Six Wives of Henry VIII

by Alison Weir

  Wolsey was at first unaware of her enmity. He had virtually forgotten the Percy affair and the furious girl he had dismissed so lightly four years earlier. Now, to please his master and ingratiate himself with the new favourite, the Cardinal entertained them both to sumptuous banquets at York Place. Then, wrote Cavendish, 'the world began to be full of wonderful rumours' because 'the love between the King and this gorgeous lady grew to such a perfection that divers imaginations were imagined'. Nor were the rumours without foundation, for in the late spring of 1527, Anne finally accepted the King's proposal of marriage and agreed to become his wife as soon as he was free.

  She was well aware of the domestic politics of the court and the struggle between factions for power, but she was not afraid. With the King at her side, an ardent lover, she had no cause to be. Her hardest task, as she viewed it, was to keep his love and maintain his desire at its present pitch without giving way to it. It was this that would test her resolve to the utmost during the years to come, and this that lay at the root of the chronic insecurity she later manifested.

  As soon as he had Anne's consent, the King took her father, now Viscount Rochford, into his confidence, 'to whom we may be sure that the news was not a little joyful', observed George Wyatt with exquisite understatement. Rochford was no less ambitious than his daughter, yet the prospect of being the father of the next Queen of England, and possibly grandfather to a future monarch, was more than he had ever dreamed of. Such a position automatically brought with it not only wealth, power, fame and honour such as he had always craved and worked so hard to obtain, but also a considerable amount of influence in public affairs. From the first, he would be his daughter's greatest supporter. Like her he was also an enemy of the Cardinal. Rochford was bitter because when, in 1525, he had been created a Viscount, he had been forced to resign his post as Treasurer without any financial compensation. For this, he blamed Wolsey.

  It did not take long for the Cardinal to realise what was happening: a faction was forming around Anne Boleyn, and he knew it to be hostile towards himself. For the present he could afford to be sanguine about this, for the King had not acquainted him with his true intentions towards Anne. Like the Queen, Wolsey saw her as just another mistress, who could go the way of the others. Yet to keep the King happy he paid court to the lady, sending her gifts - she had in particular expressed a desire for carps, shrimps and other delicacies from his famous ponds - and putting on entertainments for her. On the surface, cordial relations existed between Anne and Wolsey, and no doubt he was privately of the opinion that she was as light-minded and foolish as he had thought her four years earlier, having no great opinion of the intelligence of women. This particular young woman, however, did have brains, and was determined to use them to good effect when it came to manipulating Wolsey's downfall. First, however, she would make use of the Cardinal, for Henry had made it clear that he was the one man who could effectively negotiate the annulment of his marriage. Then she would do her best to discredit him in the King's eyes, and take her revenge. Anne was now constantly in the King's company. She ate with him, prayed with him, hunted with him, and danced with him, but she did not sleep with him. Henry had no leisure to ponder his thraldom, however, for he was about to embark on the greatest enterprise of his life: the annulment of his marriage to Katherine of Aragon, which would come to be known as the King's 'great matter'. When Henry set out to obtain what has often, but erroneously, been called his 'divorce', he little dreamed it would take him six years, nor envisaged the far-reaching effects it would have on himself, the woman he loved, or his kingdom and people.

  8

  A thousand Wolseys for one Anne Boleyn

  In the spring of 1527, Henry VIII finally set in motion the ecclesiastical machinery that he hoped would bring about the dissolution of his marriage to Katherine of Aragon; what he desired was a declaration that their union had been invalid and unlawful from the first. When news of his intentions leaked out, several people believed that Anne Boleyn had been the cause of his doubts about his marriage. In fact, she was merely a catalyst, and the indications are that Henry would have pursued an annulment at some stage anyway, for overriding all other considerations was his desperate need for a male heir.

