by Amy Licence
As Bessie awaited the birth, surrounded by the Augustinian friars going about their devotions, probably removed from the support of friends and family, she may have turned to Catholic texts for support. Her composition proves she was literate and religious and devotional books were a common feature of the lying-in stage. Birth was the conventional opening of many popular hagiographies and miracle stories, widely circulated since Caxton’s 1483 English edition of Jacobus de Voragine’s Golden Legend had become a best seller. The majority of these authors were male or abstaining females with no direct experience of birth, although accuracy was not their priority. Instead, the intention was to exacerbate their subjects’ piety and glorify God, so their tales are prone to exaggeration, implausibility and the employment of iconography for dramatic effect. Such narratives frequently dwell on the signs and holy manifestations that accompanied saints’ births, such as comets or holy flames and the allegorical dreams informing mothers of the destiny of their blessed offspring. Typical is the birth account of the twelfth century recluse, St Christina of Markygate. According to the story, on the day ‘when the faithful pay particular honour to the mother of God’, a dove, ‘whiter than snow’ flew out of a monastery and settled in her pregnant mother’s bosom: ‘such a sign was evidently meant to show that the child within her would be filled with that Holy Spirit’, so she carried the child ‘with joy’ until the day of its birth. The rituals of delivery that followed were predominantly religious: the expectant mother went to church at daybreak to hear matins and mass, commending herself devoutly to God, his Virgin Mother and St Leonard, whose nativity was celebrated that day. She gave birth between prime and terce, (six and nine in the morning) ‘bravely bearing her hour of pain in anticipation of her child’.15 Such descriptions may have been uplifting for Bessie but essentially misleading.
On his visits to Newhall Place, Henry may well have visited Bessie at nearby Jericho. Some evidence may suggest the affair was already waning by this point or would conclude soon after the birth; did Bessie sense she was losing the king’s interest? Perhaps conscious of her fragile status as his mistress, she may have resorted to some of the remedies suggested for a pregnant woman keen to preserve her looks. To keep her breasts pert, she may have worn a chain of gold about her neck, a piece of steel hanging between them or held a bit of cork under her armpit to prevent them ‘hanging down like bags’. Equally she may have bathed her breasts in periwinkle, sage, ivy and hemlock boiled in wine, or else a little rose vinegar; a quarter of an hour in the morning was supposedly best, before wrapping them in ‘reasonable’ warm clothes. From the third month onward until the birth, she should wear a supporting swathe to prevent wrinkling and distortion of the skin. This could be anointed with goat suet, sow fat, goose grease, stag marrow and rose water. The concoction cannot have smelt too pleasant as it was then perfumed with a few drops of musk or civet. Alternative ingredients included dog’s grease, sheep’s kidney, spermaceti, duck fat and wax; these could be applied on a clean, dry dog skin. As her time approached, an expectant mother should bathe for half an hour in the morning, then lie in her bed and be anointed with salves of mallow, motherwell, lily, camomile, linseed, fenugreek and hen’s fat; she should drink white wine and almond oil, bound by an egg. Ill humours might cause Pica, already identified by the Tudors as a desire for either salt, sharp tastes such as vinegar and citrus fruits or strange substances like coal, ash and wall plaster! This was supposedly caused by the growing of the child’s hair. For the last-minute pains and practise contractions, Bessie may have chewed fennel, aniseed or cinnamon; to relax her bowels and prepare for the birth, sorrel, spinach and beetroot were added to the existing list of herbs.
