Henry VIII

by Alison Weir

  On 23 September, Chapuys, who had accompanied the court, reported from Woodstock that the Queen was not after all to have a child, and that the King had begun to have doubts as to whether she had ever been pregnant at all.16 This sounds rather like a face-saving, damage-limitation exercise on Henry’s part, since it would have been virtually impossible for Anne to keep up the deception of a false pregnancy for eight months—in June, she had had “a goodly belly”17—and what probably happened is that sometime in July or early August, she lost the child she was carrying, or it died soon after birth. It was not usual for royal stillbirths or miscarriages to be publicly announced, but an even stricter veil of secrecy seems to have been drawn over this event than had been the case with Katherine of Aragon’s lost babies. That Anne’s infant was born prematurely may be inferred from the fact that she did not formally take to her chamber preparatory to the birth.

  According to Chapuys, the outcome of this tragedy was that the King “renewed and increased the love that he had had previously towards another very beautiful maid-of-honour of this court.” Her identity is unknown, but she was almost certainly the mistress he had dallied with before the birth of Elizabeth in 1533, because she was similarly concerned to befriend the Lady Mary. She was certainly not Jane Seymour, because Chapuys did not consider Jane a beauty.18

  Frustration and resentment over his continuing lack of a legitimate son, coupled with fear for the health of his illegitimate one, made the King more determined than ever to justify himself to the world, and even less tolerant of those who opposed him. In October 1534, Henry suppressed the Order of Observant Friars at Greenwich,19 whose members had consistently spoken out against the nullity suit and the King’s supremacy. The friary church was converted into a mill for the royal armoury.

  In November, a new Act of Supremacy enshrined in law the King’s title of Supreme Head of the Church of England, finally severing the latter from the Church of Rome. Henceforth, ecclesiastical matters and doctrine would be the responsibility of the sovereign, who now regarded himself in every respect as God’s deputy on Earth, a latter-day King David or King Solomon, responsible for the temporal and spiritual welfare of his subjects. From now on, according to Richard Sampson, Bishop of Chichester, who wrote a treatise on the subject, “The word of God is to obey the King, and not the Bishop of Rome.”20

  The advocates of reform, such as Queen Anne, Cranmer, and Cromwell, applauded the King for leading his people out of darkness into the light. Those bishops who were reluctant to accept the change were intimidated into doing so by Cromwell, whose jurisdiction over spiritual affairs was second only to the King’s, and whose pursuit of the Reformation was so relentless that Reginald Pole called him an emissary of Satan. Anything that smacked of popery was suppressed. Hardliners even condemned the Order of the Garter and its patron saint St. George as suspect, but these were dear to the King and were allowed to remain.

  To the end of his life, Henry VIII remained a devout Catholic who deplored Lutheran and other heresies, but he had to maintain a balance between the radical evangelicals at his court, who were pressing for ever wider reforms and secretly flirting with Protestantism, and the conservatives, who would have given anything to turn the clock back. The King had always been interested in theology; now he devoted more time than ever to reading up on doctrinal issues and making copious marginal notes. He would then lend the books he had read to Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber of opposing viewpoints, and ask for their comments before making up his own mind.

  Because of diplomatic considerations and pressure from factions at court and foreign princes, Henry was not always consistent in his religious policies. He was unwavering in his adherence to the doctrine of transubstantiation, believed in purgatory and clerical celibacy, and insisted on maintaining the Latin rituals and ceremonies he had grown up with; he was no iconoclast, and his closets and chapels were full of painted or graven images.21 His Chapel Royal remained largely unaffected by the religious changes he had effected. But he was not in favour of extreme unction, individual confession, or the traditional mystical concept of ordination to the priesthood. He burned Lutherans for heresy and papists for treason,22 preferring to forget that he himself had once written a tract defending the Pope’s authority. He never lost an opportunity to proclaim “his zeal for the faith with all the resources of his mind and body,”23 and one of his gold chains bore the inscription PLUS TOST MORIR QUE CHANGER MA PENSEE (I prefer to die rather than change my mind).24

