That July, Henry set off on a progress which was restricted to the London area because of the Queen’s advancing pregnancy; all was progressing well, and at Wanstead in July, Anne and Henry were reported to be very merry. 8 At the end of the month, not wishing to upset his wife at this time, he left her at Windsor, saying he was going hunting, when in fact he was meeting with his Council to discuss grave news from Rome:9 the Pope, having learned of the King’s remarriage, had threatened to excommunicate him if he did not repudiate Anne by September. Henry refused to be intimidated, nor did he perceive the hand of a vengeful deity in the deaths of two members of his household from plague at Guildford, but moved with his Privy Chamber to Sutton Place, the home of Sir Francis Weston, which was mercifully free of contagion.10
This was not just a hunting progress but an exercise in public relations, for during it the King attempted to win over those whom he suspected of having become disaffected by recent events. He visited Exeter at his house at Horsley in Surrey, where he was entertained with a lavish banquet of twenty-nine dishes,11 and Sir John Russell at Chenies in Buckinghamshire, where he slept on a gold and silver bed with the royal arms embroidered on its tester. On 6 August, Russell wrote he had never seen “His Grace merrier of a great while than he is now”; at all the houses they had stayed in there had been “the best pastime in hunting red deer that I have seen.”12
A week later Henry returned to Windsor, then removed with Anne to York Place and Greenwich, where she took to her chamber on 26 August; 13 her Chamberlain had been briefed by Lord Mountjoy as to the arrangements made in the past for Queen Katherine’s confinements. 14 The King had taken from his treasury a “rich and triumphant bed,” which had been part of the Duke of Longueville’s ransom in 1515, and had it placed in Anne’s bedchamber, next to a pallet bed with a crimson canopy, on which she would actually be delivered. A new state bed had been built in her presence chamber, where she would receive well-wishers after the delivery.15
But while these preparations were being made, Anne found out that Henry, running true to form during his wife’s pregnancy, was being unfaithful to her. The name of his inamorata is unrecorded, but Chapuys described her as “very beautiful” and added that “many nobles are assisting him in the affair,” presumably to discountenance the Queen. Unlike Katherine, Anne created a scene, using “certain words which the King very much disliked,” but he brutally told her that she must “shut her eyes and endure as her betters had done,” and that she ought to know that he could humiliate her as quickly as he had raised her; it was as well she had her bed, because he would not give it to her now. For two or three days, the royal couple maintained a frosty silence; then there was a grudging reconciliation. Chapuys dismissed this as “a love quarrel,” but it is an indication that Henry’s passion for Anne had subsided somewhat. 16 Nevertheless, it was being said abroad that he was still so infatuated with her that court discipline was becoming very lax.17
The King was planning jousts, banquets, and masques to celebrate his son’s imminent birth: he had consulted his physicians and astrologers, and all had assured him that the child would be male. The royal father had not yet made up his mind whether to call the boy Edward or Henry, but had asked the French ambassador to hold him at the font at his baptism.18 Letters announcing the birth of a prince were awaiting dispatch to the English shires and foreign courts.
At last, on 7 September, in a chamber hung with tapestries depicting the legend of St. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins, Anne Boleyn gave birth, not to the expected son, but to a healthy, red-haired daughter who much resembled her father.19 “God has forgotten him entirely,” commented Chapuys,20 but the King, although disappointed, was confident that sons would soon follow. After the word “prince” had been changed to “princess,” the letters announcing the birth were sent off21 and Te Deum was sung in St. Paul’s for the Queen’s safe delivery.22 But the planned jousts and entertainments were cancelled.
