Anna of Kleve, the Princess in the Portrait

by Alison Weir

  Her thoughts kept straying to Otho these days. Although they rarely spoke, and then only to exchange pleasantries, she could feel his eyes on her, encouraging, admiring. She wished he could know about their son. She felt guilty for deceiving him; morally, he had a right to know about his child—but she had to be pragmatic. She had striven to banish Johann to the inmost recesses of her mind. To think of him brought only pain, so she tried not to. Instead, she thought of Otho.

  He was the only man she had ever truly desired, the man to whom she had given her virginity. She realized he would always be the one against whom she judged all others; beside him, the King was a sorry husband. Of course, there was more to marriage than physical love, but what would she not give for a night of pleasure such as Otho had given her? She was living on the memory now. It might be all of love she would ever know.

  She could not bear to watch the tender way he treated his wife. Despite the kindness Henry often showed, his demeanor toward Anna was in glaring contrast to the way Otho treated Hanna, underpinned as it clearly was by a strong bond of love and intimacy. She tried not to hate Hanna, but it was hard.

  She must not lie here and mope. She rose and called for her maids. As she splashed water on her face, she wondered if Dr. Wotton had reached Kleve and given her letters to Mutter and Wilhelm. How she longed for news of them. She realized, with some alarm, that she could no longer quite remember Mutter’s voice.

  * * *

  —

  Early in March, they left Whitehall for Hampton Court. Anna had seen Greenwich and Whitehall, and thought them splendid, but she gasped at her first sight of the great redbrick palace as the barge carrying her and Henry glided around the bend in the river at Thames Ditton. Nestling on the banks of the Thames amid vast acres of parkland, Hampton Court was magnificent!

  They alighted at the watergate, and walked along a covered gallery with oriel windows, which brought them straight to the King’s private apartments.

  “I do not wish my subjects always to see what I am doing or where I am going,” Henry said. Anna had become aware that he was almost obsessive in guarding his privacy, and supposed it had everything to do with his fear of treason. From what she had heard, he had had to deal with treacherous plots and betrayals throughout his reign. Susanna had hinted—it was too dangerous to say such things outright—that there were those who considered they had a better claim to the throne.

  It was as if he had read her thoughts. “Never reveal your hand, Anna,” he advised. “If I thought my cap knew my mind, I would throw it in the fire.” It was one of the most revealing things he had ever said to her.

  * * *

  —

  The doors opened onto the most splendid apartments she had ever seen. They were paneled in oak, with molded ceilings and rich friezes of putti and classical motifs. The walls shimmered with gold and silver, some from the glittering embroideries on hangings of cloth of gold and velvet embroidered with the royal arms. Exquisite heraldic glass sparkled in windows glazed with crystal. Anna walked on sumptuous carpets, thinking that Mutter would have had a fit—carpets were to be laid on tables, to preserve them!

  Henry escorted her through his privy chamber, which had an alabaster fountain set into the wall. The door on the opposite wall opened, as if by magic, and they walked into the presence chamber, the guards lining the walls standing to attention.

  “We call this the Paradise Chamber,” Henry said proudly. Struck with wonder, Anna could see why. Everything glittered with jewels and precious metals; the effect was dazzling. Persian tapestries hung on the walls, and there was a beautiful painted ceiling and a cloth-of-gold canopy above the throne on the dais.

  She had never seen such rich apartments, but even these did not prepare her for the breathtaking magnificence of the Great Hall. Standing on the checkered floor tiled in green and white, she gazed at the impressive oak screen and the minstrels’ gallery above, broad stained-glass windows, and vast stretches of wall hung with tapestries depicting, Henry told her, the story of Abraham, and glinting with gold and silver thread. Crowning all was a magnificent hammer-beam roof.

  “So you like Hampton Court?” Henry was asking.

  “It is wonderful, like a palace out of legend,” Anna breathed. She could not quite believe that all this splendor was hers to enjoy.

