To those of Anne's subjects who lined the streets to watch her coronation procession the dream seemed a nightmare. How could they pay the king's harlot the homage due a queen? They ridiculed her dress, her person, the litter in which she rode and the unbecoming crown with which Archbishop Cranmer crowned her. Not a few laughed aloud as she passed, though many more greeted her with cold stares. The customary cry of welcome, "Dieu garde la reine" —"God save the queen"—was heard not at all, and when one of Anne's servants asked the lord mayor to teach his citizens better manners he answered sharply that he could not command people's hearts, any more than the king could. It was left to Anne's fool—a witty woman who was much traveled and spoke several languages—to defend her mistress with sarcasm. Seeing how few of the onlookers took off their hats to the queen, she called out, "I think you all have scurvy heads, and dare not uncover!"^
The popular disfavor shown at Anne's coronation climaxed years of persistent public disdain for the king's favorite. If Henry's courtiers held Anne in low esteem his commoners roundly hated her. In private and sometimes in public they referred to her as "a common stewed whore," "a goggle-eyed whore," "a whore and a harlot." Laborers, tradespeople, housewives and clerics spoke with equal vehemence against the "scandal of Christendom," with the women crying out loudest of all.^ Royal representatives who came to Oxford to advance the nullity suit were
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driven away by angry women armed with large stones. A preacher in SaUsbury who spoke in favor of the king's suit was hissed and shouted down by his parishioners, and had to be rescued before he "suffered much at the hands of women. "^^ In St. Paul's in London a woman delivered a pointed response to a sermon in favor of the divorce. The preacher was in error, she said. Worse than that: he lied. The king's bad example in casting off his true wife would destroy the healthful and restraining bonds of matrimony among his subjects; he ought not to be encouraged but chastised.^^
The popular view of the king's proceedings was rooted in common-sense rationality. What Henry did his subjects might be expected to do; his morality defined the moral bounds for others. His claim to be acting according to the dictates of his conscience was not taken seriously, Chapuys wrote. Instead the people hinted at the king's "evil destiny," and told one another that he was impelled by forces far stronger than conscience to act against his own best interests.^^
Here rationality ceased and popular lore asserted itself. Prophecies foretelling the fate of England in allegorical language had been preserved among the common people since the Middle Ages. Books of such prophecies were cherished possessions among the literate, to be brought out and read aloud to friends around the hearth fire. The meaning of these densely obscure texts was rarely evident at first hearing, but self-appointed interpreters were always at hand. Thus when a prisoner in Colchester jail was questioned in 1532 about the prophecies he was spreading he explained that they came from one William Harlock (who got them from his employer, a "doctor of physic and astronomy") and that he had easily found help in deciphering their messages.
"The White Hare shall drive the Fox to the Castle of Care," the prisoner learned from Harlock, "and the White Greyhound shall run under the root of an oak, and there shall be such a gap in the West that all the thorns of England shall have work enough to stop it." A Somerset man told the prisoner this plainly meant there would be a great battle among priests. A Taunton goldsmith had another interpretation, relating this prophecy to another concerning the Dreadful Dragon who was coming to land with the Bare-legged Hens. Both messages foretold an Irish invasion, the goldsmith said. To others the saying indicated "much trouble" in the years to come, possibly even the death of the king.^^
In about 1530 one prediction was creating much concern among the people. At about this time, the prophecy ran, the kingdom was to be destroyed by a woman. The story gained greater credence as Anne's status rose, until by the time of her coronation in 1533 the people were said to be "greatly agitated" at the prospect of her reign.^^
A series of recent marvels on earth and in the heavens gave occult confirmation to their fears. A dead fish of a size and kind never before seen—a monstrosity some ninety feet long—was beached on the northern coast. Next, on the day Henry and Anne embarked for Calais, a second wonder occurred. The tide flowed in for nine straight hours, and the Thames rose higher than ever before, to the very steps of Greenwich
Chapel. Shortly afterward a ball of fire "the size of a human head" was seen to fall from the sky near Greenwich, while for weeks a comet, its long tail "in the form of a luminous silver beard," was visible for two hours before daybreak. "The English consider these things prodigies," the Venetian ambassador noted; certainly they created an unsettled climate for the installation of the new queen. ^^
In the weeks following Anne's coronation Henry was exultant. For better or worse he had taken his destiny into his own hands, ending the unendurable cycle of false hopes, fresh starts, and endless delays in Rome. He had made the woman he loved his queen, and within months the greatest desire of his adult life would be fulfilled. His queen would bear his son.
