl of Surrey enters, twenty men of the King's 
 body guard will occupy the ante room through which the Earl must 
 pass; and it needs but a call f.om you to have them enter the hall 
 with their torches. I have taken care also, that before the private back 
 gate of the palace two coaches stand ready, the drivers of which know 
 very well the street that leads to the Tower ! 
 
 Two coaches ! said the King laughing. Ah, ah, Douglas, how cruel 
 we are to separate the tender loving pair on this journey which is yet to 
 be their last ! Well, perhaps we can compensate them for it, and allow 
 these turtle-doves to make the last trip — the trip to the stake — together. 
 No, no, we will not separate them in death. Together they may lay 
 their heads on the block. 
 
 The King laughed, quite delighted with his jest, while, Jeaning on the 
 Earl's arm, he crossed to the little boudoir on the other side, and took 
 his place in the arm-chair set near the door. 
 
 Now we must extinguish the light ; and may it please your Majesty 
 to await in silence the things' that are to come. 
 
 The Earl extinguished the light; and deep darkness and a grave like 
 stillness now followed. 
 
 But this did not last long. Now was heard quite distinctly the sound 
 
70 
 
 of footsteps. They came nearer and nearer — now a door was he.ird to 
 open and shut again, and it was as though some one was creeping softly 
 along on his toes in the hall. • 
 
 Henry Howard ! whispered Douglas. 
 
 The King could scarcely restrain the cry of savage malicious delight 
 that forced its way to his lips. 
 
 The hated enemy was then in his power; he was convicted of the 
 crime; he was inevitably lost. 
 
 Geraldine ! whispered a voice, Geraldine ! 
 
 And as if his low call had already been sufficient to draw hither the 
 loved one, the secret door here quite close to the boudoir opened. The 
 rustling of a dress was very distinctly heard, and the sound of footsteps. 
 
 Geraldine! repeated Earl Surrey. 
 
 Here I am, my Hemy ! 
 
 With an exclamation of delight, the woman rushed forwards towards 
 the sound of the loved voice. 
 
 The Queen ! muttered Henry ; and in spite of himself he felt his 
 heart seized with bitter grief. 
 
 He saw with his inward eye how they held each other in their cm- 
 brace. He heard their kisses and the low whisper of their tender vows ; 
 and all the agonies of jealousy and wrath filled his soul. But yet the 
 King prevailed upon himself to be silent and to swallow down his rage. 
 He wanted to hear everything, to know everything. 
 
 He clenched his hands convulsively, and pressed his lips firmly to- 
 gether to hold in his panting breath. He wanted to hear. 
 
 How happy they both were! Henry had wholly forgotten that ho 
 had come to reproach her for her long silence ; she did not think about 
 this being the last time that she might see her loiter. 
 
 They yvere with each other, and this hour was theirs. What did the 
 whole world matter to them? What cared they whether or not mis- 
 chief and ruin threatened them hereafter 1 ? 
 
 They sat by each other on the divan, quite near the boudoir. They 
 jested and laughed ; and Henry Howard kissed away the tears that the 
 happiness of the present caused his Geraldine to shed. 
 
 He syvore to her eternal and unchanging love. In blissful silence, she 
 drank in the music of his words; and then she reiterated, with jubilant 
 joy, his vows of love. 
 
 The King could scarcely restrain his fury. 
 
 The heart of Karl Douglas leaped with satisfaction and gratification. 
 A lucky thing that Jane has no su-picion of our presence, thought he — 
 otherwise she would have been less unrestrained and ardent, and the 
 King's ear would have imbibed less poison. 
 
 Lady Jane thought not at all of her father ; she scarcely remembered 
 that this very night would destroy her hated rival, the Queen. 
 
 Henry Howard had called her his Geraldine only. Jane entirely for- 
 got that it was not she to whom her lover had given this name. 
 
 But he himself finally reminded her of it. 
 
80 
 
 Do you know, Geraldine, said Earl Surrey, and his voice which had 
 been hitherto so cheerful and sprightly was now sad — do you know, 
 Geraldine, th»t I have had doubts of you 1 Oh, those were frightful, 
 horrible hours ; and in the agony of my heart, I came at last to the res- 
 olution of going to the King and accusing myself of this love that was 
 consuming my heart. Oh, fear naught ! I would not have accused you. 
 I would have even denied that love which you have so often and with 
 such transporting reality sworn to me. I would have done it in-order 
 to see whether my Geraldine could at last gain courage and strength to 
 acknowledge her love openly and frankly; whether her heart had the 
 power to burst that iron batid which the deceitful rules of the world had 
 placed around it; whether she would acknowledge her lover, when he 
 was willing to die for her. Yes^ Geraldine, 1 wanted to do it, that I 
 might finally know which feeling is stronger in you— Move, or pride — 
 and whether you could then still preserve the mask of indifference, when 
 death was hovering over your lover's head. Oh, Geraldine, I should 
 deem it a fairer fate to die united with you, than to be obliged to still 
 longer endure this life of constraint and hateful etiquette. 
 
 No, no, said she trembling, we will not die. My God, life is indeed 
 so beautiful when you are by my side ! And who knows whether a fe- 
 licitous and blissful future may not still await us ? 
 
 Oh, should we die, then should we be certain of this blissful future, 
 my Geraldine. There above, there is no more separation — no more re- 
 nunciation for us. There above, you are mine ; and the bloody image 
 of your husband no longer stands between us. 
 
 It shall no longer do that, even here on earth, whispered Geraldine. 
 Come, my beloved ; let us fly far, far hence, where no one knows us — 
 where we can cast fr#m us all this hated splendor to live for each other 
 and for love. 
 
 She threw her arms about her lover, and in the ecstacy of her love 
 she had wholly forgotten, that she could never indeed think to flee with 
 him, that he belonged to her only so long as he saw her not. 
 
 An inexplicable anxiety overpowered her heart; and in this anxiety 
 she forgot everything — even the Queen and the vengeance she had 
 vowed. 
 
 She now remembered her father's words, and she trembled for her 
 lover's life. 
 
 If now her father had not told her the truth — if now he had notwith- 
 standing sacrificed Henry Howard in order to ruin the Queen — if she 
 was not able to save him, and through her fault he were to perish on 
 the scaffold ! . 
 
 But still this hour was hers, and she would enjoy it. 
 
 She clung fast to his breast; she drew him with irresistible force to 
 her heart, which now trembled no longer from love, but from a name- 
 less anxiety. 
 
 Let us fly ! Let us fly ! repeated she breathlessly. See ! This hour 
 
81 
 
 is yet ours. Let us avail ourselves of it ; for who knows whether the 
 next; w ill still belong to us. 
 
 No! it. is no longer yours, yelled the King, a^ he sprang like a roused 
 lion from his seat. Your hours are numbered, and the next already be- 
 longs to the hangman ! 
 
 A piercing shriek burst from Geraldine's lips. Then was heard a dull 
 fall. 
 
 She has fainted, muttered Earl Douglas. 
 
 Geraldiuc, Geraldine, my loved one! cried Henry Howard. My 
 God, my God ! she is dying ! You have killed her ! Woe to you ! 
 
 Woe to yourself! said the King solemnly. Here with the light. 
 Here you folks ! 
 
 The door of the ante-room opened, and in it appeared four soldiers 
 with torches in their hands. 
 
 Light the candles, and guard the door ! said the King, whose dazzled 
 eyes were not yet able to bear this bright glare of light, which now sud- 
 denly streamed through the room. 
 
 The soldiers obeyed his orders. A pause ensued. The King had put 
 his hand before his eyes, and was struggling for breath and self-control. 
 
 When at length he let his hand glide down, his features had assumed 
 a perfectly calm — almost a serene expression. 
 
 With a hasty glance he surveyed the room. He saw the Queen in 
 her dress glistening with gold ; he saw how she lay on the floor, stretch 
 ed at full length, her face turned to the ground, motionless and rigid. 
 
 He saw Henry Howard, who knelt by his beloved and was busy about 
 her with all the anxiety and agony of a lover. He saw how he pressed 
 her hands to his lips ; how he put his hand to her head to raise it from 
 the floor. 
 
 The King was speechless with rage. He could only lilt his arm to 
 beckon the soldiers to approach ; to point to Henry Howard who had 
 not yet succeeded in raising the Queen's head from the floor. 
 
 Arrest him! said Earl Douglas lending words to the King's mute 
 sign. In the King's name arrest him, and conduct him to the Tower ! 
 
 Yes, arrest him ! said (he King ; and, as with youthful speed he walk- 
 ed up to Henry Howard and put his hand heavily on his shoulder, he 
 with terrible calmness continued : Henry Howard, your wish shall be 
 fulfilled ; you shall mount the scafibld for which you have so much 
 longed ! 
 
 The Earl's noble countenance remained calm and unmoved ; his bright 
 beaming eye fearlessly encountered the eye of the King flashing with 
 wrath. 
 
 Sire, said he, my life, la in your band, and I vpry well know that you 
 will not spare it. 1 d<> noteteriask you to do so. But >yue thtanoble 
 and beautiful woman, whose only crime, is that she has followed the voice 
 of her. heart. Sire, 1 alone am the guilty one. Punish "me then — tor- 
 ture me, if you like, but be merciful to her. 
 
 The King broke out into a loud laugh. Ah, he begs for her ! said he. 
 
82 
 
 This little Earl Surrey presumes to think that his sentimental love-plaint 
 can exercise an influence on the heart of his judge ! No, no, Henry 
 Howard ; you knbw nie better. You say indeed, that 1 am aeruehnan, 
 and that blood cleaves to my crown. Well now, it is our pleasuie to 
 set in our crown a new bloid-ied ruby ; and if we want to take it from 
 Geraldine's heart's blood, your sonnets will. not hinder us from doing 
 so, my good little Earl. That is all the reply I have to make to you; 
 and 1 think it will be the last time that we shall meet on earth ! 
 
 Thereabove, we shall see each other again, King Henry of England ! 
 said Earl Surrey solemnly. Sphere above, Henry the Eighth will no 
 more be the judge, but the condemned criminal ; and your bloody and 
 accursed deeds will witness against you ! 
 
 The King laughed. You avail yourself of your advantage, said he. 
 Because you have nothing more to lose, and the scaffold is sure of you, 
 you do not stick at heaping up the measure of your sins a little more, 
 and you revile your legitimate, God-appointed King! But you should 
 bear in mind, Earl, that before the scaffold there is yet the rack, and 
 that it is ven possible indeed that a painful question might there be put, 
 to the noble Earl Surrey, to which his agonies might prevent him from 
 returning an answer. Now away with you \ We have nothing more 
 to say to each other on earth ! 
 
 He motioned to the soldiers, who approached the Earl of Surrey. As 
 they reached their hands towards him, he turned on them a look so proud 
 and commanding that they involuntarily recoiled a step. 
 
 Follow me! said Henry Howard calmly ; and without even deigning 
 the King a single look more, with head proudly erect he walked to thedoor. 
 
 Geraldine still lay on the ground — her face turned to the floor. She 
 stirred not. She seemed to have fallen into a deep swoon. 
 
 Only as the door with a sullen sound closed behind Earl Surrey, a 
 low wail and moan was perceived — such as is wont to struggle forth at 
 the last hour from the breast of the dying. 
 
 The King did not heed it. He still gazed, with eyes stern and flash- 
 ing with auger, towards the door through which Earl Surrey had passed. 
 
 He is unyielding, muttered he. Not even the rack affrights him ; and 
 in his blasphemous haughtiness, he moves along in the midst of. the sol- 
 diers, not as a prisoner, but as a commander. Oh, these Howards are 
 destined to torment me; and even their death will scarcely be a full 
 satisfaction to me. 
 
 Sire, said Earl Douglas, who had observed the King with a keen pene- 
 trating eye, and knew that the King had now reached the height of hi.s 
 wrath, at which he shrunk from no deed of violence and no cruelty — Sire, 
 you have sent Earl Surrey to the Tower. But what shall be done with 
 the Queen, who lies there on the floor in a swoon. 
 
 The King roused himself from his revery ; and his blood-shot eyes 
 were fixed on Geraldine's motionless form with so dark an expression of 
 hate and rage, that Earl Douglas exultingly said to himself : The Queen 
 is lost ! lie will be inexorable \ 
 
£3 
 
 Ah, the Queen ! cried Henry with a savage laugh. Yea verily, [ for- 
 got the Queen! I did not think of this charming Geraldine ! But you 
 are right, Douglas, we must think of her and occupy ourselves ;i little 
 with her! Did you Dot say that a second coach was ieud\ ? Well then, 
 we will not hinder Geraldine from accompanying her beloved. She 
 shall be where he is — in the Tower^amd on the scaffold ! We will there- 
 fore wake this sentimental lady and show her the lasUduty of a cavalier 
 by conducting her to her carriage! 
 
 lie was about to approach the figure of the Queen lying on the floor. 
 Earl Douglas held him bade. 
 
 Sire, said he, it is my duty as your faithful subject, who loves you 
 and trembles for your welfare— it is my duly, to implore you to spare 
 yourself and preserve your precious and adored person from the vene 
 mous sting of anger and grief I conjure you. therefore, do not deign to 
 look again on this woman, who has so deeply injured you. Give me 
 your orders — what I am to do with her — and allow me first of all to ac- 
 company you to your apartments. 
 
 You are light, said the King, she is not worthy of having my eye rest 
 on her again ; and she is even too contemptible for my anger! We 
 will call the soldiers that they may conduct this traitoress and adultcr- 
 es> to the Tower, as they have done her paramour ! 
 
 Yet for that, there is needed still a formality. The Queen will not 
 be admitted into the Tower without the King's written and sealed order. 
 
 Then 1 will draw up that order. 
 
 Sire, in that cabinet yonder may be found the necessary writing ma- 
 terials, if it please your' Majesty. 
 
 The King leant in silence on the Earl's arm, and allowed himself to 
 be led again into the cabinet. 
 
 With officious haste, Earl Douglas made the necessary arrangements. 
 He rolled the writing table up to the King; h<^ placed the large sheet of 
 white paper in order, and slipped the pen into the King's hand. 
 
 What, shall I write? asked the King, who by the exertion of his night 
 excursion, and of his anger and vexation, began at length to be exhausted. 
 
 An order for the Queen's imprisonment, Sire. 
 
 The King wrote. Earl Douglas stood behind him, with eager atten- 
 tion, in breathless expectation, his looks steadily fixed on the. paper over 
 which the King's hand, white, fleshy and sparkling with diamonds, gli- 
 ded along in hasty characters. 
 
 He had at length reached his goal. When at last he should hold in 
 his hand the paper, which the King was th<m writing — when* he had in 
 duced Henry to return to his apartments before the imprisonment of 
 the Queen had taken place — then was he victorious. Not that woman 
 there, would he then imprison ; but, with the warrant in his hand, ho 
 would go to the real Queen, and tak<- her to the Tower. 
 
 Once in the Tower, the Qieeu could no longer defend herself; for the 
 King would see her no more: and if before the Parliament she protest- 
 ed her innocence with ever so sacred oaths, still the King's testimony 
 
8-1 
 
 must convict her ; for he had himself surprised her with her para- 
 mour. 
 
 N.o, there was no escape for the. Queen. She had once succeeded in 
 clearing herself of an accusation, and proving her innocence by a rebut- 
 ting alibi. But this time she was irretrievably lost, and no alibi could 
 deliver her. 
 
 The KiDg completed his work and arose, whilst Douglas, at his com- 
 mand, was employed in setting the King's seal to the fatal paper. 
 
 From the hall was heard a slight noise, as though some person was 
 cautiously moving about there. 
 
 Earl Douglas did not notice it; he was just in the act of pressing the 
 signet hard on the melted sealing-wax. 
 
 The King heard it, and supposed that it was Geraldine, and that she 
 was just waking from her swoon and rising. 
 
 He stepped to the door of the hall, and looked towards the place 
 where she was lying. But no— she had not yet risen ; she still lay 
 stretched at lull length on the "floor. 
 
 She has come to ; but she pretends to be still in a swoon, thought the 
 King ; and he turned to Douglas. 
 
 We are done, said he ; the warrant for imprisonment is prepared, and 
 the sentence of the adulterous Queen is spoken. We have done with 
 her forever; and never shall she again behold our face, nor again hear 
 our voice. She is sentenced and damned, and the royal mercy has 
 nothing more to do with this sinner. .A curse on the adulteress! A 
 curse on the shameless woman who deceived her husband, and gave her- 
 self up to a traitorous paramour ! Woe to her, and may shame and 
 disgrace forever mark her name, which 
 
 Suddenly the King stopped and listened. The noise that he had 
 heard just before was now repeated louder and quicker; it came nearer 
 and nearer. 
 
 And now the door opened and a figure entered— a figure which made 
 the King stare with astonishment and admiration. It came nearer and 
 nearer — light, graceful, and with the freshness of youth; a gold-brocade 
 dress enveloped it; a diadem of diamonds sparkled on the brow; and 
 brighter yet than the diamonds beamed the eyes. 
 
 No, the King was not mistaken. Jt was the Queen. She was stand- 
 ing before him — and yet she still lay motionless and stiff upon the floor 
 yonder. 
 
 The King uttered a cry, and turning pale, reeled a step backward. 
 
 The Queen! exclaimed Douglas in terror; and he trembled so vio- 
 lently that the paper in his hand rattled and fluttered. 
 
 Yes, the Queen ! said Catharine with a haughty smile. The Queen, 
 who comes to scold her husband, that contrary to his physicians orders, 
 he still refrains from his slumbers at so late an hour of the night. 
 • And the fool ! said John Hey wood, as with humorous pathos he step- 
 ped forward from behind the Queen. The fool, who comes to ask Earl 
 Douglas how he dared deprive John Hey wood of his oflice, and usurp 
 
S5 
 
 the place of King's fool to Henry, and deceive his most gracious Majes- 
 ty with all manner of silly pranks and carnival tricks? ' 
 
 And who — asked the King in a voice quivering with rage, fastening 
 his flashing looks on Douglas with an annihilating expression — who, then, 
 is that woman there? Who has dared with such cursed mummery to 
 deceive the King, and calumniate the Queen? 
 
 Sire, said Earl Douglas, who very well knew that his future, and that 
 of his daughter, depended on the present moment, and whom this. con- 
 sciousness had speed! i \ restored to his self-possession and .calmness — 
 Sire, 1 beseech your Majesty for a moment, of private explanation ; and 
 I shall be entirely successful in vindicating myself. 
 
 Do not grant it him, brother Henry, said John Hey wood ; he is a 
 dangerous. juggler; and who knows whether he may not yet, in this pri- 
 vate conversation, convince you that he is the King, and you, nothing 
 more than his lickspittle, fawning, hypocritical servant Earl Archibald 
 Douglas ! 
 
 My Lord and husband, I beg you to hear the Earl's justification, said 
 Catharine, as she extended her hand to the King with a bewitching smile. 
 It would lie cruel to condemn him unheard. 
 
 I will hear him, but it shall be done in your.presence, Kate; and you 
 yourself shall decide whether or not his justification is sufficient. 
 
 No indeed, my husband; let me remain an entire stranger to this 
 night's conspiracy, so that spite and anger may not, fill my heart and rob 
 me of tii- serene confidence, which 1 need to be able to walk on at your 
 side happy ami smiling in the midst of my enemies. 
 
 You sire right, Kate, said the King thoughtfully. You have many 
 enemies at our Court; and we have to accuse ourselves, that we have 
 not always succeeded in stopping our ear to their malicious whisperings, 
 and in keeping ourselves pure from the poisonous breath of their calum- 
 ny. Our heart is still too artless, and we cannot even yet comprehend, 
 that men are a disgusting, corrupt race, which one should tread beneath 
 bis feet, but never take to his heart. Come, Earl Douglas, I will hear 
 you ; but woe to yon, if you are unable to justify yourself. 
 
 He retired to the embrasure of the large window of the boudoir. 
 Earl Douglas followed him thither, and let the heavy velvet curtain drop 
 behind them. 
 
 Sire, said he hardily and resolutely, the question now is this — whose 
 head would you rather give over to the executioner — mine, or the Ear] 
 of Surrey's? You have the choice between the two. You are aware, 
 that I have ventured for a moment to deceive you. Well, send me to 
 the Tower then, and set free the noble Henry Howard, that be may 
 henceforth disturb your sleep and poison your days; that he may further 
 court the love of the people, and perhaps tome day rob your son of the 
 throne that belongs to him. Here is my head, Sire ; it is forfeited to 
 the headman's axe. and Earl Surrey is free! 
 
 No, he is not free, and shall never be ! said the King grinding, his teeth. 
 
 Then, my King, I am justified : and instead of being angry with nm. 
 
86 
 
 you will thank me! It is true I played a hazardous game, but I did so 
 in the service of my King I did it because I loved him, and because I 
 read on your lofty clouded brow the. thoughts that begirt with darkness 
 rny master's soul, and disturbed the sleep of his nights. You wanted to 
 have Henry Howard in your power ; and this crafty and hypocritical Earl 
 knew how t<> conceal his guilt s<» securely under the mask of virtue and 
 1 jftiness of soul. But I knew him, and behind this mask 1 had seen his 
 face distorted with passion and crirue. I wanted to unmask him ; but for 
 this, it was'nec ssury that i should deceive fir-t him. and then for the hour 
 even you your.-eU'. ! knew that he burne'd with an adulterous love for 
 the Queen, and I wanted to avail myself of the madness of this passion, 
 in order to bring him surely and unavoidably to richly deserved punish- 
 ment. But 1 would not draw the pure and exalted person of the Queen 
 into this net with which we watred to surround Earl Surrey. 1 was 
 obliged, then, to seek a substitute, for her ; and I did so There was at 
 your Coutt a woman, whose whole heart belongs, after God, to the King 
 alone ; and who so much adores him, that she would be ready any hour 
 gladly to sacrifice for the King her heart's blood, her whole being — a) e, 
 if need be, even her honor itself — a woman, Sire, who lives by your 
 smile, and worships you*as her redeemer and saviour — a woman, whom 
 you might, as you pleased, make a saint or a strumpet ; and who, to 
 plea c e you, would be a shameless Phryne. or a chaste veiled nun. 
 
 Tell me her name, Douglas, said the King, tell me it! It is a rare 
 and precious stroke, of fortune to be so loved ; aud it would be a sin not 
 to want to enjoy this good fortune. 
 