On 10 September, when she was only three days old, the King’s daughter was given a splendid christening in the church of the Observant Friars at Greenwich. The church and the gallery that led to it were both hung with rich arras, and the silver font placed on a high, railed platform. The royal infant, wearing a mantle of purple velvet furred with ermine, with a long train, was carried in procession to the church by the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk under a crimson canopy borne by four earls. Anne had wanted her borne upon the christening cloth that had been used for the Princess Mary, but Katherine of Aragon refused to relinquish it on the grounds that it was her personal property, brought from Spain.23 Archbishop Cranmer stood godfather at the christening, while the Dowagers of Norfolk and Dorset were godmothers, and the baby was baptised Elizabeth by John Stokesley, Bishop of London. Immediately afterwards, Cranmer confirmed her, with a reluctant Lady Exeter as sponsor.24 Then Garter King of Arms cried, “God of His infinite goodness send prosperous life and long to the high and mighty Princess of England, Elizabeth!” and the trumpets sounded a fanfare. In the flickering light of five hundred torches, Elizabeth was borne back in procession to the Queen’s bedchamber, where she received her mother’s blessing. The King was not present, but he commanded Norfolk and Suffolk to thank the Lord Mayor and his brethren for attending. That evening, bonfires were lit and free wine flowed in the City.25
At Greenwich, on the same day that the Princess Elizabeth was born, the Duke of Suffolk, a widower of just ten weeks, married his ward Katherine, the fourteen-year-old heiress of Lord Willoughby. This brilliant, spirited, sharp-witted young lady had been betrothed to his son, Henry Brandon, Earl of Lincoln, but Suffolk had had the betrothal annulled in order to marry her himself. Chapuys commented, “The Duke will have done a service to the ladies when they are reproached, as is usual, with marrying again immediately after the death of their husbands!”26
Given that the new Duchess’s mother was Maria de Salinas, this marriage involved Suffolk in yet another conflict of loyalties. Yet it also rescued him from financial ruin and brought him the greater part of his lands and wealth, as well as a new country seat, Grimsthorpe in Lincolnshire, which was part of his wife’s dowry.27
Despite the thirty-five-year age gap, and the fact that the Duke was growing fat and was no longer the splendid knight who had once excelled in the tiltyard, the marriage was successful. Katherine Willoughby, whose portrait sketch by Holbein is in the British Museum, bore the Duke two sons, Henry in 1534, to whom both the King and Cromwell were godfathers, and Charles in 1537/8; Holbein painted their miniatures in 1541.28 Her former betrothed, Lincoln, is said to have been so upset at losing her to his father that he died of sorrow, and Anne Boleyn, who had little love for Suffolk, is reported to have declared, “My Lord of Suffolk kills one son to beget another.”29 However, Lincoln did not die until March 1534, and had been in failing health for some time, which probably explains why Suffolk had married Katherine himself.
On 1 October, the King’s daughter Mary was informed that she must no longer style herself “Princess.” She was told that the King had appointed her a new household of 162 persons, headed by her beloved governess Lady Salisbury, but it would be hers only in return for her acknowledgement of her diminished status. The next day, Mary wrote to her father, defiantly refusing to relinquish her title and censuring him for his conduct in such strong terms that even Chapuys felt she had gone too far.30 A furious Henry abandoned his plans for her household and ordered her to leave Beaulieu—where she had been residing and which he was now going to lease to Lord Rochford 31—and go to Hertford Castle. Mary obeyed, but her health had been broken by the strain of the conflict of loyalties that had been forced upon her, and for the rest of her life she would suffer headaches, toothache, palpitations, depression, and amenorrhoea.
On 25 November, the Duke of Richmond, lately returned from Paris, was married to Norfolk’s daughter, Lady Mary Howard. It was a union that firmly allied him to the Boleyn faction. The bride was a member of the Queen’s household and a staunch adv
ocate of reform, and Fitzroy was a close friend of her brother Surrey. The marriage was a triumph for Anne Boleyn and a slap in the face for the Duchess of Norfolk, who had opposed it. However, it was never consummated,32 and it may be that the Duke, at fourteen, was already showing signs of the tuberculosis that was to kill him, and that the King, mindful of the fate of his own brother Arthur, whose death was said to have been hastened by too much early sexual activity, had ordered the young couple to wait.
