The Six Wives & Many Mistresses of Henry VIII: The Women's Stories

by Amy Licence

  That December, Henry delivered an uncharacteristically ‘eloquent oration’8 in Parliament, in which he extolled them to live more charitably and ‘set forth God’s word by true preaching and good example’. He was ‘sorry to hear “how unreverently that most precious jewel, the Word of God, is disputed, rhymed, sung and jangled in every alehouse and tavern”, and that the readers of it follow it so faintly and coldly. I am sure there never was less virtuous or godly living, nor God himself ever, among Christians, less reverenced.’9 The word of the Bible had always held symbolic power for Henry; it had provided him with the justification and means to annul his first marriage and break from Rome. Now, it would return to threaten the life of his ‘obedient, loving wife and servant’, Catherine Parr.

  57

  Queen in Danger, 1546

  When youth had led me half the race

  That Cupid’s scourge had made me run;

  I looked back to mete the place

  From whence my weary course begun.1

  Catherine’s role during 1545–46 had combined compassion and sympathy with erudite reformist scholarship. In the spring of 1545, Henry had suffered a terrible fever which had spread to his legs and kept him in his rooms for several weeks, attended by his doctors and apothecaries. The pain returned again the following year, forcing him back to bed again at regular intervals. His legs caused him pain in March, and that July he fell ill with colic. During this time, while her husband was unavailable, Catherine relied on the company of her ladies, but the nature of her household was very different from that of Catherine of Aragon or Anne Boleyn. The new queen enjoyed dancing and poetry as much as her predecessors but she was also fomenting something of a hotbed of radical reform.

  Catherine had established a circle of women at court who shared her Protestant leanings, including her sister Anne Parr; Anne, Countess of Sussex; Catherine, Duchess of Suffolk; Anne Stanhope, Lady Hertford; and Lady Denny. Her passion for humanist teaching and reforms extended into her relationship with her stepchildren, as she encouraged Mary and Elizabeth to undertake English translations of Erasmus’ Paraphrase of the Gospel of St John and Marguerite of Navarre’s The Mirror of the Sinful Soul respectively. She was also an accomplished writer, publishing the popular Prayers Stirring the Mind unto Heavenly Meditations in 1545, which Elizabeth would translate into Latin, French and Italian, bound in crimson silk, for her stepmother’s Christmas present that year. However, Catherine clearly held back some of her more extreme views from her husband, waiting until after his death to publish her second book, Lamentations of a Sinner, which, although it presented Henry as an English Moses, leading his people to the light, it also argued in favour of consubstantiation, instead of transubstantiation, that the bread and wine of Mass was only a metaphor for the body and blood of Christ, rather than becoming the real thing. It was such views as this that aroused the animosity of Wriothesley and Bishop Gardiner, who wanted Henry to halt the process of reform. In the spring of 1546, the emergence of an unusual woman named Anne Askew provided them with an opportunity to pose a challenge to the queen.

  Anne’s early life in Lincolnshire had appeared to be fairly conventional until her husband had ejected her from their home for holding Protestant beliefs. She travelled to London and began preaching, which led to her first brief arrest in 1545, after which she came to the attention of the queen. In May 1546 she was arrested again and taken to the Tower, where she was tortured on the rack by Wriothesley and Sir Richard Rich, who demanded that she implicate other highborn women who shared her religious convictions. Anne, though, refused. Foxe’s Book of Martyrs has her relate,

  Then came Rich and one of the council, charging me upon my obedience, to show unto them, if I knew any man or woman of my sect. My answer was, that I knew none. Then they asked me of my Lady of Suffolk, my Lady of Sussex, my Lady of Hertford, my Lady Denny, and my Lady Fitzwilliam. To whom I answered, if I should pronounce anything against them, that I were not able to prove it. Then said they unto me, that the king was informed that I could name, if I would, a great number of my sect. I answered, that the king was as well deceived in that behalf, as dissembled with in other matters.2

  Awaiting news, Henry sanctioned a search at court for banned books, focusing particularly on the chambers of the queen’s ladies, which led to the hasty changing of locks and concealment of those texts that could be considered heretical. The investigators went away empty handed. However, they had not given up.