Just like for queens, the aristocratic Tudor woman’s lying-in process was one of seclusion and ritual. The chamber was made as dark, warm and comfortable as possible, to keep out draughts and evil spirits at a time when a mother was considered beyond the usual protection of the church. Daylight was thought to be dangerous although some manuals recommend one window being left uncovered whilst the others were hidden behind hangings; the cradle was placed well away from natural light and under no circumstances was permitted to stand in moonlight. Darkness was considered physically beneficial too, as birth was thought to strain the eyes and repeated childbirth could lead to blindness, so the room’s key holes were stopped up, although this may have been borne out of the need to maximise privacy in smaller homes, shared with family and servants. The comfort and whims of a labouring mother were taken seriously, with food and supplies being brought in for those involved and their visitors during the long days of delivery and recovery, running up bills with traders and shopkeepers, causing disputes. There were no royal kitchens to ensure the average mother was kept well fed. In Chester in 1540, local authorities ruled that ‘great excess has been caused by the costly dishes, meats and drinks brought to women in childbed, which they repay at their churchings. Therefore it is ordered that in future no such dishes and wines shall be brought to women in childbed nor to churchings, and that no woman but the midwife and mother, sisters and sisters-in-law shall enter the house with her that is churched’.16 The penalty was a fine of 6s 8d against the house owner and 3s 4d for every person in attendance. This would be unpopular with midwives who were following the recommendations of Rosslin that women should be refreshed with good meat and drink; again provision would depend very much upon social class and degrees of disposable wealth.
In cases of illegitimacy, midwives were called upon to put pressure upon a mother at the moment of her greatest suffering. The women attending the unmarried Ursula Cleveland in 1588 at Shalford, Essex, asked her pressing questions to determine paternity, later giving evidence in court. The main midwife, Elizabeth Callys, was supported by Catherine Crosse, Rose Ringer and Bytteris Burles in charging her to clear the reputations of two men she had accused, although Ursula held out as long as she could, only naming one William Sympson when she was in ‘great peril of her life’ and believing herself about to die. A Richard Perrie of the same town told the justices how he had given Urusla cakes and a pot of beer when she confessed to him that the father was one Thomas Noble, although her sister had encouraged her to name Sympson instead. When examined, Ursula’s sister Joan Malte stated that she had long suspected Ursula of living a ‘lewd life’ with Sympson and had once followed him back to her house, where she stood under a window and heard the pair having ‘carnal knowledge’ before emerging from a bedchamber. When she confronted Sympson he accused her of being mad and offered her a bribe, after which she had encouraged Ursula to tell the truth regarding the paternity. Ursula then confessed Sympson had threatened to kill her if she spoke against him, which appeared to sway the justices. The court found Sympson culpable, ordering him to pay maintenance weekly for its upkeep, until such time that another man was later proven to be the child’s father. Ursula was to be stripped to the waist, tied to a cart and receive twenty lashes before the village church and in the street.17 Rule-breaking was considered a manifestation of sin rather than the product of social circumstance and as such, sinners needed to be harshly punished to cleanse the community and dissuade others.
More midwives helped identify the father of the illegitimate child born to Susan Babye of Coggeshall, Essex in 1582. Agnes Trewe, a widow, and Agnes Howlett had attended her labour, where she would only claim there was no other father of her child than her half-brother Edward. Shocked, the women pressed further and Susan confessed that one John Fletcher had lain with her at Witham fair, another William Dagnett had had ‘to do with her divers and sundry times’ and a Richard Howe had slept with her once, all around the time of conception.18 The phrase used in most recorded cases of bastardy is that of a ‘child begotten on the body’ of the mother, suggestive of a passive female role, even when the evidence shows collusion. Those women unfortunate enough to conceive during an act of violation were considered complicit, as mutual enjoyment was believed essential to conception. Therefore, pregnancies arising from r
ape were seen as evidence that the woman had enjoyed herself, invalidating any accusation she may have made. Legally, sex and the creation of a child was considered to lie within the control and responsibility of men, although women could lure and tempt a man to sin. Paradoxically, they were seen as morally weak and yet strong in terms of determination and depravity. Socially, the stigma was more lastingly endured by the woman as men could always deny paternity whilst pregnancy and birth outside marriage were illegal and difficult to conceal. It was usually the men of the parish where the illegitimate child was born who alerted the assize courts, mindful of the expense to the community if those involved shirked their responsibilities. Justice was a male preserve; women’s involvement was determined by male perceptions of their character and reputation. In such cases it was crucial to establish who the father or legal parent was, which could require a confession. Court records show this was not always forthcoming.