"I never saw the king merrier than he is now," John Russell wrote from the country house where Henry and his attendants were staying, "and there is the best pastime in hunting red deer." Everywhere the royal party went in that summer of 1533 the hospitality seemed lavish, the talk bright and the good cheer inviting. Anne was in excellent health, and past the time when she might miscarry. Her child was alive within her, and gave promise of a timely and safe birth. To protect Anne from strain Henry did no business in her presence, often meeting with his advisers at some distance from the house where he was staying. When bad news arrived from Rome at the end of July he arranged a division of the household, leaving Anne comfortably settled at Windsor and taking his remaining followers to a smaller house. He told Anne he was going hunting; in fact he summoned his councilors and theologians and held hours of talks, setting them to work on the issue of his worsening relations with the pope.^^
Clement VII issued a sentence of excommunication against Henry on July 11. The document was final and unconditional, but the pope held out one last opportunity for reconciliation. If the king changed his mode of life and took Katherine back the sentence would not be declared, he wrote; he waited in vain for a response from England.
The excommunication was not the only dark cloud on the horizon. The sweating sickness broke out near where the royal party was staying. Two of Henry's household officers died, and his physician and several others fell ill. At once the king and his chamber servants moved to a private house, where fortunately no sign of the sickness appeared.^^ There were other annoyances as well. Dispatches from abroad carried news of Henry's changed image in the imaginations of foreigners. In Flanders he was pictured as a pathetic dupe, deceived by "diabolic illusions" and shackled by the unworthy object of his passion. "The king is abused by the new queen," the Flemish said, "and his gentlemen goeth daily a-playing where they will, and his grace abides by her all the day long, and dare not go out for the rumor of the people."^^
In fact the Flemings were wide of the mark, for Henry and Anne had quarreled. She had complained of his flirtations, and he had answered harshly. He had made her what she was, he said, and he could break her again. She had better accustom herself to his infidelities, "as her betters
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had done"—a stinging reminder that Katherine, despite her loss of status, was of higher birth and more genteel manners than her successor.
Katherine had by now become an echo of the past. Henry had come to terms with his continued mistreatment of her in the only way he knew: by erecting barriers of distance and silence and indifference between them. She was kept far from court, in remote and uncomfortable quarters, with only a few of her most loyal servants to attend her. Henry never spoke of her unless compelled to in the course of a diplomatic audience; in his presence she was referred to now as "princess
dowager," the title appropriate to her as the king's widowed sister-in-law. (Throughout her life Katherine refused to renounce her title of queen.)
Henry appeared to care nothing for Katherine or her welfare, yet he went out of his way to avoid a final meeting with her. Once he resolved to separate himself from her permanently in July of 1531, he sent word to the palace where she was staying ordering her to move elsewhere in anticipation of his arrival. They never met again. (Later that year the king and queen occupied the same country estate for a time, but dined in separate chambers.^^) In a similar way Henry had avoided a final meeting with Wolsey. The cardinal came to see him for the last time at Grafton in September of 1529. Wolsey was told, on Henry's orders, that the king was out hunting and would see him later, in London; the two never met again. In both cases the outwardly tough, inwardly emotional king spared himself the anguish of saying goodbye.