  Throughout the course of the 'great matter', Henry behaved like a man possessed, on two counts. One was his conviction that he was right, the other was his passion for Anne Boleyn: the French ambassador thought him 'so much in love that God alone can abate his madness'. Under Anne's influence, he was beginning to display the character traits that would govern his later behaviour, and this period of his life saw the beginning of the transition from knight errant to tyrant. It was a slow metamorphosis, however, and would only be accomplished once the King had thrown off first the tutelage of Wolsey, and afterwards the influence of Anne Boleyn. Then he would at last be his own master.

  Once the King had made his decision to take proceedings, and because she was the butt of so much speculation at court, Anne Boleyn resolved to return to Hever again. Hever Castle has changed immeasurably since Anne's day. By the eighteenth century it was a ruin, and it was gutted and refurbished at the beginning of the twentieth century, when the present gardens were laid out and the lake dug. Apart from the stone fabric of the building and the moat very little remains from the sixteenth century; yet the restoration has been so harmonious that it is easy to picture Henry and Anne there, in formal gardens very like the present ones.

  Anne was rarely at court between May 1527 and the summer of 1529. She joined the King at his manor of Beaulieu in Essex in August 1527, and spent the greater part of a month hunting with him and supping each evening in his privy chamber. From Beaulieu, Anne returned to Hever. She paid a brief visit to court at the end of September, but spent most of the winter at Hever. In March 1528, she and her mother, who acted as chaperon, were the King's guests at Windsor, whither Henry had gone with only a handful of attendants. It was a brief idyll: when the weather was fair, Henry and Anne would ride out hunting or hawking every afternoon, not returning until late in the evening, or would go walking in Windsor Great Park. At other times they occupied themselves with the pastimes they both enjoyed: cards and dice, music, poetry, and dancing. Anne and her mother were again at court during July and August 1528, but by September the political situation was such that Henry sent them back to Hever.

  Throughout these long absences, the King found himself once more playing the role of scribe, and his letters to Anne, whom he referred to as 'mine own sweetheart' or 'darling', were written with increasing intensity. He would often abase himself as a courtly suitor should, thanking her 'right heartily for that it pleaseth you still to hold me in some remembrance'. Occasionally, he would end his letters in a code that has never been deciphered, or sign himself 'by the hand which fain would be yours, and so is the heart', or 'by the hand of him which desires as much to be yours as you do to have him'. He needed to see her

  more than any earthly thing; for what joy in the world can be greater than to have the company of her who is the most dearly loved, knowing likewise that she, by her choice, holds the same, which greatly delights me.

  He spoke often of his 'fervency of love', and told Anne that their frequent separations 'had so grieved my heart that neither tongue nor pen can express the hurt'; she could not begin to imagine 'the sufferings that I, by your absence, have sustained', nor 'the great loneliness that I find since your departing'.

  There is a strong sexual tone to these letters. The King spoke often of his need to be 'private' with Anne, and wished he was, 'specially an evening, in my sweetheart's arms, whose pretty dugs [breasts] I trust shortly to kiss'. 'Mine own darling,' he wrote on another occasion, 'I would you were in mine arms, and I in yours, for I think it long since I kissed you.' It would not be long, he assured her, before 'you and I shall have our desired end, which shall be more to my heart's ease than any other thing in this world'. There is no evidence, however - despite rumours to the contrary - that Anne Boleyn surren
dered to the King before the autumnof1532. Even the imperial ambassador, who would become her sworn enemy, had to admit that there was no positive proof of adultery. Some intimacies she may have permitted, but never full intercourse. This is substantiated, not only by the King's repeated denials that she was his mistress in the sexual sense, but also by the fact that, once the affair was consummated, Anne became pregnant immediately and conceived regularly thereafter. Of course, there were rumours that she had borne children in secret before then, but they were without foundation, for it is certain that if Anne had conceived during these early years, the King would have moved heaven and earth to have the child born in wedlock, and many people would have known about it. Above all, Anne's surrender was her trump card, and she would have been a fool to play it with the future so uncertain and with the memory of her sister ever before her.