 Sire, I will tell you her name when you have first forgiven me, said 
 Douglas, whose heart leaped for joy, -and who well understood that the 
 King's anger was already mollified and the danger now almost overcome. 
 I said to this woman : " You are to do the King a great service ; you 
 are to deliver him from a powerful and dangerous foe ! You are to save 
 him from Henry Howard!" — Tell me what I must do! cried she, her 
 looks beaming with joy. — " Henry Howard loves the Queen. You must 
 be the Queen to him. You must receive his letters, and answer them 
 in the Queen's name. You must grant him interviews by night, and, 
 favored by the darkness of the night, make him believe that it is the 
 Queen whom he holds in his arms. He must be convinced that the 
 Queen is his lady-love ; and in his thoughts, as in his deeds, he must be 
 placed before the King as a traitor and criminal whose head is forfeited 
 to the headsman's axe. One day we will let the King be a witness of a 
 meeting that Henry Howard believes he has with the Queen ; it will 
 then be in his power to punish his enemy for his criminal passion, which 
 is worthy of death !" And as I thus spoke to the woman, Sire, she said 
 with a sad smile : It is a disgraceful and dishonorable part that you assign 
 me; but I undertake it, for you Gay I may thereby render a service to 
 the King. I shall disgrace myself for him; but he will perhaps bestow 
 upon me'in return a gracious smile; and then I shall be abundantly re- 
 ward* i 
 
But this woman is an angel ! cried the King ardeUtly. An angel 
 whom we should kneel to and adore, Douglas. Tell me her name, 
 Douglas ! 
 
 Sire, as soon as you have forgiven me! You know now all my guilt 
 and all my crime. For, as I bade that noblewoman, so it came to pass, 
 and Henry Howard has gone to the Tower in the firm belief that it was 
 the Queen whqin hcjusl now held in his arms. 
 
 But why did you leave me iti this belief, Douglas'? Why did you fill 
 my heart with wrath against the noble and virtuous Queen also? 
 
 Sire, 1 dared hot rev.eal this deception to you before you had sentenced 
 Surrey, for }our noble and just moral sense would have been reluctant 
 ..to punish him on account of a crime that he had not committed ; and in 
 your first wrath, you would have also blamed this noble woman, who 
 lias sacrificed herself for her King. 
 
 It is true, said the King, I should have misjudged this noble woman, 
 und instead of thanking her, I should have destroyed her. 
 
 Therefore, my King, I quietly allowed you to make out an order for 
 the Queen's incarceration. But you remember well, Sire, I begged you 
 to return to your apartments before the Queen was arrested. Well now, 
 there I should have disclosed to you the whole secret, which I could not 
 tell you in the presence of that woman. For she would die of sham* 1 , 
 if she suspected that you knew < f her love for the King, so pure and 
 self-sacrificing, and cherished in such heroic silence ! 
 
 Sir. ver know it, Douglas! But now at length satisfy my 
 
 desire. tell me her name. 
 
 Sire, \ ou have forgiven me, then ? You are no longer angry with 
 me that I dared to deceive you ? 
 
 I am no longer angry with you, Douglas; for you haje acted rightly. 
 The plan, which you have contrived and carried out with such happy 
 result, was as crafty as it was daring. 
 
 I thank you, Sire; and 1 will now tell you the. name. That woman, 
 Sire, who at my wish gave herself up a sacrifice to this adulterous Earl, 
 who endured his kisses, his embraces, his vows of love, in order to ren- 
 der a service to her King — that woman was my daughter, Lady Jane 
 Douglas ! 
 
 Lady Jane? cried the King. No, no, this is a new deception. That 
 haughty, chaste aDd unapproachable Lady Jane — that wonderfully beau- 
 tiful marble statue really has then a heart in her breast, and that heart 
 belongs to me? Lady Jane, the pure and chaste virgin, has made for 
 me this prodigious sacrifice, of receiving this hated Surrey as her lover, 
 in order, like a second Delilah, to deliver him unto my band \ No, 
 Douglas, you are lying to me. Lady Jane has not done that ! 
 
 May it please your Majesty to go yourself and take a look at that 
 fainting woman, who was to Henry Howard, the Queen. 
 
 The King did not reply to him ; but drew back the curtain and re- 
 entered the cabinet, in which the Queen was waiting with John Hey- 
 wood. 
 
38 
 
 Henry did not notice them. With youthful precipitation, he crossed 
 the cabinet and the hall. Now he stood by the figure of Geraldine still 
 lying on the floor. 
 
 * She was no longer in a swoon. She had long since regained her con- 
 sciousness ; and terrible were the agonies and tortures that rent her 
 heart. Henry Howard had incurred the penalty of the headsman's axe, 
 and it was she that had betrayed him. 
 
 But her father had sworn to her that she should save her lover. 
 
 She durst not die then. She must live to deliver Henry Howard. 
 
 There was burning, as it were, the tires of hell in her poor heart ; 
 but she was not at liberty to heed these pains. She could not think of 
 herself— only of him — of Henry Howard, whom she. must deliver, ' 
 whom she must save from death. 
 
 For him she sent up her fervent prayers to God ; for him her heart 
 trembled with anxiety and agony, as the King now advanced to her, 
 aud bending down, gazed into her eyes with a strange expression atouce 
 scrutinizing and smiling. 
 
 Lady Jane, said he then, as he presented her his hand, arise from the 
 ground and allow your King to express to you his thanks for your sublime 
 and wonderful sacrifice ! Verily, it is a fair lot to be a King ; for then one 
 has at least the power of punishing traitors, and of rewarding those that 
 serve us. I have to day done the ot\e, and I will not neglect to do the 
 other also. Stand up, then, Lady Jane ; it doe.s not become you to lie 
 on your knees before me ! 
 
 Oh, let me kneel, my King, said she passionately ; let me beseech you 
 for mercy, for pity ! Have compassion, King Henry — compassion on 
 the anxiety and agony which I endure. It is not possible that this is all 
 a reality ; that tfiis juggling is to be changed into such terrible earnest ! 
 Tell me, King Henry— I conjure you by the agonies which I suffer for 
 your sake — tell me, what will you do with Henry Howard ? Why have 
 you sent him to the Tower 1 
 
 To punish the traitor as he deserves, said the King, and he cast a dark 
 and angry look across at Douglas, who had also approached his daugh- 
 ter, and was now standing close by her. 
 
 Lady Jane utte/ed a heart-rending cry, and sank down again, sense- 
 less and completely exhausted. 
 
 The King frowned. It is possible, said he — and I almost believe it — 
 that I have been deceived in many ways this evening, and that now again 
 my guilelessness has been played upon in order to impose upon me a 
 charming story. However, I have given my word to pardon; and it 
 shall not be said that Henry the Eighth, who calls himself God's pro- 
 tector, has ever broken his word ; nor even that he has punished those 
 whom he has assured of exemption from punishment. 
 
 My Lord Douglas, I will fulfill my promise. I forgive you. 
 
 He extended his hand to Douglas, who kissed it fervently. The King 
 bent down closer to him. Douglas, whispered he, you are as cunning 
 as a serpent-, and I now see through your artfully woven web! You 
 
• 
 
 wanted to destroy Surrey, but the Queen was to sink into the abyss with 
 him. Because I am indebted to you for Surrey, I forgive you what you 
 have done to the Queen. But take heed to yourself, take heed that I 
 do not meet you again on the same track ; do not ever try again, by a 
 look, a word, aye, even % by a smile, to cast suspicion on the Queen. 
 The slightest attempt would cost you your life ! Tint 1 swear to y6u 
 by the Holy Mother of God ; and you know that I have never yet bro- 
 ken that oath. As regards Lady Jane, we do not want to consider that 
 she has misused the name of our illustrious and virtuous consort in or- 
 der to draw this lustful and adulterous Earl into the net which you had 
 spt for him ; she obeyed your orders, Douglas ; and we will not now de- 
 cide, what other motives besides have urged her to this deed. She may 
 settle that with God and her own conscience, and it does not behoove 
 us to decide about it. 
 
 But it behooves me, perhaps, my husband, to ask by what ri^ht Lady 
 Jane has dared to appear here in this attire, and to present to a certain 
 degree a counterfeit of her Queen? asked Catharine in a sharp tone. [ 
 may well be allowed to ask, what has made my Maid of Honor, who 
 left the festive hall sick, now all at once so well that she goes roaming 
 about the castle in the urght time, and in a dress which seems likely to 
 be mistaken for mine. Sire, was this dress perchance a craftily devised 
 stratagem, in order to really confound us with one another ? You are 
 silent, my lord and King. It is true, then, they have wanted to carry 
 out a terrible plot against me; and without the assistance of my faith- 
 ful and honest friend, John Ileyv/ood, who brought' me here, I should 
 without doubt be now condemned and lost, as the Earl of Surrey is. 
 
 Ah, John, it was you then that brought a little light into this darkness ? 
 cried the King with a cheerful laugh, as he laid his hand on Heywood's 
 shoulder. Now, verily, what the wise and prudent did not see, that the 
 fool has seen through ! 
 
 King Henry of England, said John Heywood solemnly, many call 
 themselves wise, and yet they are fools; and many assume the mask 
 of folly, because fools only are allowed to be wise.' 
 
 Kate, said the King, you are right ; this was a bad right for you, but 
 God and the fool have saved you and me. We will both be thankful 
 for it. But it is well if you do as you before wished, and ask and in- 
 quire nothing more concerning the mysteries of this night. It was brave 
 in yon to come here, and I will be mindful of it. Come, my little Queen, 
 give me your arm and conduct me to my apartments. I tell you, child, 
 it gives me joy to be able to lean on your arm, and se.p. your dear 
 sprightly face, blenched by no fear, or terrors of conscience. Come, 
 Kate, you alone shall lead me, and to you alone will I trust myself. 
 
 Sire, you are too heavy for the Queen, said the fool, as he put his 
 neck under the other arm. Let me share with her the burden of roy- 
 alty. 
 
 But before we go, said Catharine, I have, my husband, one request! 
 Will you grant it? 
 
i;0 
 
 • 
 
 I will grant everything that you may ask, provided you will not re- 
 quire me to send you to the To we/. 
 
 Sire, 1 wish to dismiss my Maid of Honor, Lady Jane Douglas, from 
 my service — that is all, said the Queen, as her eyes glanced with an 
 expression of contempt, and yet at the same time of pain, at the form 
 of her friend of other days, prostrate on the floor. 
 
 She is dismissed! said the King. You will choose another Maid of 
 Honor to-morrow. Come, Kate,! 
 
 And the King, supported by his consort and John Ileyvvood, left 
 the room with slow and heavy steps. 
 
 Earl Dougias watched them with a sulhm hateful expression. As the 
 door closed after them he raised his arm threateningly towards heaven, 
 and his trembling lips uttered a fierce curse and execration. 
 
 Vanquished! vanquished again! muttered he gnashing his teeth. 
 Humbled by this woman, whom I hate, and whom I will yet destroy ! 
 Yes, she has cunquered this time; but we will commence the struggle 
 anew, and our envenomed weapon shall nevertheless strike her at last ! 
 
 Suddenly he felt a hand laid heavily on his shoulder, and a pair of glar- 
 ing, flaming eyes gazed at him. 
 
 Father, said Lady Jane, as she threw her right hand threateningly to- 
 wards heaven — father, as true as there is a God above us, I will accuse 
 you yourself to the King as a traitor — I will betray to him all your ac- 
 cursed plots, if you do not help me to deliver Henry Howard. 
 
 Her father looked with an expression almost melancholy in her face, 
 painfully convulsed and pale as marble. I will help you ! said he. 1 
 will do it, if you will help me also, and further my plans. 
 
 Oh, only save Henry Howard, *ad 1 will sign myself away to the 
 Devil with my heart's blood ! said Jane Douglas with a horrible smile. 
 Save his life, or if you have not the power to do that, then at least pro- 
 cure me the happiness of beiugable to die with him. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 UNDECEIVED. 
 
 Parliament, which had not for a long time now ventured to offer 
 any further opposition to ., the King's will — Parliament had acquiesced 
 in his decree. It had accused Earl Surrey of high treason ; and on the 
 sole testimony of his mother and his sister, he had been declared guilty 
 of laesa majestas and high treason. A few words of discontent at his 
 removal from office, some complaining remarks about the numerous e.v- 
 
<)l 
 
 edition's that drenched England's soil with blood — that was ail that the 
 Duchess of Richmond had been able to bring against hi tn. That he, 
 like his father, bore the arms of the Kings of England — that was tho 
 only evidence of high treason of which his mother, the Duchess of Nor- 
 folk, could charge him.* 
 
 These accusations were of so trivial a character, that the Parliament 
 well knew they were not the ground of his arrest, but only a pretext 
 for it. — Only a pretext, by which the King said to his pliant and trem- 
 bling Parliament: This man is innocent; but I will that you condemn 
 him ; and, therefore, y ou will account the ac usation sufficient 
 
 Parliament had not the courage to oppose the King's will. These 
 members of Parliament were nothing more than a flock of sheep, who, 
 in trembling dread of the sharp teeth of the dog, go straight along the 
 path which the dog shows them. 
 
 The King wanted them to condemn the Earl of Surrey; and they 
 condemned him. 
 
 They summoned him before their judgment seat, and it was in vain, 
 that he proved his innocence in' a speech spirited and glowing with elo- 
 quence. These noble members of Parliament would not see that he 
 was innocent. 
 
 It is true, indeed, there were a few who were ashamed to bow their 
 heads so unreservedly beneath the King's sceptre, which dripped with 
 blood like a headsman's axe. There were still a few to whom the ac 
 cusation appeared insufficient ; but they were outvoted ; and in order 
 to give Parliament a warning example, the King, on the very same da\ , 
 had these obstinate ones arrested and accused of some pretended crime. 
 For this people, enslaved by the King's cruelty and savage barbarity, was 
 already so degeuerate and debased in self-consciousness, that men were 
 always and without trouble found, who, in order to please the King and 
 his blood-thirstiness und sanctimonious hypocrisy, degraded themselves 
 to informers, and accused of crime those whom the King's dark frown 
 had indicated to them as offenders. 
 
 So Parliament had doomed the Earl of Surrey to die, and the Kiug 
 had signed his death-warrant. 
 
 Early next morning he was to be executed ; and in the Tower yard 
 the workmen were already busy in erecting the scaffold on which the 
 noble Earl was to be beheaded. 
 
 Henry Howard was alone in his cell. He had done with life and 
 earthly things. He had set his house in orSer and made his will ; be 
 had written to his mother and sister, and forgiven them for tin ir tr< i< h 
 ery and accusation ; he had addressed a letter to his father, in which he 
 exhorted him, in words a-* noble as the} r were touching, to steadfastness 
 and calmness, and bide him not to weep for him, for death was his de 
 sire, and the grave the only refuge for which he longed. 
 
 He had then, as we have said, done with life ; and earthly things no 
 longer disturbed him. He felt no ro^r.'t and no fenr. Life had left 
 ♦Trtler, pige402. Darnel, ?ol 1. page 96. 
 
i)2 
 
 him nothing more to wish ; and he almost thanked the King that he 
 would so soon deliver him from the burthen of existence. 
 
 The future had nothing more to offer him ; why then should he desire 
 it? Why long for a life, which could be for him now only an isolated, 
 desolate, and gloomy one ? For Geraldine was lost to him ! He knew 
 not her fate; and no tidings of her had penetrated to him through the 
 solitary prison walls. Did the Queen still live? Or had the King in 
 his wrath murdered her on that very night when Henry was carried to 
 the Tower, and his last look beheld his beloved lying at her husband's 
 feet swooning and rigid? 
 
 What had become of the Queen — of Henry Howard's beloved Geral- 
 dine. He knew nothing of her: He had hoped in vain for some note, some 
 message from her ; but he had not dared to ask any one as to her fate 
 Perhaps the King desisted from punishing her likewise. Perhaps his 
 murderous inclination had been satisfied by putting Henry Howard to 
 death ; and Catharine escaped the scaffold. It might, therefore, have 
 been ruinous to her, had he, the condemned, inquired after her. Or if 
 she had gone before him, then he was certain of rinding her again there 
 above, and of being united with her forever and forevermore beyond 
 the grave. 
 
 "He believed in a hereafter, for he loved ; and death did not affright 
 him, for after death came the reunion with her, with Geraldine, who 
 either Was already waiting for him there above, or would soon follow 
 him. 
 
 Life had nothing more to offer him. Death united him to his be- 
 loved. He hailed death as his friend and saviour, as the priest who 
 was to unite him to'his Geraldine. 
 
 He beard the great tower clock of the prison, which with threatening 
 stroke made known the hour; and each passing hour he hailed with a 
 joyous throb of the heart. The evening came and deep night descended 
 upon him. — The last night that was allotted to him. — The last night 
 that separated him from his Geraldine. 
 
 The turnkey opened the door to bring the Earl a light; and to ask 
 whether he had any orders to give. Heretofore it had been the King's 
 special command not to allow him a light in his cell; and he had 
 spent these six long evenings and nights of his imprisonment in dark- 
 ness. But to-day they were willing to give him a light ; to-day they 
 were willing to allow him everything that he might stili desire. The 
 life, whfch he must leave in a few hours, was to be once more adorned 
 for him with all charms and enjoyments, which he mighc ask for. Hen- 
 ry Howard had but to wish, and the jailer was ready to furnish him 
 everything. 
 
 But Henry Howard wished for nothing ; he demanded nothing, save 
 that they would leave him alone — save that they would remove from 
 his prison, this light which dazzled him, and which opposed to his enrap- 
 turing dreams the disenchanting reality. 
 
 The King, who had wanted to impose a special punishment in con- 
 
93 
 
 ■ » 
 
 demning him to darkies — the King had, contrary to his intention, be- 
 come thereby his benefactor. For with darkness came dreams' and 
 phantasies. With the darkness came Geraldine. 
 
 When night, and silence were all around him, then there was light 
 within ; and an enchanting whisper and a sweet enticing voice r* sounded 
 within him. The gates of his prison sprang open, and on the wings of 
 thought Henry Howard soared away from that dismal and desolate 
 place. On the win^s of thought he came to her — to his Geraldine. 
 
 Again she. was by him. in the large, silent hall. Again night lay up- 
 on them, like a veil concealing, blessing and enveloping them ; and 
 threw its protection over their embraces and their kisses. Solitude al- 
 lowed him to hear again the dear music of her voice, which :*ang for him 
 so enchanting a melody of love and ecstacy. 
 
 Henry Howard must be alone, so that he can hear his Geraldine. 
 Deep darkness must surround him, so that his Geraldine can come to 
 him. 
 
 lie demanded, therefore, for his last night, nothing farther than to be 
 left alone, and without a light. The jailer extinguished the light, and left 
 the cell. But he did not shove the great iron bolt across the door. He 
 did not put the large padlock on it, but he only left the door slightly 
 ajar and did not lock it all. 
 
 Henry Howard took no notice of this. What cared lie, whether this 
 gate was locked or no — he who no longer had a desire for life and free- 
 dom ! 
 
 He leant back on his seat, and dreamed with eyes opp^i. There be- 
 low in the yard, they were working on the scaffold which Henry Howard 
 Mas to ascend as soon as day dawned. The dull monotony of the strokes 
 of the hammers fell on his ear. Now and then the torches, which light- 
 ed the workmen at their melancholy task, allowed to shine up into his 
 cell a pale glimmer of light, which danced on the walls in ghost like 
 shapes. ' 
 
 Ttere are the ghosts of all those whom Henry has put to death, 
 thought Henry Howard ; they gather around me, like will-.o' the wisps ; 
 they dance with me the dance of death, and in a few hours I shall be for- 
 ever theirs. 
 
 The dull noise of hammers and saws continued steadily on ; and Hen- 
 ry Howard sunk deeper and deeper in revery. 
 
 He thought, he felt, and desired nothing but Geraldine. His whole 
 soul was concentrated in that single thought of her. It. seemed to him 
 that he could bid his spirit see her, aa though he could command his 
 senses to perceive her. Yes, she was there ; he felt — he was conscious of 
 her presence. Again he lay at her feet, and leant his head on her knee, 
 and listened again to those charming revelations of her love. 
 
 Completely borne away from the present, and frOm existence, he saw, 
 he felt, only her. The mystery of love was perfected, and under the 
 veil of night, Geraldine had again winged her way t" him, and he to her. 
 
 A happy smile played about his lips, which faltered forth rapturous 
 
94 
 
 •words of greeting. Overcome by a wonderful hallucination, he saw hig 
 beloved approaching him; he stretched out his arms to clasp her; and 
 it did not arouse him when he felt instead of her only the empty air. 
 
 W'hv do \ou float away from me again, Geraldine? asked he in a low 
 tone. Wherefore do you withdraw from my arms, to whirl with the 
 will-o'-the-wisps in the death-dance? Come, Geraldine, come; my soul 
 burns for you. My heart calls you with its last faltering throb. , Come, 
 Geraldine, oh, come. 
 
 What was that? It was as though the door was gently opened, and 
 the latch again gently fastened. It was as though a foot was moving softly 
 over the floor — as though the shape of a human form shaded for a mo- 
 ment the flickering light which danced around the walls. 
 
 Henry Howard saw it not. 
 
 He saw naught but his Geraldine, whom he with so much fervency 
 and longing wished by his side. He spread his arms; he called her 
 with all. the ardor, all the enthusiasm of a lover. 
 
 Now he uttered a cry of ecstacy. His prayer of love was answered. 
 The dream had become a reality. His arms no longer clasped the 
 empty air ; they pressed to his breast the woman whom he loved, and 
 for whom he was to die. 
 
 He pressed his lips to her mouth and he returned her kisses. He 
 threw his arms around her form, and she pressed him fast, fast to her 
 bosom. 
 
 "Was this a reality ? Or was it madness that was creeping upon him 
 and seizing upon his brain, aud deceiving him with phantasies so en- 
 chanting ? 
 
 Henry Howard shuddered as he thought this, and falling upon his 
 knees, he cried in a voice trembling with agony and love : Geraldine, 
 have pity on me ! Tell me, that this is no dream, that I am not mad. 
 That you are really — you are Geraldine — you — the King's consort, whose 
 knees I now clasp ! Speak, oh, speak, my Geraldine. , 
 
 I am she ! softly whispered she. I am Geraldine — am the v*>man 
 whom you love, and to whom you have sworn eternal truth and eternal 
 love ! Henry Howard, my beloved, I now remind you of your oath ! 
 Your life, belongs to me. This you have vowed, and I now come to de- 
 mand of you that which is my own ! 
 
 Aye, my life belongs to you, Geraldine ! But it is a miserable, me- 
 lancholy possession, which you will call yours only a few hours longer! 
 
 She threw her arms closely around his neck ; she raised him to her 
 heart ; she kissed his mouth, his eyes. He felt her tears, which trickled 
 like hot fountains over his face; he heard her sighs, which struggled 
 from her breast like death groans. 
 
 You must not die! murmured she amid her tears. No, Henry, you 
 must live, so that I too can li^e ; so that I shall rot become mad from 
 agony and sorrow for you ! My God, my God, do you not then feel 
 how I love you? Know you not then, that your life is my life, and 
 your death my death? 
 
