by Amy Licence
Yet one person was of the opinion that it could have been prevented. Tudor women did die in childbirth, even royal ones. Henry knew this from his own experience, recalling the loss of his mother thirty-four years earlier, yet Jane’s departure still came as a shock. While the overall survival rates were good for straightforward births, unexpected complications could claim the lives of mother and child but Jane’s apparently successful delivery and delayed death gave rise to the legend, suggested by Cromwell, that she had been neglected, then indulged. It has fuelled historical interpretations of Henry as a callous, selfish husband, in addition to his treatment of his wives and daughters, through the lens of modern behavioural analysis and expectations. Yet it is impossible for a modern audience and even a Tudor one to be certain of his motives at this time. In a society where protocol dictated that kings and queens did not attend each others’ coronations or funerals, mothers did not attend christenings and parents often were absent from their children’s weddings, such behaviour cannot fairly be evaluated. Following this psychological analysis, modern hypotheses have suggested that the occasion stirred Henry’s memories of his mother’s death or that his presence in the sick chamber may not have been considered appropriate; perhaps he did not believe she would die or else his abhorrence of illness and death may have stayed his hand. It has also been used in various arguments about Henry’s changing character, with some historians identifying the year 1536 as a major turning point; some see Jane as another victim of an increasing monomania. The truth may have been more complex. It may not have been.
With three surviving children by three different wives, Henry’s succession was by no means secure even if he had the longed-for son. By the time the court came out of deep mourning at Candlemas in 1538 he was forty-six, no longer the handsome youth whose energy had set the tone of his chivalric court. Traditionally, medical texts placed the onset of old age between thirty-five and forty-five, a threshold Henry had now passed, and in this may lie the key to his increasingly despotic and extreme behaviour. His health was clearly failing; the fall he suffered early in 1536 had left him unconscious for hours and may have caused some permanent damage; if nothing else it left him unable to joust and hunt, after which he rapidly put on weight. Two years on, he suffered from serious illness when the skin on his ulcerated leg closed over, projecting the excreted matter inwards instead of weeping out into its dressing. For a while his life was despaired of and his Privy Councillors argued over whether their loyalties should lie with the infant prince or the adult Princess Mary. Then, Henry rallied and soon after, the search for a new wife was back on. Through the following years, his health intermittently failed; as the Cleves ambassadors arrived to conclude the treaty for his fourth marriage, Henry was suffering from a cold which his doctor treated with a pill and a glister; there was no need to use the powdered unicorn horn that had been sought for his medicine. Soon after, a chill confined him to bed after he was purged with a laxative and enema, probably administered through a pig’s bladder. Such regular incidents must have been a difficult reminder that he was no longer the dazzling, slender Sir Loyal Heart of his youth, admired in all the European courts. His attempts to find a fourth wife were rooted in the desire to forget his advancing age but would show just how far his courtly, gallant reputation had altered for the worse.
Since the age of seventeen, Henry had been secure in the affections of the women of his choosing. After all, he was the king; no matter how long they may resist, few women could deny the benefits of an association with him, either as a short-term mistress or more permanent fixture. Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour had won their status by holding out for their position in the full intention of the ultimate surrender. His wives had overlapped, making transition between them easy. He was a romantic, driven by chivalric impulse and in a very modern sense, wished to enter into a companionate marriage and be in love with his spouse, who would be his confidant as well as his bedfellow. In this, he was following the pattern of the early years of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon, a significant departure from the dynastic unions of most European royal houses, including that of his own parents. Now, with no replacement lined up, he was open to suggestions, both domestic and international. They came thick and fast, with Cromwell as chief match-maker. A number of eligible princesses, duchesses and women of the European nobility were considered but, mindful of the past consequences of Catherine of Aragon’s connections, England would need to tread carefully. Additionally, Henry’s poor reputation as a husband had spread, meaning that at least one suitable wife, Christina of Milan, was unprepared to run the risk of placing herself in his hands, reportedly saying that if she were possessed of two heads, she would gladly give him one. This was unfortunate for Henry, as by 1538 he believed he had fallen in love with her.
