by Alison Weir
Compton was replaced as Groom of the Stool and Keeper of the Privy Purse by a man whose neutrality could be relied upon by the Cardinal, the charming and polished Henry Norris, who had become— according to Henry’s own testimony—“the best beloved of the King”7 and was eminently fitted for this most confidential of court posts.
“At the pleasure of His Grace,” Henry’s inward lodgings were to be “reserved secret, without repair of any great multitude.” No person was from henceforth to “presume, attempt or be admitted” to enter “other than such only as His Grace shall from time to time call for,” and strict regulations were brought in to enforce greater formality in the King’s presence and good conduct and discretion on the part of his personal servants, who were to be responsible for his “quiet, rest and comfort, and the preservation of his health.” 8 Fifteen members of the Privy Chamber were to be in attendance on their master at any one time: Exeter, the Groom of the Stool, and five other Gentlemen, Sir William Taylor, Sir Thomas Cheney, Sir Anthony Browne, Sir John Russell, and William Carey; two Gentlemen Ushers, Roger Ratcliffe and Anthony Knyvet; four Grooms, William and Urian Brereton, Walter Welch, and John Carey; Penny the barber; and a page, fourteen-year-old Francis Weston, the son of Sir Richard Weston of Sutton Place.9
The Ordinances also recognised the fact that the Privy Council was meeting more and more frequently at court, and decreed that ten councillors must always be in attendance on the King; among those so designated were John Clerk, Bishop of Bath and Wells; Sir Thomas More; and the Dean of the Chapel Royal. Two at least were “to be always present every day in the forenoon, by 10 a.m. at the furthest, and by afternoon by 2 p.m. in the King’s dining chamber, or in such other place as shall fortune to be appointed for the Council chamber.”10
Another of those councillors in regular attendance was Dr. William Knight, who had recently replaced Richard Pace as Secretary to the King. Knight was another of Wolsey’s protégés; he had been educated at Oxford, taken holy orders, and been appointed a royal chaplain in 1515. He had served on various embassies and proved his worth as a versatile man of affairs. Later, the King would appoint him Bishop of Bath and Wells.
Poor Richard Pace’s career was grinding to a rather tragic halt. Wolsey, convinced that Pace was working against him, had seen to it that he was ousted from his post as Secretary and sent to Spain on an arduous diplomatic mission. In 1527, still suspicious of Pace’s loyalty, he had him committed to the Tower. This was all too much for the sensitive Pace, and his mind gave way. On his release in 1530, he retired for good from public life, a broken man.
The implementation of the Eltham Ordinances called for changes among the chief officers of the household. The elderly Earl of Worcester, who had been ailing for some time and was to die in April that year, was replaced as Lord Chamberlain by a man who had long enjoyed the favour of the King, William Sandys, who had been created Lord Sandys of The Vyne in 1523. He was assisted in his duties by the new Treasurer of the Household, Sir William Fitzwilliam, the able naval commander and diplomat, who was elected a Knight of the Garter that year. Meanwhile Wolsey had sacked the former Cofferer, John Shurley, for taking unauthorised leave, and replaced him with Sir Edmund Peckham.
There is no doubt that the Eltham Ordinances achieved much of what they were meant to do, even though many regarded them as “more profitable than honourable,”11 but it is not clear how stringently they were enforced, and there is evidence in royal proclamations that in several respects they were ignored. Certainly the numbers in the Privy Chamber had begun to rise by 1530, when there were nine Gentlemen and twenty officers in total (these numbers rose to eleven and twenty-four respectively by 1532, and steadily increased thereafter).12 The court remained a huge, chaotic establishment that would, over the next few years, be affected by the rule of factions and major changes of policy; only thirteen years would elapse before it was considered necessary to introduce another series of reforms. This all suggests that the Ordinances of 1526 did not go far enough towards stamping out waste and bad practices, and that there was insufficient provision for enforcing them.
