Anna of Kleve, the Princess in the Portrait

by Alison Weir

  Chapter 11

  1540

  Anna had been married less than a week when Lord Cromwell craved an audience. She was wary of him, aware that he knew the King’s mind and might say things she would not want to hear. He had great power, which he might use to her benefit or detriment, and although she had offered him friendship, she did not know if it was reciprocated.

  She sat beneath her canopy of estate to receive him. She felt more confident asserting her rank.

  “Your Grace,” he said, kissing her hand. When he rose from his bow, his eyes were impassive, giving nothing away. “I come on a delicate matter.”

  Her heart missed a beat. Had the King complained of her lack of virginity? Please God it was not that!

  “His Majesty does not wish to offend you, Madam, but he wishes you to cease wearing German dress. You are queen of England, and he would like you to wear English attire.”

  And she had feared she was about to be sent to the Tower!

  She had with her the English gowns Meister Wilkinson had made for her, most of them unworn because, even at this distance, Mutter’s disapproval was a powerful deterrent. She thought of all the rich German clothes Mutter had caused to be made for her—all that labor and expense gone to waste. What rankled most was that Henry hadn’t raised the matter himself, but had sent Cromwell. So much for their friendship! She dared not meet the eyes of Susanna, who was translating for them.

  “My lord, as ever, I am ready to comply with his Majesty’s wishes,” she told Cromwell, “but my German clothes are worth a princely sum.”

  “Madam, you may send for your tailor at any time. The King will defray the cost of altering them to such fashions as will be to his comfort.”

  “Please thank his Majesty for me, since he has preferred to broach this matter through your lordship.” Cromwell gave her a sharp look, which she chose to ignore. “And what of the attire of my German ladies?”

  “They would be well advised to adopt English dress too, as I’m sure you will appreciate.”

  “Of course,” she said, standing up. “Was there anything else, my lord?”

  Cromwell bowed himself out. Anna looked at her ladies, conscious that she had been wrong-footed in front of them. Cromwell had made her feel she had given offense, when Mutter’s intention had been to send her to England as richly attired as was fitting for the honor, not only of Kleve, but also of King Henry.

  “Lord Cromwell said as much to us too, Madam, only this morning, when you were walking in the gardens,” Susanna said. “He told us to use all pleasantness to induce you to wear English fashions.”

  “He should have spoken to me first!” Anna fumed. As should Henry!

  She hastened to her wardrobe. With an outraged Mother Lowe at her elbow, and some maids standing behind, she dragged out one gown after another, in increasing dismay. It did not help that the English ladies were staring at them with disdain.

  “It will take a lot of work to alter these,” Anna moaned. “And they have no trains. I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Madam,” said Margaret Douglas, “you have English gowns already. These can be altered at leisure.”

  Anna tried not to cry. All the care her mother had taken for her—all set at naught. And yet another link with Kleve broken.

  Resolutely, she straightened up. “Summon the tailor,” she commanded.

  She wore one of the English gowns for the tournament, with a halo-like French hood of the kind that was so popular at court that it was now considered an English fashion. Her ladies told her she looked most becoming, but she felt half naked in the low, square-cut bodice, with her hair uncovered. It was gratifying, however, to see the approval in Henry’s face as he escorted her to the royal stand, and to bask in the admiring looks of the spectators. Even Cromwell complimented her.

  She felt she was settling into queenship with dignity. She was growing more proficient in English. She dutifully observed all the rites of the Church of England. She was discovering that English gowns were more comfortable to wear than German ones, although the trains took some getting used to. She ordered several more in black satin or damask, so that she could show off the jewels Henry gave her to greater effect. He might have forgotten about the Brautstückes, but he had arrived to sup one evening with a handsome brooch and matching pendant designed by Holbein himself, and fashioned with the entwined initials H and A.

  During a lull in the jousts, she asked Henry if she might spend some of her income on jewelry.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “You may do as you please.”

  He sent his goldsmith to her that afternoon, with a selection of pieces for her inspection.

  “Of course, your Grace can commission a jewel, if you wish,” Master Hayes told her. Anna looked at the exquisite selection spread out before her.

  “I need look no further,” she said. “That one is gorgeous.” She pointed to a diamond brooch inset with miniature scenes.

  “They tell the story of Samson, Madam,” the goldsmith said.

  It was very costly, but she bought it.

  * * *

  —

  Her presence in a court that had not seen a queen for over two years made her the object of great interest, and many nobles and gentlemen were already frequenting her apartments, all seeming to want something from her.

  “How will I know who to favor, and who to avoid?” she asked Dr. Olisleger, on the afternoon after the tournament. “I know nothing about any of them.”

  “They seek your patronage, Madam,” he told her. “They hope you will convey their requests to the King, and say a word in their favor. Some lords get rich by charging for their intercession, or calling in favors. It is how courts work.”

  “But I have no idea of the King’s preferences in these matters. I fear many are going to be very disappointed in me.”

  “It is best not to get involved, Madam, until you know this King and his court better.”

  Over the next few days, Anna noticed people staring at her with ill-concealed curiosity, one or two even smirking, or talking behind their hands.