  “Then you will like your apartments,” Henry said. He took her arm and escorted her back through his lodgings to his bedchamber. There, a door opened onto a privy gallery lined with religious paintings, mirrors, and maps.

  “The door at the far end leads to the Queen’s apartments,” he said. Anna wondered how many of her predecessors had enjoyed them. She stepped into her bedchamber—and looked about her in awe.

  “I had these rooms decorated in the antique style by a German craftsman, you will be pleased to hear,” Henry said. “They were refurbished for you before your coming.” Anna looked up at the mirrors set into the ceilings, and at the intricate grotesque work on the walls. The bed boasted a wooden roundel newly painted with her arms.

  The other chambers were just as luxuriously appointed. On one side, they overlooked a spacious courtyard with a cloister; on the other was the privy garden, with the park beyond. What Anna liked most was the wide balcony outside her windows.

  “You and your ladies can watch the hunting in the park from there,” the King told her. “Now, Madam, I will leave you to settle in. I will see you at supper.” He bowed and departed.

  Anna’s women were busily unpacking, so she beckoned Susanna and descended the private stair to the garden. There was a man working there, an old fellow with ruddy cheeks. He straightened when he saw her and touched his cap.

  “This is a beautiful garden,” Anna said.

  “Aye, lady. Laid out by her.”

  “Her?”

  “The Queen. She loved it here. We worked together on it. I be Chapman, head gardener. Dead now she is, but I still see her, with her fair face and her sweet smile.”

  Anna and Susanna exchanged glances.

  “You oughta see the other gardens, mistresses,” Chapman went on. “You ain’t never seen anything like ’em, and a lot of it’s my doing. King Harry, he says to me, ‘I wants my box hedges crenellated,’ or ‘I wants topiary fashioned like a centaur’—and I did it all, much to his pleasure. You go have a look one day soon.”

  “We will,” Anna promised, looking around. Flowers were coming into bud in the pale March sunlight, and there was a hint of spring in the air.

  “You ladies with the new Queen?” Chapman asked, eyeing them curiously.

  Susanna stifled a giggle.

  “I am the new Queen,” Anna said, smiling.

  The old gardener pulled off his cap and bowed, gawping. “Beg pardon, your Grace. This be your garden now. You tell Chapman what you wants.”

  “It’s lovely as it is,” Anna told him. “I want it to stay like this.”

  He peered at her. “As you command, your Grace. You’re as fair as she was, you know—not like they said.”

  “He’s a little crazed,” Susanna murmured, as they strolled away along the graveled paths between rectangular railed beds of lawn, bordered with flowers and sporting the ubiquitous green-and-white-striped posts bearing painted statues of the King’s heraldic beasts.

  “He was clearly devoted to Queen Jane,” Anna said.

  “She was much liked,” Susanna told her. “My brother Lucas painted her several times, all in miniature. Maybe he will paint your Grace one day?”

  “I must ask him to.” Anna smiled.

  “It is for your Grace to command!”

  “These were Queen Jane’s apartments?” Anna asked, looking up at the windows above her.

  “They were meant to be, but she did not live to occupy them. The King wanted them altered after Queen Anne…Queen Jane used the old Queen’s lodgings in the tower. Th
at’s where Prince Edward was born.”

  “And where she died,” Anna supplied, glad she was not staying in those apartments.

  “Yes. They laid her in state in the chapel. The Lady Mary and all the ladies kept vigil over her for days.”

  “What did she die of? Was it a very terrible birth?”

  “Her travail was prolonged, but she actually became ill a few days later. It was a terrible tragedy, for England, and for the Prince, of course.”

  And a tragedy that there is no hope of the Prince having a brother, Anna thought. “I mind to be a mother to him, poor little boy,” she declared.

  The next morning, the King came to see her. She received him in her privy chamber, her ladies sinking into billowing skirts as they made their obeisances around her. Henry waved them away and eased himself into the chair by the fire.

  “I’ve just received news from Cleves that will cheer you, Anna,” he said. “Your brother is sending a resident ambassador to England.”