Yet the beautiful young widow had not been Henry’s first choice. Even before Jane’s funeral, Cromwell’s mind had turned to her possible replacement. This is not necessarily as callous as it sounds; the careers of Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour proved that whichever court faction presented a suitable candidate at the right moment could secure the fortunes of those involved. With religious reforms well underway, besides his own political future, Cromwell had much to lose if a prospective new wife was disposed to favour the old religion headed by the Lady Mary or to dislike him. It was a matter of survival. For this reason, he turned his search outside the country, hoping a swift diplomatic foreign union would be the answer. Luckily, his first candidate, Marie of Guise, seemed to meet Henry’s approval. Born in 1515, Marie had already proven her ability to bear sons and was rumoured to be strong and healthy, which appealed to the king’s desire for a large wife to match his large frame, as he told the French ambassador Castillon in December 1537. However, Marie had already caught the eye of Henry’s nephew, James V of Scotland, and their marriage treaty was moving towards conclusion. To prevent such a union between England’s old enemies and snatch Marie from under his rival’s nose would have been a considerable triumph for Henry and a feather in the cap of his servant.
James V was a recent widower. The only surviving child of Margaret Tudor and James IV, he had inherited the throne at the age of one, following his father’s death at the Battle of Flodden Field. Now he was twenty-six, young and handsome; with the Tudor blood flowing through his veins, he was not only Henry’s rival but a potential heir to his throne. Previously betrothed to Mary of Bourbon, he had travelled to France in 1536 and fallen in love with Madeleine, the daughter of Francis I. Still only sixteen and frail since birth, the girl had already contracted tuberculosis, yet despite her father’s protests, was keen to marry James. The ceremony took place in January 1537 at Notre Dame and the couple departed for Scotland that May. By July, she was dead. Now, to continue the French alliance, James sought the hand of Marie of Guise. Hearing of the intended match, Henry could hardly believe his Scottish rival could be preferred to himself, even though, like Christina of Milan, Marie had heard of his reputation and supposedly commented that she had only a little neck, referring to a similar statement made by the condemned Anne Boleyn. The treaty was concluded in January 1538, forcing Henry to accept the inevitable and look elsewhere. Marie and James would become the parents of Mary Queen of Scots and grandparents of James VI, future heir to the Tudor line, yet all this lay well in the future, after Henry’s time. By the time of their marriage that May, he already had a number of other candidates in mind, namely Marie’s two younger sisters. Neither of these proved any more successful: the eighteen-year-old Louise would marry Charles, Duke of Arschot in 1451 and die soon after, while her sister Renee would enter holy orders. Henry was also rejected by Francis’ cousins Anne of Lorraine and James’ intended bride Mary of Bourbon, even if she had not suffered from the ill health that led to her death in 1538. Holbein had travelled to France and painted the portraits of both, although neither image survives. Perhaps it was rumours that James V had been considering Christina of Milan as a possible bride that sparked his rival’s interes
t.
Famous now for her Holbein portrait and supposed spirited rejection of Henry, Christina of Milan was born in 1521. At sixteen, she was five years younger than Henry’s own elder daughter when he sought her as his wife. She had already been married young, by proxy, to the Duke of Milan in 1534 and his death the following year left her a widow and probably still a virgin at fourteen. English Ambassador John Hutton described her as ‘very tall; taller than the Regent, of competent beauty, soft of speech, and gentle in countenance’. She wore Italian-style mourning and ‘resembles one Mrs Sheltun that used to wait on Queen Anne’, a reference to the beautiful Madge Shelton, a Boleyn cousin who had once diverted Henry. This must have been a deliberate attempt to encourage him. Hutton continued: ‘there is none in these parts for beauty of person and birth to be compared to the duchess. She is not so pure white as the late queen, whose soul God pardon; but she hath a singular good countenance, and when she chanceth to smile there appeareth two pittes in her cheeks and one in her chin, the which becometh her right excellently well’.2 Furthermore, she was accomplished, which Henry found essential in a wife, able to speak French, Italian and high German. The reports were pleasing enough for Henry to send his court painter Hans Holbein to Brussels, where with astonishing speed he produced the well-known portrait after only a three-hour session. When it arrived back in England, with its rosebud lips and dimples, Henry fancied himself in love. Christina, however, was less keen and made her dislike of the match clear.