05 
 
 He leant his head on her shoulder, and, wholly intoxicated with hap. 
 pin^ss, he scarcely heard what she. was speaking. 
 
 She was again there ! What cared he for all the. rest? 
 
 Geraldine. softly whispered he, do you recollect still how we first inel. 
 each other J How our hearts were united in one throb, how our lips 
 clung to each other. in one kiss? Geraldine, my wife, my loved one, 
 we then swore that naught could separate us, that our love should sur- 
 vive the grave ! Geraldine, do you remember that still? 
 
 I remember' it, my Henry ! But you shall not die yet; and not in 
 death, but in life, shall your love for me be proved ! .Aye, we will live, 
 live, ! And your life shall he my life, and where yon are, there will I be 
 also! Henry, do you remember, that you vowed this to me with a 
 solemn oath ? 
 
 I rememher it, but 1 cannot keep my word, my Geraldine ! Hear 
 you how they are sawing and hammering there below? Know you 
 what that indicates, dearest? 
 
 1 know it, Henry ! It js the scaffold that they are building there be- 
 low. The scaffold for you and me. For 1 too will die if yon will not 
 live; and the axe that seeks your neck, shall find mine also, if you 
 wish not that we both live ! 
 
 Do 1 wi-h it! But how can we, beloved? 
 
 We can ! Henry, we can ! All is ready tor the flight ! It is all ar- 
 ranged, everything prepared ! The King's signet-ring has opened to me 
 the gates of the prison; the omnipotence of gold has won over your jail- 
 er. He will not see it, when two persons instead of one leave this dun- 
 geon. Unmolested and without hindcrance, we will both leave the Tow- 
 er by ways known only to him, over secret corridors and staircases, 
 and will go aboard a boat which is ready to take us to a ship, which 
 lies in the harbor prepared to sail, and which, as soon as we are aboard, 
 weighs anchor and puts to sea with us. Come, Henry, come ! Lay 
 your arm in mine, and let us leave this prison ! 
 
 She threw both her arms around his neck, and drew him forwards. 
 He pressed her fast to his heart and whispered : Yes, come, come, my 
 beloved. Let us fly ! To you belongs my life, you alone ! 
 
 lie raised her up in his arms, and hastened with her to the door. Ho 
 pushed it hastily open with his foot and hurried forwards down the cor 
 ridor Hut having arrived just at the first turn of the same, he reeled 
 back in horror. 
 
 Before the door were, standing soldiers with shouldered arms. There 
 stood also the Lieutenant of the Tower, and two servants behind him 
 with lighted candles. 
 
 Geraldine gave a scream and with anxious haste rearranged the thick 
 veil that had slipped from her head. 
 
 Henry Howard also had uttered a cry, but not on account of the sol- 
 diers, and the frustrated flight. 
 
 His eyes, stretched wide open, stared at this figure at his side, now 
 so closely veiled. 
 
It seemed to him, as though like a spectre a strange face had risen up 
 close by him — as ihough it was not the beloved head of the Queen, that 
 rested there on his shoulder. He had seen this face only as a vision, as 
 the fantasy of a dream ; but he knew with perfect certainty that it was 
 not her countenance, not the countenance of his Geraldine. 
 
 The Lieutenant of the Tower motioned to his servants, and they car- 
 ried the lighted candles into the Eail's cell. 
 
 Then he gave Henry Howard his hand aod silently led him back into 
 the prison. 
 
 Henry Howard exhibited no reluctance to follow him ; but his hand 
 had seized Geraldine's arm, and he drew her along with him; his eye 
 rested on her with a penetratiug expression, and seemed to threaten her. 
 
 They .were now again in the room, which they had before left with 
 such blessed hopes. 
 
 The Lieutenant of the Tower motioned to the servants to retire, then 
 turned with solemn earnestness to Earl Surrey. 
 
 My Lord, said he, it is at the King's command, that 1 bring you these 
 lights. His Majesty knows all that has happened here this night. He 
 knew that a plot was formed to rescue you ; and while they believed 
 they were deceiving him, the plotters themselves were deceived. They 
 had succeeded under various artful false pretences in influencing the 
 King to give his signet-ring to one of his lords. But his Majesty was 
 already warned, and he already knew that it was not a man, as they 
 wanted to make him believe, but a woman, who came, not to take leave 
 of you, but to deliver you from prison. My Lady, the jailer, whom you 
 imagined that you had bribed, was a faithful servant of the King. He 
 betrayed your plot to me ; and it was 1 who ordered him to make a 
 show of favoring your deed. You will not be able to release Earl Sur- 
 rey ; but if such is your command, I will myself see you to the ship 
 that lies in the harbor for you ready to sail. No one will hinder you, 
 my Lady, from embarking on it ; Earl Surrey is not permitted to ac- 
 company you ! — My Lord, soon the night is at an end, and you know 
 that it will be your last night. The King has ordered, that 1 am not to 
 prevent this Lady, if she wishes to spend this night with you in your 
 room. But she is allowed to do so only on the condition that the lights 
 in your room remain burning. That is the King's express will, and 
 these are his own_words : Tell Earl Surrey that 1 allow him to love his 
 Geraldine, but that he is to open his eyes to see her ! — That he may 
 see, you will give him a light ; aud I command him not to extinguish 
 it so long as Geraldine is with him. Otherwise he may confound her 
 wi^h another woman ; for in the dark one cannot distinguish even a har- 
 lequin from a queen ! — You have now to decide, my Lord, whether this 
 lady remains with you, or whether she goes, and the light shall be put 
 out! 
 
 She shall remain with me, and I very much need the light ! said Earl 
 Surrey ; and his penetrating look rested steadily on the veiled figure, 
 which shook at his words, as if in an ague. 
 
, 97 
 
 Have you any other wish, besides this, my Lord? 
 
 None, save that I may be loft alone with her. 
 
 The Lieutenant bowed and left the room. 
 
 They were now alone again, and stood confronting each, other in silence. 
 Naught was heard but the beating of their hearts, and the sighs of an- 
 guish that burst from Gerald ine's trembling lip?. 
 
 It was an awful, a terrible pause. Gerurldine would have gladly given 
 her life could she thereby have extinguished the light and veiled herself 
 in impenetrable darkness. 
 
 But the Earl would see. With an angry, haughty look, he stepped 
 up to her, and as with commanding geslure he raised his arm, Geral 
 dine shuddered and submissive I) bowed, her head. 
 
 Unveil your face ! said he in a tone of command. 
 
 She did not stir. She murmure 1 a prayer, then raised her clasped 
 hands to Henry and in a low moan, said : Mercy ! mercy ! 
 
 He extended his hand and seized the veil. 
 
 Mercy ! repeated ehe in a voice of still deeper supplication — of still 
 greater distress. 
 
 But he was inexorable. He lore the veil from her face, and stared at 
 her. Then with a wild shriek he reeled back and covered his face with 
 his hands. 
 
 Jane Douglas durst not breathe, or stir. She was pale as marble ; 
 her large burning eyes were fastened with an unutterable expression of 
 entreaty upon her lover, who stood before h"i\ with covered head, and 
 crushed with anguish. She loved him more than her life, more than her 
 eternal salvation ; and yet she it was that had brought him to this hour 
 of agony. 
 
 At length Earl Surrey let his hands fall from his face, and with a 
 fierce movement dashed the tears from his eyes. 
 
 As he looked at her, Jane Douglas wholly involuntarily sunk upon 
 her knees, aud raised her hands imploringly to him. Henry Howard, 
 said she in a low whisper: I am she I am Geraldine ! Me have you 
 loved; my letters have you read with ecstacy, and to me have you 
 often sworn, that you loved my mind yet more than my appearance. 
 And often has my heart been filled with rapture, when you told mo 
 you would love me however rnj face might change, however old 
 or sickne-s might alter my features. i ou remember, Henry, how I 
 once asked you whether you would cease to love me, if now God sud- 
 denly put a mask before my face, so thai you could not recognise my 
 features 1 You replied to me: " Nevertheless, 1 should love and adore 
 you ; for what in you ravi>i not yom face, bul you yourself — 
 
 yourself with your glorious I Datura It is your soul and your 
 
 heart, which can n< hich lie I oly book, 
 
 clear and bright!" That wag you/ reply I you swore tr> 
 
 love me eternally. Henry Howard I now remind you of yi ur oath! 
 I am your Geraldine. ft is , the sum 
 
 has put a mask upon mj f« 
 
98 
 
 Earl Surrey had listened to her with eagej attention, with increasing 
 amazement. 
 
 It is she ! It is really ! cried he, as she ceased. It is Geraldine ! 
 
 And wholly overcome, wholly speechless with anguish, he sank into 
 a seat. 
 
 Gerald*rae flew to him ; she crouched at his feet ; she seized his droop- 
 ing hand and covered it with kisses. And amid streaming tears, often 
 interrupted by her sighs and her sobs, she recounted to him the sad and 
 unhappy history of her love; she unveiled before him the whole web 
 of cunning and deceit, that, her father had drawn around them both. 
 She laid her whole heart open and unveiled before him. She told him 
 of her 1©t«, of her agonies, of her ambition and her remorse. She ac- 
 cused herself; but she plead her love as an excuse, and with streaming 
 tears clinging to his knees, she implored him for pity, for forgiveness. 
 
 He thrust her violently from him and stood up in order to escape 
 her touch. His noble countenance glowed with anger ; his eyes parted 
 lightning ; his long flowing hair shaded his lofty brow and his face, like 
 a sombre veil. He was beautiful in his wrath, beautiful as the angel 
 Michael trampling the dragon beneath his feet. And thus he bent down 
 his head towards her^; thus he gazed at her with flashing and contemp- 
 tuous looks. X 
 
 I forgive you ? said he. Never will that be ! Ha, shall 1 forgive 
 you? — you, who have made my entire life a ridiculous lie, and trans- 
 formed the tragedy of my love into a disgusting farce? Oh, Geraldine, 
 how I have loved jou ; and now you have become to me a loathsome 
 spectre, before which my soul shudders, and which I must execrate. 
 You have crushed my life, and even robbed my death of its sanctity ; 
 for now it is no longer the martyrdom of my love, but only the savage 
 mockery of my credulous heart. Oh, Geraldine, how beautiful it would 
 have been to die for you !- — To go to death with, your name upon ray 
 lips ! — To bless you ! — To thank you for my happy lot, as the axe was 
 already uplifted to smite off my head ! IIow beautiful to think that 
 death does not separate vis, but is only the way to an eternal union ; 
 that we should lose each other but a brief momeut here, to find each 
 other again forevermore there above! 
 
 Geraldine writhed at his feet like a worm trodden upon ; and her 
 groans of distress and her smothered moans were the heart rending ac- 
 companiment of his melancholy words. 
 
 But that is now all over ! cried Henry Howard ; and his face, which 
 was before convulsed with grief and agony, now glowed again with 
 wrath. You have poisoned my life and my death ; and I shall curse 
 you for it, and my last word will be a malediction on the harlequin 
 Geraldine ! 
 
 • Have pity ! groaned Jane. Kill me, Henry ; stamp my head be- 
 neath jour feet ; only let this torture end ! 
 
 Nay, no pity ! yelled he wildly ; no pity for this imposter, who has 
 stolen my heart and crept like a thief into my love'! Arise and leave 
 
99 
 
 this room ; for you fill me with horror ; and when 1 behold you, 1 feel 
 only that I must curse you ! Aye, a curse on you and shame, Geral- 
 dine. Curse on the kisses that I have impressed on your lips — on the 
 tears of rapture that I have wept on your bosom. When I ascend the 
 scaflold, 1 will curse you, and my last word shall be: Woe to Geral- 
 dine ! For she is my murdei^ss! 
 
 He stood there before her with arm raised on high, proud and great 
 in his wraih. She felt the destroying lightning of his eyes, thoi gh she. 
 durst not look up at him, but lay at his feet moaning and convulsed, 
 and concealing her face in her veil, as she shuddered at her own picture. 
 
 And this be my la^t word to you, Geraldine, said Henry Howard 
 pantiug for breath : Go heucc under the burthen of my curse, and live 
 — if you can ! 
 
 She unveiled her head, and raised her countenance to him. A con- 
 temptuous smile writhed about her deathly pale lips. Live? said she. 
 Have we not sworn to die with each other? Y<ur curse does* not re- 
 lease me from my oath, and when you descend into the grave, Jane 
 Douglas wiil stand upon its brink, to wail and weep until you make a 
 little place for her there below ; until she has softened your heart and* you 
 take her again, as your Geraldine, into your grave. Oh, Henry ! hi 
 the grave, 1 no longer wear the face of Jane Douglas — that hated face, 
 which I would tear with my nails. In the grave, 1 am Geraldine again. 
 There I may again lie close to your heart, and again you will say lo 
 1 me : " I love not your face and your external form ! 1 love you your- 
 self ; I love your heart and mind ; and that can never change, and can 
 never be otherwise V* 
 
 Silence ! said he toughly ; silence, if you do not want me to run mad ! 
 Cast not my own words in. my face. They defile me, for falsehood has 
 desecrated tnem and trodden them in the mire. No ! I will not make 
 room for you i.i my grave. I will not again call you Geraldine. Y >u 
 are Jane Douglas, and I hate you. and 1 hurl my curse on your criminal 
 head ! I tell you 
 
 He suddenly paused, and a slight, convulsion ran through his whole 
 frame. 
 
 Jane Douglas uttered a piercing scream and sprang from hor knees. 
 * Day had biokcn ; and from the prison tower sounded the dismal, 
 plaintive stroke of the death-bell. 
 
 Do you bear, Jane Douglas 1 said Surrey. That bell bum moos me 
 to death. You it is that has poisoned my last hour. I was h:ippy, 
 when I loved you. I die in despair, for I despise and hate you. 
 
 No, no, you dare not die! cried she. clinging t<» him with passionate 
 anguish You dare do( go to the grave with that tierce curse upon your 
 lips. I cannot be your murderess. ' >h. i' isnot possible thai Chej will 
 put you to death — you, the beautiful, the noble and virtuous Eirl Sur- 
 rey. My God, what have you doi •• I i i \ ite their wrath 1 You are 
 innocent; and 'hey know i\ They CM ite you ; for it would 
 
 be murder! You have committed uo offence ; you have been guilty of 
 
100 
 
 nothing; ho crime attaches to your noble person. It is indeed no 
 crime to loVe Jane Douglas, and me have you loved — me alone. 
 
 No, not you, said he proudly ; 1 have nothing to do with Lady Jane 
 Douglas. I loved the Queen, and I believed she returned my love. That 
 is my crime. 
 
 The door opened ; and in solemn silence the Lieutenant of the Tower 
 entered with the priests and his assistants. In the door was seen the 
 bright red dress of the headsman, who was standing upon the threshold 
 with face calm "and unmoved". 
 
 It is time ! solemnly said the Lieutensffi^. 
 
 The pri«st mutteued his prayers, and, the assistants s\^ung their cen 
 sers. , Without, the death-bell kept up its wail; and from the court 
 was heard the hum of the mob, which, cujious and blood thirsty as it 
 ever is, had streamed hither to behold with laughing mouth the blood 
 of the man who but yesterday was its favorite. 
 
 Earl Surrey .stood there a moment in silence. His features worked 
 and were convulsed, and a death-like pallor covered his cheeks. 
 
 lie trembled not at death, but at dying. It seemed to him, that he 
 already felt on his neck the cold broad-axe which that frightful man . 
 there held in his hand. Oh, to die on the' battle-field— what a boon it 
 would have been ! . To come to an end on the scaffold — what a disgrace 
 was this ! 
 
 Henry Howard, my son, are you prepared to die? asked the priest. ^ 
 Have you made your peace with God 1 ? Do you repent you of your 
 sins, and do you acknowledge death as a righteous expiation and punish- 
 ment? Do you forgive your enemies, and depart hence at peace with 
 yourself and with mankind? 
 
 I am prepared to die, said Surrey with a proud smile ; the other ques- 
 tions, my father, I will answer to my God there above. 
 
 Do you confess that you were a wicked traitor ? And do you beg the 
 forgiveness of your noble and righteous, your exalted and good King for 
 the blasphemous injury to his sacred Majesty ? 
 
 Earl Surrey looked him steadily in the eye. Do you know what 
 crime I am accused of? 
 
 The priest cast down his eyes and muttered a few unintelligible words. 
 
 With a haughty movement of the head, Henry Howard turned from 
 the priest to the Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 Do you know my crime, my Lord ? said he. 
 
 But the Lord Lieutenant also dropped, his eyes, and remained stlent. 
 
 Henry Howard -smiled. Well now, I will tell you; I have as it be- 
 comes me, as the sdh of my father, borne the arms of our house on my 
 shield and over the entrance to my palace, and it has been discovered 
 that the King bears the same arms that we do. That is my high trea- 
 son ! I have said that the King is deceived in many of his servants, and 
 often promotes his favorites to high honors which they do not deserve. 
 That is raj offence ogainst his Majesty ; and it is that for which 1 shall 
 
101 
 
 lay my head upon the block.* But make yourselves easy ; I shall rrty> 
 self add to my crimes one more, so that they may be grievous enough 
 tu make the conscience of the righteous and generous King quirt. 1 have 
 given up ray heart to a wretched and criminal love, and the Geraldine, 
 whom I have sung in many a poem and have celebrated even before the 
 King, was nothing but a miserable coquettish strumpet ! 
 
 ■Jane Douglas gave, a scream, and sunk upon the. ground as if struck 
 by lightning. • 
 
 Do you repent of this sin, my son? asked the priest. Do you turn 
 your heart away from this sinful love, in order to turn it to God? 
 
 I not only repent of this love, but I execrate it! and now, my father, 
 let us go ; for 'you see indeed my Lord is becoming impatient. — Me 
 bears in mind that the King will find no rest until the .Howards also 
 have gone to rest. Ah, King Henry ! King Henry ! Thoa callest thy-, 
 self the mighty King of the world, and. yet thou tremblest before- 1 he 
 arms of thy subject! My Lord, if you go to the King to-.day, give him 
 Henry Howard's greeting ; and tell him, I wish his bed may be as easy 
 to him, as the grave will be to me. Now come, my Lords. It is time. 
 
 With head proudly erect and calm step he turned to the door. But 
 now Jane Douglas sprang from the ground ; now* she rushed to Henry 
 Howard aud clung to him with all the might of her passion and agony. 
 I have you not ! cried she breathless and pale as death. You dare not 
 repulse me, for you have sworn that we shall live and die together. 
 
 He he I d her from him in fierce wrath, and drew himself up before 
 her, loft) and threatening. 
 
 1 forbid you to follow me ! cried he in a tone of command. 'She reel- 
 ed back against the wall. and looked at him, trembling and breathless. 
 
 He was still lord over her soul •, she was still subject to him in love 
 and obedience. She could not therefore summon up courage to defv his 
 command. 
 
 She beheld as he left the room and passed down the corridor with his 
 dreadful train ; she heard their footsteps gradually die away ; and then 
 'enly in the yard below sounded the hollow roll of the drum. 
 
 Jane Douglas fell on her knees to pr-iy, but her lips trembled so much 
 that she could find no words for her prayer. 
 
 The roll of the drum ceased in the court below, and only the death- 
 bell still continued to wail and wail. She heard a voice speaking loud 
 and powerful words 
 
 It was his voice ; it was Henry Howard that was speaking. And now 
 n the hollow roll of the drums whifch drowned his voi 
 
 II" die> ! He dies, and I am not with him ! cried she with a shriek ; 
 and she gathered herself up, and «s if borne by a whirlwind she dashed 
 out of the room, through the corridor, and down the stairs. 
 
 There she sto id in the court. That drralful black pile above there, 
 in the midst of this square crowded with men — that was the scaffold. 
 
 •v>. two inglimiflcant accusations were the only points that could l><- r 
 of Surrey. Upon these charges, brought by his mother aud lister, he was executed— Tj tier, pare 
 4M; Burnet, to1,1, page T5; Leti, vol 1, pa;- 
 
10* 
 
 Y wider above she beheld him prostrate ou his knees. She beheld the 
 axe in the headsman's hand ; she saw him raise it for the fatal stroke. 
 
 'She was a woman no, longer, but a lioness ! Not a drop of blood was 
 in her cheeks. Her nostrils were expanded and her eyes darted light- 
 ning. 
 
 She drew out a dagger that she had concealed in her bosom, and. made 
 ji path through the amazed, frighted, yielding crowd. 
 
 With one spring «h • had rushed up the steps of the feaflbld. She now 
 stood by him*' on the top of i' — clpse by that kneeling figure. 
 
 There >vas a flash through the air. She heard a peculiar whiz — then a 
 hollow blow. A red vapor like streak of blood spurted up, and covered 
 Jane Douglas with its crimson flood. 
 
 1 come, Henry, I come ! cried she with a wild shout. I shall be with 
 thee in death ! 
 
 And again there was a flash through the air. It was the dagger that 
 Jane Douglas plunged into her heart. 
 
 She. had struck well. No sound — no groan burst from her lips. With 
 ■a proud smile she sank by her lover's headless corpse, and with a last 
 dying effort she said to the horrified headsman : Let me share his grave ! 
 Henry Howard, in life and in death I am with thee ! 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 NEW INTRIGUER. 
 
 Henry Howard was dead ; and now one would have thought the 
 King might be satisfied and quiet, and that sleep would no longer flee 
 from his eyelids, since Henry Howard, his great rival, had closed his 
 eyes forever; since Henry Howard was no longer there, to steal away 
 his crown, to fill^the world with the glory of his deeds, to dim the ge- 
 nius of the King by his own fame as a poet. 
 
 But the King was still dissatisfied. Sleep still fled from his couch. 
 
 The cause % of this was, that his work was only just half done. Henry 
 Howard's father, the Duke of Norfolk, still lived. The cause of this 
 was, that the King was always obliged to think of this powerful rival ; 
 and these thoughts chased sleep from his eyelids. His soul was sick of 
 the Howards ; therefore his body suffered such terrible pains. 
 
 If the Duke of Norfolk would close his eyes in death, then would the 
 King also be able to close his again in refreshing sleep ! But this Court 
 Of Peers — and only by such a Court cduld the Duke be judged — this Court 
 of Peers was so slow and deliberate ! It worked by far less rapidly, and 
 
102 
 
 was not near so serviceable, as the Parliament which had so quickly con- 
 demned Henry Howard. Why must the old Howard bear a ducal ti- 
 tle ! Why \\ms be riot like his son, only an Earl, so that the obedient Par- 
 liament might condemn him ! 
 
 That was the King's inextinguishable grief, his gnawing pain, which 
 made him raving with fury and heated his blood, and thereby increased 
 the pains of his body. 
 