  Catherine’s position had also been unwittingly weakened by her closest friend, Catherine, Duchess of Suffolk. Following Brandon’s death, court rumour suggested that Henry was considering setting aside his queen and taking a seventh wife. In February 1546, the new Imperial ambassador, Francois van der Delft, wrote to the Emperor that ‘there are rumours of a new queen. Some attribute it to the sterility of the present queen, while others say that there will be no change during the present war. Madame Suffolk is much talked about and is in great favour; but the king shows no alteration in his behaviour to the queen, although she is said to be annoyed by the rumour.’3 Catherine had set aside her own hopes for happiness to enter into a marriage with an ageing, difficult and unpredictable man, to whom she had been nothing less than devoted, charming and gracious. No wonder she was annoyed.

  Catherine Willoughby was the daughter of Maria de Salinas, one of Catherine of Aragon’s original waiting women who had been in her retinue since 1501. After fifteen years in England, Maria married William, Baron Willoughby de Eresby, and Henry VIII granted them Grimsthorpe Castle in Lincolnshire, although Maria was still often at court in the service of the queen. In March 1519 Maria was at Parham Old Hall, in Suffolk, where she delivered her only daughter, who was probably named in honour of Maria’s mistress; two sons were also born to the marriage but died as infants. After the death of her father, the wardship of the seven-year-old Catherine Willoughby was granted by the king to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and for five years the girl lived with him and his wife, Mary Tudor. She was betrothed to their second son, Henry Brandon, who was a few years her junior. However, Catherine Willoughby had attracted the attention of an older man. Just weeks after the death of Mary Tudor in 1533, Catherine’s engagement to young Henry was broken when she became the wife of his father, Brandon, becoming Duchess of Suffolk. She was fourteen and he was in his late forties but it appears to have been a successful match, with Catherine bearing two sons and quickly adapting to take part in court life and developing a reputation for being clever, attractive and witty, as well as a proponent of the reformed faith. When the marks of Henry’s favour towards the duchess were commented on by the court, the two women may have discussed the matter. Perhaps there was some substance to the report, although, as van der Delft admitted, there was no change in Henry’s behaviour towards his wife. It may have been that he had considered her as a replacement if the queen proved to be a heretic or, alternatively, he was showing her favour as the widow of his old friend.

  As a result of Anne Askew’s interrogation, something changed. In early July, Gardiner managed to persuade Henry to sign a warrant for Catherine’s arrest. After she contradicted the king in debate, which irritated the unwell king, he snapped to the bishop that ‘a good hearing it is when women become such clerks and a thing much to my comfort to come in my old days to be taught by a woman’.4 By accident or design, a copy of the warrant was left in a place where Catherine could find it and, suddenly understanding the extent of the danger she was in, she hurried to explain herself to the king, claiming she was only contradicting him in order to learn from him through debate and take his mind off his pain, and ‘your majesty [has] very much mistaken me, for I have always held it preposterous for a woman to instruct her lord’.5 No doubt she was terrified, picturing herself suffering the same fate as Henry’s previous wives or even that of Askew herself. Her clever and quick response showed the extent to which Catherine understood her husband and just how capable she was. She had been lucky, though, that the tipoff, po
ssibly from Henry’s doctor, had allowed her to pre-empt the strike before Henry had decisively moved on and refused to hear or see her, as he had done in the cases of Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard and, briefly, even Anne of Cleves, physically removing himself from their presence. Catherine understood that Henry’s objection was less to her religious views than the fact that she had dared to publicly oppose him and her deft submission brought an instant reconciliation. Foxe related that he took his wife on his knee and reassured her of his love, before ordering ‘all manner of jewels, pearls and precious stones … skins and sable furs … for our dearest wife, the queen’.6

