Anna of Kleve, the Princess in the Portrait

by Alison Weir

  * * *

  —

  Mother Lowe was firm with her. Duty must always come before one’s personal feelings, she declared, while repacking a chest with Anna’s personal possessions, ready for their departure for Dartford later that afternoon. “Your lady mother would say the same, Anna. It will be your duty as a wife to study your husband and learn how to please him.”

  “I dare not do anything else,” Anna mourned, staring into the fire. “He scares me. I keep thinking of all the things I have heard about him, which I wanted so much not to believe, and now I fear they were true. It’s easy to imagine him being cruel and ruthless.” As he might be to me if I do not please him.

  “Then you must be careful to obey him, and please him. God has sent you to each other, and you must make the best of it.” Mother Lowe’s lips were pursed primly, but her gray eyes were full of compassion. “Now, no more talk of running back to Kleve.”

  “Oh, I dare not.” Anna managed a smile. “My brother’s anger would be more terrible than the King’s. I think he would kill me.” And the King might kill me too, if he found out that I have borne a bastard child. Icy fingers of fear gripped her spine.

  There was a knock at the door. “May I come in, Madam?” Susanna called.

  “Yes, of course,” Anna replied, but at the sight of her dear friend, carrying an armful of clothing and looking at her with sympathetic concern, she felt tears welling anew. “We are talking about the King.” She knew she shouldn’t be discussing him with people of lesser rank, but also that she could trust them both. They knew how unhappy she was.

  “What did you think of that charade?” she asked Susanna, as she helped her to fold the gowns.

  Susanna paused. “I thought he played an unkind trick on you.”

  “He did apologize. I think he had some romantic notion of himself as a knight errant, come to surprise his princess.”

  “There wasn’t much that was romantic about it,” Mother Lowe sniffed. “Anna was very upset afterward.”

  Susanna nodded. “I know. At dinner, he seemed to be holding back, and, at times, I thought he was angry about something. Maybe there has been a hitch in the wedding preparations, or some matter of state has displeased him.”

  “Or maybe it’s me,” Anna sighed. “He came specially to see me, yet he gave no sign that he was pleased with me, nor did he act like an eager bridegroom.”

  “Well, if he’s not an eager bridegroom, then he’s a fool,” the old nurse huffed.

  “He was very courteous to you,” Susanna said to Anna.

  “I was hoping for more than courtesy,” Anna sniffed, twisting her belt between her fingers.

  “Child, a king marries for the good of his realm,” Mother Lowe said, locking the chest. “Love comes later. His courtesy is a good start.”

  Susanna, whose own marriage had been made for love, and who was demonstrably happy in it, threw Anna a look of commiseration.

  “But there has to be some liking, surely, and I’m not sure the King even likes me,” Anna replied. “I know I’m not beautiful, but, in all modesty, I think I am seemly.”

  “You are lovely,” Susanna said. “And beauty is a matter of personal perception.”

  “Yes, but my nose is too long, and my chin too pointed!” Anna protested.

  “And the King is a model of manly beauty?” Susanna challenged.

  Anna sighed. “Of course he is not, although I dare say it would be treason to say so. But what matters, of course, is how I look to him. You remember my telling you that he was most insistent on seeing my portrait? If he hadn’t liked it, I doubt I would be here now. What worries me is that Meister Holbein painted me full-face, from the most flattering angle. You can’t see my shortcomings, and the King might be angry because he feels he has been deceived.” He would, without doubt, be angry if he found out about her other shortcoming: that she lacked a maidenhead.

  “Anna, it was a good likeness, and there is no proof that the King is displeased with you,” Mother Lowe declared. “He must have many cares to preoccupy him. He has been most solicitous and generous. Look at that jewel he gave you, and those wondrous furs! He has not hesitated in the past to rid himself of his wives. Be sure that, if he was not pleased with you, he would have no hesitation in sending you back to Kleve!”

  Anna was not so certain. “Then he would risk alienating my brother and the other German princes, and standing alone without allies against France and the Empire. No, he might be angry because he cannot send me home.” But I wish he would!