32
“A Fresh Young Damsel”
On Shrove Tuesday, 1526, there was a nasty incident when Sir Francis Bryan lost an eye in a tournament at Greenwich, necessitating his wearing an eye-patch thereafter.1 What was more significant about this occasion, however, was the intriguing motto, “Declare je nos” (Declare I dare not), which was embroidered on Henry VIII’s magnificent jousting costume of cloth of gold and silver; above the words was emblazoned a man’s heart engulfed in flames.2 Such courtly devices were not uncommon, but in this case it seems that the King really had fallen passionately in love—probably for the first time in his life.
The object of the royal affections was Anne Boleyn, the younger sister of Henry’s former mistress, who had at some stage resumed her duties in the Queen’s household. It is not known when or where the affair began, but it had been going on for some months before it became public knowledge; the King’s motto is the first evidence for it. An undated letter from Henry to Anne, which appears to have been written in 1527, refers to the King having been “struck with the dart of love” for more than a year. Another pointer to the affair gathering momentum is in the royal accounts dating from the spring of 1526, when the King ordered from his goldsmith four gold brooches: one represented Venus and Cupid, a second a lady holding a heart in her hand, a third a gentleman lying in the lap of a lady, and the fourth a lady holding a crown.3 The symbolism was unmistakable.
Previous royal mistresses had apparently succumbed to their sovereign’s overpowering charisma with indecent haste, but Anne Boleyn was different. Driven by ambition rather than virtue, she refused to become the King’s lover, or even his acknowledged mistress in the courtly sense, and thereby inflamed his ardour to fever pitch. It was certainly a piquant and even humbling situation for a great King such as Henry imagined himself to be to encounter, and intrigued fascination boosted his raging desire.
As usual, Henry was utterly discreet in his conduct of the affair. He must have known Anne socially before it began, and probably became close to her after losing interest in her sister. He may well have visited her at Hever Castle, using nearby Penshurst as a base, and her return to the Queen’s service was perhaps engineered by him. The evidence suggests that her father, Lord Rochford, whose ambition far outweighed his moral scruples, encouraged the affair, since he had certainly profited from the King’s seduction of his elder daughter; he may even have seen his younger daughter’s submission as a stepping stone to recovering his lost court posts. But Anne had no intention of being used by the King, then discarded and married off, as his previous mistresses had been.
As far as looks went, many people could not understand what he saw in her; one of her father’s chaplains, John Barlow, was of the opinion that she was less beautiful than her sister or Elizabeth Blount, and a Venetian who saw her in 1532 wrote: “Madame Anne is not one of the handsomest women in the world; she is of middling stature, swarthy complexion, long neck, wide mouth, bosom not much raised, and in fact has nothing but the English King’s appetite, and her eyes, which are black and beautiful and take great effect.”4 Another eyewitness states that those eyes “invited to conversation”; Anne “well knew how to use” them to effect, and “such was their power that many a man paid his allegiance.” 5 This suggests that what Anne did have was that indefinable quality known as sex appeal, which made men find her irresistibly attractive. In addition, she had a slender, “elegant” figure,6 a graceful carriage, and long dark hair.
Anne herself was conscious of certain physical imperfections. George Wyatt, who in the 1590s wrote a laudatory memoir of Anne Boleyn, based on the reminiscences of her former maid of honour, Anne Gainsford, and his own family traditions, stated that there was a rudimentary sixth nail “upon the side of her nail upon one of her fingers, which yet was so small, by the report of those that have seen her, [and] which was usually by her hidden.” 7
In those days, such a deformity was regarded by the devout as a sign of inner corruption or divine disfavour and by the superstitious as a witch’s mark; hence the need for concealment. Catholic writers such as Nicholas Sander, who in 1585 wrote a vituperative account of Anne’s life, regarded her as Jezebel personified, and made political capital out of her malformation, claiming that she in fact had six fingers. Nor was the sixth nail Anne’s only blemish. George Wyatt wrote that there were said to be “upon some parts of her body certain small moles incident to the clearest complexions,” and a French eyewitness reported in 1533 that she had warts, and a large swelling on her neck.8 Sander calls this “a large wen,” Wyatt a prominent Adam’s apple.