  Catherine had talked her way out of her arrest, probably saving her own life. However, Henry had forgotten to call off his henchmen. The following afternoon, while they sat in the privy gardens, Wriothesley appeared with an armed guard of forty men and Catherine had a glimpse of what her fate would have been. His mood rapidly changing, the king berated him and ordered him to leave. As Catherine attempted to comfort her husband, in the full knowledge of what she had witnessed, Henry told her, ‘You little know how evil he deserves this grace at your hands.’ Catherine might have privately mused that the sentiment was equally applicable to him.7 Anne Askew was burned at the stake at Smithfield on 16 July, having been carried there in a chair as the extent of her torture made her incapable of walking. In a twist of irony, she shared her fate with John Lascelles, whose evidence had led to the downfall of Catherine Howard.

  The late summer and early autumn were a period of quiet happiness for Catherine and Henry. A peace treaty was signed with the French, and on St Bartholomew’s Day, 24 August, the king appeared with the Admiral of France, for which occasion many costly banquet houses were built, with great masques and hunts being held for their pleasure and the visitors being lodged in tents made of cloth of gold.8 Catherine loved to dance, but the king who had once relished appearing in disguise could only sit and watch. That year, Henry found it increasingly difficult to walk on his swollen legs and spent more time shut away in his rooms. The eight-year-old Prince Edward had taken his place to formally welcome the French at Hounslow, before they had arrived at Hampton Court. That summer, a short progress had taken Henry and Catherine to Oatlands, where a ramp was installed to allow him to mount his horse, and he was able to hunt also at Chobham that August, but the effort exhausted him, so the plan to visit Guildford was abandoned and the royal party returned to Windsor. Van der Delft related that Henry’s physicians had been in despair, giving up all hope for his recovery, and that he was in ‘great danger’. Two ‘trams’ or moveable chairs were built, ‘for the king’s majesty to sit in, to be carried to and fro’, and that October Van der Delft described Henry as ‘passing in his chair’. Hall related that Henry required ‘an engine’ to help him climb and descend staircases and the Duke of Norfolk confirmed that a device was installed for him on the stairs.9 The bill for the king’s medicines jumped up from £5 in August to £25 in December. In November, Henry moved to Whitehall and undertook as series of medicinal baths, combining herbs, spices and salts believed to have a soothing effect. His rooms were freshly perfumed, to obscure the smell of his rotten leg and the evil vapours of disease, and several pairs of velvet slippers were made for the comfort of his swollen feet.

  Having watched her second husband weaken and die, Catherine must have recognised the signs. However, what followed must still have come as a surprise. On Christmas Eve, she, Princess Mary and Princess Elizabeth were ordered to leave Whitehall and spend Christmas at Greenwich. It was a significant step, designed to distance his wife and daughters from him during the final weeks of terrible suffering. Henry had always retreated from his women while in pain, but on this occasion Catherine was left in the role of stepmother instead of comforter. She sent a gift of a double portrait of Henry and Edward to the prince, who was passing the season at Ashridge. On the first day of 1547, fever stuck Henry again and Catherine may have heard the rumours that he was dead, although she would not have dared believe them until official confirmation arrived. The king rallied, yet again, but his strength was completely gone and his body was ‘wasted’. Van der Delft reported that ‘the king is so unwell that considering his age and corpulence, fears are entertained that he will be unable to survive further attacks’.10

  News also arrived at court that year of the death of another of the figures from Henry’s past: the vivacious young teenager Elizabeth Carew, who had captured both the king’s attention and that of Charles Brandon, had lived out her widowhood quietly after the execution of her husband Sir Nicholas in 1538. Her close friend Anne Hastings, with whom the king had dallied in 1510, causing his first argument with Catherine of Aragon, had passed away in 1544. Their deaths marked a greater severance with the king’s youth. In 1546, the beautiful Mary Shelton, once considered as a potential bride for Henry, married her cousin Sir Anthony Heveningham and would go on to bear him a number of children.