  At court, religious observances remained largely unchanged, although more emphasis was laid on preaching. At York Place, the King built a special open-air pulpit in the shape of a Renaissance-style loggia in the former privy garden, now a cobbled courtyard. Four times as many courtiers could attend as could fit into the King’s chapel.25 Some windows of the royal lodgings faced the “preaching place,” and the King and Queen would watch from what appears to have been the council chamber. 26 Archbishop Cranmer advised preachers new to the court that they should avoid controversial issues and preach for no more than one and a half hours, “for the King and Queen may perhaps wax so weary that they shall have small delight to continue throughout with you to the end.” 27 Henry particularly enjoyed the sermons of the ardent reformist Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, and on several occasions entered into theological debates with him.28

  Henry and Cromwell mobilised every resource and propaganda tool at their disposal to promote and glorify the so-called New Monarchy that evolved in the wake of the Act of Supremacy and became a focus for the heightened English nationalism of the period. Henry’s enhanced status was reflected in the words of Lord Morley, who described him as “the noblest King that ever reigned over the English nation, the father of our country, an ark of all princely goodness and honour, one by whose virtue, learning and noble courage England is newborn, newly brought from thraldom to freedom.”29

  Cromwell enabled the King to rule like a virtual despot by clever management. He manipulated the machinery of government to serve his master’s will, and ensured that the upper chamber of Parliament was packed with lords loyal to Henry and that MPs sympathetic to the new order—of which there were many—were elected to the Commons, so that there would be little opposition to the momentous legislation that was passing through Parliament’s hands. Thus the monarch, the peerage, and Parliament became allies in the new order, sharing a common aim and interests. Against such an alliance protest was virtually useless.

  The symbolism of empire was again brought into play. A new coinage was issued bearing the image of the King as Roman Emperor, and a third Great Seal in the Renaissance style was made, featuring the King on an antique throne and bearing the title of Supreme Head; this image was probably designed by Lucas Horenbout, whose portraits of the King it greatly resembles. 30 An imperial crown was added to the royal arms to signify that Henry recognised no higher power than his own save God.31 There was a deliberate revival of the cult of King Arthur, from whom the Tudors claimed to be descended, and who was said to have owned a seal proclaiming him “Arthur, Emperor of Britain and Gaul.”32 Henry VIII, it was claimed, was merely reviving his ancestor’s title and dignity. It was also asserted that England’s sovereignty had for a thousand years been mistakenly subinfeudated to Rome by the King’s predecessors: now he had redeemed it.33

  No English king before Henry VIII had ever been so concerned to magnify and disseminate his public image. Under Cromwell’s auspices, there was a flood of tracts and pamphlets proclaiming Henry’s heroic virtues and moral superiority. Preachers, artists, craftsmen, writers, poets, playwrights, and historians such as Polydore Vergil were called upon to use their talents to advertise and glorify the New Monarchy. Propagandists such as Gardiner portrayed Henry VIII as semidivine, calling him “the image of God upon Earth” who “excelled in God’s sight among all other human creatures.” 34 A correspondent of Sir Anthony Browne declared that the King’s subjects “had not to do with a man but with a more excellent and divine estate,�
�� in whose presence one could not stand without trembling.35

  The effect of all this was to turn Henry into an imperious and dangerous autocrat who became mesmerised by his own legend. In 1536 he wrote, “God has not only made us King by inheritance, but has given us wisdom, policy and other graces in most plentiful sort, necessary for a prince to direct his affairs to his honour and glory.”36

  The New Monarchy found its visual expression in art. It was state policy to ensure that images of the King and the symbols of monarchy proliferated. Henry had always been fond of giving portraits of himself to those he favoured, but it now became de rigueur for his subjects to proclaim their loyalty by displaying the image of the sovereign in their houses, thus instituting a tradition that would continue for three hundred years.

  The artist who was chiefly responsible for creating the iconography of the New Monarchy was Holbein. In 1534, he painted a miniature of Solomon receiving the Queen of Sheba.37 In it, the figure of Solomon almost certainly represents Henry VIII—this is the first known painting of him by Holbein—and he appears enthroned in a magnificent Renaissance setting, highlighted in gold; above are the words “Blessed be the Lord thy God, which delighteth in thee to set thee on His throne, to be King for the Lord thy God.” The message is unmistakable and powerful. The Queen of Sheba, kneeling in homage, can be symbolic of no other but the Church of England. This miniature may have been commissioned by Cromwell for presentation to the King.