Queen Anne formally "took her chamber" in August to await her delivery. After hearing mass on the appointed day she was escorted to her apartments by the principal courtiers, who left her in the hands of her women to face her ordeal. From now until her labor was over Anne would see only women; the male butler, sewer, ushers and yeomen of her household were temporarily replaced by women who busied themselves about the dark chambers readying all for the birth of the king's son.
According to ordinances written by Henry's grandmother Margaret Beaufort decades earlier the queen's birth chamber was to be thickly carpeted, with all the windows save one covered by opaque hangings. The mother was to lie between sheets of soft lawn, resting her head on down pillows, while the bed was to be covered with scarlet counterpanes bordered with ermines and cloth of gold. Two cradles were made ready for the royal infant, one of wood gilded with fine gold, the other a cradle of estate, upholstered in cloth of gold with blue velvet furnishings.
Henry had provided the most beautiful bed in the kingdom for his son to be bom in. Once given for the ransom of the due d'Alen^on, it was one of the "richest and most triumphant" beds ever seen, a masterpiece of carving and embroidery and elaborate ornamentation. Henry had less luck in providing christening robes for the child. He ordered Katherine to give up the robes Princess Mary had worn at her christening, but she refused, and the demand was not pressed. A new christening mantle was made for Anne's child of crimson cloth of gold, its long train and furred collar symbols of the infant's regal status.
As he waited out the final days of Anne's pregnancy Henry consulted
with the astrologers and physicians he had brought to court. They all reassured him again and again that the child would be a strong, healthy boy, and approved the names he had chosen for the prince—either Edward or Henry. The birth of a prince called for jousts of celebration, and Henry ordered his horse master and armorers to spare no expense in arranging a lavish spectacle. Anne's friends and relatives, hoping to make a brave showing at these festivities, sent to Flanders for strong warhorses and bought new finery for the banquets and masques.
To the king's annoyance, a minor scandal surrounding Charles Brandon threatened to overshadow the arrival of the heir to the throne. Brandon had become a widower in June, and almost before his mourning robes were ready he announced his intention to marry again. His bride was to be none other than fourteen-year-old Catherine Willoughby, an heiress until recently betrothed to his son. The shameful haste of his remarriage, the age and past attachments of the bride all gave rise to gossip, and as they listened for an announcement from the queen's apartments the courtiers whispered over Brandon's gallantry and looked forward to his wedding.
On the morning of September 7, as Anne Boleyn lay in labor in her high carved bed, Catherine Willoughby became duchess of Suffolk. That afternoon, between three and four o'clock, the child Henry had waited nearly seven years to see and hold was bom. To his great surprise, it was a girl.
V
The Mouldwarp
The hunt is up, the hunt is up.
The masters of art and doctors of divinity
Have brought this realm out of a good unity.
A YEAR and a half after the birth of Anne Boleyn's child a young Middlesex priest, Robert Feron, recalled in great detail a conversation he had with the vicar of Isle worth John Hale. The two men met frequently to talk over the state of the church and the country, and one afternoon, as they were "walking to and fro," Hale delivered himself of a thundering indictment against King Harry.
"Since the realm of England was first a realm, was there never in it so great a robber and piller of the commonwealth read of nor heard of as is our king," Hale said with vehemence. "And not only we, that be of the spirituality, by his wrongs be oppressed and robbed of our livings as if we were his utter enemies, enemies to Christ, and guilty of his death, but also thus ungoodly he doth handle innocents, and also highly learned and virtuous men—not only robbing them of their livings and spoiling them of their goods, but also thrusting them into perpetual prison, so that it is too great pity to hear, and more to be lamented than any good Christian man's ears may abide."