In the same year, Cromwell suggested a match with Cleves, an Erasmian state in the Holy Roman Empire, comprising a series of territories in Northern Germany with its capital at Dusseldorf. John, Duke of Cleves, known as the Peaceful, had two unmarried daughters, Anne and her younger sister Amalia, both in their early twenties. Cromwell had already instructed his ambassador Christopher Mont to examine the ladies and report back as to their appearance and qualities, ‘their shape, stature and complexion’3 to judge their suitability for marriage. Mont reported that Anne eclipsed the beauty of Christina of Milan as the sun did the moon and was universally praised. Ambassadors Nicholas Wotton and Richard Beard were dispatched to make overtures at the court of Cleves, but were unable to view the ladies’ faces or figures under their veils and layers of clothing. When requesting a closer look, they were indignantly asked by the Cleves minister whether they wished to see the women naked! Once again Holbein was dispatched to paint a potential queen, this time to the Castle of Duren, in summer 1539, where both Anne and Amalia sat for him. Anne’s well-known image survives, upon which Henry based his decision to marry her, but only a sketch may depict her younger sister whose portrait has been lost. In many ways, Anne seemed highly suitable. Wotton reported that she had been raised by a strict mother to be docile, obedient and respectful; she liked cards and was good at needlework but otherwise her education had been neglected; when she arrived in England she could still only speak German although the ambassador insisted she would learn quickly. This had not been a barrier when Catherine of Aragon arrived in England back in 1501. Holbein was back in England that August and the Cleves ambassadors arrived soon after, on 14 September. French ambassador Marillac was mistaken when he wrote to Francis I that there may be some coolness towards them and that the king was considering reopening negotiations for Christina of Milan.4 The portrait and reports clearly appealed to Henry, as he received the visitors warmly at Windsor and practical questions regarding Anne’s journey were discussed. The king’s recent wardrobe expenses indicate some of the finery in which he may have received them; a coat of engrained violet trimmed with a marten fur was made, as were alterations to enlarge Henry’s jackets and doublets, to accommodate his expanding girth.5 Marillac got closer to the truth on 3 October, when he reported that repairs to the king’s main residences had renewed the usual repairs and ornaments, especially in the queen’s apartments, and that quantities of gold and silver cloth had been ordered. Ships were also being assembled and equipped to fetch the Princess of Cleves to England. In following days, the treaty was signed. A few weeks later, Anne had left her childhood home forever.
The journey was full of ceremony and expectation. The young princess, sheltered in her strict Erasmian parental home and wooed by proxy, had little experience of the intrigue and protocol of the English court. She must have been nervous, knowing that the weeks of travel were to culminate in her union with a man she had never met, almost twice her age, three times married with a daughter only months Anne’s junior. The formal receptions at almost every stage along the route must have given her a taste of what she could expect as queen and no indication that her long-awaited presence would be anything but welcomed. Travel across land in the sixteenth century could be cumbersome, yet it was far safer than trusting such a precious cargo to the vagaries of the tides. Initially Henry’s plan had been to send his fleet to collect her from the Cleves-ruled port of Harderwijk on the Zuiderzee, to avoid the necessity of asking Emperor Charles V for permission to travel overland through his territories. Cleves favoured the overland route, as a sea voyage might spoil Anne’s complexion. After all, they were travelling in mid-winter when the weather would be considerably worse: at least on land, the party could pause and shelter for as long as necessary. Once embarked on the water, Anne’s fleet would find no relief and increased the danger of illness, injury or even death. To give an indication of the size of the company, 263 people travelled with Anne, ranging from her waiting women and translators to those performing the essential services of care of her wardrobe and horses. By mid-October though, Imperial permission had been granted and the land route finalised.
