The Constable of the Tower by W. Harrison Ainsworth

Engendered in his frame by want of exercise, and nourished by gross self-indulgence, disease made rapid and fearful progress. Ere long he had become so corpulent, and his limbs were so much swollen, that he was almost incapable of movement. Such was his weight, that machinery had to be employed to raise him or place him in a chair. Doors were widened to allow him passage. He could not repose in a couch from fear of suffocation; and unceasing anguish was occasioned by a deep and incurable ulcer in the leg. Terrible was he to behold at this period. Terrible to hear were his cries of rage and pain, which resembled the roaring of a wild beast. His attendants came nigh him with reluctance and affright, for the slightest inadvertence drew down dreadful imprecations and menaces on their heads.

But the lion, though sick to death, was a lion still. While any life was left him, Henry would not abate a jot of the sovereign power he had exercised. Though his body was a mass of disease, his faculties were vigorous as ever; his firmness was unshaken, his will absolute. To the last he was true to himself. Inexorable he had been, and inexorable he remained. His thirst for vengeance was insatiable as ever, while his suspicions were more quickly aroused and sharper than heretofore.

But during this season of affliction, vouchsafed him, perchance, for repentance from his numerous and dire offences, there was no endeavor to reconcile himself with man, or to make his peace with Heaven. Neither was there any outward manifestation of remorse. The henchmen and pages, stationed at the doors of his chamber during the long hours of night, and half slumbering at their posts, with other watchers by his side, were often appalled by the fearful groans of the restless king. But these might be wrested from him by pain, and were no proof that conscience pricked him. Not a word escaped his lips to betoken that sleep was scared away by the spectres of his countless victims. What passed within that dark and inscrutable breast no man could tell.

| Go to Table of Contents |

Chapter II

OF THE SNARE LAID BY HER ENEMIES FOR QUEEN CATHERINE PARR, AND HOW SHE FELL INTO IT

So alarmed had been the fair dames of Henry’s court by his barbarous treatment of his spouses, as well as by the extraordinary and unprecedented enactment he had introduced into Catherine Howard’s bill of attainder, that when the royal Bluebeard cast his eyes among them in search of a new wife, they all shunned the dangerous distinction, and seemed inclined to make a similar response to that of the beautiful Duchess of Milan, who told Henry, “that unfortunately she had but one head,—if she had two, one of them should be at his Majesty’s service.”

At length, however, one was found of somewhat more mature years than her immediate predecessors, but of unimpaired personal attractions, who had sufficient confidence in her discretion, and trust in her antecedents, to induce her to venture on the hazardous step. This was Catherine, daughter of Sir Thomas Parr, of Kendal, then in her second widowhood, she having married, in the first instance, the eldest son of Lord Borough of Gainsborough, and, on his demise, the Lord Latimer. By neither marriage had there been children, so no obstacle was offered to her union with the king on this score. Henry espoused her, and was well satisfied with his choice. In proof of his high estimation, he appointed her Regent of the kingdom, prior to his departure on the expedition to France in 1544, the year after his marriage.

So great was Catherine Parr’s prudence, and so careful her conduct, that in spite of all intrigues against her, she never lost her influence over her fickle and suspicious spouse. The queen inclined to the new doctrines, and consequently those who adhered to the old religion became her enemies. But she gave them little ground for attack, and her hold upon the king’s affections secured her against their malice. Age and infirmities had subdued the violence of Henry’s passions: hence, Catherine had no reason to fear lest she should be superseded by some more attractive rival. Besides, she had prudence enough to keep temptation out of the king’s way, and she gradually and almost imperceptibly gave a more austere character to his court and entertainments. It was at her instance, though Henry was scarcely conscious of the prompting, that the pageantries and festivities in which he had once so greatly delighted were discontinued. As Henry’s ailments increased, and he became altogether confined to the palace, Catherine would fain have acted as his nurse, but this Henry would not permit; and fearing his suspicions might be aroused, the queen did not urge the point. But she was frequently with him, and ever ready to attend his summons. Under the circumstances in which he was placed, her discourse might have been very profitable to the king if he had chosen to listen to it; but he would brook no monition, and his sternness on one or two occasions when the attempt was made, warned her to desist. But Catherine was somewhat of a controversialist, and, being well read in theological matters, was fully able to sustain a dispute upon any question that might arise, and, though she never contradicted, she not unfrequently argued with him, yielding in the end, as was discreet, to his superior judgment.