remains of high gothic arches, haunted
towers and long-deserted cloisters. Rievaulx in north Yorkshire, Tintern in the Wye Valley, and Whitby on the windswept North
Sea coast where St Hilda preached and the cowherd Caedmon sang: all these ghostly ruins are visible reminders of what was
once the heart of English learning, education and history-making — a civilisation that consoled and inspired rich and poor
alike for centuries.
… DIVORCED, BEHEADED, SURVIVED
1539-47
I N THE SUMMER OF 1539 HENRY VIII STAGED a pageant on the River Thames. Two barges put out on to the water, one manned by a crew representing the King and his Council,
the other by sailors in the scarlet costumes of the Pope and his cardinals. As Henry and crowds of Londoners looked on, the
two boats met and engaged in mock battle, with much capering and horseplay until the inevitable happened — the scarlet-clad
Pope and his cardinals were pitched into the river.
Real life was not so simple. In 1538 the Pope had issued a call to the Catholic powers of Europe to rally against Englands’most cruel and abominable tyrant’ and England now found herself dangerously isolated. Thomas Cromwell’s solution was to look
for support among the Protestant princes of Germany. He could see how his royal master had been moping since the death of
Jane Seymour a year or so earlier: perhaps business and pleasure could be combined by marriage to a comely German princess.
Inquiries established that there were two promising candidates in Cleves, the powerful north German duchy with its capital
at Dusseldorf. The duke had a pair of marriageable sisters, Anne and Amelia, and early in 1539 Cromwell asked the English
ambassador Christopher Mont to investigate their beauty. Mont reported back positively, and two locally produced portraits
were sent off for the King’s inspection. But were the likenesses trustworthy?
The answer was to dispatch the King’s own painter, Hans Holbein, the talented German artist whose precise and luminous portraits
embody for us the personalities and textures of Henry’s court. Working quickly as usual, Holbein produced portraits of both
sisters in little more than a week. That of Anne showed a serene and pleasant-looking woman, and legend has it that Henry
fell in love with the portrait. In fact, the King had already decided that now, at forty-eight, he should go for the elder
of the two sisters — the twenty-four-year-old Anne. The gentle, modest face that he saw in Holbein’s canvas simply confirmed
all the written reports he had received.
When Henry met his bride-to-be, however, he found her downright plain.‘I see nothing in this woman as men reportof her,’ he said, speaking‘very sadly and pensively’ soon after he had greeted Anne on New Year’s Day 1540.’I marvel that
wise men would make such report as they have done.’
Four days later Henry VIII went to his fourth marriage ceremony with a heavy heart. If it were not to satisfy the world and
my realm,’ he told Cromwell reproachfully on their way to the service,‘I would not do that I must do this day for none earthly
thing.’
Next morning, Henry was in a thoroughly bad mood: there were still more grounds for reproach.
’Surely, as ye know,’ he said to Cromwell,‘I liked her before not well, but now I like her much worse, for I have felt her
belly and her breasts, and thereby, as I can judge, she should be no maid.’ He added the indelicate detail that Anne suffered
from bad body odour, and went on to describe the deflating effect this had on his ardour.‘I had neither will nor courage to
proceed any further in other matters… he confessed.’I have left her as good a maid as I found her.’
The royal doctors were called in. It was a serious matter when a king could not consummate his marriage, but all they could
offer was the age-old advice in such circumstances — not to worry too much. They advised Henry to take
towers and long-deserted cloisters. Rievaulx in north Yorkshire, Tintern in the Wye Valley, and Whitby on the windswept North
Sea coast where St Hilda preached and the cowherd Caedmon sang: all these ghostly ruins are visible reminders of what was
once the heart of English learning, education and history-making — a civilisation that consoled and inspired rich and poor
alike for centuries.
… DIVORCED, BEHEADED, SURVIVED
1539-47
I N THE SUMMER OF 1539 HENRY VIII STAGED a pageant on the River Thames. Two barges put out on to the water, one manned by a crew representing the King and his Council,
the other by sailors in the scarlet costumes of the Pope and his cardinals. As Henry and crowds of Londoners looked on, the
two boats met and engaged in mock battle, with much capering and horseplay until the inevitable happened — the scarlet-clad
Pope and his cardinals were pitched into the river.
Real life was not so simple. In 1538 the Pope had issued a call to the Catholic powers of Europe to rally against Englands’most cruel and abominable tyrant’ and England now found herself dangerously isolated. Thomas Cromwell’s solution was to look
for support among the Protestant princes of Germany. He could see how his royal master had been moping since the death of
Jane Seymour a year or so earlier: perhaps business and pleasure could be combined by marriage to a comely German princess.
Inquiries established that there were two promising candidates in Cleves, the powerful north German duchy with its capital
at Dusseldorf. The duke had a pair of marriageable sisters, Anne and Amelia, and early in 1539 Cromwell asked the English
ambassador Christopher Mont to investigate their beauty. Mont reported back positively, and two locally produced portraits
were sent off for the King’s inspection. But were the likenesses trustworthy?
The answer was to dispatch the King’s own painter, Hans Holbein, the talented German artist whose precise and luminous portraits
embody for us the personalities and textures of Henry’s court. Working quickly as usual, Holbein produced portraits of both
sisters in little more than a week. That of Anne showed a serene and pleasant-looking woman, and legend has it that Henry
fell in love with the portrait. In fact, the King had already decided that now, at forty-eight, he should go for the elder
of the two sisters — the twenty-four-year-old Anne. The gentle, modest face that he saw in Holbein’s canvas simply confirmed
all the written reports he had received.
When Henry met his bride-to-be, however, he found her downright plain.‘I see nothing in this woman as men reportof her,’ he said, speaking‘very sadly and pensively’ soon after he had greeted Anne on New Year’s Day 1540.’I marvel that
wise men would make such report as they have done.’
Four days later Henry VIII went to his fourth marriage ceremony with a heavy heart. If it were not to satisfy the world and
my realm,’ he told Cromwell reproachfully on their way to the service,‘I would not do that I must do this day for none earthly
thing.’
Next morning, Henry was in a thoroughly bad mood: there were still more grounds for reproach.
’Surely, as ye know,’ he said to Cromwell,‘I liked her before not well, but now I like her much worse, for I have felt her
belly and her breasts, and thereby, as I can judge, she should be no maid.’ He added the indelicate detail that Anne suffered
from bad body odour, and went on to describe the deflating effect this had on his ardour.‘I had neither will nor courage to
proceed any further in other matters… he confessed.’I have left her as good a maid as I found her.’
The royal doctors were called in. It was a serious matter when a king could not consummate his marriage, but all they could
offer was the age-old advice in such circumstances — not to worry too much. They advised Henry to take
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