Whilst Bessie and her son were to incur the stigma of illegitimacy, her royal connection raised her above open censure and afforded her considerable protection. There would be no awkward questions for her to answer, even from the church, as Wolsey took charge of all the relevant arrangements. As a result, it must have seemed that even God was sanctioning her liaison with the king and subsequent pregnancy. It is likely that the late spring and early summer days passed pleasantly enough in the priory, punctuated by visits from the king, staying nearby. Henry must have been especially eager to see the arrival of a son, even one not born to his wife. If nothing else, it proved his abilities to father a healthy child and shifted the perceived failings of his marriage firmly onto Catherine. It is unclear exactly when Catherine herself learned of the imminent arrival; whether before or after his birth, yet she cannot have been unaware of his existence once Henry started heaping him with titles and inviting him to visit the court. His presence must have been a constant reminder to her of her own dwindling fertility and the precariousness of her daughter’s inheritance. For Catherine, it may have seemed that everyone else was able to produce surviving sons. That spring, news had arrived at court of the birth of a male heir to Henry’s great rival, Francis I of France, and by June, ambassador Thomas Boleyn had written to Wolsey describing the boy’s christening and the reception of the English gifts presented to Queen Claude in Henry’s name, including a salt cellar, cup and layar of gold, which were much praised. It was the French king’s fourth child and second son. Francis was greatly pleased, and said whenever it should be the king’s fortune to have a prince, he would be glad to do for him in like manner’.19 The implied comparison cannot have but piqued the English king, as it was intended. Meanwhile, Bessie was counting down the days and making preparations for the arrival of her child.
Henry Fitzroy’s birth, probably in June 1519, was shrouded in secrecy. Initially the event had little impact at court. It certainly bypassed Venetian ambassador Guistinian, who wrote that ‘nothing new has taken place’ that summer. No record survives of any resulting court celebrations that Catherine may or may not have been required to endure. It has been suggested that a feast that August at the queen’s nearby manor of Havering-atte-Bower may have afforded Henry an opportunity to display or acclaim his son; such behaviour would not seem untypically tactless in the light of his later treatment of Catherine, but there is no evidence to support this either way. Henry certainly did not deny he was the child’s father. Thomas Wolsey stood as godfather, specifically stating the king’s paternity as he bestowed the royal name at his baptism. He would have control over the arrangements of this event, as well as Bessie’s churching, which probably took place in the adjacent church of St Laurence.
A new mother was not supposed to emerge from her lying-in chamber until around a month had passed, which meant mid-July for Bessie. Prior to this religious cleansing, a mother or ‘green woman’ was expected to remain inside, neither entering her community or church, nor looking upon the earth or sky or meeting others’ eyes, assuming childbirth to be a period of sinfulness, tainted by sex and delivery. Technically, she was supposed to refrain from sexual activity until the rite had taken place although conception intervals inferred from baptismal records show this was not always the case, although it must remain unclear just how much control women had over this: according to parish records, at least one Essex wife was already pregnant at the time of her churching. In order to re-establish her social and sexual identity, a woman was led from her chamber to the church porch, veiled, in a parody of marriage which seems ironic in its suggestion that the enforced abstinence of her lying-in induced a return to a near-virgin state. The veil also stresses the association of the mother with depictions of the Virgin as well as an extension of the privacy of the birth chamber until such time as her seclusion was publicly ended. In pre-Reformation days, the priest would be waiting outside in the church porch to sprinkle the woman with holy water before proceeding inside, where some churches had a special pew or stool for churching, although illness may necessitate churching at home. Payment for the ceremony was often the child’s chrism cloth, made from fine linen or its equivalent in money. The mothers of illegitimate offspring had to repent in front of the whole village and do penance before partaking in any religious ceremonies, although it is unlikely Bessie had to submit to this humiliation and quite possible her churching took place in seclusion, arranged by the Prior himself.