  The Reformation had a profound impact on art in England. As portrait painting became enduringly fashionable, religious paintings and images began to appear old-fashioned and contentious, and biblical scenes gradually featured less and less as subjects for tapestries and pictures, often being replaced by classical themes. Artistically, England became isolated from the European mainstream.

  At court, art was a useful propaganda tool, although few examples survive. Around 1535, the Flemish artist Joos van Cleve painted a portrait of Henry VIII38 that shows him holding a scroll on which appears a Latin text from St. Mark, chapter 16: “Go ye into the world and preach the Gospel to every creature.” These, perhaps coincidentally, were the words that appeared on the title page of Miles Coverdale’s banned English Bible of 1535. It has been suggested that the portrait was painted before the break with Rome, in which case the inscription must proclaim the King’s loyalty to the Catholic Church, but it cannot, on the evidence of costume, be dated earlier than 1530, at which time Henry’s relations with the Pope were deteriorating rapidly. The painting must therefore belong to the period of the Reformation, for which its text is apposite.

  Around 1538–1540, Henry commissioned from Girolamo da Treviso a painting of the Four Evangelists stoning the Pope, which was executed in grisaille highlighted in gold. It hung in the King’s privy gallery at Hampton Court, outside his bedchamber, and is the only known surviving picture, other than portraits and the great narrative paintings, from Henry’s collection. Treviso had been one of Raphael’s students in Rome before working for the Gonzaga at the court of Mantua. Henry retained him not only for his artistic talent, but also for his skills as a military engineer and architect. The King’s enhanced prestige had also given impetus to his programme of building, restoring, and acquiring houses, since the royal palaces were now to be the magnificent, glittering setting for the New Monarchy, and craftsmen like Treviso would be much in demand.

  The royal supremacy was not without its critics at court. The conservative Gardiner initially led a clerical party opposed to the new order, and stoically endured a period out of favour. Norfolk, another reactionary conservative, had mixed feelings, having little time for priests yet scorning humanist tenets. “I have never read the Scripture, nor never will read it,” he declared. All the same, “it was merry in England afore the New Learning came up; yea, I would all things were as hath been in times past.” 39 Nevertheless, he was the King’s man through and through, and Henry did not question his loyalty, although Cromwell remained suspicious of him and did all he could to oust him from court. After the Master Secretary, Norfolk was the most experienced and respected member of the Council, but he represented the old feudal order, and there could never be anything but rivalry between him and the upstart he had helped to power. Norfolk’s other rival, Suffolk, had still not recovered his former eminent position, declined to become involved in factional politics, and supported the Reformation, even though his formidable mother-in-law was in the opposite camp.

  In November 1534, Norfolk was deputed to receive Francis I’s special envoy, Philippe Chabot de Brion, Admiral of France, who had come to help restore good relations between England and France, which had deteriorated. The Admiral was lodged at Bridewell Palace, entertained by Norfolk and Suffolk, and invited to dine with the King at court.40 The Queen, who had met de Brion in Calais in 1532, was offended when he failed to follow the practice of previous French ambassadors and send her a courteous message of goodwill, for she had planned to give a banquet in his honour. But the Admiral did not request an audience. The King noticed the omission, and dropped a heavy hint that the envoy should pay his respects to the Queen. Nevertheless, de Brion was chillingly aloof in her presence and did not participate in the dancing and tennis she had arranged for him. Instead, he struck up a friendship with Chapuys, which alarmed Anne greatly.

  Worse was to come. The Admiral proposed a marriage between the Lady Mary and the Dauphin, ignoring Elizabeth entirely, then stated that, if Henry would not agree to this, his master would marry his son to the Emperor’s daughter—an alliance that would leave England, at this critical time, isolated in Europe.41 Henry and Anne were mortified, and the King angrily repudiated the proposal, suggesting instead that Elizabeth be betrothed to Francis’s third son, Charles. The French were unmoved.

