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 married his wife.
[Footnote: Burnet.] He made her, therefore, his sister, and gave her
the palace at Richmond for a residence, in case she wished to remain
in England. She accepted it; her blood, which crept coldly and quietly
through her veins, did not rise at the thought of being despised and
repudiated. She accepted it, and remained in England.

"She was rejected because she 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, I had 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 publicly in the
church, with a loud voice he thanked God for the happiness which his
beautiful young queen afforded 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 into 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.[Footnote: Tytler, p. 432.] More than seven lovers had preceded
her royal spouse, and some of them had accompanied her even on the
progress through Yorkshire, 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 woman, 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 forgive 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
indubitable 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 crimson of his royal mantle, he would dye it afresh with her own
crimson blood. And he did so. Catharine Howard was forced to