Later, the ritual of churching came under attack. The main objection that arose during the Reformation was the proper performance of the purification rites and the Protestant rejection of the connotations of sin and uncleanliness in the mother. The medieval Sarum Missal, translated into English in 1526, contained a prayer for churching at the porch: ‘O God who hast delivered this woman thy servant from the peril of childbirth, and hast made her to be devoted to thy service …’ The priest then sprinkled her with holy water, saying, ‘thou shalt purge me O Lord, with hyssop’, before leading her inside with the promise of eternal life. Unscrupulous priests could also extract bribes and penalties from those women who had conceived out of wedlock by insisting on payment or offerings at the altar. When the Sarum rite was replaced by the Book of Common Prayer in the reign of Edward VI, churching ceremonies were forced to revise their rituals and definitions. The contrast is shown in Bentley’s 1582 Monument of Matrons: ‘O My Lord God, I thank thee with all my heart, wit, understanding and power, for thou hast vouchsafed to deliver me out of this most dangerous travail and has sent unto this world, out of my woeful womb, this child, for which I am not worthy, to give thee condign thanks, praise, honour and glory.’ Emphasis has shifted from the priest to the mother, taking a more active responsibility for her own salvation in director communication with God. The importance of the ceremony was secular, as well as religious: it reminded the community of the enormity of this rite of passage: as mothers and attendants, women were engaged directly with the struggle between life and death. In the post-delivery euphoria, among those often living under hard conditions, a successful birth was a welcome occasion for celebration. For Henry, the arrival of a healthy son gave him food for thought: it may have been around this time that he concluded that his marriage to Catherine was unlawful but that God might bless him with sons by another woman.
Interestingly, Henry does not have appeared to have considered marriage to Bessie. Even after the onset of Catherine’s menopause, such a union would have allowed him to legitimize his son and any subsequent children. In fact, the timing for such an event was not in Bessie’s favour: in 1519, Henry’s divorce and remarriage to a commoner were still only theoretical, no matter what Bessie’s fertility had proved, and by the late 1520s, she was unavailable and a more formidable rival had appeared in the form of Anne Boleyn. Instead, a suitable match was arranged for her, to Gilbert Tailboys, first Baron Tailboys of Kyme, who was at court under Wolsey’s protection following the emerging insanity of his father. It is probable then, that Wolsey arranged the marriage as he had the lying-in and the christening. The timing of Bessie’s nex
t pregnancy gives rise to doubts recently cast on the paternity of their eldest child Elizabeth, who appears to have been born before the couple appear in official records in 1522, perhaps as early as 1520. This would place her conception back in 1519.20 With the exact date of the ceremony unclear, such a brief interval of recovery between lovers invites the interpretation that Henry was in fact, the father of her daughter Elizabeth. But was Henry himself aware of this? Following the pride he felt in Fitzroy’s arrival, it seems likely he would have acknowledged or at least provided for an illegitimate daughter if he had been certain of her identity. Her gender made her less desirable in terms of succession but she may have been useful in future dynastic negotiations. Perhaps the arrangement of Bessie’s marriage was provision for mother and both children; Henry may have visited her bed again that August as he stayed nearby, resulting in Elizabeth’s birth in the summer of 1520. Significantly though, no mention was made of this possibility at the time and without knowing the date of the Tailboys marriage, definite conclusions cannot be reached. In the coming years, Bessie had little involvement with her son, Henry Fitzroy, who was raised in a separate establishment befitting the status of an illegitimate royal. In 1530, the French Ambassador remarked on Henry’s fondness for his good-looking, red-haired son; later he would be introduced to Francis I and represent the king in his absence. Bessie’s marriage resulted in the births of three more children before she was widowed in 1530, as did a second union around 1535 with Edward, ninth Baron Clinton. During Henry’s short-lived marriage to Anne of Cleves, Bessie returned to court as a member of the queen’s household but ill health probably dictated her swift retirement as she died the same year. Whilst not as significant as any of Henry’s wives, her importance lies in providing the king with proof that he was capable of bearing a healthy son: Fitzroy’s existence provided the justification Henry needed that the failure of his marriage lay with Catherine. Soon after his birth though, a new mistress would supplant his mother.