 He raved and roared with impatience. Through the halls of his pal- 
 ace resounded his savage vituperation, It made every one tremble and 
 quake, for no one was sure thai it was not he that was to fall that day a 
 victim to the King's fury. No one could know whether the King's ever 
 increasing thirst for blood would not that day doom him. 
 
 With the most jealous strictness the King, from his sick coach, watch- 
 ed over, his royal dignity ; and the least fault against that, might arouse 
 his wrath and blood-thirstiness. Woe to those who wanted to still 
 maintain that the Pope was He«d of the Church ! Woe to those who ven- 
 tured to call God the only Lord of the Church, and honored not the King 
 as the Church's holy protector ! The one, like the other, were traitors 
 and sinners, and he. had Protestants and Roman Catholics alike execu- 
 ted, however mar they stood to his own person, and however closely ho 
 was otherwise bound to them. 
 
 Whoever, therefore, could avoid it. kept himself far from the dreaded 
 person oi the King; and whoever was constrained by duty to be near 
 him, trei I led for his life, and commended his soul to God. 
 
 There were only four persons who did not fear the King, and who 
 seemed to be safe from his destroying wrath. There was the Queen 
 who nursed him with devoted attention, and John Hey wood who with 
 untiring zeal sustained Catharine in her difficult task, and who still some- 
 times succeeded in winning a smile from the King. There were further- 
 more, Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, and Earl Douglas. 
 
 Lady Jane Douglas was dead. The King had therefore forgiven her 
 father, and again shown himself gracious and friendly to the deeply bow- 
 ed Earl. Besides it was such an agreeable and refreshing feeling to the 
 suffering King, to Jiave some one about him who suffered yet more than 
 he himself. Jt comforted him to know that^here could bo agonies yet 
 more horrible than those pains of the body under which he languished. 
 Earl Douglas suffered these agonies ; and the King saw with a kind of 
 delight, how his hair turned daily more grey, and his features became 
 more relaxed and feeble. Douglu« was younger than the Kin*, and yet 
 how old and grey his face was beside the King's well led and blooming 
 pountenai ce ! 
 
 Could the King have seen the bottom of his soul, he would have had 
 Leas sympathy with Eail Douglas' sorrow. 
 
 He considered him only as a tender father mourning the death of his 
 only child. He did not suspect that it was less the father, that Jane's 
 painful death had smitten, than the ambitious man, the fanatical Roman 
 Catholic, toe en thu if -If of Loyola, who with dismay saw all 
 
i u4 
 
 his plans frustrated, and the moment drawing nigh, when he would be di- 
 vested of that power and consideration which he enjoyed in the secret 
 league of the disciples of Jesus. 
 
 Wi'h him, therefore, it- was less the daughter, for whom he mourned, 
 thau the King's seventh wife. And that Catherine wore the crown, and 
 not his daughter — not June Doug!;;.^ — this it was, that he could never 
 ibrgive the Queen. \ 
 
 He wauted to take vengeance <m the Queen for Jane's death ; he 
 wanted to punish Catharine for his frustrated hopes, for his desires that 
 she had trampled npon. 
 
 But Earl Douglas durst not himself venture to make another attempt 
 to prejudice the Kind's mind against his consort. Henry had interdicted 
 him fiom it under the penalty of his wrath. With words of threatening, 
 he had warned him from such an attempt; and Earl Douglas very well 
 knew that King Henry was inflexible in his determination, when the 
 matter under consideration was the execution of a threatened punishment. 
 
 Yet ^'hat Douglas .durst not venture, that Gardiner could venture. 
 Gardiner — who, thanks to the capiioion^ness of the sick King, had for the 
 few days past enjoyed again the royal favor so unreservedly, that the 
 noble Archbishop Cranmer had received orders to leave the Court and 
 retire to his Episcopal residence at Lambeth. 
 
 Catharine had seen him depart with anxious forebodings ; for Cranmer 
 had ever been her friend- and support. His mild and serene counten- 
 ance had ever been to her like a star of peace in the midst of this tem- 
 pest tossed and passion lashed Court life; and his" gentle and noble wol'ds 
 had always fallen like a soothing balm on her poor trembling heart. 
 
 She felt that with his departure she lost her noblest support, her 
 strencthenu.u; aid, and that she was now surrounded only by enemies 
 and opponents. True, she still had John Hey wood, the faithful friend, 
 the indefatigable servant; but since Gardiner had exercised his sinister 
 influence over the King's mind, John Hey wood durst scarcely risk him- 
 self in Henry's presence. True, she had also Thomas Seymour, her 
 lover; but she knew and felt that she was everywhere surrounded by 
 spies and eavesdroppers, and that now it required nothing more.than an 
 interview with Thomas Seymour — a few tender words — perchance even 
 only a look full of mutual understanding and love, in order to send him 
 and her to the scaffold. 
 
 She trembled not for herself, but for her lover. That made her cau- 
 tious and thoughtful.' That gave her courage never to show Thomas 
 Seymour other than a cold, serious face ; never to meet him otherwise 
 than in the circle of her Court; never to smile on him ; never to give 
 him her hand 
 
 She was however certain of her future. She knew that a day would 
 come, on which the King's death would deliver her from her burdensome 
 grandeur and her painful royal crown ; when she should be free — free, 
 to give her- hand to the man whom alone on earth she loved, and to be- 
 come his wife, 
 
1U5 
 
 She waited for that day, as the prisoner does for the hour of his re- 
 lease; but like him, she knew that a premature attempt to escape, from 
 her dungeon, would bring her only ruin and death, and not freedom. 
 
 She must be patient and wait. She must give up all personal inter- 
 course with her lover; and even his letters, John Heywood could bring 
 her but very seldom, and only with the greatest caution. How often 
 already had not John 1 ley wood conjured her to give up this correspon- 
 dence also; how often had he not with tears in his eyes besought her to 
 renounce this .love, which might one day be her ruin and her death ! 
 Catharine laughed at his gloomy forebodings, and opposed to his dark 
 prophecies a bravery reliant on the future, the joyous courage of her 
 love. 
 
 She would not die, for happiness and love were awaiting her ; sho 
 would not renounce happiness and love, for the sake of which she could 
 endure this life in other respects — 1 his life of peril, of resignation, of en- 
 mity and of hatred. 
 
 But she wanted to live in order to be happy hereafter. This thought 
 made her brave and resolute ; it gave her courage to defy her enemies 
 with serene brow and smiling lip ; it enabled her to sit with bright eye 
 and rosy cheeks at the side of her dreaded and severe husband, and, with 
 cheerful wit and inexhaustible good humor, jest away the frown from his 
 brow, and vexation from his soul. 
 
 But just because she could do this, she was a dangerous antagonist to 
 Douglas and Gardiner. Just on that account, it was to be their highest 
 effort to destroy this beautiful young woman, who durstkiefy them and 
 weaken their influence with the King. If they could but succeed in ren- 
 dering the King's mind more and more gloomy ; if they could but com- 
 pletely fill him again with fanaticd religious zeal; then, and then only, 
 could they hope to attain their end ; which end was this: to bring back 
 the King as a contrite, penitent and humble son of the only saving mo- 
 ther Church, and to make him ag.iin, from a proud, vain and imperious 
 prince, an obedient and submissive son of the Pope. 
 
 The King was to renounce 'this vain and blasphemous arrogance of 
 wishing to be himself Head of his Church. He was to turn away from 
 the spirit of novelty and heresy, and again become a faithful and devout 
 Catholic. 
 
 But in order that they might attain this end, Catharine mu>t i>e re- 
 moved from him ; he must no longer behold her rosy and beautiful face, 
 and no longer allow himself to be diverted by her sensible discourse and 
 her keen wit. 
 
 We shall not be able to overthrow the Queen, said Karl Doughs to 
 Gardiner, as the two stood in the King's ante-room, and as Catharine's 
 cheerful chitchat and the King's merry laugh came pealing to them from 
 the adjoining room. No, no, Gardiner, she is too powerful and too 
 crafty. The King loves her very much; and she is such an agreeable 
 and refreshing recreation to him. 
 
 Just on that account we must withdraw hor from him, said Gardiner 
 
with a dark frown. He must turn away his heart from this «arthly 
 }ovc ; and after we shall have mortified this love in him, this savage and 
 arrogant man will return to us and to God, contrite and humble. 
 
 But we !>hall not be able to mortify it, friend. It is so ardent and 
 selfish a love. . * 
 
 So much the greater will be the triumph, if our holy admonitions are 
 successful iti touching his heart, Douglas. Ii is true he will suffer very 
 much, if he is obliged to gi\e up this woman. But he needs precisely 
 this suffering in order to become contrite and penitent. His mind must 
 first be entirely darkened, so that we can illuminate it with the light of 
 faith. He must first be rendered perfectly isolated and comfortless in 
 order to bring him back to the holy communion of the Church, and to 
 iiud him again accessible to the consolations of that faith which alone 
 can save. 
 
 Ah, sighed Douglas, 1 fear that this will be a useless struggle. The 
 King is so vain of his self-constituted high-priesthood ! 
 
 But he is such a weak man, and such a great sinner, said Gardiner 
 with a cold smile. He trembles so much at death and God's judgment, 
 and our huly mother the Church can give him absolution, and by her 
 holy sacraments render death easy to him. He is a wicked sinner and 
 has stings of conscience. This it is that will bring him back again to 
 the bosom of the Catholic Church. 
 
 But when will that come to pass? The King is sick, and any day 
 may put an end to .his life. Woe to us, if he die before he has given 
 the power intcfour hands and nominated us his executors. Woe to u?, 
 if the Queen is appointed Regeut, and the King selects the Seymours as 
 her ministers: Oh, my wise and pious father, the work that you wish 
 to do, must be done soon, or it must remain forever unaccompli?hed. 
 
 It shall be done this very day. caid Gardiner solemnly ; and bending 
 down closer to the Earl's ear, he continued : we have lulled the Queen 
 into assurance and self-confidence, and by this means she shall be ruined 
 this very day. She relies so strongly on her power over the King's 
 disposition, that she often summons up courage even to contradict him, 
 and to set her own will in opposition to his. That shall be her ruin this 
 very day ! For mark well, Earl: the King is now again like a tiger 
 that has been long fasting. He thirsts for blood ! The Queen has an 
 aversion to human blood, and she is horrified when she hears of execu- 
 tions. So we must manage that these opposing inclinations may come 
 into contact, and contend with each other. 
 
 Oh, I understand now, whispered Douglas ; and I bow in reverence 
 before the wisdom of your Highness. You will let them both contend 
 with their own weapons. 
 
 1 will point out a welcome prey to his appetite for blood, and give her 
 silly compassion an opportunity to contend with the King for his prey. 
 Do you not think, Earl, that this will be an amusing spectacle, and one 
 refreshing to the heart, to see how the tiger and dove struggle with each 
 other? And I tell jou the tiger thirsts so much for blood! Blood is 
 
107 
 
 the only balm that he applies to his aching limbs, and by which alone 
 he imagines that he can restore peace and courage to his tortured con- 
 science and his dread of death. Ah, ha, we have told him that with 
 each new execution of a heretic, one of his great sins would be blotted 
 out., arid that the blood of the Calvanists serves to wash out of his ac- 
 count-book some of his evil deeds. He would be so glad to be able to 
 appear pure aiid guiltless before the tribunal of his God ! Therefore he 
 needs very much heretical blood. But hark — the hour strikes which 
 summons me to the royal chamber. There has been enough of the 
 Queen's laughing and chit-chat. We will now endeavor to banish the 
 smile forever from her face. She is a heretic; and it is a pious work, 
 well pleasing to God, if we plunge her headlong into ruin ! 
 
 May God be with your Highness, and assist you by his grace, that 
 you may accomplish this sublime work! 
 
 God will be with us, my son, since for him it is that we labor and 
 harrass ourselves. To his honor and praise we bring these misbelieving 
 heretics to the stake, and make the air re-echo with the agonizing shrieks 
 of those who are racked and tortured. That is music well pleasing to 
 God ; and the angels in heaven will triumph and be glad when the here- 
 tical and infidel Queen Catharine also has to strike up this music of the 
 damned. Now 1 go to the holy labor of love and godly wrath. Pray 
 for me, my son, that 1 may succeed. Remain here in the ante-room, 
 and await my call ; perhaps we shall need you. Pray for us, and with 
 ns. Ah, we still owe this heretical Queen a grudge for Anne Askew.. 
 Today we will pay her. Then she accused us, to-day we will accuse 
 her, and God and his host of saints and angels are with us 
 
 And the pious and godly priest crossed himself, and with head humbly 
 bowed and a soft smile about his thin, bloodless lips, strode through the 
 hall in order to betake himself to the King's chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE KINO AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 God bless and preserve your Majesty, said Gardiner, as he enteied,to 
 the King, *ho just then was sitting with the Queen at the chess board. 
 With frowning brow and compressed lips he looked over the game, 
 which stood unfavorable for him, and threatened him with a sptedy 
 checkmate 
 
 i^e in the Q icon not to lot the King i *in ; for his super 
 MitiuiM and jealous temper looked ujhju Mich a won game of chess as 
 
106 
 
 > withal an assault on his own person. And he, who ventured to con- 
 quer him at chess, was always to Henry a sort of traitor, that threatened 
 his kingdom, and was rash enough to attempt ty seize the crown. 
 
 Tiie Queen very well knew that, but — Gardiner was right — she was 
 too self confident. She trusted a little to her power over the King ; she 
 imagined he* would make an exception in her favor. And it was so dull 
 to be obliged ever to be the losing and conquered party at this game; 
 to permit the King always to appear as the triumphant -victor, and to 
 bestow on his game praise whicn he did not deserve. Catharine wanted 
 to allow herseif for once the triumph of having beaten her husband. She 
 fought him man to man ; she irritated him by her ever renewed attacks ; 
 she embittered him by the ever approaching danger. 
 
 The King, who at iho beginning had been cheerful, and laughed when 
 Catharine took one of his pieces — the King now no longer laughed. It 
 was no more a game. It was a serious struggle ; and the King contend- 
 ed with his consort for the victory with impassioned eagerness. 
 
 Catharine did not even see the clouds which were gathering on the 
 King's brow. Her looks were directed only to the chess-board ; and, 
 breathless with expectation and glowing with eagerness, she considered 
 the move she was about to make. 
 
 But Gardiner was very well aware of the King's secret auger ; and he 
 comprehended that the situation was favorable for him. 
 
 With soft, sneaking step he approached the King and, standing be- 
 hyid him, looked over the game. 
 
 You are checkmated in four moves, my husband! said the Queen 
 with a cheerful laugh, as she made her move. 
 
 A still daiker frown gathered on the King's brow, and his lips were 
 violently compressed. 
 
 It is true, your Majesty, said Gardiner.- You will soon have to suc- 
 cumb. Danger threatens you from the queen. 
 
 Henry gave a start, and turned his face to Gardiner with an expres- 
 sion of inquiry. In his exasperated mood against the Queen, the crafty 
 priest's ambiguous remark struck him with double keenness. 
 
 Gardiner was a very skillful hunter ; the very first arrow that he shot, 
 had hit.— But dtharine, too, had heard it whiz. Gardiner's slow, am- 
 biguous words had startled her from her artless security ; and as she 
 now looked into the King's glowing, excited face, she comprehended her 
 want of prudence. , * , 
 
 But it was too late to remedy it. The King's checkmate was una- 
 voidable ; and Henry himself had already noticed it. 
 
 It is all right ! said the King impetuously. You have won, Catharine; 
 and by the Holy Mo*her of God, you can boast of the rare good fortune 
 of having vanquished Henry of England. 
 
 I will not boast of it, my noble husband ! said she with a smile. You 
 have played with me as the linn does with the puppy, which he does not 
 crush only because he has compassioD on him, and he pities the poor 
 
100 
 
 little creature. Lion, I thank you. You have been magnanimous to- 
 day. Vou have let me win. 
 
 The King's face brightened a little. Gardiner saw it. He must pre- 
 vent, Catharine from following up her -advantage farther. 
 
 Magnanimity is an exalted, but a very dangerous virtue, said he 
 gravely; and Kings above all things dare not exercise it; for magna- 
 nimity pardons crimes committed, and Kings are not here topardoQj luit 
 to punish. 
 
 Oh, no indeed, said Catharine ; to be able to be magnanimous is the 
 noblest prerogative of Kings ; and since they are God's representatives on 
 earth, they too must exercise pity and mercy, like God himself. 
 
 The King's brow again grew dark, and his sullen looks stared at the 
 chess board. 
 
 Gardiner shrugged his shoulders, And made no reply. He drew a roll 
 of papers out of his gown and handed it to the King. 
 
 Sire, said he, I hope you do not share the Queen's views. Else it 
 would be bad for the quiet and peace of the country. Mankind cannot 
 be governed by mercy, but only through fear. Your Majesty holds the 
 sword in his hands. If you hesitate tp let it fall on evil doers, they will 
 soon wrest it from your hands, and you will be powerless ! 
 
 Those are very cruel words, your Highness ! exclaimed Catharine, who 
 allowed herself to be carried away by her magnanimous heart, and sue 
 pected that Gardiner had come to move the King to some harsh and 
 bloody decision. 
 
 She wanted to anticipate his design ; she wanted to move the King to 
 mildness. But the moment was unpropitious for her. 
 
 The King, whom she had just before irritated by her victory over him, 
 felt his vexation heightened by the opposition which she offered to the 
 Bishop ; for this- opposition was at the same time directed against him- 
 self. The King was not at all inclined to exercise mercy ; it wns, there- 
 fore, a very, wicked notion of the Queen's, to praise mercy as the highest 
 privilege of princes. 
 
 With a silent nod of the head, he to#k the papers from Gardiner's 
 hands, and opened them. 
 
 Ah, said he, running over the pages, your Highness is right ; men do 
 not deserve to be treated with mercy, for they are always ready to abuse 
 it. Because we have for a few weeks lighted no fagot piles and erected 
 no scalfolds, they imagine that we are asleep ; and they begin their trea- 
 sonable and mischeivous doings with redoubled violence, and rftUe their 
 sinful fists against us, in order to mock us. 1 see here an accusation 
 against one who has presumed to .•■ay that there is no king by the grace 
 of God ; and that the King is a miserable and sinful mortal just as well 
 as the lowest beggar.' Well, we will concede this man his point — we 
 will not be to him a King by the grace of God, but a Kibg by the wrath 
 of God ! We will show him that we are not yet quite like the lowest 
 beggar, for we still possess at least wood enough to build a pile of fagots 
 for him. 
 
110 
 
 And .is the King thus spoke, he broke out into a loud laugh, in which 
 Gardiner heartily chimed. 
 
 llece I beh >ld the indictment of two others who deny the King's su- 
 premacy, continued Henry, still turning over the leaves of the papers. 
 They revile me as a blasphemer, because I dare call myself God's rep- 
 resentative — the visible Head of His Holy Church; they say that God 
 alone is Lord of His Church, and that Luther and Calvin are more exal- 
 ted representatives of God than the King himself. 'Verily we must hold 
 our royalty and our God-granted dignity very ch^ap, if we should not 
 punish these transgressors^who blasphemes iu our sacred person God 
 himself! . 
 
 He continued turning over the leaves. Suddenly a deep flush of an- 
 ger suffused his countenance, and a fierce curse burst from his lips. 
 
 He threw the paper on the table, and struck it with his clenched fist. 
 Are all the devils let loose then? yelled he in wrath. Does sedition 
 blaze so wildly in my land, that we have no longer the power to subdue 
 it. Here a fanatical heretic on the public street has warned the people 
 not to read that holy book which 1 myself, like a well intentioned and 
 provident father and guardian, wrote for my people, and gave it them 
 that they might be edified and exalted , thereby. And this book that 
 felon has shown to the people, and said to them: "You call that the 
 King's book ; and you are right ; for it is a wicked book, a work of 
 hell, and the Devil is the King's sponsor!" Ah, I see well we must 
 again show our earnest, and angry face to this miserable, traitorous rab- 
 ble, that it may again have faith in the King. It is a wretched, disgust- 
 ing and contemptible mob — this people ! They are obedient and hum-" 
 ble only when they tremble and feel the lash. Only when they are 
 trampled in the dust, do they acknowledge that we are their master ; 
 and when we have them racked and burnt, they have respect for our 
 excellency. We must, however, brand royalty on their bodies so that 
 they may be sensible of it as a reality. And by the eternal God, we 
 will do that! Give me the pen here that 1 may sign and ratify these 
 warrants. But dip the pen wail, your Highness, for there are eight war- 
 rants, and I must write my name eight times. Ah, ah, it is a hard and 
 fatiguing occupation to be a king, and no day passes without trouble 
 and toil ! 
 
 The Lord our God will bless this toil to you ! said Gardiner solemn- 
 ly, as he handed the King the pen. 
 
 Henry was preparing to write, as Catharine laid her hand on his, and 
 checked him. 
 
 Do not sign them, my husband, said she in a voice of entreaty. Oh, by 
 all that is sacred to you, I conjure you not to let yourself be carried away 
 by your momentary vexation ; let not the injured man be mightier in. you 
 than the righteous King. Let the sun sec and rise on your wrath; and 
 then, when you afe perfectly calm, perfectly composed — then pronounce 
 judgment on these accused. For. consider it well, my husband, these 
 are eight death-warrants, that you are here about to sign ; and with these 
 
Ill 
 
 few strokes of the pen, you will tear ei^ht human beings from life, fiom 
 family and from the world ; you will take from the mother, her son ; from 
 the wife, her husband; from the. infant children, their father. Consider 
 t it, Henry ; it is so weighty a responsibility that God has placed in your 
 hand, and it is presumptuous not to meet it in holy earnestness and un- 
 disturbed tranquility of mind. 
 
 Now, by the Holy Mother ! cried the King, striking vehemently up- 
 on the table, I believe forsooth, you dare excuse traitors and blasphe- 
 mers of their King!. You have not heard then of what they are ac- 
 cused 1 
 
 1 nave heard it, said Catharine more and more warmly ; I have heard, 
 and 1 say, nevertheless, sign not those death warrants, my husband. It 
 is true these poor creatures have grievously erred, but they ened as 
 human brings. Then let your punishment also be human. It is riot 
 wise, oh King, to want to avenge, so bitterly a trifling injury to your 
 Majesty. A king must be exalted above reviling and calumny. Like 
 the sun. he must shine upon the just and the unjust, no one of whom 
 is so mighty that he can clond his splendor and dim his glory. Punish 
 evildoers and criniinals, but be noble and magnanimous towards those 
 who have injured your person. ' 
 
 The King is no person that can be injured ! said Gardiner. The King 
 is a sublime idea, a mighty, world-embracing thought. Whoever in- 
 jures the. King, has not injured a person, but divinely instituted royalty 
 — the universal thought, that holds together the whole world ! 
 