  Anne's biographer, George Wyatt, asserted that she was not in love with the King and had hoped for a future husband who was 'more agreeable to her'. He also says she resented the loss of freedom she had suffered as a result of the King's courtship. There was probably an element of truth in these statements. Certainly her feelings for Henry were less intense than his for her; she handled him with such calculated cleverness that there is no doubt that the crown of England meant more to her than the man through whom she would wear it. Nor was she a good correspondent. She often failed to reply to the King's letters, probably deliberately, for everything she did, or omitted to do, in relation to Henry was calculated to increase his ardour. In this respect she never failed. He always wrote again, chiding her for her 'tardiness', begging her 'to advertise me of your well-being', and sending gifts of venison or jewels to please her. If she detected a hint of irritation in his letters, she dealt with it by quickly reverting from the unattainable to the affectionate, and sending a loving reply.

  It was Wolsey to whom the King had turned for help and advice about his doubts concerning his marriage. When the Cardinal learned that his master was seeking an annulment, he was horrified, and fell to his knees, begging Henry to proceed no further since the matter would be fraught with difficulties. The King ignored this, insisting the Cardinal take steps to instigate proceedings and, with grave misgivings, Wolsey, as papal legate, convened in secret an ecclesiastical court, which opened on 17 May 1527 at Westminster, its purpose being to consider the King's collusive suit. William Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, presided, assisted by Wolsey and a host of bishops and canon lawyers. The King was summoned, and asked to account 'to the tranquillity of his conscience and the health of his soul, for having knowingly taken to wife his brother's widow'. He admitted the charge, confessed his doubt, and asked for judgement to be given upon his case. Thereafter, the court reconvened for two further sessions and debated the matter, yet on 31 May the commissioners announced that the case was so obscure and doubtful that they were not competent to judge it. The King then consulted his Privy Council, who agreed there was good cause for scruple, and advised him to apply to the Holy See in Rome for an annulment, the Pope being the only authority qualified to pronounce on the matter.

  Elaborate precautions had been taken to keep what was going on a secret, especially from the Queen, but these were not proof against the perception of the Spanish ambassador, who, only the day after proceedings started, was writing to inform Charles V that 'the Cardinal, to crown his iniquities, is working to separate the King and Queen'. That same day, Mendoza sent a secret message to Katherine, informing her of the convening of the Westminster court, and requesting an urgent audience. She sent word that she 'was so afraid she has not dared to speak with me'. The Cardinal's spies were watching.

  Mendoza's note shattered the Queen's peace of mind, though she very quickly convinced herself that the proceedings were all Wolsey's doing since they could not be her husband's. Mendoza, fearful that the court and, subsequently, the Pope would be provided with false statements purportedly from the Queen, wanted Katherine to be on her guard. She was grateful for the warning, and acted quickly, asking Vives to represent her at Warham's court. However, not wishing to offend the King, he refused, and the Queen, whose moral courage was never in doubt, withdrew his pension. Nevertheless, events were in her favour. At the beginning of June, news reached England of the sack of Rome, and not only was the King shocked and outraged at reports of the atrocities, but also sensible of the fact that, with the Pope now a prisoner of the Emperor, Katherine's nephew, a favourable decision on his nullity suit was unlikely to be forthcoming for the time being. Wolsey now suggested that he himself should go to France to enlist the support of King Francis, who might prevail upon the Pope to extend Wolsey's legatine powers and thereby enable him to adjudicate on the King's case. Henry agreed that this might be the best solution, and Wolsey began to prepare for his journey.

  By late June, events were moving at such a pace, and rumours proliferating so alarmingly, that it was impossible to keep the 'great matter' from the Queen any longer. Henry, of course, was unaware that she had already found out about it from Mendoza, and thus, when he went to her apartments on 22 June 1527, he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. As soon as Katherine had risen from her curtsey, he blurted out that he was much troubled in his conscience about their marriage, and had resolved to separate himself from her at bed and at board. All he asked was her co-operation, and that she choose a house to retire to, at least until the matter was settled.