  “That is good tidings, Sir!” she replied.

  “Anna, he wants military aid against the Emperor.”

  “Has he invaded Guelders?” she cried in alarm.

  “No, although he threatens it. Your brother says you know the new ambassador. His name is Dr. Karl Harst.”

  “I do know him,” Anna said, pleased. “He has served my father and brother as a councillor for many years, and been ambassador to the Emperor. He’s a very learned man.”

  “So Duke Wilhelm tells me. He says the good doctor has degrees from the universities of Heidelberg, Cologne, Orléans, and Louvain. He is eminently fitted for the post of ambassador, being a doctor of law and a jurist, and having traveled in Italy. I look forward to talking with him. Does he speak English?”

  “No, Sir, but he is fluent in Latin—and he was a personal friend of Erasmus.”

  “Ha! Then I am most eager to greet him. You have met Erasmus, Anna?”

  “Alas, no, but my father much admired and emulated him. You could say we have an Erasmian court in Kleve!”

  “I met Erasmus once, when I was a child,” Henry recalled. “He came to Eltham Palace.” His eyes filled suddenly with tears.

  “Sir? What is wrong?” Anne was amazed to see him so emotional.

  “It is nothing,” he muttered. “I was just remembering how it felt to be young, with the world and the future before you, and all set to be fair. Erasmus brought Thomas More with him. I made More write something for me. He was the best man in my kingdom…” He sounded choked.

  She did not know what to say.

  “Dr. Harst will be here soon,” Henry said, recovering himself. “I mean to give him the kind of welcome I gave the ambassadors of Cleves last autumn. Anna, Dr. Wotton has informed me that he presented your letters to the Duchess your mother and the Duke, at which they showed great joy. They were heartily glad to hear of your welfare, and afforded Wotton a most cordial welcome. He reports that they are in good health, and your sister too, you will be pleased to hear.”

  “It is the most welcome news I could have received,” Anna told him, feeling near to tears herself at the memory of Mutter and Emily—and the child whose name must never be spoken. “When does Dr. Harst arrive?”

  “Any day now. He left only just a little ahead of Wotton’s letter.”

  Anna began counting the hours. It would be wonderful to have more news of her family, and to keep abreast of what was happening in Kleve.

  * * *

  —

  Two days later, the King came stumping into her chamber in a foul mood.

  “Your ambassador is here!” he barked, as Anna and her attendants sank into hasty reverences. “Out, out, ladies! I would talk with the Queen!” The women scattered.

  “Sir, what is wrong?” Anna cried.

  “Was I deceived?” Henry roared. “Is Cleves so poor it cannot afford to equip its ambassador in a manner befitting his master’s status? He arrived looking like some varlet, in an old black gown, with barely any servants. He should be presenting himself at my court splendidly dressed and attended by a retinue that reflects the magnificence of a duchy to which I have bound myself in alliance!”

  Anna was perplexed, and indignant. “Sir, Dr. Harst is a good man. He cares little for courtly trappings, but his loyalty and wisdom are much respected in Kleve.”

  “If he is so wise, Madam, why does he not know how to do honor to his country and to me?” the King growled.

  “I am sure he means you no disrespect,” she countered.

  “I’ll not receive him! He’ll get no fine welcome from me!” He turned, the color high in his face, and, in an angry rustle of damask and silk, stalked out.

  Anna stood there nonplussed. What should she do? If Dr. Harst’s mission was to succeed, he should be told how best to mollify the King. If need be, she herself would give him money for better attire and hiring servants.

  “Summon the ambassador of Kleve,” she ordered an usher.

  * * *

  —

  Smiling, Anna held out her hand to Dr. Harst. Someone should make him feel welcome!

  He looked presentable enough in his furred gown and velvet cap, but his swarthy, jowly face with its heavy brows and fleshy features was creased in concern.

  “Your Grace, I did not look for such courtesy, after the King’s chamberlain informed me he would not receive me.”