  Catherine would not see her husband again. On 10 January 1547, she left Greenwich for Westminster but was not permitted to see the king, who was prostrate in bed by this point. The next two weeks were spent waiting. She did not know it, but in his final days Henry made provision for her future, allowing her a generous annual allowance of £7,000 and stipulating that she should be afforded the treatment due to a queen, although she was not to be appointed to act as regent for the young king to be, the nine-year-old Edward. Henry died at two o’clock on the morning of 28 January. It was kept secret for two days, but the news would have been broken to Catherine soon after the public announcement on 30 January. She must have experienced a mixture of loss and relief, as she dressed herself in the now familiar widow’s weeds and headed for her manor house at Chelsea. The king’s life was over, but that of his final wife could finally begin.

  58

  The Survivors, 1547

  They set thee up, they took thee down,

  They served thee with humility.1

  Contrary to the popular rhyme, ‘divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived’, Henry VIII was outlived by two of his wives. After the king’s death, Catherine Parr wrote to Thomas Seymour that ‘I would not have you think that this mine honest goodwill towards you to proceed of any sudden motion of passion; for, as truly as God is God, my mind was fully bent, the other time I was at liberty, to marry you before any man I know’. They probably reached some private arrangement within weeks of Henry’s death, but as she was his widow, the couple believed the council would not wish to see her married so soon. Yet Catherine and Thomas could not wait to be together. She was thirty-five, an advanced age for any potential childbearing, and deeply in love; he was approaching forty and knew a good match when he saw one. They were wed in secret that May.

  However, it would appear that Catherine was not her husband’s first choice. Back in February, in the days following the coronation of the young Edward VI, Seymour had investigated the possibility of marrying the thirteen-year-old Princess Elizabeth, writing to her in a way that made his intention plain:

  I have so much respect for you my princess, that I dare not tell you of the fire which consumes me, and the impatience with which I yearn to show you my devotion. If it is my good fortune to inspire in you feelings of kindness, and you will consent to a marriage you may assure yourself of having made the happiness of a man who will adore you till death.2

  If Catherine was unaware of the extent of her husband’s interest in her stepdaughter, she could no longer remain in ignorance after she and Seymour set up house in Chelsea. The dowager queen had been denied the regency of Edward and damaged her relations with Mary after remarrying so soon but she still maintained a warm connection with Elizabeth, whom she invited to live with them. Seymour’s attentions to the young girl soon strayed into the inappropriate, when he would come into her bedchamber early in the morning before she had risen and ‘strike her on the back or buttocks familiarly’. If she was still in bed, ‘he would put open the curtains and make as though he wo
uld come at her and one morning he strove to have kissed her in bed’. On another occasion, they ‘romped in the garden’ and he cut Elizabeth’s gown ‘into a hundred pieces’, even getting Catherine to hold the girl while he did it. This was a very uncomfortable situation. Gradually, Catherine recognised the nature of the relationship and, in the summer of 1548, she arranged for Elizabeth to leave. By this point, Catherine was also pregnant.

  The next few months proved difficult. Catherine appears to have had a difficult pregnancy, and she was angry and hurt after being snubbed at court and by her brother-in-law’s refusal to return her jewels, which had been taken in Henry’s last days and remained in the Tower. In mid-June Seymour moved her to Sudeley Castle, where she went into labour six weeks later. Catherine gave birth to a daughter, named Mary, on 30 August; the birth had been a success, but within a few days Catherine descended into a fever. She died on 5 September 1548 and her daughter was given over to the care of Catherine, Duchess of Suffolk, although she appears not to have survived infancy. Seymour went to the block in March 1549, accused of treasonous activities including the wooing of Princess Elizabeth.

  Her tomb in the chapel at Sudeley Castle is inscribed with the words of her chaplain, Dr Parkhurst:

  In this new tomb, the royal Kath’rine lies

  Flower of her sex, renowned, great and wise.

  A wife by every nuptial virtue known

  A faithful partner once of Henry’s throne.

  To Seymour next her plighted hand she yields

  (Seymour who Neptune’s trident justly wields.)

  From him a beauteous daughter blessed her arms

  An infant copy of her parents’ charms