One day she was suddenly summoned by the king, and, accompanied by her confidante, Lady Herbert, she prepared, without any misgiving, to attend upon him.
Catherine Parr’s charms were of a kind which is more fully developed in the summer of life than in the spring. At thirty-five she was far handsomer than when she was ten years younger. Her complexion was of exquisite clearness, and her skin smooth as satin; her face was oval in form, the principal feature being slightly aquiline; her eyes were large, dark and languid in expression, with heavy eyelids, over-arched by well-defined jetty brows. Her raven locks were banded over her marble forehead, and partly concealed by her rich headdress. Her figure was tall and perfectly proportioned, full, but not over-much. Her deportment was majestic and queenly, her manner calm, collected, almost cold; but, notwithstanding her gravity of aspect and staidness of demeanor, there was something in Catherine’s looks that seemed to intimate that she could smile, ay, and indulge in innocent merriment, when alone among her women, or unawed by her imperious spouse.
On the present occasion she was richly attired, as was her wont. A circle of gold, ornamented with diamonds, rubies, and small pearls, encompassed her brows. Attached to this coronet was a coif of golden wire, while an embroidered couvre-chef depending from it, completed her headgear. Her gown was of gold damask, raised with pearls of damask silver, with a long close-fitting stomacher, and sleeves tight at the shoulder, but having loose hanging cuffs of fur, beneath which could be discerned slashed and puffed under-sleeves of crimson satin. A necklace of jacinth adorned her throat, and her waist was surrounded by a girdle of goldsmith’s work, with friar’s knots, enamelled black. A pomander box terminated the chain of the girdle, which reached almost to the feet.
Her attendant, Lady Herbert, sister to Henry’s third wife, Jane Seymour, and herself a very lovely woman, was likewise richly habited in a gown of chequered tissue, fashioned like the queen’s.
On Catherine’s entrance into the royal presence, Henry was seated in his cumbrous chair. Ever fond of rich habiliments, even when laboring under mortal disease, his predilections did not desert him. A gown of purple caffa damask, furred with sables, and having a border embroidered and fringed with Venice gold, was thrown over his shoulders. His overgrown trunk was enveloped in a doublet of purple satin, embroidered all over with pearls; and his lower limbs were wrapped in a mantle of black cloth of gold upon bawd-kin. On his head he wore a velvet skull-cap, richly set with pearls and other precious stones. But these trappings and ensigns of royalty only served to make the sick monarch’s appearance more hideous. It was dreadful to look upon him as he sat there, with his features so bloated as scarcely to retain a vestige of humanity, and his enormously bulky person. No one would have recognized in this appalling object the once handsome and majestic Henry the Eighth. The only feature unchanged in the king was the eye. Though now deep sunken in their orbits, his eyes were keen and terrible as ever, proving that his faculties had lost none of their force.
On the king’s right, and close beside him, stood the astute and learned Stephen Gardiner, who, though he had signed Henry’s divorce from Katherine of Aragon, and written the famous oration De Verâ Obedientiâ in the monarch’s behalf, was yet secretly devoted to the Romish faith, and strongly opposed to the new doctrines. Clad in his stole, scarlet chimere, white rochet, and black cassock, he wore a black skull-cap set low upon the forehead, and having flaps that covered the ears and neck. Gardiner was singularly ill-favored; very swarthy, beetle-browed, and hook-nosed. Moreover, he had wide nostrils, like those of a horse, and a hanging look. By nature he was fierce, of great boldness, extremely zealous and indefatigable, and enjoyed much credit with his royal master, which he was supposed to have employed against the Reformers.
On the other side of the monarch was stationed the Lord Chancellor Wriothesley—pronounced Wrottesley,—a sombre-looking man, with harsh features, and a high, bald forehead. Robed in a black gown, bordered with sable fur, he had altogether the air of a grand inquisitor. As a knight companion of the Garter, he wore the George and collar round his neck. Like Gardiner, the Lord Chancellor was attached to the old faith, and bitterly, though secretly, hostile to its opponents. They both entertained the belief that on the king’s death the progress of the Reformation would be arrested, and the religion of Rome triumphantly restored; and to this end they had plotted together to remove the queen, as one of the chief obstacles to the accomplishment of their scheme. They inflamed the king’s mind against her by representing to him that her majesty was in the habit of secretly perusing religious books and manuscripts prohibited by the royal decree, offering him proof, if needed, of the truth of their assertions; and Catherine herself unwittingly played into their hands by the imprudence with which she discussed certain points of doctrine with her intolerant spouse, stoutly maintaining opinions adverse to his own. Made aware of this by the king’s displeasure, the plotters easily fanned the flame which had been already lighted until it burst into a blaze. He uttered angry menaces, and spoke of a committal to the Tower. But he would give her one chance of retrieving herself. She was summoned, as has been stated, and on her behavior at the interview hung her sentence.