Cromwell, whose credit with his master had been somewhat restored as a result of these successful negotiations, now turned his attention to bringing about major reforms to the royal household. The Eltham Ordinances of 1526 had failed to eliminate extravagance and waste, and economy dictated that more stringent measures be imposed. The Greenwich Ordinances that Cromwell drew up, which came into effect on 24 December 1539, provided for the entire household to be placed under the control of a Lord Great Master, to whom the Lord Chamberlain would be subordinate. Since the ageing Lord Sandys was often absent from court, there was no danger of a power struggle, and when Sandys died in 1541, the office of Lord Chamberlain was left vacant for three years. The post of Lord Steward was abolished; the Earl of Shrewsbury, who had occupied it since Henry’s accession, had just died, so this was an opportune moment to make the change. The office of Lord Great Master was based on that of the grand maitre d’hostel du roi of the French court, and the first to be appointed to it was the Duke of Suffolk.
Cromwell also streamlined household administration and cut down numbers in every department but the Chamber, where the King insisted on an increase in staff; his Gentlemen now numbered sixteen. The Household servants were reduced from 500 to 230. Each person’s duties were laid down in writing, along with comments about their performance, and records of attendance were strictly kept. Stern measures were taken to keep out unauthorised retainers, beggars, boys, and animals, while tight spending controls were imposed, each department being made accountable to the Board of the Greencloth, which was presided over by the Lord Great Master assisted by four Masters of the Household, the Cofferer, and the White Sticks. The emphasis was on efficiency and good service, which the King prized very highly. So effective was Cromwell’s system that it survived, in essence, until the nineteenth century.1
Cromwell’s reforms also extended to the King’s Council, where he designated nineteen of the most active and influential councillors as the Privy Council, a name that had hitherto been used for those councillors who were especially close to the King. The new Privy Council would, much later, evolve into the Cabinet. Naturally, Cromwell dominated this privileged group, much to the chagrin of Norfolk and other lords, but both the King and Cromwell held that promotion to it depended on merit, not birth. Their views were enshrined in an Act of Precedence that ranked the eleven great officers of state and household above the nobility, however ancient their title. However, as many of these offices were normally held by peers, there was always an aristocratic majority on the Council, which increased during the 1540s. Members of the Council were from now on to meet at court, rather than at Westminster, and would enjoy the privilege of lodging there and dining in their council chamber.
The King’s own powers were now extended: his proclamations were to have the same force as an Act of Parliament, and his authority was to encompass doctrinal issues. Thomas Wriothesley and Ralph Sadler were appointed his joint Principal Secretaries of State early in 1540, Wriothesley acting as Secretary to the Council and Sadler as Secretary to the King. The King had rewarded Wriothesley’s good service with the dissolved abbey of Titchfield, which Wriothesley was busily converting into his country seat. He easily dominated Sadler, and by 1542 it was being said that he “almost governed everything.”2 Ralph Sadler had graduated from Cromwell’s household and, having impressed the King by his performance as an envoy in Scotland, was now embarking on a career as a politician and diplomat that would span four reigns and make him one of the wealthiest commoners in England. In 1540, Henry granted him land at Standen, Hertfordshire, where he built a fine courtyard house.
The Gentlemen Pensioners were refounded in 1539, under the Greenwich Ordinances, as an elite guard for the King, keeping watch in the presence chamber. Now numbering fifty well-born young men,3 under the captaincy of Sir Anthony Browne, they were expected to provide their own weapons—a poleaxe, a dagger, and a sword—and wear dark velvet doublets or a livery of red and yellow damask, but were given a gold medallion of office which was worn on a chain round the neck. This may be seen in the portrait of one Gentleman Pensioner, William Palmer, painted by Gerlach Flicke in about 1546, and in Holbein’s drawing of William Parr, who was appointed their second Captain in November 1541.4 So many gentlemen wished to join that the King later created a separate band of Gentlemen at Arms, whose numbers had risen to forty-one by the end of the reign; there were then 150 Gentlemen Pensioners.5
Henry’s devoted fool, Will Somers, who enjoyed the status of a Chamber servant, remained untouched by the reforms. Cromwell liked him, and had applauded the way in which he had, on many occasions, jokingly drawn the King’s attention to the abuses within his household. Somers was that rare creature at court, a man of integrity and discretion, who refused to become embroiled in factional politics and who never took advantage of his privileged position. He remained one of the King’s closest companions during Henry’s later years: an illustration in the King’s Psalter (c. 1540–1542) shows him listening while Henry plays the harp.6 Somers may also be the male figure standing on the right of the Whitehall family portrait. 7
Somers was always on hand to offer comfort whenever the King’s leg gave him trouble and forced him into tedious inactivity, as it did in the winter of 1539, when George Constantine confessed to a friend that it grieved him “to see His Grace halt so much upon his sore leg.”8 Henry was also suffering from constipation at this time, which did not help matters.9 But he was in high spirits, for his bride was at last on her way to England.