  Anne was under immense strain at this time. The King of France was no longer her friend, she had failed to give Henry the son he so desired, and she was miserable at his continued involvement with his unnamed mistress. She had enlisted Lady Rochford’s help in getting rid of her rival, but the King intervened and icily told Anne that “she had good reason to be content with what he had done for her for, were he to begin again, he would certainly not do as much, and that she ought to consider where she came from.” Lady Rochford was temporarily banished from court. When Anne dared to complain to the King, in front of several courtiers, that the maid of honour he had seduced was rude and disrespectful to her, he stormed out of the room in a temper.42

  The King invited a number of beautiful ladies to court for the Admiral’s visit, among them his mistress. “He is more given to matters of dancing and ladies than he ever was,” observed Chapuys. At the beginning of December, de Brion was seated with the King and Queen at a court ball held in his honour, watching the dancing, when Henry rose and went to fetch the Admiral’s secretary, Palmedes Gontier, saying that he wished to present him to Anne. The Admiral noticed the Queen’s anxious eyes following Henry as he moved through the crowds in the presence chamber; then suddenly she burst out laughing hysterically. When the astonished envoy coldly inquired whether she was mocking him, she looked at him with tears in her eyes and replied, “I could not help laughing at the King’s proposition of introducing your secretary to me, for whilst he was looking out for him, he met a lady, who has made him forget the matter!” Sir Nicholas Carew told Chapuys at this time that the King was growing tired of Anne’s complaints.43

  Anne had cause for further sorrow that December when her dog Little Purkoy suffered a fall and died of his injuries. None of her attendants dared tell her, so the King took it upon himself to break the news.44 Then to sadness was added anger and humiliation when the Queen’s sister Mary appeared at court noticeably pregnant and revealed that she had married—for love—a landless nobody called William Stafford, a distant cousin of the late Duke of Buckingham, and a soldier serving at Calais. So furious were the Boleyns at this mésalliance that they persuaded the King to forbid the disgraced couple the court. When Wiltshire cut off her al
lowance, Mary wrote in despair to Cromwell, begging him to intercede with the Queen and other members of her family on her behalf, but to no avail: she would never again be received at court.45 She and her husband retired into obscurity in the country. Later, Wiltshire relented and allowed them the use of Rochford Hall in Essex, and it remained their chief residence until Mary Boleyn died on 19 July 1543.46

  At Christmas 1534, the King and Queen kept “a great house.” 47 The King displayed “his most hearty manner,”48 but the tension at court was palpable.

  46

  “That Thin Old Woman”

  The court had now taken on a new character: the emphasis was no longer on chivalry and revelry but on religion and factional interests. Funding the New Monarchy posed problems, but the Church of which Henry was now Supreme Head possessed untapped wealth. Early in 1535, the King made Cromwell his Vice-Regent in spiritual matters and ordered him to make a survey of all the religious houses in England in order to discover any abuses within them, and—more importantly—to establish the possessions of each. The results of the survey, which took many months to complete, were written down in a great book known as the Valor Ecclesiasticus;1 on its title page is a miniature, executed by Lucas Horenbout, of Henry VIII enthroned.

  Suppressing monasteries was no new thing. Henry V had done it, in the early fifteenth century, as had Wolsey, and before the break with Rome Pope Clement had intended to sanction the closure of some English abbeys. The monastic orders were in decline: no new house had been founded since Syon Abbey in 1415, apart from the six friaries of the Observant Franciscans in the period 1482 to 1507.

  Henry VIII’s commissioners exposed much laxity and several cases of fraud, such as the much-celebrated Holy Blood of Hailes, which turned out to be the blood of a duck, renewed regularly by the monks. Several communities opposed the royal supremacy. Queen Anne went in person to Syon Abbey and lectured the “prostrate and grovelling” sisters on “the enormity of their wanton incontinence,” and ticked them off for reciting by rote Latin prayers that they did not understand. Before she left, she gave each one a prayerbook in English.2 But Anne did not agree with Cromwell that the religious houses should all be closed down. She did her best to spare those that received a good report, and suggested that reform was a better alternative than closure.