 Whoevar injure* the King has injured God! yelled the King; and 
 whoever seizes our crown and reviles us, shall have his hand struck off, 
 and his tongue torn out, as is done to atheists and patricides ! 
 
 Well, strike off their hand then, mutilate them; but do not kill them! 
 oried Catharine passionately. Ascertain at least whether their crime is so 
 grievous, as they want to make you believe, my husband. Oh, it is so 
 easy now to be accused as a traitor and atheist. All that is needed for 
 it, is an inconsiderate word, a doubt, not as to God, but as to his priests 
 and this Church, which you, my King, have established ; and of which 
 tht lofty and peculiar structure is to many so new and unusual, that 
 they ask themselves" in doubt, whether that is a Church of God or a 
 palace of the King, and that they lose themselves in its labyrinthine pas- 
 sages and wander about without being able to find the exit. 
 
 Had they faith, said Gardiner, solemnly, they would not lose their way ; 
 and were God with them, the entrance would not be closed to them. 
 
 Oh, 1 well know that you are always inexorable ! cried Catharine an- 
 grily. But it js not to you either, that I intercede for mercy, but to the 
 King; and I tell you, Sir Bishop, it would be better for you, and mom 
 worthy of a priest of Christian love, if you united your prayers with 
 mine, instead of wanting to dispose the King's noble heart to severity. 
 You are a priest ; and you have learned in your own life, that there are 
 many paths that lead to God, and that we, one and all, doubt and are 
 perplexed which of them is right. 
 
112 
 
 How 1 screamed the King, as he rose from his seat and gazed at Cath- 
 arine with angry looks. You mean, then, that the heretics also may 
 find themselves on a path that leads to God 1 
 
 I mean, cried >he passionately, that Jesus Christ, too, was called an . 
 atheist, and executed. I mean that Stephen was stoned by Paul, and 
 that, nevertheless, both are now honored as saints and prayed to as such. 
 I mean, that Socrates was not damned because he lived before Christ, 
 and so could not be acquainted with his religion ; and that Horace and 
 Julius Csesar, Phidias and Plato must yet, be called great and noble 
 spirits, even though they were heathen. Yes, my lord and husband, 
 1 mean that it behooves us well to exercise gentleness in matters o£ re- 
 ligion, and that faith is not to be obtruded on men by main force as a 
 burden, but is to be bestowed upon them as a benefit through their own 
 conviction. 
 
 So you do not hold these eight accused to be criminals worthy of 
 death ! asked Henry with studied calmness, and a coirposure maintain- 
 ed with difficulty. 
 
 No, my husband ! I hold that they arc poor, erring mortals, who 
 seek the right path, and would willingly travel it; and who, therefore, 
 ask in doubt all along.: Is this the right way 1 
 
 It is enough! said the King, as he beckoned Gardiner to him, and 
 leaning on his arm, took a few steps across the room. We will speak 
 no more of these matters. They are -too grave for us to wish to decide 
 them in the presence of our gay young Queen. The heart of woman is 
 always inclined to gentleness and forgiveness. You should have borne 
 that in mind, Gardiner, and not 'have spoken of these matters in the 
 Queen's presence. 
 
 Sire, it was, however, the hour that you appointed for consultation on 
 these matters. 
 
 Was it the hour! exclaimed the King quickly. Well, then we did 
 wrong to devote it to anything else than grave employments ; and you 
 will pardon me, Queen, if 1 beg you to leave me alone with the Bishop. 
 Affairs of State must not be postponed. 
 
 He presented Catharine his hand and with difficulty, and yet with a 
 smiling countenance, conducted her to the door. As she stopped, .and, 
 looking him in the eye with an expression inquiring and smiling, opened 
 her lips to "speak to him, he made an impatient gesture with his hand, 
 and a dark frown gathered on his brow. 
 
 It is late, said he hastily, and we have business of State. 
 
 Catharine did not venture to speak ; she bowed in silence and left the 
 room. The King watched her with sullen brow and angry looks. Then 
 he turned round to Gardinar. 
 
 Now ? asked he, what do you think of the Queen 1 
 
 I think, said Gardiner so slowly and so deliberately that each word 
 had time to penetrate the King's sensitive heart like the prick of a nee- 
 dle, I think that she does not deem them criminals, that call the holy 
 book, which you have written, a work of hell ; and that she has a great 
 
118 
 
 deal of sympathy for those heretics, who will not acknowledge ^our su- 
 premacy. 
 
 By the Holy Mother, I believe she herself would speak thus, and avow 
 herself among my enemies, if she wore not my wife! cried the King, in 
 whose heart rage began already to seethe like lava in a volcano. 
 
 She does it already, although she is jour wife, Sire ! She imagines, 
 her exalted position rendets her unamenable, and protects ber from your 
 righteous wrath; therefore she does what no ^me else dares do, and 
 speaks what in the mouth of any other would be the blackest treason. 
 
 What does she 1 and what, says she? cried the King. Do not hesi- 
 tate to tell me, your Highness It behooves me well to know what my 
 ■wife doe* and says. 
 
 Sire, she is not merely the secret patroness of heretics and reformers, 
 but she. is also a professor of Iheir faith. She listens to their false doc- 
 trine with eager mind, and receives the cursed priests of this sect into 
 her apartments, in order to hear their fanatical discnurse and hellish in- 
 spiration. He speaks of these heretics as true believers and Christians ; 
 and denominates Luther the light that God has sent into the world to 
 illuminate the gloom and falsehood of the Church with the splendor of 
 truth and love — that Luther, Sire, who dared write you such shameful 
 and insulting letters, and ridiculed in such a brutal manner your royalty 
 and your wisdom. < 
 
 She is a heretic ; and when you say that, you say everything ! scream- 
 ed the King. The volcano was ripe for an eruption, and the seething 
 lava must at Inst have an outlet. 
 
 Yes, she is a heretic! repeated the King ; and yet we have sworn to 
 exterminate these atheists from our land. 
 
 She very well knows that she is secure from your wrath, said Gardi- 
 ner with a shrug of the shoulders. She relies on the fact that she is 
 the Queen, and that in the. heart of her exalted husband love is might- 
 ier than the faith. « 
 
 Nobody shall suppose that he is secure from my wrath, and no one 
 shall rely on the security' afforded him by my love. She is a proud, 
 arrogant and audacious woman ! cried the King, whose looks were just 
 then fixed again on the chess beard, and whose ,-pite was heightened by 
 the remembrance of the lost trame. She ventures to brave us, and to 
 have a will other than our.-. Bv the Holy Mother, we will endeavor to 
 break her stubbornness, and bend her proud neck beneath our will. 
 1 will show the world that Henry of England is still the Immoveable 
 and Incorruptible. I will give the heretics an evidence thai I am iu 
 reality the Defender and Protector of the Faith and of religion in my 
 land, and that nobody standi too high to bei nay wrath, and 
 
 to feel the. sword of justice on his neck She is a h'' r < ti ■; and we have 
 sworn to dvtroy hi rtb tire and We shall keep out 
 
 And God will bless you with his blessing, lb- w; . surround your 
 head with a halo of fame : and tbe Church will prai I J most 
 
 glorious pastor, her e.xai 
 
114 
 
 Be it #o ! said the King, as with youthful alacrity he strode across 
 the room; and, stepping to his writing table, with a vigorous and fleet 
 hand he wrote down a few lines. 
 
 Gardiner stood in the middle of the room with his hands folded - r and 
 his lips murmured in an undertone a prayer, while his large flashing 
 eyes were fastened on the King with a curious and penetrating expression. 
 
 Here, your Highness, the King then said, 'take this paper — take it 
 and order everything necessary. It is an arrest- warrant; and before 
 the night draws on, the Queen shall be in the Tower. 
 
 Verily, the Lord is mighty in you ! cried Gardiner as he took -the pa- 
 per; the heavenly hosts sing their hallelujah and look down with rapture 
 on the hero who subdues his own heart to serve God and the Church. 
 
 Take it and speed you ! said the, King hastily. In a few hours every- 
 thing -must be done. Give Earl Douglas* the paper, and bid him go 
 with it to the Lord Lieutenant of the Tower, so that he himself may re- 
 pair hither with the yeomen of the guard. For this woman is yet a 
 Queen, and even in the criminal, I will still recognize the Queen. The 
 Lord-Lieutenant himself must conduct her to the Tower. Hasten then, 
 say I ! But hark you, keep all this a secret, and let nobody know any- 
 thing of it till the decisive moment arrives. Otherwise her friends might 
 take a notion to implore my mercy for this sinner ; and I abhor this 
 whininc and crying. Silence then, for I am tired and need rest and 
 sleep. 1 have, as you say, just done a work well pleasing to God ; per- 
 haps he may send me, as a reward for it, invigorating and strengthen- 
 ing sleep, which I have now so long desired in vain. 
 
 And the King threw back the curtains of his couch, and, supported 
 by Gardiner, laid himself on the downy cushion. 
 
 Gardiner drew the curtains again, and shoved the fatal paper into his 
 pocket. Even in his hands it did not seem to him secure enough. What? 
 Might not some curious eye fasten on it, and divine its contents ? Might 
 not some impertinent and shameless friend of the Queen snatch this pa- 
 per from him, and carry it to her and give her warning 1 No, no, it was 
 not secure enough in his hands. He must hide it in the pocket of his 
 gown. There, no one could find it, no one discover it. 
 
 So there he hid it. In the gown with its large folds it was safe; and 
 after he had thus concealed the precious paper, he left the room with 
 rapid strides, in order to acquaint Earl Douglas with the glorious result 
 of his pains. 
 
 Not a single time did he look back. Had he done so, he would have 
 sprung back into that room as a tiger pounces on his prey. He would 
 have plunged, as the hawk stoops at the dove, at that piece of white 
 paper, that lay there on the floor, exactly on the spot where Gardiner 
 was before standing when he shoved into his pocket the arrest- warrant 
 written by the King. 
 
 Ah, even the gown of a priest is not always close enough to conceal 
 a dangerous secret; and even the pocket of a bishop may sometimes 
 have holes in it. 
 
115 
 
 Gardiner went away with the proud consciousness of having the order 
 of arrest in his pocket; and that fatal paper lay on the floor in the mid- 
 dle of the King's chamber. 
 
 Who will come to pick It up ? Who will become the sharer of this 
 dangerous secret 1 ? To whom will this mute paper proclaim the shock- 
 ing news that the Queen has fallen into disgrace, and is this very day to 
 be dragged to the Tower as a prisoner? 
 
 All is still and lonely in the King's apartment. Nothing is stirring, 
 not even the heavy damask curtains of the royal couch. 
 
 The King sleeps. Even vexation and anger are a good lullaby ; they 
 have so agitated and prostrated the King, that he has actually fallen 
 asleep from weariness. 
 
 Ah, the King should have been thankful to his wife, for his vexation 
 at the lost game of chess, and his wrath at Catharine's heretical senti- 
 ments. These had fatigued him ; these had lulled him to sleep. 
 
 The warrant of arrest still lay on the floor. Now quite softly, quite 
 cautiously the door opens. Who is it, that dares venture to enter the 
 King's room unsummoned and unannounced 1 ? 
 
 There are only three persons who dare venture that : the Queen, 
 Princess Elizabeth and John Heywood the fool. Which of the three 
 is it? 
 
 It is Princess Elizabeth, wjio comes to salute her royal father. Every 
 forenoon at this hour she had found the King in his room. Where was 
 he then to-day ? — As she looked around the 100m with an enquiring and 
 surprised air, her eye fell on that paper which lay there on the floor. 
 She picked it up, and examined it with childish curiosity. What could 
 this paper contain ? Surely it was no secret — else, it would not lie here 
 on the floor. "* 
 
 She opened it and read. Her fine countenance expressed horror and 
 amazement; a low exclamation escaped her lips. But Elizabeth had a 
 strong and resolute soul,; and the unexpected and the surprising did. not 
 dull her clear vision, nor cloud her sharp wit.. The Queen was in dan- 
 ger. The Queen was to be imprisoned. That, this dreadful paper 
 shrieked in her ear; but she durst not allow herself to be stunned by it. 
 She must act ; she must warn the Queen. 
 
 She hid the paper in her bosom, and light as a zephyr she floated 
 away again out of the chamber. 
 
 With flashing eyes and cheeks reddened by her rapid race, Elizabeth 
 entered the .Queen's chamber ; with passionate vehemence she clasped 
 her in her arms and tenderly kissed her. 
 
 Catharine, my Queen and my mother, said she, we have sworn to 
 stand by and protect eaoh other when danger threatens us Fate is gra 
 cious to me, for it has given into my hand the means of making good 
 my oath this very day. Take that paper and read ! It i- an order for 
 your imprisonment, made out by the King himself. When you havo 
 read it, then let us consider what is to be donej and how we can avert 
 the danger from you. 
 
13G 
 
 An order qf imprisonment ! said Catharine with a shudder as she read 
 it. An'order of imprisonment, that is to say, a death-warrant ! For 
 when once the threshold of that frightful Tower is crossed, it denotes 
 that it is never to be left again ; and if it Queen is arrested and accused, 
 then is she also already condemned. Oh my God, Princess, do yoti 
 comprehend that — to have to die while life still throhs so fresh and 
 warm in our veins? To be obliged to go to death, while the future still 
 allures us with a thousand hopes, a thousand wishes % My God, to have 
 to descend into the desolate prison, and into the gloomy grave, while 
 the world greets us with alluring voices, and springtide has scarcely 
 awoke in our heart % 
 
 Streams of tears burst from her eyes, and she hid her face in her 
 trembling hands. 
 
 Weep not, Queen, whispered Elizabeth, herself trembling and pale 
 as death. Weep not; but consider what is to be done. Each minute, 
 and the danger increases ; each minute brings the evil nearer to us. 
 
 You are right, said Catharine, as she again raised her head, and shook 
 the tears from her eyes. Yes, you are right; it is not time to weep and 
 wail. Death is creeping upon me ; but 1 — 1 will not die. I live still ; 
 and so long as there is a breath in me I will fight against death. God 
 will assist me ; ( God will help me to overcome this danger also, as I 
 have already done so many others. 
 
 But what will you do? where can you begin"? You know not the 
 accusation. You know not who accuses you, nor with what you are 
 charged. 
 
 Yet 1 suspect it ! said the Queen musingly. When I now recall to 
 mind the King's angry countenance, and the malicious smile of that ma- 
 lignant priest, I believe I know the accusation. Yes — everything is 
 now clear to me. Ah, it is the heretic Chat they would sentence to 
 death. Well now, my Lord Bishop, I still live ; and we will see which 
 of us two will gain the victory ! 
 
 With proud step and glowing cheeks, she hurried to the door. Eliza- 
 beth held her back. Whither are you going 1 cried she in astonishment. 
 
 To the King ! said she with a proud smile. He has heard the 
 Bishop; now he shall hear me also. The King's disposition is fickle 
 and easily changed. We will now see which cunning is the stronger — 
 the cunning of the priest, or the cunning of the woman. Elizabeth, 
 pray for me. I go to the King; and you will either see me free and 
 happy, or never again. 
 
 She imprinted a passionate kiss on Elizabeth's lips and hurriedly left 
 the chamber. 
 
117 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CIJESS-rLAV. 
 
 It was many days since the King had been as well as he was to. day. 
 For ft long time be bad not enjoyed such refreshing sleep as on the day 
 when he signed the warrant for the Queen's imprisonment. But 'he 
 thought, nothing at all about it. Sleep seemed to have obliterated all 
 recollection of it from his memory. Like an anecdote which you listen 
 to, and smile at for the/moment, but soon forget, so had the whole oc- 
 currence vanished again from him. It was an anecdote of the moment 
 — a transient interlude — nothing farther. 
 
 The King had slept well, and he had no care for anything else. He 
 stretched himself, and lay lounging on his couch, thinking with rapture 
 how fine it would be, if he could enjoy such sweet and refreshing repose 
 every day, and if no bad dreams and no fear would frighten away sleep 
 from his eyes. He felt very serene and very good-humored ; and had 
 any cue now come to beg a favor of the King, he would have granted 
 it in the (ir-t joy after such invigorating sleep. But he was alone; no 
 one was v. Hhhim; he must repress his gracious desires. But no. — 
 Was it not as though something were stirring and breathing behind the 
 curtain* I 
 
 The King threw back the curtains, and a soft smile flitted over his 
 features; fur before his bed sat the Queen. There she sat with rosy 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes, and greeted him with a roguish smile. 
 
 Ah, Kate, it is you ! cried the King. Well, now 1 understand how 
 it happened that I have had such a sound and refreshing sleep! You 
 stood by as my good angel, and scared the pains and bad dreams away 
 from my couch. 
 
 And as he said this, he reached out his hand and tenderly stroked h^r 
 velvet cheek. He did not at nil recollect that he had already, as it 
 were, devoted that charming head to the scaffold, and that in a few hours 
 more these bright eyes were to behold naught but the night of the dun- 
 geon. Sleep, as we have said, had lulled to sleep also the recollection 
 of this ; and the evil thoughts had not yet awoke again in him. To sign 
 an order of arrest or a death warrant was with the King such a usual 
 and every-day matter, that it constituted no epoch in his life, and nci 
 thcr burdened him with troubles of conscience nor made his heart shud- 
 der and tremble. 
 
 But Catharine thought of it. and ns the King's hand stroked her cheek, 
 it was as though death was just then touching her, never again to re- 
 lease her. However, she overcame this momentary horror, and had the 
 courage to preserve her serene and innocent air 
 
113 
 
 You call me your good angel, my husband, said she with a smile; 
 but yet I am nothing more than your little Puck, who bustles about 
 you, and now and then makes you laugh with his drolleries. 
 
 And a dear little Puck you are, Katie, cried the King, who always 
 gazed upon his wife's rosy and fresh countenance with rpal satisfaction. 
 
 Then I will prove myself this very day your Puck, and allow you no 
 more repose on your couch, said sic, as she made a mock effort to raise 
 him up. Do you know, my husband, why I came here ? A butterfly has 
 tapped at my window. Only think now, a butterfly in winter ! That 
 betokens, that this time winter is spring ; and the clerk of the weather 
 above there has confounded January with March. The butterfly has 
 invited us, King ; and only see! the sun is winking into the window to 
 us, and says we have but to come out, as he has already dried the walks 
 in the garden below, and called forth a little grass on the plat. And 
 your rolling-chair stands all ready, my lord and husband, and your Puck, 
 as you see, has already put on her furs, and clad herself in armor 
 against the winter, which, however, is not there! 
 
 Well then, help me, my dearest Puck, so that I can arise, and obey 
 the command of the butterfly and the sun and my lovely wife, cried 
 the King, as he put his arm around Catharine's neck, and slowly raised 
 himself from the couch. 
 
 She busied herself about him with officious haste ; she put her arm 
 tenderly on his shoulder and supported him ; and properly arranged for 
 him the gold chain, which had slipped out of place on his doublet, and 
 playfully plaited the lace ruff which was about his neck. 
 
 Is it your order, my husband, that your servants come ? — The Master 
 of Ceremonies, who, without doubt, awaits your beck in the anteroom 
 — the Lord Bishop — who awhile ago made such a black looking face at 
 me? But how? my husband, your face, too, is now in an eclipse? 
 How? Has your Puck perchance said something to put you out of 
 tune ? 
 
 No, indeed ! said the King gloomily ; but he avoided meeting her 
 smiling glance and looking in her charming, rosy face. 
 
 The evil thoughts had again awoke in him ; and now he remembered 
 the warrant of arrest that he had given Gardiner. He remembered it; 
 and he regretted it. For she was so fair and lovely — his young Queen; 
 she understood so well by her jests to smooth away care from his brow 
 and affright vexation from his soul. She was such an agreeable and 
 sprightly pastime, such a refreshing means of driving away the ennui. 
 
 Not for her sake did he regret what he had done, but only on his own 
 account. From selfishness alone, he repented having issued that order 
 for the Queen's imprisonment. Catharine observed him. Her glance, 
 sharpened by inward fear, read his thoughts on his brow, and under- 
 stood the sigh which involuntarily arose from his breast. She again 
 seized courage ; she might succeed in turning away by a smile the sword 
 that hung over her head. 
 
 Come, my lord and husband, said she cheerfully, the sun beckons to 
 
Ill) 
 
 us, and the trees shake their beads indignantly because we are not jet 
 there. 
 
 Yes, come, Kate, said the King rousing himself with an effort from his 
 brown study ; come, we will go down into God's free air. Perhaps He 
 is nearer to us there, and may illuminate us with good thoughts and 
 wholesome resolutions. Come, Kate. 
 
 The Queen gave him her arm, and, supported on it, the King ad- 
 vanced a few steps. But suddenly Catharine stood still; and as the 
 King fastened on her his inquiring K>ok, she blushed and cast down her 
 eyes. 
 
 Well? asked the King. Why do you linger? 
 
 Sire, 1 was considering your words; and what you say about the sun 
 and wholesome resolutions, has touched my heart and startled my con- 
 science. My husband, you are right; God is there without, and I dare 
 not venture to beFiold the sun, which is God's eye, before I have made 
 . my confession and received absolution. Sire, I am" a great sinner, and 
 my conscience gives me no rest. Will you be my confessor, and listen 
 to me 1 
 
 The King sighed. Ah, thought, he, she is hurrying to destruction, 
 and by her own confession of guilt she will make it impossible for me 
 to hold her guiltless ! 
 • Speak ! said he aloud. 
 
 Fir*t, said she with downcast eyes — first, I must confess to you that 
 I have to-day deceived you, my loid and King. Vanity and sinful pride 
 enticed me to this; and childish anger made me consummate what 
 vanil) whispered to me. But 1 repent, my King ; I repent from the 
 bottom of my soul, and I swear to you, my husband — yes, I swear to 
 you by all that is sacred to me, that it is the first and only time th;it I 
 have deceived you. And never will I venture to do it again, for it is a 
 dismal and awful feeling to stand before you with a guilty conscience. 
 
 And in what have you deceived us, Kate? asked the King ; and his 
 voice trembled. 
 
 Catharine drew from her dress a small roll of paper and, humbly- 
 bowing, handed it to the King. Take and see for yourself, my husband, 
 said she. 
 
 With hurried hand the King opened the paper, and then looked in 
 utter astouishment, now at its contents, now at the blushing face of the 
 Queen. 
 
 What? said he. You give me a pawn fioni the chess board ? What 
 does that mean ? 
 