Everything was ready for the arrival of Anne of Cleves. The Queen’s apartments at Hampton Court and elsewhere had been redecorated and put in repair. Two of the King’s richest beds had been sent to Rochester and Dartford, where the Princess would stay on her way to Greenwich. The King planned to marry her there at the start of the Christmas season, and then enjoy twelve days of lavish celebrations. Anne would make her state entry into London on 1 January, and be crowned at Westminster Abbey on Candlemas Day, 2 February. Many courtiers had already ordered rich fabrics and garments for these coming events.
The new Queen’s household was ready and waiting, with Rutland and Baynton restored to their offices of Chamberlain and Vice Chamberlain, and Sir John Dudley as Master of the Horse. There had been the usual stampede for places, more so because the King had limited the numbers to 126. The six ladies-in-waiting, who were now to be called “the great ladies of the household,”10 were Lady Margaret Douglas, the Duchesses of Richmond and Suffolk, the Countess of Sussex, Lady Howard, and Lady Clinton—the King’s former mistress, Elizabeth Blount. 11 Norfolk secured posts for his nieces, Katherine Howard and Mary Norris, and his great-niece, Katherine Carey (daughter of Mary Boleyn), as maids of honour. Katherine Howard was the daughter of Norfolk’s ineffectual brother, Lord Edmund Howard, who had recently died after spending several unprofitable years as Controller in Calais. She had been raised, in the company of several other well-born girls, in the household of the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk at Horsham in Norfolk and at Lambeth, where discipline had been so lax that she had compromised herself with two young men—one her music master, when she was just eleven, the other her distant cousin, Francis Dereham, with whom she had been more deeply involved. Now aged about fifteen, she was tiny in stature, very pretty, and old in the ways of love.
Lady Lisle, having made certain of a post as maid of honour for Anne Basset, pleaded with the King to find one for her other daughter, Katherine. Henry, who had recently presented Anne with a fine horse and saddle, prompting rumours that she was his mistress, told Lady Lisle he had not yet decided how many maids the Queen would need, but he meant to ensure that they were all “fair, and meet for the room.”12 The Mother of the Maids was the strict Lady Browne, wife of Sir Anthony, who would not have allowed any levity, however fair the girls were.
The Princess Anne had left Cleves in November, but was delayed in Calais by fierce December gales. Lord Lisle entertained her with banquets and tournaments, while Lady Lisle wrote t
o Anne Basset that the new Queen would be “good and gentle to serve and please.”13 Soon the Lord High Admiral, the Earl of Southampton, arrived to escort Anne to England. With him were the Seymour brothers, Sir Nicholas Poyntz, Gregory Cromwell, and a young member of the Privy Chamber called Thomas Culpeper, to whom the King had recently shown special favour. Henry had instructed Southampton to “cheer my lady and her train so they think the time short,”14 so, with the help of an interpreter, since Anne had little English, the Admiral taught her to play Sent and other card games that Henry enjoyed, with Gregory Cromwell joining in.
After Christmas, the storms abated and the Princess of Cleves was able to cross the channel to Deal in Kent, arriving on 27 December. The Duke and Duchess of Suffolk were waiting to receive her, and they escorted her to Dover Castle, where she slept that night.
Anne brought with her a retinue of 350 Germans, of whom 100 were her personal servants, notably her ladies, household officers, a cook called Schoulenburg, a physician, Dr. Cornelis, a secretary, a footman named Engelbert, thirteen trumpeters, two drummers, and the artist Susanna Horenbout. Her escort was formed of noblemen and ambassadors. It had been agreed that most of these people would return to Cleves after the wedding. 15 The appearance of Anne’s twelve German maids caused great amusement in Calais and England, for they “dressed after a fashion so heavy and tasteless that it would make them appear frightful even if they were beauties.” 16 In charge of them was a formidable matriarch called Mother Lowe, who effectively ruled the whole household.