The first stage of the journey was between the Cleves base of Dusselfdorf and Antwerp; on arrival there, Anne was met by English merchants four miles out of the city, dressed in velvet coats and gold chains, waiting to conduct her to English lodgings in the town. From Antwerp, merchants accompanied her towards Gravelines, where she was received by the town captain amid a volley of gunshot and, by 11 December, she arrived at Calais. This was where the waiting began. Unsurprisingly for the time of year, the weather was terrible. Grounded for fifteen days, Anne was entertained by Governor Lord Lisle and his dignitaries in their all finery: cloth-of-gold and purple velvet, gold chains, satin damask and yeomen in the king’s colours of blue and red. At the town’s Lantern Gate she viewed the waiting English fleet of fifty ships, including Henry’s famous flagships the ‘Lion’ and the ‘Sweepstake’, decked with 100 banners of silk and gold. Trumpets sounded and a ‘double drum’ never seen before in England was beaten, followed by so much more gunshot that her train could not see each other for smoke. The mayor gave her a gift of 100 gold sovereigns and escorted her to the feasts and jousts that helped filled the days. Watching the turbulent seas each day, Anne must have mused about her future husband and the possibility that she might soon become a mother. After all, that was what queens did, even if she wasn’t quite sure how. Her mother had neglected that part of her education, too.
Finally the tide turned. Early in the morning on 27 December, the fleet set sail from Calais and soon had the coast of Kent within sight. As they approached, Anne may have caught a first glimpse of the rolling chalk-white cliffs of her new home or the impressive grey stone castles that stood out proudly and defensively along the shore. They landed that evening between six and seven and were conducted to Deal Castle for a banquet and change of clothes, then on to Dover Castle with the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, Henry’s former brother-in-law Charles Brandon and his fourth wife Catherine Willoughby – Henry’s sister Mary Rose, Brandon’s third wife, had died in 1535. Predominantly Plantagenet, Dover castle had Norman, Saxon and even Roman elements, staring out formidably into the channel. After Deal’s compact, squat six bastions, it must have been an impressive and well-provisioned stronghold; Henry had been here two years previously and added the bulwarks of the moat. Anne would spend a couple of days here to recover from her journey and ready herself for the first meeting with her husband. It was to c
ome sooner than she anticipated.
Anne’s route then took her through Canterbury and Sittingbourne, ending at Rochester on New Year’s Eve amid stormy weather. Although Rochester Castle still dominates the town, chroniclers have variously stated that she stayed at the Palace or Priory. This might have been Bromley Palace, residence of the Bishops of Rochester containing a holy well in its grounds or Rochester Palace in the present nearby village of Halling; most likely though, was the fifteenth-century palace within the cathedral precincts, home to Bishop Fisher. Anne still had a fair way to travel before the planned reception at Greenwich but Henry had other ideas. Unable to contain his excitement, he imagined a meeting along the lines of courtly love and the conventions of court entertainment, whereby his bride could not fail to recognise him in spite of his unscheduled, masked appearance. It was his test of true love; the vital test that Anne must pass. Always a romantic, in spite of his experiences, Henry set off to ride to Rochester, intent on playing out a role in a chivalric tale that had already proscribed Anne’s response. In common with the heroines of troubadour legend, she would instantly recognise her betrothed and the spark of love would ignite. After all, his majesty and prowess could leave no one in doubt as to his identity. Decades of masked balls, including the Château Vert, had been played along these lines, with canny Tudor courtiers colluding in the king’s deception and feigning surprise when his disguise was revealed. The unsuspecting Anne, unfamiliar with such games, was resting from her journey. So far as she knew, the king she had never seen was days away. It was a scheme that was doomed to fail. Henry himself had created an unrealistic scenario which would determine the course of his most unsatisfactory marriage.