 That means-, said she in a tone of utter contrition — that, means, that 
 1 stole it, from you, and thereby cheated you out of your victory. Oh, 
 pardon me, my husband, but I could no longer endure to always lose, 
 and I was afraid you would no mo a allow me the pleasure of playing 
 with you, when you perceived whai a weak and contemptible antagonist 
 I am. And behold, this little pawn was my enemy. It stood near my 
 queen and threatened her with eh'-^k while it discovered check to my 
 
12Q 
 
 king from your bishop. You were just going to make this move, which 
 was ruin to me, when Bishop Gardiner entered. You turned away your 
 eyes and saluted him. You were not looking on the game — Oh, my 
 lord and husband, ihe temptation was too alluring aud seductive; and 
 1 yielded to it. Softly 1 took the pawn from the board, and slipped it 
 into my pocket. When you looked again at the game, you seemed sur- 
 . prised fit first ; but your magnanimous and lofty spirit had no suspicion 
 of my base act; so you innocently played on ; and so 1 won the game 
 of chess. Oh, my King, will you pardon me, and not be angry with me. 
 
 The King broke out into a loud laugh and looked with an expression 
 of tenderness at Catharine, who stood before him with downcast eyes, 
 abashed and blushing. This sight only redoubled his merriment and 
 made him again and again roar out anew with laughter. 
 
 And that is all your crime, Kate? asked he at length drying his eyes. 
 You have stolen a pawn from me — this is your first and only deception ? 
 
 Is it not indeed great enough, Sire'? Did I not purloin it because I 
 was- .-o' highminded as to want to win a game of chess from you? Is 
 not the whole Court even now. acquainted with my splendid luck ? And 
 does it not know that I have been the victor to-day, whilst yet I was not 
 entitled to be so — whilst I deceived you so shamefully ? 
 
 Now verily, said the King solemnly, happy are the men, who are not 
 worse deceived by their wives than you have deceived me today; and 
 happy are the women, whose confessions are so pure and innocent as 
 yours have been to day! Do but lift up your eyes again, my Katie, 
 that sin is forgiven you ; and by God and by your King it shall be ac- 
 counted to you as a virtue. 
 
 . He laid his hand on her head, as if in blessing, and gazed at her long 
 and silently. Then he said laughingly : According to this then, my Kate, 
 1 should have been the victor to day, and not have lost that game of 
 chess. 
 
 No, said she dolefully, I must have lost it, if I had not stolen the 
 pawn. 
 
 Again the King laughed. Catharine said earnestly: Do but be- 
 lieve me, my husband. Bishop Gardiner alone is the cause of my fall. 
 Because he was by, 1 did not want to lose. My pride revolted, to think 
 that this haughty and arrogant priest was to be witness of my defeat. 
 In mind, I already saw the cold and contemptuous smile with which he 
 would look down on me, the vanquished ; and my heart rose in rebel- 
 lion at the thought of being humbled before him. And now I have ar- 
 rived at the second part of my fault which I want to confess to you to- 
 day. Sire, 1 must acknowledge another great fault to you. I have 
 grievously offended against you today, in that I contradicted you, and 
 withstood your wise and pious words. Ah, my husband, it was not done 
 to spite you, but only to vex and annoy the haughty priest. For 1 must 
 qonfess to you, my King, I hate this Bishop of Winchester — aye, yet 
 more — 1 have a dread of him ; for my foreboding heart tells me, that he 
 is my enemy, that he is watching each of my looks, each of my words, 
 
so that he can make from them a noose to strangle me. lie is the evil 
 destiny, that creeps up behind me and would one day certainly destroy 
 me, if your beneficent hand and your almighty arm did not protect me. 
 Oh, when I behold him, my husband, 1 would always gladly fly to your 
 heart, and say to you : Protect me, my King, and have compassion on 
 me. Have faith in me and love me ; for if you do not, I am lost ! The 
 evil fiend is there to destroy me. 
 
 And as she thus spoke, she clung affectionately to the King's side and 
 leaning her head on his breast, looked up to him with a look of tender 
 entreaty, and touching devotion. 
 
 The King bent down and kissed her brow. Oh,saneta simplicilas, 
 softly murmured he — she knows not how nigh she is to the truth, and 
 how much reason she has for her evil forebodings ! Then he asked aloud: 
 So, Kate, you believe that Gardiner hates you? 
 
 I do not believe it, I know it ! said she. He wo.unds me wherever 
 he can ; and though his wounds are made only with pins, that comes only 
 from this, that, he is afraid that you might discover it if he drew a dag- 
 ger on me, whilst you might not notice the pin, with which he secretly 
 wounds me. And what was his coining here today, other than a new 
 assault on me? He knows very well — and I have never made a secret 
 of it — that I am an enemy to this Roman Catholic religion, the Rope of 
 ■which has dared hurl his ban against my lord and husband ; and that [ 
 s«ek with lively interest to be instructed as to the doctrine and religion 
 of the so-called Reformers. 
 
 They say that you are a heretic, said the King gravely. 
 
 Gardiner says that ! But if I am so, you are so too, my King ; for 
 your belief is mine. If 1 am so, so too is Cranmer, the noble Archbishop 
 of Canterbury ; for he is my spiritual adviser and helper. But Gardi- 
 ner wishes that 1 were a heretic, and he wants me likewise to appear so 
 to you. See, my husband, why it was that he laid those eight death 
 warrants before you awhile ago. There were eight, all heretics, whom 
 you were to condemn — not a single papist among themj and yet I know 
 that the prisons are full of papists, who, in the fanaticism of their perse 
 cuted faith, have spoken words just as worthy of punishment, as those 
 unfortunate ones whom you were today to send from life to death by 
 a stroke of your pen. Sire, 1 should have prayed you, just ns fervently, 
 just as suppliant!)-, had they been papists whom you we;e to sentence 
 to death! But Gardiner wanted a proof of my heresy; and therefore he 
 selected eight heretics, for whom I was to oppose your hard decree. 
 
 It is true, said the King thoughtfully ; there was not a single papist 
 among them ! But tell me, Kate — are you really a heretic, and an ad- 
 versary of your King ? • 
 
 With a sweet smile she looked deep into his eyes, and humbly cross- 
 ed her arms over her beautiful breast. Your adversary ? whispered she. 
 Are you not my husband and my lord ? Was not the woman made to 
 be subject to the mau? The man was created after the likeness of God, 
 and the woman after the likeucss of the man. So the woman is only 
 
1 •> > 
 
 the man's second self; and he must have compassion on her in love; 
 and he must give her of his spirit, and influence her understanding from 
 his understanding. Therefore your duty is to instruct me, my husband ; 
 and mine i's, to learn of you. And of all the women in the world, to no 
 oue is this dutry made so easy as to me ; for God has been gracious to 
 me and given me as my husband, a King whose prudence, wisdom and 
 learning are the wonder of all the world.* 
 
 What a sweet little flatterer you are, Kate, said the King with a smile ; 
 :md with what a charming vOice, you want to conceal the truth from us ! 
 The truth is, that you yourself are a very learned little body, who has 
 no need at all to learn anything from others, but who would be well 
 able to instruct others.^ 
 
 Oh, if it is so as you say, cried Catharine, well, then would I teach 
 the whole world to love my King as 1 do, and to -be subject to him in 
 humility, faithfulness and obedience, as I am. 
 
 . And as she thus spoke, she threw both her arms about the King's 
 neck and leant her head with a languishing expression upon his breast. 
 
 The King kissed her, and pressed her fast to his heart. He thought 
 no longer of the danger that was hovering over Catharine's head ; he 
 thought only that he loved her, and that life would be very desolate, 
 very tedious and sad without her. 
 
 And now, my husband, said Catharine, gently disengaging herself 
 from him — now, since I have confessed to you and received absolution 
 from you — now let us go down into the garden, so that God's bright 
 sun may shine into our hearts fresh and glad. Come, my husband, your 
 chair is ready ; and the bees and the butterflies, the gnats and the flies, 
 have already practiced a hymn, with which they are going to greet you, 
 my husband. 
 
 Laughing and jesting, she drew him along to the adjoining room, 
 where the courtiers and the rolling-chair were standing ready ; and the 
 King mounted his triumphal car, and allowed himself to be rolled 
 through the carpeted corridors, and down the staircases transformed into 
 broad inclined planes of marble, into the garden. 
 
 The air had the freshness of winter, and the warmth of spring. The 
 grass like a diligent weaver was already beginning to weave a carpet 
 over the black level of the square; and already here and there a tiny 
 blossom, curious and bashful, was peeping out and seemed to be smiling 
 in astonishment at its own premature existence. The sun seemed so 
 warm and bright; the heavens were so blue; at the King's side went 
 Catharine, with such rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. Those eyes were 
 always directed to her husband ; and her charming prattle was to the 
 King like the melodious song of birds, and made his heart leap for pleas 
 ure arid delight. But how r ? What noise all at once drowned Catha- 
 rine's sweet prattle ? And what was it, that flashed up there at the end 
 
 * The Queen's own words, as they have been given by all historical writers. See on' this point — 
 Burnet, vol. 1, page S4; Tytler, page 418; Larrey's Histoire d'Angleterre, vol. 2, page 201 ; Lett, 
 vol. 1, page 154. 
 
 t Historical The King's own words. 
 
' 1 ii 
 
 of that large alley which the royal pair with their suite had just entered? 
 
 It was the noise of soldiers advancing ; and shining helmets and* coats 
 of mail flashed in the sunlight.. 
 
 One band of soldiers held the outlet from the alley ; another advanced 
 up it in close order. At their head were seen striding along Gardiner 
 and Earl Douglas, and at their side the Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 The King's countenance assumed a lowering and angry expression, 
 and his cheeks were suffused with crimson. With the quickness of youth 
 he rose from his chair, and raised to his full height, he looked with fla- 
 ming eyes at the procession. 
 
 The Queen seized his hand and pressed it to her breast. Ah, said she 
 in a low whisper, protect me, my husband, for fear already overpowers 
 me again. It is my enemy — it is Gardiner, that comes — and I tremble. 
 
 You shall no longer tremble before him, Kate ! said the King. Woe 
 to them, that dare make King Henry's consort tremble ! 1 will speak 
 with Gardiner.. 
 
 And almost roughly pushing aside the Queen, the King, utterly heed- 
 less in his violent excitement of the pain of his foot, went in a quick 
 pace to meet the advancing troop. 
 
 He ordered them by his gesture to halt, and called Gardiner and 
 Douglas to him. What want you here? And what means this strange 
 array ? asked he in a rough tone. 
 
 The two courtiers stared at him with looks of amazement, and durst 
 not answer him. 
 
 Well? asked the King with ever rising wrath, will you at length tell 
 me, by what right you intrude into my garden with an armed host — 
 specially at the same hour that lam here with my consort? Verily, 
 there is no sufficient e.\cuse for such a gross violation of the' reverence 
 which you owe your King and master ;, and 1 marvel, my Lord Master 
 of Ceremonies, that you did not seek to prevent this indecorum ! 
 
 Earl Douglas muttered a few words of apology, which the King did 
 not understand, or did not want to understand. 
 
 The duty of a master of ceremonies is to protect his King from every 
 annoyance, and you, Earl Douglas, offer it to me yourself. Perchance 
 you want thereby to show that you are weary of your office. Well then, 
 my Lord, I dismiss you from it, and. that your presence may not re- 
 mind me of this morning's disagreeability, you will leave the Court and 
 London! Farewell, my Lord ! 
 
 Earl Douglas, turning pale and trembling, staggered a few steps back- 
 ward, and gazed at the King with looks of amazement. He wanted to 
 speak, but the King, with a commanding wave of the hand, bade him be 
 silent. 
 
 And now for you, my Lord Bishop ! said the King, and his eyes were 
 turned on Gardiner with an expression so wrathful and contemptuous, 
 that he turned pale and looked down to the ground. What means this 
 strange train, with which the priest of God approaches his royal master 
 
121 
 
 to day ? And under what impulse of Christian love are you going to hold 
 to-day a heretic hunt in the garden of your King? 
 
 Sire, said Gardiner, completely beside himself, your Majesty well 
 knows why 1 come; it was al your Majesty 's command, that 1 with Earl 
 Douglas and the Liutenant of the Tower came, in order to 
 
 Dare not to speak farther ! yelled the King, whom it made raving, 
 that Gardiner would wot understand him and comprehend the altered 
 state of the King's mind. How dare you make a pretence of my coni- 
 mands. whilst 1, full of just amazement, question you as to the cause 
 of your appearance ? That is to say, you want to charge your King 
 ■with falsehood. You want to excuse yourself by accusing me. Ah, 
 my worthy Lord Bishop, this time you are thwartecj, in your plan, and 
 I disavow you and your foolish attempt. No ! there is nobody here 
 whom you shall arrest ; and, by the Holy Mother of God, were your 
 eyes not blind, you would have seen that here, where the King is tak- 
 ing an airing with his consort, there could be no one whom these catch- 
 polls had to look for ! The. presence of the royal Majesty is like the 
 presence of God ; it dispenses happiness and peace about it ; and who 
 ever is touched by its glory, is graced and sanctified thereby. 
 " But, your Majesty, screamed Gardiner, whom anger and disappointed 
 hope had made forgetful of all considerations, you wanted me to arrest 
 the Queen ; you yourself gave me the order for it ; and now when I 
 come to execute your will — now you repudiate me. 
 
 The King uttered a yell of rage, and with lifted arm moved some 
 steps towards Gardiner. 
 
 But suddenly he feh his arm held back. It was Catharine, who had 
 hurried up to the King. Oh, my husband, said she in a low whisper, 
 whatever he may have done, spare him ! Still he is a priest of the Lord ; 
 and so let his sacred robe protect him, though perchance his deeds con- 
 demn him ! 
 
 Ah> do you plead for him ? cried the King. Really, my poor wife, 
 you suspect not how little ground you have to pity him, and to beg 
 my mercy for him.* But you are right ! We will respect his cassock, 
 and think no more of what a haughty and intriguing man is wrapped in 
 it. Bat beware, priest, that you do not again remind me of that. My 
 wrath would then inevitably strike you ; and I should have as little 
 mercy for you, as you say I ought to show to other evil-doers. And 
 inasmuch as you are a priest, be penetrated with a sense of the gravity of 
 your office, and the sacredness of your calling. Your Episcopal See is 
 at Winchester, and I think your duties call you thither. We no longer 
 need you, for the noble Archbishop of Canterbury is coming back to us, 
 and will have to fulfill the duties of his office near us and the Queen. 
 Farewell! 
 
 He turned his back on Gardiner and, supported on Catharine's arm, 
 .returned to his rolling chair. 
 
 Kate, said he, just now a lowering cloud stood in your sky, but thanks 
 
 * The King's owu words. See Lett, vol. 1, page 188. 
 
125 
 
 to your smile and your innocent face, it has passod harmlessly over. 
 Mothinks we still owe you special thanks for ihis; and we would Jike 
 to show jou that, by some office of love. Is there nothing that would 
 give you special delight, Kate'? 
 
 Oh yes, said she with fervor. Two great desires hum in my heart. 
 
 Then name them, Kate; and by the Mother of God, if it is in the 
 power of a king to fulfill them, I will do it 
 
 Catharine seized his hand and pressed it to her heart. Sire, s- aid she, 
 they wanted to have you sign eight death Warrants today. Oh, my 
 husband, make of these eight criminal?, eight happy, thankful subjects ; 
 teach them to love that King whom they have reviled — teach their chil- 
 dren, their wives and mothers to pray for you, whilst you restore lifo 
 and freedom to these fathers, these sons and husbands, and while you, 
 grtat and merciful, like Deity, pardon them. 
 
 So shall ir, be ! cried the King cheerfully. Our hand shall have to- 
 day no other work than to rest in yours; and we will spare it from 
 making these eight strokes of the pen. The eight evil-doers are par- 
 doned ; arid they shall be f\ee this very day. 
 
 With an exclamation of rapturous delight, Catharine pressed ITonry's 
 hand to her lips, and her face shone with pure happiness. 
 
 And your second wish? asked the King. 
 
 My second wish, said she with a smile, pleads for the freedom of a 
 poor prisoner — for the freedom of a human heart, Sire 
 
 The King laughed. A human heart? Does that then run about on 
 the street, so that it can be caught and made a prisoner of? 
 
 Sire, you have found it, and incarcerated it in your daughter's bosom. 
 You'want to put Elizabeth's heart in fetters, and by an unnatural law 
 compel her to renounce her freedom of choice. Only think — to want to 
 bid a woman's heart, before she can love, .to enquire first, about the 
 genealogical tree, and to look at the coat of arms, before she notices the 
 man ! / 
 
 Oh, women, women, what foolish children you are though ! cried the 
 King laughingly. The question is abont fhrones, and you think about 
 your hearts ! Hut come, Kate, you shall still further explain that (ft 
 me ; and we will not take back our word, for we have given it you from 
 a free and glad heart. 
 
 He took the Queen's arm, and, supported on it, walked slowly up the 
 alley with her. The lords and ladies of the Court followed them in si- 
 lence and at a re-ipec'ful distance ; and no one suspected, that this wo- 
 man who was stepping along so proud and magnificent, had but jost now 
 escaped an imminent peril of her life ; that this man, who was leaning 
 on her arm with such devoted tenderness, had but a few hours befoie 
 resolved on her destruction.* 
 
 And whilst they both chatting confidentially together wandered through 
 the avenues, two others with drooping head and pale face left the royal 
 
 •All this plot instigated by GnMlncr against tho Queen is, In minutest details, historically true, and 
 is found mibitantially the same in all historical works. 
 
126 
 
 castle, which was to be to them henceforth a lost paradise. Sullen spite 
 and raging hate were in their hearts, but yet theyVere obliged to en- 
 dure ia silence ; they were obliged to smile and to seem harmless, in 
 order not to prepare a welcome feast for the malice of the Court. . They 
 felt the spiteful looks of all these courtiers, although they passed by 
 them with downcast eyes. They imagined they heard their malicious 
 whispers, their derisive laughter ; and it pierced their heart like the stab 
 of a dagger. 
 
 At length they had surmounted it — at length the palace lay behind 
 them, and they were at least free to pour out in words the agony that 
 consumed them — free to be able to break out into bitter execrations, in- 
 to curses and lamentations. 
 
 Lost! all is lost! said Earl Douglas to himself in a hollow voice., I 
 am thwarted in all my* plans. 1 have sacrificed to the Church my life, 
 my means, aye, even my daughter, and it has all been in vain. And 
 like a beggar, 1 now stand on the street forsaken and without comfort ; 
 and our holy mother the Church will no longer heed the son who loved 
 her and sacrificed himself for her, since he was unfortunate, and his sac- 
 rifice unavailing. 
 
 Despair hot ! said Gardiner solemnly. Clouds gather above us ; but 
 they are dispersed again. And after the day of storm, comes again the 
 day of light. Our day also will come, my friend. Now we go hence, 
 our heads strewn with ashes, and bowed at heart; but, believe me, we 
 shall one day come again with shining face and exultant heart; and the 
 flaming sword of godly wrath will glitter in our hands, and. a purple 
 robe will enfold us, dyed in the blood of heretics whom we will offer up 
 to the Lord our God as a well pleasing sacrifice. God spares us for a 
 better time ; and our banishment, believe me, friend, is but a refuge that 
 God has prepared us for this evil time, which we are approaching. 
 
 You speak of an evil time, and nevertheless you hope, your Highness 1 
 asked Douglas gloomily. 
 
 And nevertheless I hope! said Gardiner with a strange and horrible 
 smile, and bending down closer to Douglas, he whispered : the King has 
 only a few days more to live. He does not suspect how near he is to 
 his death, and nobody has the courage to tell him. But his physician 
 has confided it to me. His vital forces are consumed, and death stands 
 akeady before his door to throttle him. 
 
 And when he is dead, said Earl Douglas shrugging his shoulders, his 
 son Edward will be King, and those heretical Seymours will control the 
 helm of State ! Call you that hope, your Highness 1 ? 
 
 i call it so. 
 
 Do you not know that Edward, young as he is, is nevertheless a fana- 
 tical adherent of the heretical doctrine, and at the same time a furious 
 opponent of the Church in which alone is salvation 1 
 
 1 know it, but I know also, that Edward is a feeble boy ; and there is 
 current in our Church a holy prophecy, which predicts that his reign is 
 only of short duration. God only knows what his death will be, but 
 
127 
 
 the Church has often before seen her enemies die a sudden, death. Death 
 has been often before this, the most effective ally of our holy mother 
 the Church. Believe me then, my son, and hope, for I tell you Ed- 
 ward's rule will be of brief duration. And after him, she will a>cend the 
 throne, the noble and devout Mary, the rigid Catholic, who hates here- 
 tics as much as Edward loves them. Oh, friend, when Mary ascends 
 the throne, we shall rise from our humiliation, and the dominion will be 
 ours. Then will all England become, as it were, a single great temple, 
 and the fagot piles about the stake are the altars on which wc will con- 
 sume the heretics, and their shrieks of agony arc the holv psalms, which 
 we will make them strike up to the honor of God and his Holy Church. 
 Hope for this time, for I tell you it will goon come. 
 
 If you say so, your Highness, then it will come to pass, said Douglas 
 significantly. 1 will then hope and wait; 1 will save myself from evil 
 d:\ys in Scotland, and wait for the good. 
 
 And I go, as this King by the wrath of God has commanded, to my 
 Episcopal seat. The wrath of God will soon call Henry hence. May 
 his dying hour be full of torment, and may the Holy Father's curse be 
 realized and fulfilled in him ! Farewell ! We go with palms of peace 
 forced on us ; but we will return with the flaming sword, and our hands 
 will be dripping with heretic blood. 
 
 They once more shook hands and silently departed, and before even- 
 ing came on they had both left London.* 
 
 A short time after this eventful walk in the garden of Whitehall, the 
 Queen entered the apartments of the Princess Elizabeth, who hastened 
 to meet her with a burst of joy and cla>ped her wildly in her arms. 
 
 Saved ! whispered she. The dagger is overcome, and again you arc 
 the mighty Queen, the adored wife! 
 
 And 1 have you to thank, that 1 am so. Princess ! Without that, war- 
 rant of arrest, which you brought me, I was lost. Oh, Elizabeth, but 
 what a martyrdom it was ! To smile and jest, whilst my heart trembled 
 with dread and horror- to appear innocent and unembarrassed, whilst it. 
 seemed to me, as if I heard already the whiz of the axe that, was about 
 to strike my neok ! Oh. my God, I passed through the agonies and the 
 dread of a whole lifetime in that one hour. My soul has been harr i 
 till it is wearied to death, and my strength is exhausted. I could weep, 
 
 * Gardiner's prophecy was soon fulfilled. A few days after Oardiner had fallen into disgrace' 
 llenrv the Eighth died, and his son Edward, yet a minor, ascended the throne. Bui his rule was 
 of brief duration. After a reipn of scarcely six years, he died a youth of tin* ago of sixteen years, 
 and his sifter Mary, called the ( at/iolic, ascended the throne. Her first act. was to release Gardi- 
 ner, who under Edward's reign had been confined as a prisoner in the Tower, and to appoint him 
 her Minister, and later, to the place of Lord Chancellor. Tie was one of the most furious persecu- 
 tors of the Reformers. Once he said at a council in the presence of the bigoted Queen : ''These he- 
 retics have a soul so black, that it can be washed clean only in their own blood." He it was too, who 
 urged the Queen to snch severo and odious measures against the Princess Elizabeth, and caused her 
 to be a second time declared a bastard and unworthy of succefding to the throne When Mary died, 
 Gardiner performed, in Westminster Abbey, where she was entombed, the service for the dead, m 
 the presence of her successor, Queen Elizabeth. Gardiner's discourse was an enthusiastic culo- 
 gium of the deceased Qneen, and he set forth as her special'merit, that she had hated the heretics so 
 ardently and h»d so many of them executed, lie closed with an invective against tho Trotettants, 
 in which he so little spared the young Queen, and spnlfe of her In such injurious terms, that ho was 
 that very day committed to prison.— Lett, rot 1, page 811. 
 