The most famous authentic portrait of Anne Boleyn is that in the National Portrait Gallery, which is a late sixteenth-century copy of a lost original, by an anonymous artist, dating from 1533–1536. The thin face, with its high cheekbones, small mouth, and pointed chin, bears a marked resemblance to that of Anne’s daughter, Elizabeth I. Various versions of this portrait exist: one at Hever shows Anne holding a rose and wearing a metal fillet over her French hood. The same portrait type appears in a miniature enamel of Anne in a ring that also features a companion image of Elizabeth I, which dates from around 1575 and is now at Chequers, and on a portrait medal of her, issued in 1534 and now in the British Museum.
A drawing of a lady in a gable hood by Hans Holbein at Weston Park was not identified as Anne Boleyn until 1649, and the face is different from that in the National Portrait Gallery picture. Several later painted versions of this drawing exist, notably at Hever Castle and Hatfield House. In the Royal Collection at Windsor there is another Holbein drawing of a different lady, labelled in eighteenth-century lettering, “Anna Bollein Queen.” The inscription is said to have been copied from the original one by John Cheke, who, after Holbein’s death, attempted to label all his drawings. Cheke, who did not arrive at court until several years after Anne Boleyn’s death, is known to have made several mistakes in his identifications; moreover, the hair of this sitter has been coloured yellow. Internal evidence suggests that this is in fact a lady of the Wyatt family.
In recent years it has been claimed that two miniatures of the same lady by Lucas Horenbout (now in the Buccleuch Collection and the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto), formerly thought to be of Henry’s third wife, Jane Seymour, represent Anne Boleyn. The identification rests largely on two things: the fact that Horenbout’s surviving miniatures are said to be exclusively of royalty or related persons, and the badge on the sitter’s breast, which it is claimed is Anne’s falcon badge.
There are several problems with this identification. Firstly, even allowing for traces of repainting, the sitter, with her fair hair, round face, short chin, and full lips, bears little resemblance to Anne Boleyn as she appears in the National Portrait Gallery portrait. Secondly, her age is given as twenty-five. If this is Anne, and she was born around 1501 (a date now accepted by most historians), then the miniature was painted around 1526/7, when her role was little more than that of the King’s low-profile inamorata, which hardly qualified her to be one of the fashionable Horenbout’s first sitters. Thirdly, Anne did not adopt her crowned falcon badge until 1533, and the bird on her badge was rising to the right, with wings elevated, while this bird is displayed, apparently, with wings inverted. Whoever this miniature depicts—and that still remains a mystery—it was not Anne.
Anne’s character has fascinated—and often eluded—historians for centuries. She was certainly ambitious, determined, tenacious, and even ruthless. Her loyalty to, and pride in, her family was strong, and she seems to have been particularly close to her brother George. She was sophisticated, vivacious, and witty, but could also be high-strung, sharp-tempered, and vindictive. Yet her strength, boldness, and courage were never in doubt. Unlike most women of her time, she had an independent spirit.
It was more than just sex appeal and wit that attracted Henry to Anne. Several writers testify to her love of fashion and her expensive tastes, which she shared with the King. Like him, she had a flair for the decorative arts and a lively interest in architecture and display. Her accomplishments were many. She was well-educated, intelligent, and articulate, was fluent in French, and knew some Latin.9
Like Henry, Anne was passionately fond of music, and very talented in that sphere. “When she sang, like a second Orpheus, she would have made bears and wolves attentive.”10 She would accompany herself on the lute, could also “handle cleverly both flute and rebec,” 11 and was competent on her clavichord, which she liked to decorate with green ribbons.12 She could play the virginals with skill; a set decorated with the royal arms and her falcon badge, which perhaps belonged to both Anne and Elizabeth I, is now in the Victoria and Albert Museum. A beautifully crafted, nine-stringed lute, said to be Anne’s but with less certainty, is at Hever Castle. Anne is believed to have composed her own songs and even written a masque, but none of her works survive.
She was also an accomplished dancer.13 At the French court she had “danced the English dances, leaping and jumping with infinite grace and ability. Moreover, she invented many new figures and steps which are yet known by her name or those of the gallant partners with whom she danced them.”14 Even William Forrest, who wrote a hagiographic memoir of Katherine of Aragon, refers to Anne’s “passing excellent” skill at dancing: “here was a fresh young damsel that could trip and go.”