  It was Susanna who enlightened her. She came back to the privy chamber one evening, her gentle features flushed.

  “Oh, Madam,” she said, sinking to her knees before an astonished Anna. “I hardly know how to tell you what people are saying in the court, but you should know. I only wish I wasn’t the one to have to tell you.”

  “What are they saying?” Anna cried in alarm.

  Susanna swallowed. “They are saying—forgive me, Madam—that the King has said he will never have any more children for the comfort of the realm, for, although he is able to do the act of procreation with others, he cannot do it with you. Some whisper he is impotent, but most of those I overheard think the fault lies with your Grace.”

  Fury rose in Anna. “It lies with him!” she cried, unable to stop herself. “I had resolved never to speak to anyone of his inability to consummate our marriage, yet now, it appears, he has blazoned it to all, and laid the blame at my feet. And he thinks himself a man of honor! How dare he make me the scapegoat for his own inadequacy!”

  Susanna was staring at her, speechless. “Madam, I had no idea—”

  But the dam in Anna had burst. “No wonder people have been staring at me! Are they wondering what horrors are concealed under my royal robes, and what is so awful about me that the King cannot bring himself to make love to me? It is horrible, and utterly humiliating! How will I ever show my face outside my apartments again?”

  “Madam, please calm yourself—”

  “How can I? Something must be done to stop this scurrilous talk!” Anna paused, dizzy with indignation, and strove to regain control of herself.

  There was one man who had the power and the means to stop it.

  “Send for Lord Cromwell,” she commanded. “Say I would s
ee him alone, at once.”

  Back came the messenger. His lordship craved her forbearance, but he was busy with matters of state. He would obey her summons as soon as he could.

  * * *

  —

  When Henry came to her bed that night, she could barely bring herself to be civil to him. If it had been any lesser man, she would have raged and let him have a goodly piece of her mind. But, always, she was aware that the King must not be offended. Of course, it did not matter that she had been offended!

  He dealt out the cards, then paused. “What is wrong, Anna?”

  She did not have sufficient English to go into detail. “People are talking,” she said at length. “About us. They know we do not…”

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. His fair skin reddened.

  “They think I am not good,” she went on. “That you do not like me. It makes me very unhappy. How do they know these things?” She looked him directly in the eye.

  “It is mere gossip,” he said. “The court is full of it. Just ignore it.”

  “It is said you say you can do the act with others, but not me,” she countered. “But where do they hear it from?” She was determined to pin him down.

  “Anna, what is this?” he blustered. “Do you presume to interrogate me?”

  “Tell me you did not say those things!” she cried.

  “Of course I did not!” he barked. “Enough!” He would not look at her. She thought he was lying.

  He rose, flinging down his cards. “I think I will go and find more congenial company,” he muttered. “I bid you good night, Madam.” And he was gone, stamping out of the door.

  * * *

  —

  When morning came, Anna woke feeling miserable and anxious. It had been foolhardy to anger the King. Upset with him as she was, she would apologize at the first opportunity.

  She hoped Cromwell would come soon, then she could explain how wronged she felt. He would know the truth of it, and how to approach Henry. She waited and waited, but still he did not appear. Anger and frustration mounted in her at the realization that he might be avoiding her. If she had offended the King, or he considered the catastrophe of their private life her fault, it was only natural that Cromwell would not dare engage in a confrontation with her. He would be falling over backward to distance himself from her. He would not want to be blamed for the failure of her marriage, or be seen to be supporting her.

  She was still in turmoil when her chamberlain presented himself in her privy chamber, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

  “Yes, my lord?” she invited.

  “Your Grace,” Rutland said, “my Lord Cromwell has asked me to speak with you on a personal matter. He has your interests at heart and desires to see you and his Majesty happy and contented. He advises you to conduct yourself pleasantly in your behavior toward the King.”

  Anna was speechless. She feared she might explode in fury. Henry had gone running to Cromwell to complain of her, as if this vile business was all her fault. And it followed that the problems in their marriage were her fault too.

  The Earl was regarding her with sympathy. “I think there has been some misunderstanding, Madam, which the King has taken amiss. If I may be so bold, I have observed how you conduct yourself toward him, and I can honestly say that no one could find fault with it.”

  At his kindness, tears threatened. He was Henry’s cousin, and close to him. He would not criticize him, yet he had opened up a way forward, a means to restore the fragile equilibrium between her and the King. It had been a misunderstanding.

  “I fear I spoke out of turn to his Majesty last night,” she confessed. “I was upset after Susanna reported some idle talk to me that she, quite rightly, thought I should hear. My English is poor, and his Grace took my words to mean that I was accusing him of being the source of it. He left before I could explain or apologize.”

  “I am sure his Grace will accept your apology,” Rutland reassured her. He paused. “I am aware of the gossip, Madam. Having had long experience of serving at court, I have learned to ignore idle chatter. I counsel your Grace to do the same.”

  “I will do as you advise,” Anna replied, forcing herself to smile. “Would you kindly ask his Grace if he will visit me this evening?”

  “Of course, Madam.” The chamberlain bowed and left.