  “Dr. Harst, the King is angered that you did not come in sufficient state. But I can help with that.”

  The ambassador looked uncomfortable. “Madam, it is not my dress, or my lack of a retinue, that has offended his Majesty. No sooner had I arrived than Lord Cromwell was at my ear, demanding to know if I had brought the proofs.”

  “The proofs? What proofs?”

  “The documents proving that your Grace’s precontract to the Duke of Lorraine’s son was formally dissolved.”

  Anna caught her breath. “Were you asked to bring them?”

  “No, Madam, I was not. Dr. Wotton was sent to Kleve to obtain them, since his Majesty is determined to be satisfied in this matter. When I left, a great search of the archives was in progress.”

  She sighed. “This is all unnecessary!”

  “I was assured the King wishes only to satisfy himself that your marriage is lawful and its issue indisputably legitimate. Given his marital history, that is not unreasonable.”

  “No, I suppose not.” She was willing to be convinced. “But I am forgetting my manners.” She poured some wine. “I trust you have rested after your journey, and that you are comfortably lodged.”

  Harst looked distressed. “Alas, Madam, I have not been assigned any lodging. I am going to seek an inn.”

  This was most embarrassing. “I am very sorry you have been slighted like this. I will speak to the King.”

  Dr. Harst raised a hand to stay her. “No matter. When the King is less angry with me, I will try to talk my way into his good graces. Cordial relations must be preserved at all costs. The Duke needs men and arms against the Emperor.”

  “The King is aware of that, Dr. Harst. I will add my voice to yours on my brother’s behalf.”

  The ambassador sipped his wine. “I am gratified to see that your Grace is so well treated, and to hear that you already have some influence with the King.”

  “Oh, I would not say that! His Grace does as he pleases, but he has heeded me on one or two matters.”

  “You have made an excellent beginning,” Dr. Harst said. “The gentlemen who greeted me on my arrival told me the King’s subjects love your Grace and thank God for bringing into their realm such a good queen.”

  “I am touched to hear that.” Anna smiled. “I received a wonderful reception in England, especially at Blackheath, where the King formally welcomed me. I had never seen so many people gathered in one place.”

  �
��Dr. Wotton told your brother how well the King likes your Grace, saying he rejoiced greatly that the affection was mutual.”

  “The King has been very kind to me,” Anna said, gratified to hear what Wotton—who should know—had said about her marriage. “He has given me every reason to love him.” She thought of the vile rumors, the barren nights, her inability to fathom Henry’s true feelings toward her, and knew herself for a liar. But then she remembered his constant thoughtfulness, the growing liking between them, and the pain that blighted his life, and knew there was some truth in her words.

  “We heard from the Elector of Saxony’s envoys that your marriage began joyfully, and all in Kleve desire God to bless you, that you may continue in your good fortune.”

  It sounded as if Wilhelm, and everyone else abroad, was confident all was well. Anna had wondered if one of her returning servants, or even Dr. Wotton himself, might have said something to give him pause for thought. Did it perturb her brother at all that Wotton was pursuing the matter of the precontract?

  “Do let me help you with some money for equipping yourself for court,” she said. “We need to soften the King.”

  “Bless you, but no,” Harst replied. “I have money, although I can think of better things to spend it on. And now, Madam, with your leave, I must go and find some lodgings.”

  * * *

  —

  When Anna next attended Mass, she was astounded by the beauty of the Chapel Royal. Seated beside the King in the royal pew overlooking the nave, where their households had gathered to worship, her eyes were drawn to the glorious fan-vaulted ceiling, painted vivid blue and gold, with pendants, piping putti, and the King’s motto, “Dieu et mon Droit,” blazoned everywhere on the ribs. The chapel was resplendent with vibrant stained-glass windows, carved choir stalls, paintings, tapestries, and a checkered marble floor.

  Here, Queen Jane had lain in state; here, the Prince had been christened. Here, God willing, Anna’s own child might be baptized one day, although it was a faint hope.