Anne and her brother and their young friends were all keen poets. Anne herself “possessed a great talent for poetry,”15 and George Boleyn was no mean versifier. He owned a manuscript of two fifteenth-century poems by the French writer Jean Lefèvre, “Les Lamentations de Matheolus” and “Le Livre de Lesce”; the first was a cynical satire on women and marriage—which may have struck a personal chord, as later evidence suggests that Boleyn’s union with Jane Parker was less than happy—the second a response. The manuscript is inscribed, “Thys boke ys myne, George Boleyn, 1526.”16
The most important member of the Boleyn’s literary circle was the poet Thomas Wyatt, their near-neighbour in Kent. Now aged about twenty-three, he was the son of Sir Henry Wyatt of Allington Castle, a Privy Councillor and Treasurer of the Chamber; prior to 1485, Sir Henry had supported the claim of Henry Tudor against Richard III, for which he had been consigned to the Tower and tortured. He and his son were therefore held in high esteem by the King.
The younger Wyatt was a charming, intelligent man, a dreamer who preferred country life to the superficiality of the court. He was tall and good-looking, with curly fair hair, and a dashing performer in the tiltyard. Women found him compellingly attractive, and he later confessed to having led an unchaste life, adding “but yet I was not abominable.” 17 His father would not have agreed, for in two letters written in 1536 he referred despairingly to his son’s sexual excesses and “the displeasure he hath done to God.”18
However, since 1520 Wyatt had been unhappily married to Elizabeth, the daughter of George Brooke, Lord Cobham, who was notoriously unfaithful to him; they had one son, Thomas, born in 1521,19 to whom Norfolk, Wyatt’s revered patron, stood godfather. The couple had separated by 1524, and Wyatt had sought solace in his poetry and his career. Having come to court in 1520 as an Esquire of the Body, he had been promoted in 1524 to Clerk of the King’s Jewels, probably through the influence of his father, who was then Master of the King’s Jewels, and had since gained favour with the King for his versifying talents, his skill with a lute, and his usefulness in devising court revels. In 1526, Henry began sending him abroad on diplomatic missions.
Wyatt was one of the greatest of English poets. He not only wrote moving poems and rondeaux,20 witty epigrams, riddles, and satires on court life inspired by the works of Horace and Ludovico Ariosto, but was responsible for adapting the Petrarchian sonnet into English verse, and introducing his own innovation, a rhyming couplet at the end, thus facilitating the composition of some of the most beautiful lyric poetry in the language. Wyatt’s poems were circulated
in manuscript form during his lifetime, and not published until after his death; they first appeared in print in Richard Tottel’s Miscellany in 1557. His grandson was Anne Boleyn’s biographer, George Wyatt.
Despite having been back in England for four years, Anne was still predominantly French in her ways. She was “very expert in the French tongue” 21 and, given her graceful manners, no one would have taken her to be English, “but a Frenchwoman born.”22 Many of the books she owned were in French, as were most of the love letters sent to her by Henry VIII. She preferred to dress in French fashions, in which she displayed “marvellous taste,”23 and was largely responsible for popularising the French hood in England. Anne had long been fond of devising new modes of dress: “every day she made some change in the fashion of her garments.”24 The ladies at the French court had copied her, and those at the English court would one day slavishly do the same.
However, Anne had learned more than courtly manners, deportment, and culture at the promiscuous court of Francis I. We can discount Sander’s malicious claim that her father had sent her to France because she had been caught in bed with both his butler and his chaplain—no other source mentions this—but other evidence of possible early sexual adventures cannot be ignored: in 1533, King Francis confided in the Duke of Norfolk “how little virtuously Anne had always lived.”25 Three years later, Henry himself told the Spanish ambassador that Anne had been “corrupted” in France and that he had only discovered this when he began having sexual relations with her.26 Later, just after her execution, when the King was offered the hand of Princess Madeleine of France, he declared “he had had too much experience of French bringing up and manners.” 27 Anne’s brother and sister were notorious for their sexual adventures, and even her mother’s reputation was suspect. Given such a background, it is hard to believe that she had remained virtuous, and almost certain therefore that her calculated refusal to succumb to the King’s advances stemmed from self-interest and ambition rather than her much-vaunted moral principles.