  Henry came. She guessed Rutland had handled things well, for her husband was in a congenial mood and waved away her apologies. Maybe he was feeling guilty about causing her so much upset—if, indeed, he had caused it.

  He ordered supper to be served in the Queen’s privy chamber with only Susanna in attendance, and told Anna he had appointed a secretary for her. “William Paget is a good man, sound and dependable, and clever with money too. He’s been serving as clerk to the Privy Council.” He groaned. “And Lady Lisle has been pestering me to place her daughter Katherine in your household. That woman never knows when to stop. She even sent me marmalade, to sweeten me, and got Dr. Olisleger to speak for her.”

  “It is all my fault,” Anna told him. “I asked him to, not knowing your pleasure in the matter. Sir, for my part, I would tell her that, however earnestly Dr. Olisleger has prayed your Grace that an extra gentlewoman might be taken on, it is not possible. The ladies and gentlewomen of my chamber were appointed before my coming here, and, for now, patience must be had.”

  “Indeed!” Henry nodded approvingly.

  His pleasant mood evaporated when Lady Rutland approached him after supper. “Sir, Lady Lisle has asked me to persuade your Grace to appoint her daughter as one of the Queen’s maids. You should know she has sent me inducements—barrels of wine and herring.”

  “Bribes, Madam!” Henry roared. “Tell her ladyship the King does not wish more maids to be taken on until some of those now with the Queen are preferred to other posts.”

  Lady Rutland bowed her head. “Of course, Sir.”

  “Tell her to apply to Mother Lowe,” Anna said. “Tell her she can do as much good in this matter as anyone here. That will be the end of it!”

  That had Henry chuckling, his good humor restored. “By God, Anna, you would make Machiavelli blush! We should have you on the Council.”

  * * *

  —

  Two days later, he arrived to supper in a testy humor. “You had best watch that wench Anne Bassett,” he grumbled. “She waylaid me this afternoon, when I was about to take my turn at the butts. She asked me to remember her sister.”

  “I will speak to her,” Anna said.

  “No need,” he sniffed. “I told her many had spoken to me on her sister’s behalf, but I will not grant a place, as I intend to have young ladies who are fair and meet for the honor. That silenced her!”

  “Mother Lowe received a large bribe from Lady Lisle today,” Anna revealed. “She has written back in the firmest terms to say your Grace has decreed there shall be no new maids appointed unless one leaves to get married.”

  “Quite so,” Henry said, then his tone changed. “Anna, I must raise with you the matter of your countrymen. Baron von Oberstein, Dr. Olisleger, Grand Master Hochsteden, and many others of your escort are to return to Cleves in a few days, as planned.” She had known that, and was dreading it, for it would be the breaking of more ties with home. She would have liked to correct Henry on his pronunciation of Kleve, but did not dare. Most English people called it Cleves, to rhyme with “sleeves,” rather than Kleve, to rhyme with “waver.” In time, perhaps, she would herself.

  “But,” Henry was saying, “I am retaining the Count of Waldeck and many other of your German gentlemen and damsels, until you are better acquainted with this realm.” Again, there was that kindness in him, which had rarely been in evidence since they married.

  “I am most grateful to your Grace,” she told him, deeply touched and relieved. When he behaved like this, she coul
d forgive him a lot.

  * * *

  —

  In the third week of January, the King hosted a feast in his presence chamber for the departing lords and dignitaries, which was attended by Anna and many nobles. Cromwell was there—Cromwell who had been conspicuous by his failure to attend Anna’s summons. But never mind that now.

  “We have been greatly honored,” Dr. Olisleger said, seated at Anna’s right hand, “and so I will tell the Duke your brother on my return. The King has been most generous. Truly, I think you have been very fortunately bestowed in marriage.”

  Anna looked into the wise, weathered face of this loyal counselor who had done so much to make her a queen, and saw there no irony. Olisleger did not know what was lacking in her marriage. She thought of Wilhelm, and how much store he set by the alliance, and how he needed England’s friendship to bolster him against the ambitions of the Emperor. No, she would not burden either of them with the truth. Anyway, despite herself, she was growing to like the King more; daily, she prayed that the problem that lay like an invisible sword between them would be resolved, and that she would be able to bear him children, and so make herself beloved by him and his subjects.

  To her joy, Henry said she might keep Mother Lowe, and her favorite German maids, Katharina and Gertrude, and more than twenty other of her compatriots. Her English ladies were still loath to befriend her German ones; she was beginning to learn that the English distrusted all foreigners, or strangers, as they called them. They looked askance at the Germans’ clothes and mimicked their guttural accents. Anna suspected that some of her maids, including Anastasia, were homesick and glad to leave, but the strong-willed and vivacious Katharina and the gentle and devout Gertrude were content to remain. Both were devoted to Anna, and to Mother Lowe, who treated them like her own granddaughters.

  Anna was pleased that her fourteen-year-old cousin, Franz von Waldeck, was to remain as her page, and that Otho von Wylich, his wife, Hanna, Florence de Diaceto, the Brockhausens, Dr. Cepher, and her cook, Schoulenburg, had been given leave to stay too. Her household now constituted a great court. No queen, she thought, had ever been so well attended.