In his heretical cruelty Henry was clearly bent on destroying the church utterly. Hale went on, while at the same time he impoverished the nobility, using their wealth to build the towering palaces in which he "enjoyed and used his foul pleasures." The king's private life was mired in vice. "If thou wilt deeply look upon his life, thou shall find it more foul and more stinking than a sow, wallowing and defiling herself in any filthy place," the vicar insisted. "For how great soever he is, he is fully given to his foul pleasure of the flesh and other voluptuousness." The king had violated nearly every woman in his court, neglecting his wife and tarnishing the sanctity of marriage; to crown his offenses he had "taken to his wife of fornication this matron Anne, not only to the highest shame and undoing of himself, but also of all this realm."
Hale not only denounced his king's behavior, he condemned Henry's very conception of his royal power. "In a marvellous fashion he boasteth himself to be above and to excel all other Christian kings and princes," the vicar said. The king's manifold sins called for contrition and humility; instead Henry was "puffed with vain glory and pride," and persisted in his crimes even though, as Hale believed, three out of four of his subjects had turned against him, and he faced imminent invasion from Ireland and Wales.
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A tyrant's death was the only fitting end to such villainy. Hale told Feron, and he wished on Henry the fate of King John of evil memory, who died as his rebellious barons seized his lands, or of Richard III, ''sometime usurper of this imperial realm," killed ignominiously in battle on Bosworth Field. "Until the king and the rulers of this realm be plucked by the pates," Hale concluded, "we shall never live merrily in England; which I pray God may chance and now shortly to come to pass."^
The first of Hale's accusations—that Henry was robbing the clergy and destroying the church—was one few clerics would have quarreled with, at least privately. A recent series of statutes had radically altered the shape and nature of the English church, severing its time-honored ties to Rome and to the pope and making the clergy subject to the king in spiritual as well as secular matters. In 1532 the First Act of Annates forbade the English prelates to send to Rome the first year's income from their sees, a practice in force for hundreds of years, while in the following year the Act in Restraint of Appeals denied that the bishop of Rome had any more authority in England than any other foreign bishop. The autonomy of the clergy in making laws, judging spiritual cases and electing bishops and abbots was abolished; in the Act of Supremacy the king's absolute, unchallenged headship of the church was declared. Henry became "the only supreme head in earth of the church of England," with "full power and authority over all such errors, heresies, abuses, offenses, contempts and enormities, what soever they be."
Inseparable from these sweeping changes was the final legal settlement of the succession. With papal power nullified Parliament passed the Act of Succession making Anne Boleyn's child heir to the throne and requiring all royal s
ubjects to swear an oath to uphold the new dynasty. Narrowly defined, the Succession Act called for nothing more than a simple affirmation of loyalty to the royal line. Yet the oath meant more than this: implicitly, those who swore loyalty to the offspring of the Boleyn marriage denied the pope and accepted royal headship of the church.
T hat the t ransformation _of the church becam e intertwined with dynas-Itic jngrests_w^<> ^ fact of ^eat iniipoiTTrrr England's future as well as for 'the future of the reign. In England, religious reform and the security of the monarchy were henceforth one. Henry VIII's subjects had to choose between pope and king, and the few who sided with the pope had to be sacrificed, for to side against the king was treason.
The roots of these changes ran back at least to 1531, when in the wake of Wolsey's fall the entire body of the clergy was accused of violating medieval laws restricting papal power to appoint churchmen and to judge cases in canon law. Even earlier than thisiHenry had not only spoken out strongly against the clerical establishment but had begun to formulate a new concept of his role within it.)During 1530 and 1531, as he supervised the work of the scholarly emissaries he sent to gather texts on the nullity suit from continental libraries, the king carefully studied another collection of passages. These texts, compiled bv a group of court scholars perhaps headed by Edward Foxe, provided ^upport for the argument that England was an autonomous realm and, on that account, immune from
papal authority. This theory buttressed two companion ideas that were much in Henry's thoughts during these years: that as king he had a God-given responsibility for the souls of his subjects, and that inhering in his crown was an ultimate, ultra-royal sovereignty—an imperial power—which made him supreme in both church and state within his domain.^)
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