  “Nonsense! You are building this up into something it is not, and on what grounds? A feeling, an impression! You say the King has shown you no more than courtesy, but he has kissed and embraced you. His conduct has been entirely seemly.”

  Anna wanted to be convinced.

  “Wait until you are married,” Mother Lowe counseled, “then he will show you the proper affection of a husband for his wife.”

  Heaven forbid! she thought, visions of herself in bed with the King coming unbidden, visions that would become reality in just three days. She did not know how she would bear it. All she could envisage was herself, shrinking in fear on her wedding night…

  * * *

  —

  Outside the town of Dartford, the household officers appointed by the King to serve Anna were waiting to receive her. She stood, buffeted by icy winds, as Norfolk presented to her the Earl of Rutland, who was the King’s cousin and her new lord chamberlain; Sir Edward Baynton, her vice chamberlain; Sir Thomas Denny, her chancellor; Sir John Dudley, her master of horse; and all who were to serve on the council that would manage her affairs. Then Archbishop Cranmer and the Duke of Suffolk presented to her thirty English ladies and maids-of-honor, who did her due reverence. By the time he had finished, she was frozen stiff.

  “These ladies will from now on be in waiting permanently on your Grace,” Norfolk informed her, as they walked through the gatehouse toward her lodging, where, please God, it would be warm. “For the time being, they will serve alongside your German attendants.” For the time being. Anna was distressed to hear that; she had been praying inwardly that her countrywomen would be allowed to stay. Susanna would be, of course, but Anna hated the thought of losing those who had served her faithfully and been her constant companions. Above all, she could not bear to lose Mother Lowe. She would beg the King on her knees for her, if need be. Cast adrift as she was in a land full of strangers, far from her mother, sister, or brother, Mother Lowe was her anchor. With dread of her coming marriage now dominating her waking moments, she needed her old nurse more than she had ever needed her before.

  She forced herself to listen as Norfolk explained that the house she was staying in was an abandoned priory closed by the King last year.

  “His Grace is having it demolished,” he said, his manner gruff as usual. “He intends to build a fine palace here.” Anna looked about her at the traceried cloister and the big church standing behind. This had been a great nunnery in its day. She felt a pang for the sisters who had been cast out into the world to fend for themselves. And they were by no means alone. Nearly every abbey and priory in England had been closed down in the past four years.

  * * *

  —

  That evening, Anna entered the room serving as her privy chamber to find her new ladies waiting for her. It was unnerving to realize that she would be spending her life with these strangers, for, as queen, she would rarely be left unattended. She must win them over if she wanted a harmonious existence and moral support.

  She invited them to rise from their curtseys and be seated. With Susanna acting as interpreter, she managed to speak to each of them. Foremost was the King’s niece Lady Margaret Douglas, an auburn-haired beauty whom Anna had liked on sight for her warm welcome. Next in rank came Norfolk’s daughter, my lady the Duchess of Richmond, widow of the King’s bastard son; she too
was comely, but had a less friendly manner, confirming Anna’s suspicion that the Howard family did not like her. And—it came to her—why should they, the foremost Catholic family in the land, when she represented the King’s alliance with the Protestant princes of Germany?

  The Duchess of Suffolk she knew already, for she had journeyed with Anna from Dover. Katherine Willoughby was a lively, headstrong young woman of decidedly reformist views, who was popular with all. By contrast, the Countess of Rutland, who was cousin-in-law to the King, appeared a little haughty; nor could Anna warm to the heart-faced Lady Rochford, or Lady Edgcumbe, for both had an unappealing superior air, and she had seen them, more than once, whispering and nodding knowingly in her direction.

  Of her gentlewomen, she liked Margaret Wyatt, Lady Lee, whose brother was a poet, and the scholarly Anne Parr, Mrs. Herbert, who was a humanist. Anna was intrigued to meet Elizabeth Seymour, sister of the late Queen Jane and wife to Lord Cromwell’s son. She was a sweet-faced creature with a gentle manner, and most congenial company. If Jane had been like her sister, it was easy to see why the King had mourned her deeply.