There was little love lost between the Queen and Norfolk, however. The Duke had had enough of his niece’s malice towards him and her insufferable pride, and had clashed with her on several occasions. Once she used “more insulting language to Norfolk than one would to a dog, such that he was obliged to leave the room.” The Duke was so offended he publicly heaped abuse on her: “one of the least offensive things he called her was ‘the great whore.’ ”33 Privately, he was of the opinion that she would be the ruin of his House.34
In December, when the Princess Elizabeth was three months old, she was assigned her own household and sent to live at Hatfield in Hertfordshire. Lady Margaret Bryan, who had had charge of the Princess Mary in infancy, was appointed her governess; the Lady Margaret Douglas, late of Mary’s household, was her first lady of honour, while Blanche Parry, who was to stay with Elizabeth for fifty-seven years, was a Rocker in the nursery. Sir John Shelton, the Queen’s uncle, was Steward of the Household. The King and Queen were distant parents, and made only occasional visits to their daughter,35 although Anne was kept informed of her progress by Lady Bryan.36 When Elizabeth was thirteen months old, the governess applied to Cromwell for permission to wean her; the request was passed on; then Sir William Paulet, Comptroller of the Household, informed Lady Bryan that the King and Queen had consented.37
On 14 December, the household of the Lady Mary, as the former Princess was henceforth to be known, was disbanded; when Lady Salisbury refused to surrender Mary’s jewels to the Queen, she was summarily dismissed. Mary was sent to live in her half-sister’s establishment, where she was assigned the meanest chamber in the house. Her new governess, Anne, Lady Shelton, the Queen’s aunt, did her best to make her life a misery, and Mary went in fear that the Boleyn faction would try to poison her. She was missing her mother dreadfully, but the King would not let them meet, even when Mary fell seriously ill. Instead, he sent his own physician to her, and allowed Katherine to send hers. Thanks to the good offices of Chapuys, Katherine managed to smuggle heartening letters to Mary.38 But her father, in thrall to her jealous stepmother, refused to see her when he visited Elizabeth,39 who took precedence over Mary in everything.
Very few now dared speak out in favour of the former Queen and her daughter. The Marquess of Exeter, whose sympathies lay with Katherine and who loathed Cromwell and deplored the King’s new religious policies, remained sitting on the fence, but his wife was so active and vociferous in Katherine’s favour that Henry warned them both that they “must not trip or vary for fear of losing their heads.”40 After that, Lady Exeter kept quiet. Chapuys thought that aristocratic opposition to the Boleyn marriage was far more cohesive and widespread than it actually was, but although Katherine and Mary had several influential supporters, it is clear that there was no organised court faction acting on their behalf.
45
“The Image of God upon Earth”
The Christmas of 1533 was spent at Greenwich, where “the King’s Grace kept great court, as merry and lusty as ever”1—as well he might be, for Anne was once again pregnant.2 Her gift to him at New Year, 1534, was an exquisite table fountain of gold, studded with rubies, diamonds, and pearls, from which “issueth water at the teats of three naked women standing at the foot of the fountain”; 3 it was probably designed by Holbein.
In January, Lady Lisle, still in pursuit of places for her daughters in the Queen’s household, sent Anne a rare breed of toy dog, which was entrusted to Sir Francis Bryan. He told Her Ladyship, “the Queen liked [it] so well that she took it from me before it had been an hour in my hands.” Anne called the dog Little Purkoy (or Pourquoi), and “set much store” by him. Later that year, Lady Lisle sent Anne a caged linnet and eighteen dotterells (a small breed of plover); the latter were slaughtered at Dover, brought to court by Lord Rochford, and served to the Queen six at a time. Anne liked them “very well,” and assured Lady Lisle that the linnet was “a pleasant singing bird, which doth not cease to give Her Grace rejoicing with her pleasant song.”4 But there was no offer of a place for either of Lady Lisle’s daughters.
Cromwell’s influence was growing steadily. In 1534, he was appointed Master of the Rolls and Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, and in April finally succeeded in ousting Gardiner, who never forgave him, and replacing him as principal Secretary to the King, an office that would become of supreme political importance during his tenure. In this new capacity, Cromwell wielded power by charming people into his confidence or intimidating them with the threat of treason—overtly or, more often, by implication. Through his many contacts and a network of paid informers and numerous grateful clients, he gained access to a great deal of confidential and sensitive information that was stored for future reference and sometimes used against those whom the King or Master Secretary wanted out of the way.