  As Mendoza reported later, Katherine was 'in great grief when she heard this. Her usual self-control deserted her, and she wept uncontrollably. The King hastened to pacify her, saying he hoped he might be allowed to return to her, and that he only wished to find out the truth about their marriage. All would be done for the best, he assured her, begging her at the same time not to speak of the matter to anyone - he feared that news of his collusive suit would provoke a hostile reaction from Charles V. But Katherine was beyond comprehension, and continued to sob her heart out. Unable to do anything with her, Henry fled.

  After she had pulled herself together, Katherine was able to assess her situation. She was alone and without counsel, far from her friends in Spain, with spies watching her every move. Yet she was not for nothing the daughter of Isabella of Castile: her principles were firm, her moral courage undoubted, and she believed her marriage was good and valid. Pope Julius had permitted it, and that was enough for her. She was the King's true wife, and the Princess Mary his legitimate heir, and on these premises she would take her stand. She was convinced that both Wolsey and Anne Boleyn had led the King astray and planted doubts in his mind, and she saw it as her sacred duty to rectify the situation and persuade her husband that he was in error.

  To Katherine, what Henry was contemplating was morally reprehensible: the casting off of a blameless and devoted wife after eighteen years of honourable wedlock, and the setting aside of an innocent child. She was at a loss to understand how he could countenance such a thing, though this was a somewhat blinkered view, which did not take into account England's desperate need for a male heir. Henry himself came to feel that Katherine was allowing her earthly pride in her rank to stand in the way of his moral scruples, but it was not so much this as the fact that her pride would never allow her for a minute to acknowledge that she had been, not his wife, but his harlot for eighteen years. That pride, the abiding love she bore him, and the deep conviction that right was on her side would enable her to stand firm in her resolution until the day she died.

  In every respect other than that which touched her conscience, Katherine was ready to obey her husband, but in the event her conscience was to prove every bit as formidable as Henry's. Both were strong-willed people, and beneath the Queen's apparent meekness there was a layer of steely determination. The battle once engaged, neither would give any quarter. As Katherine told the Pope's legate in 1528:

  Neither the whole kingdom on one hand, nor any great punishment on the other, although she might be torn limb from limb, could compel her to alter her opinion; and if, after death, she sh
ould return to life, rather than change her opinion, she would prefer to die over again.

  She failed to appreciate that by taking her stand upon the power of the papacy to dispense in a case such as hers, she was in fact doing as much as the King to place its position in jeopardy. Throughout the course of the 'great matter', Katherine rarely reproached Henry. She could not accept, and never would accept,

  that his love for her was dead. Affection and respect remained, he observed all the courtesies when they were together, and this led her to believe that all was not lost. If Anne Boleyn's influence were to be removed, she was certain he would return to her and abandon all ideas of annulment. She therefore ignored his initial suggestion that she retire from court, and continued with her daily routine as if nothing amiss had occurred. He wanted no more scenes, and was happy for the present to maintain the pretence that all was well; above all, he wanted to be judged in a favourable light by the Pope when the time came, and Wolsey had warned him to handle Katherine 'both gently and docilely'. He therefore kept her at his side for state functions and visits to their daughter, who had been sent to live at Hunsdon where she owned a manor house. Henry and Katherine were together to welcome the French ambassadors to court in September 1527, and three days later sat side by side to watch a tragic masque in Latin, played by children. In public, the Queen would appear smiling and cheerful. Even the Duke of Norfolk, a man of little feeling and the uncle of Katherine's rival, was able to find words to praise her fortitude in showing such a brave face to the world: 'It was wonderful to see her courage,' he said; 'nothing seems to frighten her.'