horse, I was honored with 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 visible 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 Cromwell, 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--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 countenance, said to Cromwell: 'Call you that a beauty? She is a
Flanders mare, but no princess.' [Footnote: Burnet, p. 174. Tytler,
p. 417.] Anne's ugliness was surely given her of God, that by it, the
Church, in which alone is salvation, might be delivered from the great
danger which threatened it. For had Anne of Cleves, the sister, niece,
granddaughter 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, must 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
shrank 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 of age;
rings had been exchanged and