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 names," 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. [Footnote:
"Life of King Henry the Eighth, founded on Authentic and Original Documents." By Patrick Fraser Tytler. (Edinburgh, 1887, p. 440.)]
And the heavenward flaring flames 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 remains 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 paroxysm of anguish she stared at the king, who, in fanatical enthusiasm, was looking over toward the fire, into which, at his command, they were perhaps hurling to a cruel, torturing death, some poor wretch, to the honor of God and the king. "No, he knows no pity and no mercy."Now Henry turned to her, and laying his extended hand softly on the back of her slender neck, he spanned it with his fingers, and whispered 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 involuntary, 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." [Footnote:
Tytler, p. 382] 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 execrations, 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. [Footnote:
Leti, vol. i, p. 193]
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 he spanned her neck, he whispered in her ear words of tenderness, and bent his face close to her cheeks.
But Catharine heeded not his passionate whispers. She saw nothing save the blood-red handwriting of fire upon the sky. She heard nothing save the shrieks of the wretched victims.
"Mercy, mercy!" faltered she. "Oh, let this day be a day of festivity for all your subjects! Be merciful, and if you would have me really believe that you love me, grant this first request which Imake 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 conversation.
But Catharine's countenance expressed unconcealed astonishment.
"Mercy, mercy!" repeated the voice from the interior of the chamber.
The king uttered an angry exclamation, and hastily withdrew from the balcony.