On 29 December, Anne arrived in Canterbury, where she was welcomed by Archbishop Cranmer. After a night in the new Queen’s lodgings in the former abbey of St. Augustine,17 she rode to Sittingbourne, and thence, on 31 December, was escorted by Norfolk to the Bishop’s Palace at Rochester. Here she was received by Lady Browne, who was dismayed at what she saw. The King, she predicted, could never love Anne, for there was in her “such fashion and manner of bringing up so gross and far discrepant from the King’s Highness’ appetite.”18
Anne had been educated by her mother at a cultural backwater of a court where it was considered immodest for a woman to sing, play an instrument, dance, or be in any way learned.19 Nor was it thought necessary for her to speak any language other than German. Instead, Anne had been taught reading, writing, and needlework; Nicholas Wotton noted that she spent most of her time sewing.20 She had never been hunting, and her preferred exercise was a sedate walk in the gardens. Now she would be expected to preside over one of the most brilliant and cultivated courts in Europe. It is not surprising that Lady Browne had reservations.
Yet Anne did have excellent personal qualities. “Her manner was like a princess,”21 yet she was kind and good humoured, and amiable without being overfamiliar. She was anxious to please the King: at twenty-four, she was no giddy girl, and she had been trained to do her humble duty as a wife, although she was entirely innocent of sexual matters. The Duchess of Cleves had not thought it necessary to enlighten her.
The King spent Christmas at Whitehall. The court was exceptionally crowded because so many people had come to greet the new Queen, although Mary, Elizabeth, and Edward all kept the festival at Hertford Castle. Because of the delays in Anne’s journey, the wedding had been deferred; it was due to take place as soon as she arrived.
On New Year’s Day, Hans Holbein presented the King with a superb portrait of the two-year-old Prince Edward, wearing a wide-brimmed bonnet and clutching a gold rattle. The Prince appears in a solemn, mannerist pose, gazing steadily at the artist with all the gravity of an adult ruler, as the portrait was intended to convey. Below the portrait are verses written by Richard Moryson, Cromwell’s propagandist, exhorting the boy to “equal your renowned father in greatness; no man can wish for more.”22 A delighted Henry gave Holbein a silver-gilt covered cup made by Cornelius Heyss.
Later that day, having learned that Anne of Cleves was at Rochester, the impatient King left the festivities and galloped off with a few gentlemen and a gift of furs to greet his bride and “nourish love.”
54
“Displeasant Airs”
When the King and five of his Gentlemen presented themselves at Anne of Cleves’s lodgings at Rochester on 1 January 1540, they were all dressed alike in marbled coats and hoods. Henry did not identify himself, but embraced Anne, saying he had come with gifts from the King. After he had carried on this charade for a short time, he revealed who he was, much to her discomfiture: she had not the English to greet him properly, but pointed to the window, outside of which a bullbaiting was taking place. Henry took an instant aversion to her and left as soon as courtesy permitted, taking the furs with him. On the way back to Whitehall, he complained to Sir Anthony Browne, “I see nothing in this woman as men report of her, and I marvel that wise men would make such reports as they have done.”1
It is clear from Wotton’s reports2 that Holbein had made a good likeness of Anne of Cleves, but he painted her full-face, making the best of her looks. Another portrait of her, attributed to Barthel Bruyn the Elder and now in the possession of St. John’s College, Oxford, is a sideways view and shows her long nose to disadvantage; recent X rays of the portrait reveal an even longer nose. The French ambassador, Charles de Marillac, described Anne as “tall and thin, of middling beauty, with determined and resolute countenance”; she was “not so young as was at first thought, nor so handsome as people affirmed,” since her skin was pitted with smallpox scars. Nor did her charm of manner compensate for “her want of beauty.”3 Yet it was not just Anne’s looks that revolted the King: he later told Cromwell she was “nothing fair and have very evil smells about her” and that he could “have none appetite for displeasant airs.”4
Back at Whitehall, Cromwell asked him how he liked his future Queen. Henry snapped, “Nothing so well as she is spoken of. If I had known as much before as I know now, she would never have come into this realm.” He was talking about not only Anne herself, but the fact that Francis I had recently sent him a gift of boar pâté for Christmas—an indication that he wished to renew his friendship with England, which would obviate the need for an alliance with Cleves.