  Anne Bassett, Lady Lisle’s daughter, was blond, buxom, and full of herself, as Anna had feared. With her comely face, she would attract attention anywhere. Anna decided not to press the King for a place for Anne’s sister; one of that family in her household was enough!

  Norfolk’s diminutive niece, Katheryn Howard, one of the maids-of-honor, dimpled prettily when spoken to, eyeing Anna gauchely. She had a pert manner and a ready laugh. Although she told Anna she was nineteen, she was like a little girl, with her tiny hands and feet, and her evident delight in her new position. Already, Anna felt protective toward her.

  The other maids were a lively crowd. Fifteen-year-old Kate Carey looked so like the King that Anna suspected she was his bastard daughter. She was not surprised when Susanna murmured in her ear that Kate was Mary Stafford’s daughter. It did not bother her, this evidence of the King’s infidelity; it had happened a long time ago. She did not think he would be disposed to such amours now, given his bad legs and his obesity.

  “Did your Grace know that the King’s aunt the Lady Bridget was a nun here?” Lady Rutland asked. “She died years ago, before the closure.” Anna thought it sad that Henry had not spared Dartford in his aunt’s memory.

  “This convent was renowned for its devotion and its learning,” Lady Rochford said. “It enjoyed royal patronage.”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Herbert, “but his Majesty was right to dissolve it. It was one of the richest nunneries in the land, and a school of popery, no doubt.”

  Sensing religious tension between the ladies, Anna encouraged them to make the acquaintance of her German women, who were sitting by themselves to one side of the chamber. But there was really no common meeting ground for, unlike the English ladies, the Germans did not play cards, or sing, dance, or make music, and they could not speak the English tongue. She feared they might become isolated, being so outnumbered; it was happening already.

  At nine o’clock, aware that she had to be up early for her official reception at Greenwich, Anna retired dispiritedly to the former prioress’s house. Here, as at Canterbury, another of the King’s rich beds had been set up. She fell asleep reminding herself of all his care for her, which must, surely, betoken some affection in him…

  Chapter 9

  1540

  As Anna descended Shooter’s Hill at noon the next day, seated with Mother Lowe and Susanna in the gilded chariot, she saw a vast gathering of people on the green expanse of Blackheath below her. Behind her followed twelve of her German ladies, all wearing gowns similar to hers, with heavy gold chains around their necks, and the rest of her great retinue from Kleve; after them, in stately manner, came the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Archbishop of Canterbury and other bishops, and the lords and ladies who had joined Anna on her journey through Kent.

  Susanna pointed out the Mayor and Corporation of London, in their red gowns, and the German merchants of the Steelyard. The broad heath was thronged with hundreds of knights, soldiers, and liveried servants, and crowds of ordinary citizens. It seemed the entire nobility of England was here too, and there must have been at least five thousand horses. All eyes were upon Anna’s chariot, waiting for a glimpse of her.

  “I cannot believe this is all for me,” she said, awed.

  “The Duke your brother would be much gratified,” Mother Lowe said. “The King has gone to much trouble and expense to afford you this princely welcome. It is a measure of his love for you.” There was a meaningful edge to her voice.

  At the foot of the hill, the chariot halted outside a gorgeous silken pavilion, which was surrounded by other, smaller tents. Ranked on either side of the entrance, Anna’s newly appointed household was waiting for her, having left Dartford at dawn and ridden ahead. Her lord chamberlain, the Earl of Rutland, bowed before her, looking so like his cousin the King, and Lady Margaret Douglas came forward to welcome her, attended by the Duchess of Richmond and the King’s other niece, the blunt-faced Marchioness of Dorset, accompanied by a throng of peeresses. As the entire household saluted and greeted her, Anna alighted from the chariot.

  “I give you all hearty thanks,” she said in English. Then she turned to her chief ladies and kissed them all in turn.