It was essential that opposition to the King’s new marriage be crushed, and on 23 March 1534 an Act of Parliament settling the succession upon the Princess Elizabeth and disinheriting the Lady Mary was passed. The Act required every loyal subject, when so required, to swear an oath recognising its provisions. Most people complied, but there were notable exceptions. Katherine and Mary both refused to take the oath, and the King knew better than to use force, for the fact that the Emperor was Katherine’s nephew represented a powerful deterrent.
Both Sir Thomas More and Bishop Fisher also declined to swear, and were committed to the Tower for their disobedience. When More was questioned by Cromwell, he declared: “I am the King’s faithful subject. I say no harm, I think no harm, but I wish everybody good. And if this be not enough to keep a man alive, in good faith, I long not to live.”5 Through several interrogations, he responded to all demands to take the oath with uncompromising silence, and reminded his distraught daughter and family that he had always looked first upon God and then upon the King, “according to the lesson His Highness taught me at my first coming to his noble service.” 6 His silence spoke volumes, and Henry feared it would serve as a battle cry for those who opposed him. “By the mass, Master More,” commented Norfolk, “it is perilous striving with princes.”7 More did not need his old friend to remind him of the peril in which he had placed himself.
Fisher was not so reticent; he had stated categorically, “The King our Sovereign Lord is not the Supreme Head on earth of the Church of England.” Now he was refusing to acknowledge Henry’s marriage. His defiance could only be construed as treasonous.
Once again, the King was confident that he would soon have a son whose birth would bring such rejoicing that few would even think of questioning his legitimacy. To mark this pregnancy, he ordered a medal of Anne to be struck, inscribed with her portrait in relief and the legend A.R. THE MOOST HAPPI.8 Every care was taken of the expectant mother: when her morning rest was disturbed by the noise made by Henry’s peacocks and pelican, which had been a gift from the “New Found Land” (America) and now had the run of the gardens at Greenwich, he arranged for Sir Henry Norris to remove them to his own house nearby, and paid for three timber coops to be built for them there.9
The Queen’s apartments at Eltham were converted into a nursery “against the coming of the prince,” with a great chamber, a dining chamber, an arraying chamber, and a bedchamber, in which was a cradle covered with a canopy of iron. The roof timbers were all painted yellow ochre.10 The King ordered his goldsmith, Cornelius Heyss, to make a silver cradle of estate, which may have been designed by Holbein. It had pillars adorned with Tudor roses, precious stones set in a gold border around the rim, and gold figures
of Adam and Eve crafted by Heyss and painted by Holbein. The bedding was embroidered with gold, and cloth of gold was purchased for a layette.11
In April 1534, doubtless anticipating that there would soon be a new Knight of the Garter, the King commissioned a magnificent new register of the Order, called the Liber Niger or Black Book of the Garter after its black velvet binding; in it were enshrined the Order’s statutes, its history, and the records of its ceremonies. The Black Book survives today, 12 a beautifully illuminated manuscript which contains illustrations of the enthroned King surrounded by his Knights, and of him bringing up the rear in a Garter procession.
On 22 June, Lucas Horenbout, who had worked with others on the Black Book of the Garter, became a naturalised subject of Henry VIII and was appointed King’s Painter for life. He was assigned a tenement at Charing Cross in which to set up his studio, and was licensed to employ four foreign journeymen.13 One of his first commissions in his new role was a miniature of the fifteen-year-old Duke of Richmond,14 which shows Fitzroy in an open-necked nightshirt and embroidered nightcap, further evidence that he was known to be terminally ill. The miniature bears out a Venetian envoy’s statement that the Duke greatly resembled his father in looks, although his nose is bigger than Henry’s. (In the 1930s it was thought that the anonymous full-length portrait in the Royal Collection of a Tudor courtier dressed entirely in scarlet was Richmond, but the costume is of a later date.)
Henry had planned another visit to Calais in the summer of 1534, but he postponed it until April because the Queen’s pregnancy prevented her from accompanying him. Instead he went on progress, staying at the More, Chenies, Woking, and Eltham, where he visited his daughter Elizabeth. On 28 July, he arrived at Guildford, where Anne had planned to join him, but it is not known if she actually did so. Henry stayed there until 7 August, then rode north to tour the Midlands.15