123 
 
 weep continually over this wretched, deceitful world, in which, to wish 
 right and to do good avail nothing; but in which you must dissemble and 
 lie, deceive and disguise yourself, if you do not want to fall a victim to 
 wickedness and mischief. But, ah Elizabeth, even my tears [ dare shed 
 only in secret, for a queen has no right to be melancholy. She must 
 seem ever cheerful, ever happy and contented ; and only God and the 
 still, silent night know her sighs and her tears. 
 
 And you may let me also see them, Queen, said Elizabeth heartily ; 
 for you well know you may trust and rely on me. 
 
 Catharine kissed her. fervently. You have done me a great service to- 
 day, and I have come, said she, to thank you not with sounding words 
 only, but by deeds Elizabeth, yonr wish will be fulfilled. The King 
 will repeal the law, which was to compel you to give your hand only to 
 a husband of equal birth. 
 
 Oh, cried Elizabeth with flashing eyes, then I shall, perhaps, some 
 day be able to make him whom I love, a king. 
 
 Catharine smiled. You have a proud and ambitious heart, said 
 she. God has endowed you with extraordinary ability. Cultivate 
 it and seek to increase it; for my prophetic heart tells me, that 
 you are destined to become one day Queen of England.* But who 
 knows whether then you will still wish to elevate him whom you now 
 love, to be your hjsband. A queen, as you will be, sees with other 
 eyes than those of a young, inexperienced maiden. Perchance I may 
 not have done right in moving the King to alter this law ; for I am not 
 acquainted with the man that you love; and who knows whether he is 
 worthy that you should bestow on him your heart, so innocent and pure ! 
 
 Elizabeth threw both her arms ab»ut Catharine neck, and clung ten- 
 derly to her. Oh, said she, he would be worthy to be loved even by 
 you, Catharine; for he is the noblest and handsomest cavalier in the 
 whole world; and though he is no king, yet he is a king's brother-in-law, 
 and will some day be a king's uncle. 
 
 Catharine felt her heart, as it were, convulsed, .and a slight tremor ran 
 through her frame. And am I not to learn his name ? asked she. 
 
 Yes, I will tell you it now ; for now there is no longer.danger in know- 
 ing it. The name of him whom I love, Queen, is Thomas Seymour. 
 
 Catharine uttered a scream and pushed Elizabeth passionately away 
 from her heart. Thomas Seymour? cried -she in a menacing tone. 
 What ! do you dare love Thomas Seymour 1 
 
 And why should I not dare] asked the young girl in astonishment. 
 Why should I not give him my heart, since, thanks to your interces- 
 sion, I am no longer bound to choose a husband of equal birth? Is not 
 Thomas Seymour one of the first of this land ? Does not all England 
 look on him with pride and tenderness 1 Does not every woman to 
 whom he deigns a look, feel herself honored ? Does not the King him- 
 self smile and feel more pleased at heart, when Thomas Seymour, that 
 young and strong, bold and spirited hero, stands by his side ? 
 • Catharine's own words. See Leti, toI. 1, page 172. 
 
129 
 
 You are right ! said Catharine, whose heart every one of these enthu- 
 siastic words lacerated like the stab of a dagger, — yes, you are right. 
 He is worthy of being loved by you — and you could hit upon no better 
 choice.. It was only the first surprise, that made me see things other- 
 wise than they are. Thomas Seymour is the brother of a queen, why 
 then should he not also be the husband of a royal princess ? 
 
 With a bashful blush, Elizabeth hid her smiling fuce in Catharine's 
 bosom. She did not see with what an expression of alarm and agony 
 the Queen observed her ; how her lips were convulsively compressed, and 
 her cheeks covered with a death-like pallor. 
 
 And he 1 asked she in a low tone. Does Thomas Seymour love you ? 
 
 Elizabeth raised her head and looked at the questioner in amazement. 
 How 1 ? said she. Is it possible thou to love, if you are not loved? 
 
 You are right, sighed Catharine. One must be very humble and silly 
 to be able to do that. 
 
 My God ! how pale you are, Queen ! cried Elizabeth, who just now 
 noticed Catharine's pale face. Your features are distorted ; your lips 
 tremble. My God ! what does this mean 1 
 
 It is nothing ! said Catharne wilh a smile full of agony. The excite- 
 ment and alarm of to day have exhausted my strength. That is all. 
 Besides a new grief threatens us, of which you as yet know nothing. 
 The King is ill. A sudden dizziness seized him, and made him fall al- 
 most lifeless at my side. 1 came to bring you the King's message ; 
 now duty calls me to my husband's "sick bed. Farewell, Elizabeth. 
 
 She waved a good bye to her with her hand, and with hurried step 
 left the room. She summoned up courage to conceal the agonies of her 
 soul and to pass proud and stately through the halls. To the courtiers 
 bowing before her, she would still be the Queen, and no one should sus- 
 pect what agony was torturing her within like flames of fire. But at 
 last arrived at her boudoir — at last sure of being overheard and observed 
 by no one, she was no longer the Queen, but only the agonizing, passion- 
 ate woman. 
 
 She sank on her knees, and cried with a heartrending wail of anguish : 
 My God, my God, grant that I may become mad, so that I may no 
 longer know that he has forsaken me. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE. 
 
 Ajter days of secret torture and hidden tears, after nights of sobbing 
 anguish and wailing sorrow, Catharine had at last attained to inward 
 peace ; she had at last taken a firm and decisive resolution. 
 
 U 
 
130 
 
 The King was sick unto death ; and however much she had suffered 
 anfl endured from him, still he was her^husband; and she would not 
 "stand by his death-bed as a perjured aud 'deceitful woman; she would 
 not be constrained to cast down her eyes before the failing gaze of the 
 dying King. She would renounce her love — that love, which however 
 had been as pure and chaste as a maiden's prayer — that love, which was 
 as unapproachably distant as the blush of morn, and yet had stood above 
 her so vast and brilliant, and had irradiated ihe gloomy pathway of her 
 life with celestial light. 
 
 She would make the greatest of -aci ifices; she would give her lover to 
 another. Elizabeth loved him Catharine would not investigate and 
 thoroughly examine the point, whether Thomas Seymour returned her 
 love, aud whether the oath he had taken to her, the Queen, was really 
 nothing more than a fancy of the brain, or a falsehood. No, she did 
 not believe it; she did not believe that Thomas Seymour was capable 
 of treachery, of double dealing. But Elizabeth loved him; and she 
 was young and beautiful, and a great future lay before her. Catharine 
 loved Thomas Seymour strongly enough to not want to deprive him of 
 this future, but gladly to present herself a sacrifice to the happiness of 
 her lover. What was she — the woman matured in grief and suffering — 
 in comparison with this youthful and fresh blossom, Elizabeth? What, 
 had she to offer her beloved further than a life of retirement, of love and 
 of quiet happiness ? When once the King is dead and sets her free, 
 Edward the Sixth ascends the throne ; .and Catharine then is nothing 
 more than the forgotten and disregarded widow of a king; while Eliza- 
 beth, the King's sister, may perhaps bring a crown as her dower to him 
 whom she loves. 
 
 Thomas Seymour was ambitious. Catharine knew that. A day might 
 come, when he would repent of having chosen the widow of a king in- 
 stead of the heiress to the throne. 
 
 Catharine would anticipate that day. She would of her own free will 
 resign her lover to Princess Elizabeth. She had by a struggle brought 
 her heart to this sacrifice ; she had pressed her hands firmly on her 
 heart, so as not to hear how it wailed and wept. 
 
 She went to Elizabeth, and said to her with a sweet smile : To day I 
 will bring your lover to you, Princess. The King has fulfilled his prom- 
 ise. He has to-day with his last dying strength signed this act, which 
 gives you liberty to chose your husband, not from the ranks of princes 
 alone, but to follow your own heart in your choice. 1 will give this act 
 to your lover, and assure him of my assistance and aid. The King is 
 suffering very much to day, and his consciousness fails more and more. 
 But be certain, if he is in a condition to hear me, 1 will spend all my 
 powers of persuasion in inclining him to your wish, and in moving him 
 to give his consent to your marriage with Earl Sudley. 1 now go to 
 receive the Earl. So tarry in )Our room, Princess, for Seymour will 
 soon come to bring you the act. 
 
 Whilst she thus spoke, it seemed to her as though her heart were 
 
131 
 
 pierced by red-hot daggers ; as though a two edged sword were cleaving 
 her breast. But Catharine had a strong and courageous soul. She had 
 sworn to herself to endure this torture to the end ; and she endured it. 
 No writhing of her lips, no sigh, no outcry, betrayed the pain that she 
 was suffering. And if indeed her cheeks were pale, and her eye dim, 
 they were so because she had spent nights watching by her husband's 
 sick bed, and because she was mourning for the dying King. 
 
 She had the heroism to embrace tenderly this young maiden to whom 
 she was just going to present her love as a sacrifice, and to listen with a 
 smile. to the enthusiastic words of gratitude, of rapture and expectant 
 happiness, which Elizabeth addressed to her. 
 
 With tearless eyes and firm step she returned to her own apart- 
 ments ; and her voice did not at all tremble, as she bade the chamber- 
 lain in attendance to summon to her the Master of Horse, Earl Sudley. 
 Only she had a feeling as though her heart was broken and crushed ; 
 and quite softly, quite humbly she whispered : I shall die when he is 
 gone. But so long as he is here, I will live ; and he shall not have a 
 suspicion of what 1 suffer ! 
 
 And while Catharine suffered so dreadfully, Elizabeth was jubilant 
 with delight and rapture ; for at last she stood at the goal of her wishes, 
 and this very day she was to become the betrothed of her lover. Oh, 
 my God, how slow and sluggish crept those minutes along ! How many 
 eternities had she still to wait before he would come — he, her lover, and 
 soon her husband ! 
 
 Was he already with the Queen? Could she expect him already 1 
 She stood as if spell-bound at the window, and looked down into the 
 court-yard. Through that great gateway over there he must come ; 
 through that door yonder he must go, in order to reach the Queen's 
 apartments. 
 
 She uttered an exclamation, and a glowing blush flitted across her 
 face. There, there he was. Yonder drew up his equipage ; his gold- 
 laced lackeys opened the door and he alighted. How handsome he was, 
 aud how magnificent to look upon ! How noble and proud his tall 
 figure ! How regularly beautiful his fresh, youthful face ! How saucy 
 the haughty smile about hit. mouth ; and how his eyes flamed and flash- 
 ed and shone in wantonness and youthful happiness. His look glanced 
 for a moment at Elizabeth's window. He saluted her, and then entered 
 the door leading to the wing of the palace of Whitehall occupied hv 
 the Queen. Elizabeth's heart beat so violently that she felt almost suf- 
 focated. Now he must have reached the great staircase — now he was 
 above it — now he was entering the Queen's apartments — he traverses 
 the first, the second, the third chamber. In the fourth, Catharine was 
 waiting for him. 
 
 Oh, my God, Elizabeth would have given a year of her life to hear 
 what Catharine would say to him, and what reply be would make to the 
 surprising intelligence ; a year of her lile to be able to see his rapture, 
 his astonishment and his delight. 
 
132 
 
 i 
 
 He was so handsome when he smiled, so bewitching when his eyes 
 
 blazed with love and pleasure. 
 
 Elizabeth was a young, impulsive child. She had a feeling as if she 
 must suffocate in the agony of expectation ; her heart leaped into her 
 mouth; her breath was stifled in her breast. She was so impatient for 
 happiness. 
 
 Oh, if he does not come soon I shall die, murmured she. Oh, if I could 
 only at leas,t see him, or only hear him ! All at once she stopped ; her 
 eyes flashed up, and a bewitching smile flitted across her features. Yes, 
 said she, 1 will see him, and I will heat him. 1 can do it, and 1 will do 
 it. I have the key which the Queen gave me, and which opens the door 
 that separates my rooms from hers. * With that key I may reach her 
 bed-chamber, and next to the bed-chamber is her boudoir, in which, 
 without doubt, she will receive the Earl. ' I will enter quit« softly, and 
 hiding myself behind the hanging which separates the bed-chamber from 
 the boudoir, 1 shall be able to see him, and hear everything that he says ! 
 
 She laughed out loud atfd merrily like a child, and sprang for the key, 
 which lay on her writing table. Like a trophy of victory she swung it 
 high above her on her hand and cried : I will see him. 
 
 Then light, joyful, and with beaming eye, she lefo the, room. 
 
 She had conjectured rightly. Catharine received the Earl in her bou- 
 doir. She sat on the divan standing opposite the door which led into 
 the reception room. That door was open, and so Catharine had a per- 
 fect view of the whole of that large space. She could see the Earl as 
 he traversed it. She could once more enjoy, with a rapture painfully 
 sweet, his proud beauty, and let her looks rest on him with love and 
 adoration. 
 
 But at length he crossed the threshold of the boudoir ; and now there 
 was an end of her happiness, of her sweet dream, and of her hopes and 
 her- rapture. 
 
 She was nothing more than the Queen, the wife of a dying King; no 
 longer Earl Seymour's beloved, no longer his future and his happiness. 
 
 She had the courage to greet him with a smile; and her voice did 
 not tremble, when she bade^him shut the door leading into the hall, and 
 drop the hanging. 
 
 He did so, gazing at her with looks of surprise. He did not compre- 
 hend that she dared give him an interview ; for the King was still alive, 
 aud even with his tongue faltering in death he might destroy them both. 
 
 Why did she not wait till the morrow? On the morrow the King 
 might be already dead ; and then they could see each other without 
 constraint, and without dinger. Then was she his, and naught could 
 longer stand in the way between them and happiness. Now when the 
 King was near his death — now he loved her only — he loved but Catha- 
 rine. His ambition had decided his heart. Death had become the 
 judge over Seymour's double affection and divided heart, and with King 
 Henry's death, Elizabeth's star had also paled. 
 
 Catharine was the widow of a King; aud, without doubt, this tender 
 
133 
 
 husband had appointed his young and adored wife Regent, durir.g (lie 
 minority of the Prince of Wales. Catharine then would have still fve 
 years of unlimited sway, of royal authority and sovereign power. If 
 Catharine were his wife, then would he, Thomas Seymour si 
 power; and the purple robes of royalty, which rested on her Bhoulders 
 would cover hiin also; and he would help her bear that crown, which 
 doubtless might sometimes press heavily on her tender brow He 
 would, in reality, be the JJcgent, and Cathariae would be. so only in 
 name. She, the Queen of England, and he, King of this Queen. What 
 a proud, intoxicating thought was that ! Aid what plans, what hopes 
 might not be twined with it! Five years of sway — was not that a 
 time long enough to undermine the throne of the royal bov and to sap 
 his authority 1 Who could conjecture whether the people, once accus- 
 tomed to the regency of the Queen, might not prefer to rem tin under 
 her sceptre, instead of committing themselves to this feeble youth ? The 
 people must be constrained so to think, and to make Catharine, Thomas 
 Seymour's wife, their reigning Queen. 
 
 The King was sick unto death, and Catharine was, without doubt, the 
 Regent — perchance some day the sovereign Queen. 
 
 Prirtcess Elizabeth was only a poor Princess, entirely without a pros. 
 pect of the throne; fo*r before her came Catharine, came Edward, and 
 finally still, Mary, Elizabeth's elder sister. Elizabeth had not the least 
 prospect "t the throne; and Catharine, the nearest and best founded. 
 
 Tnomn Seymour pondered this as he traversed the apartments of 
 the Queen ; and when he entered her presence, he had convinced him- 
 self that he loved the Queen only, and "that it was she alone whom he 
 had always loved. 
 
 Elizabeth was forgotten and despised. She had no prospect of the 
 thrcn< — why then should he love her? 
 
 The Queen, as we have said, ordered/ him to shut the door gf the bou- 
 doir and to drop the hanging. At the same moment that he did this, 
 the hanging of the opposite door, leading into the sleeping apartment, 
 moved — perhaps oni$- the draught of the closing, door had done it. 
 Neither the Queen nor Seymour noticed it. They were both too much 
 oocupied'with themselves. They saw not how the hanging again and 
 again gently shook and trembled. They saw not how it was gently 
 opened a little, in the middle; nor did they see the sparkling eyes which 
 suddenly peeped through the opening in the hanging; nor suspected they 
 that it was the Piince^s Elizabeth, who had -tepped behind the curtain, 
 tlrr*. better to see and hear what was taking place in the boudoir. 
 
 The Queen had arisen and advanced a few steps to meet the Earl. 
 As she now stood before him — as their eyes met, she felt her courage 
 sink and her heart fail. 
 
 She was compelled to look down at the floor to prevent him from 
 seeing the tears which involuntarily came into her eyes. With a silent 
 salutation the offered him her band. Thomas Seymour pressed it im- 
 pubmly to his lips, ;.rd ! M>ked yith passionate tenderness into her 
 
134 
 
 face. She struggled to collect all her strength that her heart might not 
 betray itself. With a hurried movement she withdrew her hand from 
 him, and took from the table a roll of paper containing the new act of 
 succession signed by the King. 
 
 My Lord, said she, 1 have called you hither, because I would like to 
 entrust a commission to you. 1 beg you to carry this parchment to the 
 Princess Elizabeth, and be pleased to deliver it to her. But before you 
 do that, I will make you acquainted with its contents. This parchment 
 contains a new law relative to the 'succession, which has already received 
 the sanction of the King. By virtue of this, the royal prirfcesses are no 
 longer under the necessity of uniting themselves with a husband who is 
 a sovereign prince, if they wish- to preserve their hereditary claim on 
 the throne unimpaired. The King gives the princesses the right to fol- 
 low their own hearts ; and their claim to the succession is not to suffer 
 thereby, if the husband chosen is neither a king nor a prince. That, my 
 ♦ Lord is the contents of this parchment which you are to carry to the 
 Princess, and without doubt you will thank me for making you the 
 messenger of these glad tidings. 
 
 And why, asked he in astonishment — why does your Majesty believe 
 that this intelligence should fill me with special thankfulness 1 
 
 She collected all her powers ; she prayed to her own heart for strength 
 and self-control. 
 
 Because the Princess has made me the confidant of her love, and be- 
 cause I am consequently aware of that tender tie which binds you to 
 her"! said she gently ; and she felt that all the blood had fled from her 
 cheeks ! 
 
 The Earl looked into her face in- mute astonishment. Then his in- 
 squiring and searching glance swept all around the room. 
 
 We arc overheard, then 1 asked he low in a voice. We are not alone ? 
 
 We are, alone ! said Catharine^aloud. Nobody can hear us ; and God 
 alone is witness of our conversation. 
 
 Elizabeth, who stood behind the hanging, felt her cheeks glow with 
 shame, and she beg^u to repent what she had doqe. But she was nev- 
 ertheless, as it were, spell-bound to that spot. It was certainly mean 
 and unworthy of a Princess to eavesdrop, but she was at that time but 
 a young girl who loved, and who wanted to observe her lover. So she 
 stayed ; she laid her hand on her anxiously throbbing heart, and mur- 
 mured to herself: What will he say? What means this anxious dread 
 that comes over me 1 
 
 Well, said Thomas Seymour, in an entirely altered tone, if we are 
 alouo then this mask which hides my face, may fall ; then the cuirass 
 which binds my heart may be loosened. Hail, Catharine, my star and 
 my hope ! No one, you say, hears us, save God alone; and God knows 
 our love, and he knows with what longing, and what ecstacy, I have 
 sighed for this hour — for this hour, which at length again unites me to 
 you. My God, it is an eternity since I have seen you, Catharine ; and 
 my heart thirsted for you as a famishing man for a refreshing draught. — 
 
135 
 
 Catharine, my beloved, blessed be you, that you have at last call me to 
 you ! 
 
 He opened his arms for her, but she repulsed him sharply. You are 
 mistaken in the name, Earl, said she bitterly. You say Catherine, and 
 mean Elizabeth ! It is the Princess that you love ; to Elizabeth be- 
 longs your heart, and she has devoted her heart to you. Oh, Earl, I 
 will favor this love, and be certain, I will not not cease from prayer and 
 supplication, till I have inclined the King to yoyr wishes, till he has given 
 his consent to your marriage with the Princess Elizabeth. 
 
 Thomas Seymour laughed. This is a masquerade, Catharine ; and 
 you still wear a mask over your beautiful and charming face. Oh, 
 away with that mask, Queen. I want to behold you as you are. I want 
 to see again your own beautiful self; I want to see the jvOman. who be- 
 longs to me, and who has sworn to be mine, and who has. with a 
 thousand sacred oaths, vo*ved to love me, to be true to me, and to 
 follow me as her husband and her lord. Or how, Catharine ? Can you 
 have forgotten your oath? Can you have become untrue to your own 
 heart? Do you want to cast me away, and throw me, like a ball of 
 which you are tired, to another? 
 
 Oh, said she quite unconsciously, I — I can never forget and never be 
 untrue. 
 
 Well then, my Catharine, thou bride and wife of my future^ what then 
 are von speaking to me of Elizabeth? — of this little Princess, who si«hs 
 for love n* the (lower bud for the sun, and takes the first man whom she 
 finds in her way, for the sun after which she pines? What care we for 
 Elizabeth, my Catharine? And what have we to do with that child fn 
 this hour of long-wished for reunion? 
 
 Oh, he calls me a child ! murmured Elizabeth. I am nothing but a 
 child to him ! And she pressed her hands on her mouth in order to re- 
 press her cry of anger and anguish, and to prevent them from hearing 
 her tee;h, which were chattering as though she were in a chill. 
 