  Her new almoner, Dr. Kaye, made a long speech in Latin, of which she did not understand a word, then formally presented to her all those sworn to serve her, which took some considerable time, while each knelt in turn to kiss her hand. Everyone was shivering when the presentation was finished, but they had to endure the cold for a few minutes more to hear Dr. Olisleger reply to the address on Anna’s behalf. Only then could she and her ladies enter the pavilion, where she was grateful to find braziers containing scented fires against the January chill. A banquet had been laid out on a long table, and they all descended on it hungrily, relieved to have a little respite from ceremony.

  After Anna had eaten, her attendants helped her to change into a gorgeous taffeta gown of cloth of gold, cut in the Dutch fashion, with a round skirt. The English ladies were intrigued that it lacked the train customarily worn by women of rank at court, but some were complimentary.

  “It is much easier to wear than these twenty yards trailing at my back,” Lady Margaret said.

  Mother Lowe re-plaited Anna’s hair and placed a sheer linen caul over it, then, on top of that, a Stickelchen studded with Orient pearls and surmounted by a coronet of black velvet. Around Anna’s shoulders she set a partlet encrusted with rich gemstones, and high on her breast, a fiery ruby brooch.

  With not a hair out of place, Anna stood in the pavilion, waiting for the arrival of the King. She was trembling, unable to forget that it lacked less than a day to her marriage. Word of her arrival had been sent to Greenwich, three miles away, and when the Earl of Rutland came to say that his Majesty would not be long, she swallowed in trepidation, praying she would acquit herself well. And please, God, she breathed, make me like the King a little better.

  Moments later, in the distance, trumpets sounded, and her heart began to pound. He was coming.

  “Your Grace, it is time,” Rutland told her. “The King is about half a mile away. You are to meet him as he approaches.”

  Outside the pavilion, she saw, to her dismay, a richly caparisoned palfrey waiting for her, its reins held by Sir John Dudley, her master of horse. Ladies were not encouraged to ride back in Kleve—she had been taken everywhere in litters or chariots, and she was nervous of horses. One look at Sir John’s hard, swarthy face decided her against confiding her fear. Determinedly she climbed the mounting block and carefully seated herself sideways on the wooden saddle. Fortunately, the palfrey seemed docile and sturdy beneath her. Grasping the reins, she set off with her footmen about her, all wearing livery bearing the black lion of Kleve in goldsmiths’ work.

  In front of her rode a great company of h
er German and English gentlemen; after them followed Sir John Dudley, leading her horse of honor, and behind came her ladies, mounted in order of rank, then her yeomen and serving men on foot, bringing up the rear.

  The mounted merchants of the Steelyard had positioned themselves on either side of the road that led to Greenwich. Behind stood numerous gentlemen and esquires, and in front the Mayor and his brethren and the leading citizens of London. As Anna rode forward, she could see the royal trumpeters approaching; in their wake, marching toward her in orderly rank, advanced a company of spearmen, wearing dark velvet doublets and gold medallions of office.

  “Your Grace, that is the King’s elite guard, the Gentlemen Pensioners,” Sir John said, with Susanna translating.

  The procession halted to allow the guard to pass. After them came ranks of clerics, lawyers, officers of the royal household, Privy councillors, and the gentlemen of the King’s Privy Chamber; Sir John pointed them all out.

  At last, there, before her, was the King, attended by Norfolk, Suffolk, and Cranmer, and encircled by ten footmen, richly appareled in goldsmiths’ work. For all his bulk, Henry looked magnificent, quite unlike how he had appeared at Rochester. He rode a splendid courser trapped in rich cloth of gold embellished with gilded ornaments and pearls. His coat of purple velvet was embroidered with gold damask and heavily crisscrossed with matching laces: the slashed sleeves were lined with cloth of gold, and clasped with great buttons of diamonds, rubies, and Orient pearls. Across his breast was slung a collar of rubies and pearls. His sword and girdle glinted with diamonds and emeralds. His bonnet too was edged with precious stones, and on it he wore a cap rich with jewels. He glittered, godlike, in the weak January sunlight, and the crowds gaped in awe as he passed. To left and right he turned a princely countenance, raising his hand in greeting, and Anna felt something stir in her. Never had she seen a ruler treated with such deference, by courtiers and commons alike.