On 2 January, a glowering Henry moved with the court to Greenwich, where the wedding was to take place. Anne herself travelled to the newly converted Dartford Palace, where she spent the night before riding in procession to Shooters Hill. Here, she was welcomed by her Chamberlain, the Earl of Rutland, and the officers and great ladies of her household, who kissed her hand then escorted her into one of several rich pavilions that had been set up at the foot of the hill. There she was robed in a round gown of cloth of gold cut in the Dutch fashion without a train, a pearl-embroidered caul and bonnet, and a partlet of rich stones, ready for her official reception by the King at Blackheath, which was to be the last great state occasion of the reign.
On Blackheath, the Mayor and Corporation of London and the German merchants of the Steelyard stood waiting as hundreds of Knights, soldiers, liveried servants, and the newly reformed Gentlemen Pensioners arranged themselves into orderly ranks. At noon, to the sound of trumpets, the King, attended by Norfolk, Suffolk, and Cranmer, rode through Greenwich Park towards the waiting crowds, preceded by his household officers, the Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber, barons, bishops, earls, foreign ambassadors, Lord Privy Seal Cromwell, Lord Chancellor Audley, the Kings of Arms, and a host of lords and bishops. Henry was “mounted on a goodly courser, trapped in rich cloth of gold, pearled on every side, the buckles and pendants all of fine gold.” He wore “a cloak of purple velvet made like a frock, all over embroidered with flat gold of damask with gold laces and tied with great buttons of diamonds, rubies and orient pearl. His sword and swordgirdle [were] adorned with stones and emeralds, his nightcap garnished with stone, but his bonnet was so rich of jewels that few men could value them.” He also wore, baldrick-fashion, “a collar of such ballasts and pearl that few men ever saw the like,” while “about his person ran 10 footmen, all richly apparelled in goldsmiths’ w
ork.”5
Henry was followed by the Lord Chamberlain, the Master of Horse leading the King’s horse of estate, the Pages of Honour, and the Yeomen of the Guard. He halted some way short of the pavilions, and waited. Presently Anne emerged on a richly trapped steed and rode towards Henry, who “put off his bonnet and came forward to her, and with most lovely countenance and princely behaviour saluted, welcomed and embraced her, to the great rejoicing of the beholders.” Anne, in turn, “with most amiable aspect and womanly behaviour, received His Grace with many sweet words and great thanks and praisings.”6 The royal couple then rode back to Greenwich, followed by their vast retinues. As they approached the palace, they could see the citizens and guilds of London, rowing up and down the river in gaily bedecked barges from which issued music and singing, “which sight and noise they much praised.”
Henry and Anne alighted in the outer court of Greenwich Palace, where “the King lovingly embraced and kissed her, bidding her welcome to her own, and led her by the arm through the hall, and so brought her up to her privy chamber, where he left her for that time.” Meanwhile, “a great peal of guns” was shot out of Greenwich Castle.7 That evening, there was a sumptuous banquet in Anne’s honour.
Henry had behaved impeccably, although he was still doing his best to wriggle out of the alliance with Cleves. But it was too late to do that without giving great offence and provoking a hostile reaction, so he unwillingly faced the fact that the marriage must go ahead. On the morning of 6 January, before he emerged from his privy lodgings for the ceremony, he told Cromwell, “If it were not to satisfy the world and my realm, I would not do that I must do this day for none earthly thing.”8 At 8 A.M., wearing “a gown of cloth of gold raised with great flowers of silver, furred with black” beneath a cloak of crimson satin embroidered with large diamonds, with a rich collar about his neck,9 he summoned his nobles and proceeded to the gallery that led to the royal closets. There he waited, having dispatched some lords to fetch the Princess, whose bridal attire was “a gown of rich cloth of gold set full of large flowers of great Orient pearl, made after the Dutch fashion,” with a jewelled collar and belt. Her long fair hair was loose beneath a gem-studded “coronal of gold” with trefoils fashioned to represent sprigs of rosemary.10