 With irresistible force, Thomas Seymour drew Catharine into his arms. 
 Avoid me no longer, said he. in tender entrpaty. The hour has come, 
 which is finally to determine our destiny ! The King is at the point of 
 death, and my Catharine will at length be free — free, to follow her own 
 heart. At this hour, I remind you of your oath! Do you remember 
 still that day, when you referred me to this hour? Do you still know, 
 Catharine, how you vowed to be my wife and to receive me as the lord 
 of your future? Oh, my beloved, that crown, which weighed down your 
 head, will soon be taken away. Now [ yet stand b vour 
 
 subject, but in a few hours it will be your lord and your husband that 
 stands before you ; and he will ask : Catharine, my wife, have you kept 
 with me the faith you swore to me I Have yon been guiltless of per- 
 jury in respect of your vows and \our love? Have you preserved mv 
 honor, which is your honor also, dear from every spot; and can you 
 ree from guilt, look me in the ej 
 
 He gazed at her with proud, flashing eyes, and before his command- 
 
136 
 
 ing look, her firmness and her pride melted away like ice before the sun- 
 shine. Again he was the master, whose right it was to rule her heart; 
 und she again the lowly hand-maid, whose sweetest happiness it is to 
 submit and bow to the will of her lover! 
 
 I ean look you frankly in the eye, muruiured she, and no guilt bur- 
 dens my conseience. I have loved naught but you, and God only dwells 
 near you in my heart. 
 
 Wholly overcome, wholly intoxicated with happiness, she leant her 
 head upon his shoulder, and as he clasped'her in his arms, as he covered 
 with kisses her now unresisting lips,, she felt only that she loved him 
 unutterably, and that there was no happiness for her, except with 
 him. 
 
 It was a sweet dream, a moment of most exquisite ecstacy. But it 
 was only a moment. A hand was laid violently on her shoulder, a 
 hoarse an^ry voice called her name ; and as she looked up, she encoun- 
 tered the wild glance of Elizabeth, who stood before her with deathly 
 pale cheeks, with uembliug lips, with expanded nostrils, and eyes dart- 
 ing flashes of wrath and hatred. 
 
 This, then, is the friendly service •which you swore to me? said she 
 gnashing her teeth. Did you steal into my confidence, and with scoffing 
 mouth spy out the secrets of my heart, in order to go away aud be 
 tray them to your paramour? That you might in his arms ridicule this 
 pitiable maiden, who allowed herself for the moment to be betrayed by 
 her heart, and took a felon for an honorable man. Woe, woe to you, 
 Catharine, for I tell you, I will have no compassion on the adulteress, 
 who mocks at me, and betrays my father! 
 
 She ' was raving, completely beside herself with anger, she dashed 
 away the hand which Catharine laid on her shoulder, and sprang back 
 from the touch of her enemy, like an irritated lioness. 
 
 Her father's blood fumed and raged within her, and, a true daughter of 
 Henry the Eighth, ^he concealed in her heart only blood thirsty and re- 
 vengeful thoughts. 
 
 She cast on Thornds Seymour a look of dark wrath, and a contemptu- 
 ous smile played about her lips. My Lord, said she. you have called me 
 a child who allows herself to be easily deceived, because she longs so 
 much for the sun and for happiness. You are right; 1 was a child; and 
 I was foolish enough to take a miserable liar for a nobleman, who was 
 worthy of the proud fortune of being loved by a King's daughter. Yes, 
 you are right; that was a childish dream. Thanks to you, I have now 
 awoke from it ; and you have matured the child into a woman, who 
 laughs at the folly of her youth, and despises today what she adored 
 yesterday. I have nothing to do with you ; and you are even too insig- 
 nificant, and too contemptible, for my anger. But I tell you, you have 
 played a hazardous game, and you will lose. You courted a Queen and 
 a Princess, and you will gain neither of them ; not, the one, for she de- 
 spises you; not the other, for she ascends the scaffold ! 
 
 With a wild Laugb she was hurrying to the door, but Catharine with 
 
1.37 
 
 a strong hand held her back, and compelled her to remain. What are 
 you going to do? asked she with perfect calmness and composure. 
 
 What am I going to do? asked Elizabeth, her eyes flashing like those 
 of a lioness. You ask me, what I will do? I will go to my father, and 
 tell him what 1 have here witnessed ! He will listen to me ; and his 
 tongue will still have strength enough to pronounce your sentence of 
 death ! Oh, my mother died on the scaffold, and yet she was innocent. 
 We will see forsooth, whether you will escape the scaffold — you, who 
 are guilty ! 
 
 Well then, go to your father, said Catharine; go and accuse me. But 
 first you shall hear me. This man, whom I loved, I wanted to renounce, 
 in order to give him to you. By the confession of your love, you had 
 crushed my happiness and my future. But I was not angry with you. 
 1 understood your heart, for Thomas Seymour is worthy of being loved. 
 But you are right ; for the King's wife, it was a sinful love, however in- 
 nocent and pure 1 may have been. On that account I wanted to re- 
 nounce it; on that account 1 waded, on the first confession from you, to 
 silently sacrifice myself. You yourself have now made it an impossi- 
 bility. Go, then, and accuse us to your father ; and fear not that I will 
 belie my heart. Now, that the crisis has come, it shall find me prepar- 
 ed ; and on the scaffold I will still account myself blest, for Thomas 
 Seymour loves me ! 
 
 Aye, he loves you, Catharine ! cried he completely overcome and en- 
 chanted by her noble, majestic bearing. He loves you so warmly and ar- 
 dently, that death with you seems to him an enviable lot ; and he would 
 not exchange it for any throne, nor for any crown. 
 
 And as he thus spoke, he put his arms round Catharine's neck, and 
 impetuously drew her to his heart. 
 
 Elizabeth uttered a fierce scream, and sprang to the door. But what 
 noise was that which all at once drew nigh ; which suddenly, like a 
 wild billow, came roaring on, and filled the anterooms and the hulls ? 
 What were these affrighted, shrieking voices calling? What were they 
 screaming to the Queen, and the physicians, and the priest ? 
 
 Elizabeth stopped in her race, and listened. Thomas Seymour and 
 Catharine, arm linked in arm, stood near her. They scarcely heard 
 what was taking place; they looked at each other and smiled, and 
 dreamed of love and death and an eternity of happiness. 
 
 Now the door flew open ; there was seen John Heywood's pale face ; 
 there were the Maids of Honor and the Court officials. And all shrieked 
 and all wailed : The King is dying! Ho is struck with apoplexy ! The 
 Kins: is at the point of death ! 
 
 The King calls you ! The King desires to die in the arms of his wife! 
 said John Hey wood, and, as he quietly pushed aside and away from the 
 door Elizabeth, who was pressing violently forwards, he added : The 
 King will see. nobjdy but the priest, and his wife ; and he has authoriz- 
 ed rne to call the Queen ! 
 
 He opened the door ; and through the 1 i r j c ■* of weeping and wailing 
 
I3t 
 
 Court-officials and servants, Catharine moved on, to go to the death-bed 
 of her royal husbftnd. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LE ROI EST MORT, VIVE LA REINE ! 
 
 King Henry lay a dying. That life full of sin, full of blood and crime, 
 full ot* treachery and cunning, full of hypocrisy and sanctimonious cruel- 
 ty— that life was at last lived out. That hand, which had signed so 
 many death-warrants, was now clutched in the throes of death. It had 
 stiffened at the very moment when the King was going to sign the Duke 
 of iNoi folk's death- warrant.* And the King was dying with the gnaw- 
 ing consciousness, that he had no longer the power to throttle that ene- 
 my whom he hated The mighty King was now nothing more than a 
 feeble, dying old man, who was no longer able to hold the pen, and sign 
 this death warrant, for which he had so long hankered and hoped. Now 
 it lay before him, and he no longer had the power to use it. God, in 
 His wisdom and His justice, had decreed against him the most grievous 
 aud horrible of punishments ; He had left him his consciousness ; He had 
 not crippled him in mind, but in body only. And that motionless and 
 rigid mass, which growing chill in death lay there on the couoh of pur- 
 pie trimmed with gold — that was the King — a King, whom agony of 
 conscience did not permit to die, and who now shuddered and.was horri- 
 fied in view of death, to which he had, with relentless cruelty, hunted so 
 many of his subjects. 
 
 Catharine and the Archbishop of Canterbury, the noble Cranmer, 
 stood at his bed-side; and whilst in convulsive agony he grasped Cath- 
 arine's hands, he listened to the devout prayers which Cranmer was 
 saying over him. 
 
 Once he asked with mumbling tongue : "My Lord, what kind of a 
 world then is that, where those who condemn others to die., are con- 
 demned to die themselves f'f And as the pious Cranmer, touched by 
 the agonies and tortures of conscience which he read in the King's looks, 
 and- full of pity for the dying tyrant, sought to comfort him, and spoke 
 to him of the mercy of God which has compassion on every sinner, the 
 King groaned out : " No, no ! No mercy for him who knew no mercy !" 
 
 At length this awful struggle of death with life was ended ; and death 
 had vanquished life. The King had closed his eyes to earth, to open 
 them again there above, as a guilt-laden sinner in the presence of God. 
 * Historical. t The King's own words. Leti, vol. 1,page 16. 
 
139 
 
 For three days his death was kept a secret. They wanted first to 
 have everything arranged, and to fill up the void which his death must 
 make. They wanted, when they spoke to the people of the dead King, 
 to show them also at the same time the liying King. And siuce they 
 knew that the people would not, weep for the dead, they were to rejoice 
 for the living; since they would sing no funeral psalms, they were to 
 let their hymns of joy resound. 
 
 On the third day, the gates of Whitehall were thrown open; and a 
 gloomy funeral train moved through the streets of London. In dead .si 
 lence the populace saw home past them the coffin of the King, before 
 whom they had trembled so much, and for whom they now had not a 
 ■word of mourning, or of pity — no tears for the dead, who for seven and 
 thirty years had been their King. 
 
 They w r ere bearing the coffin to Westminster Abbey to the splendid 
 monument which Wolsey had built there for his royal master. But the 
 way was long, and the panting horses with black housings, which drew 
 the hearse, had often to stop and rest. And all of a sudden, as the car- 
 riage stood still on one of the large open squares, blood was seen to is- 
 sue from the King's coffin. It streamed down in crimson currents and 
 flowed over the stones of the street. The people with a shudder stood 
 around and saw the King's blood flowing, and thought how much blood 
 he had spilt on that same spot ; for the coffin was standing on the square 
 where the executions were wont to take place, and where the scaffolds 
 were erected and the stakes set. 
 
 As the people stood gazing at the blood which flowed from the King's 
 coffin, two dogs sprang forth from the crowd and, with greedy tongue, 
 licked the bloofl of King Henry the Eighth. But the people shuddering 
 and horror stricken fled in all directions, and talked among themselves 
 of the poor priest who a few weeks before was executed here on this 
 very spot, because he would not recognize the King as the supreme Lord 
 of the Church, and God's vicegerent; of that unfortunate man, who cursed 
 the King and on the scaffold said : " May the dogs one day drink the 
 blood of this King, who has shed so much innocent blood." And now 
 the curse of the dying man had found its fulfillment, and the dogs had 
 drunk the King's blood.* 
 
 When the gloomy funeral train had left the palace of Whitehall, when 
 the King's corpse no longer infected the halls with its awful stench of 
 corruption, and the Court was preparing to do homage to the boy Ed- 
 ward as the new King, Thomas Seymour, Earl of Sudley, entered the 
 room of the young royal widow. He came in a magnificent mourning 
 suit, and his elder brother, Edward Seymour and Ci .miner, Archbishop 
 of I Canterbury, walked by his side. 
 
 With a blush and a sweet smile, Catharine Dade them welcome 
 
 Queen, said Thomas Seymour with solemn air, I come to-day, to claim 
 of you a fulfillment of your vow ! Oh, do not cast down your ejM, nor 
 blush for shame. The nobis Archbishop knows your heart, and he 
 • Historical, See Tytler, ptgr 
 
140 
 
 knows, that it is as pare as the heart of a maiden, and that an unchaste 
 thought has never sullied your pure soul. And my brother would not 
 be here, had he not faith in and respect for, a love which has preserved 
 itself so faithful and constant amidst storms and dangers. I have selec- 
 ted these two noble friends as my suitors, and in their presence I will 
 ask you: Qu< en Catharine, the King is dead, and no fetters longer bind 
 your heart; will you now give it me as my own ? Will you accept me 
 as your husband, and sactifice fur me your royal title and your exalted 
 position? 
 
 With a bewitching smile, she gave him her hand. You well know, 
 whimpered she, that 1 sacrifice nothing for you, but receive from you all 
 or happiness and love that I hope for. 
 
 Will you then, in the presence of these two friends, accept me as your 
 future husband, and plight me your vow of truth and love? 
 
 Catharine trembled and cast down her eyes with the bashfulness of a 
 young girl. My God, whispered she, do you not then see my mourning 
 dre-s ? is it becoming to think of happiness, while the funeral lamenta- 
 tions have scarcely died away ? 
 
 Queen Catharine, said Archbi?hop Cranmer, t: Let the dead bury their 
 dead !" ,Life also has its rights; and man should not give up his claim 
 (in happiness, for it is a most holy possession. You have endured much 
 and suffered much, Queen, but your heart is pure and without guilt ; 
 therefore, you may now, with a clear conscience, bid welcome to happi- 
 ness ajso. Do -not delay about it. In God's name 1 have come to bless 
 your love, and give to your happiness a holy consecration. 
 
 And I, said Edward Seymour, I have begged of my brother the honor 
 of being allowed to accompany him. in order to say t*o your Majesty, 
 that I know how to duly appreciate the high honor which you show our 
 family, aud that, as your brother-in-law, 1 shall ever be mindful that you 
 were once my Queen, and 1 your subject. 
 
 But 1, cried Thomas Seymour, 1 would not delay coming to you, in 
 <jrder that I might show you that love only brings me to you, and that 
 no other consideration could induce me. The King's will is not yet 
 ■opened, and I know not its contents. But however it may determine 
 with respect to all of us, it cannot diminish or increase my happiness in 
 possessing you. Whatever you may be, you will ever be to me only 
 the adored woman, the ardently loved wife ; and only to assure you of 
 this, I have corne this very day. 
 
 Catharine extended her hand to him with a bewitching smile. I have 
 never doubted of you. Se\ mour, whispered she, and never did 1 love you 
 more ardently, than when I wanted to renounce yoCi. 
 
 She bowed her head on her lover's shoulder, and tears of purest joy 
 bedewed her cheeks. The Archbishop of Canterbury joined their hands, 
 and blessed them as betrothed lovers; a/id the elder Seymour, Eurl 
 Hertford, bowed and greeted them as a betrothed couple. 
 
 On that very same day the King's will was opened, (n the large 
 gilded hallj in which King Henry's merry laughter and thundering voice 
 
141 
 
 of wrath had so often resounded, were now read his last com mauds. 
 The whole Court was assembled, as it was wont to be for a joyous festi- 
 val ; and Catharine once more sat on the royal throne. But the dreaded 
 tyrant, the blood-thirsty King. Henry the Eighth, was no longer at her 
 side ; but the. poor pale boy, Edward, who had inherited from his father 
 neither energy nor genius, but only his thirst for blood and his canting 
 hypocricy. At his side stood his sisters, the Princesses Mary and Eliza- 
 beth. Both were pale and of a sad countenance; but with both, it was 
 not for their father that they were grieving. 
 
 Mary, the bigoted Roman Catholic, saw with horror and bitter anguish 
 the days of adversity which were about to befall her Church; for Ed- 
 ward was a fanatical opponent of the Roman Catholic religion, and she 
 knew that he would, shed the blood of the papists with relentless cruel- 
 ty. On this account it was, that she mourned. 
 
 But Elizabeth, that young girl of ardent heart — she thought neither 
 of her father, nor of the dangers threatening the Church; she thought 
 only of her love, she felt only that she had been deprived of a hope, of 
 an illusion — that she had awoke from a sweet and enchanting dream to 
 the rude and barren reality. She had given up her first love, but her 
 heart bled and the wound still smarted. 
 
 The Will was read. Elizabeth looked towards Thomas Seymour du 
 ring this solemn and portentous reading. She wanted to read in his 
 countenance the impression made on him by these grave words, so preg ; 
 nant with the future; she wanted to search the depths of his soul, 
 and to penetrate the secret th lughts of his heart. She saw how he turned 
 pale, when, not Queen Catharine, but his brother, Earl Hertford, was ap- 
 pointed Regent during Edward's minority ; she saw the sinister, almost 
 angry look, which he threw at the Queen ; and with a cruel smile she 
 murmured : " I am revenged ! He loves her no longer !" 
 
 John Hey wood, who was standing behind the Queen's throne, had 
 also observed that look of Thomas Seymour, yet not like Elizabeth 
 with a rejoicing, but with a sorrowful heart, and* he dropped his head 
 upon his breast and murmured : " Poor Catharine ! lie will hate her, 
 and she will be very unhappy." 
 
 But she was still happy. Her eye # beamed with pure delight, when 
 she perceived that her lover was, by the King's will, appointed High 
 Admiral ot England and guardian of the young King. She thought 
 not of herself, but only of him, of her lover;" and it filled her with the 
 proudest satisfaction to see him invested with places of such high honor 
 and dignity. 
 
 Poor Catharine ! Her eye did not see the sullen cloud which still 
 rested on the brow of her beloved. She was so happy and so innocent 
 and so little ambitious. For her this only was happiness, to be her lov- 
 er's, to be the wife of Thomas Seymour. 
 
 And this happiness was to be hers. Thirty days after the death of 
 King Henry the Eighth, she became the wife of the High ^Admiral, 
 Thoma9 Seymour, Earl of Sudley. Archbishop Crapmer solemnized 
 
142 
 
 their union in the chapel at Whitehall, and the Lord Protector, now 
 Duke of Sommersett, formerly Earl of Hertford, the brother of Thomas 
 Seymour, was the witness of this marriage, which was, however, still 
 kept a secret, and of which there was to be no other witnesses. When, 
 however, they resorted to the chapel for the marriage, Princess Eliza- 
 beth came forward to meet the Queen, and offered her hand. 
 
 It was the first time that they had met since the dreadful day on 
 which they confronted each other as enemies — the first time that they 
 had again seen each other eye to eye. 
 
 Elizabeth had -rung this sacrifice from her heart. Her proud soul 
 revolted at the thought that Thomas Seymour might imagine that she 
 was still grieving for him, that she still loved him. She would show him 
 that her heart was entirely recovered from that first dream of her youth 
 — that she had not' the least regret or pain. 
 
 She accosted him with a haughty, cold smile, and presented Catharine 
 her hand. Queen, said she, you have so long been a kind and faithful 
 mother to me, that 1 may well once more claim the right of being your 
 daughter. Let me, therefore, as your daughter, be present at the solemn 
 transaction in which you are about to engage ; and allow me to stand at 
 your side and pray for you, whilst the Archbishop performs the sacred ser- 
 vice, and transform the Queen into the Countess of Sudley. May God 
 bless you, Catharine, and give you all the happiness that you deserve ! 
 
 And Princess Elizabeth knelt at Catharine's side, as the Archbishop 
 blessed this new marriage tie. And while she prayed, her eye again glided 
 over towards Thomas Seymour, who was standing there by his 
 young wife. Catharine's countenance beamed with beauty and happi- 
 ness, but upon Thomas Seymour's brow still lay the cloud that had 
 settled there on that day when the King's Will was opened — that Will 
 which did not make Queen Catharine Regent, and which thereby de- 
 stroyed Thomas Seymour's proud and ambitious schemes. 
 
 And that cloud remained on Thomas Seymour's brow, It sunk down 
 lower, and still lower. .It soon overshadowed the happiness of Catha- 
 rin's love, and awakened her from short her dream of bliss. 
 
 What she suffered, how much of secret agony and silent woe she en- 
 dured, who can wish to know or conjecture? Catharine had a «proud 
 and a chaste soul. She concealea from the world her pain and her 
 grief, as bashfully as she had once done her love. Nobody 'suspected 
 what she suffered and how she struggled with her crushed heart. 
 
 She never complained ; she saw bloom after bloom fall from her life ; 
 she. saw the smile disappear from her husband's countenance ; she heard 
 his voice, at first so tender, gradually harden to harsher tones ; she felt 
 his heart growing colder and colder, and his love changing into indiffer- 
 ence, perhaps even into hate. 
 
 She had devoted her whole heart to love, but she felt day by day, 
 and hour by hour, that her husband's heart was cooling more -and more. 
 She felt with dreadful, heart-rending certainty : She was his with aU her 
 love. But he was no longer hers. 
 
143 
 
 And she tormented her heart to find out why he no longer loved her; 
 what she had been guilty of, that he turned away from her. Seymour 
 had not the delicacy and magnanimity to conceal from her his inward 
 thoughts; and at last she comprehended why he neglected her. 
 
 Pie had hoped, that Catharine would be Regent of England, that he 
 then would be consort of the Regent. Because it had not happened so, 
 his Love had died. 
 
 Catharine felt this, and she died of it. 
 
 But not suddenly, not at once, did death release her from her sorrows 
 and racking tortures. 
 
 Six months she had to suffer and struggle with them. After six 
 monihs, she died. 
 
 Strange rumors were spread at her death; and John Hey wood never 
 passed by Earl Seymour without gazing at him with an agry look, and 
 saying : You have murdered the beautiful Queen ! Deny it, if you can ! 
 
 Thomas Seymour laughed, and did not consider it worth his while to 
 defend himself against the accusations of the fool. 
 
 He laughed, notwithstanding he had not yet put off the mourning he 
 wore for Catharine. 
 
 In these, mourning garments he ventured to approach the Princess 
 Elizabeth, to swear to her his ardent love, and sue for her hard. 
 
 But Elizabeth repelled him with coldness and haughty contempt ; and, 
 like the fool, the Princess also said : you have murdered Catharine ! I 
 cannot be the wife of a murderer ! 
 
 And God's justice punished the murderer of the innocent and noble 
 Catharine; and scarcel) three months after the death of his wife, the 
 High- Admiral had to ascend the scaffold, and was executed as a traitor. 
 
 By Cathaiine's wish, her books and papers were given to her true 
 friend John Hey wood; and he undertook with the greatest care an ex- 
 amination of the same. He found among her papers many leaves writ 
 ten by herself, many verses and poems, which breathed forth the sorrow- 
 fulness of her spirit. Catharine herself hid collected them into a lunik, 
 and with her own hand she had given to the book this title : " Lamenta- 
 tions of a Sinner." 
 
 Catharine had wept much as she penned these "Lamentations;" for 
 in many places the manuscript was illegible, and her tears h;id obliterate 
 the characters. 
 
 John Heywood kissed the spots where the tiaces ofcher tears remain- 
 ed, and whispered : The sinner has by her suffering been glorified into ; i 
 saint; and these poems are the cross and the monument, which she has 
 prepared for her own urave. I will t*et up this coss, that the good 
 take comfort, and the wicked flee from it. And he did so. He had the 
 Lamentations of a Sinner printed ; and this book was the fairest monu- 
 ment of Catharine. 
 
 END OF VOL II- 
 


 
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