Mary I, Birthdays, and New Faces

Today in 1516, Henry VIII’s wife Catherine of Aragon gave birth to a girl who would become Mary I, Queen of England. This was while Henry and Catherine’s marriage was still young and relatively fruitful; Mary was their first child — and would be their last — to survive infancy and grow into adulthood.

Whenever I mention Mary to a group of non-history addicted persons, they always light up a bit, pleased they know something, and say, “That’s Bloody Mary, isn’t it?” They proceed to ask me about the curse and the mirror and the alcoholic drink while I try not to pull a Henry VIII and hit the executioner’s emergency number on my speed dial.

I always felt sympathetic towards Mary, especially the Mary I encounter most often, in my reading of the 1520s-1530s, during which time she was declared a bastard, separated from her mother, ignored by her father, and servant for her infant half-sister.

Most of the portraits I’ve seen of Mary are after this time, during her time as Queen or shortly before, and few captured the image I had of the daughter of the beautiful Catherine of Aragon and the (once) handsome Henry VIII. It never made sense, and I feel that in our vain, shallow society, modern perceptions of Mary remain negative in part because of the sour middle-aged woman they see in the well-known portraits that are plastered across book covers and websites.

Admittedly, I know little enough about Mary to properly defend her in conversation, but she’s suffered from misconceptions and generalizations just as dozens and dozens of other controversial women in history.

In my copy of Francis Hackett’s Henry The Eighth – which, from what I can tell, is a 1929 first edition — an apparently rare portrait of Mary stares coyly out at the reader on page 130. I had never seen Mary portrayed in such a youthful, flattering light. Bedecked in beautiful jewels and in the same French fashion as her loathed stepmother, Anne Boleyn, Mary smiles intelligently and piously, an open book on her lap beneath her folded hands.

The caption beneath the portrait reads “Princess Mary, About 1537, From the Painting in the University Galleries, Oxford, London.” This makes her about 21 at the time, a beautiful young women a year after her mother’s death, Anne Boleyn’s execution, and the bastardization of her half-sister, the toddler Elizabeth. In 1537 Mary was enjoying her relationship with her father’s new wife, Jane Seymour, who shared Mary’s religious beliefs and began the reconciliation process between the king and his eldest daughter, a process completed years later by Henry’s sixth wife Katherine Parr.

Still young, still beautiful, after the trauma of her teen years and before the drama of her adult life, this image provides us with an image of Mary that I, at least, haven’t seen until last year when I first opened Francis Hackett’s book.

The twenty-one-year-old Lady Mary as noted in Francis Hackett’s ‘Henry the Eighth.’ Have you seen this portrait before?

Knowing that I had ever seen this before, which I thought was strange as Hackett implied this portrait was contemporary, or near-contemporary, I did some digging. The University Galleries Museum was renamed the Ashmolean Museum (you can read more about the museum and its origins here) and on their website they provide a description for this mysterious portrait of Mary Tudor. After an intensive cleaning in 1976, it was discovered that this portrait that it was, in fact, not a contemporary portrait, but a 19th-century piece perhaps painted over a 17th-century portrait.

At first I was disappointed by my discovery, but looking at the colour image on the website, the image I had been struggling with settled. This is the Mary I imagined, the tragic auburn-haired princess on the cusp of adulthood before her heart was broken and her reputation stained in the centuries to come. While it may or may not be an accurate representation, it’s nice to see that something of the intellectual young woman remains for the public eye, as opposed to the traditional portrayal of an infamous, quickly aging queen.

Ironically, she’s painted in a great deal of red… I suppose we can make of that what we will, but I’m going to enjoy it for what is it: a gorgeous piece of art depicting a beautiful young woman before she was labelled and misunderstood by the world.

The Princess Mary Tudor at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford. What do you think? Does she look like either of her parents?

Have any of you seen this portrait of Mary before? Does anyone have any more information about where it came from and who painted it? What do you see in Mary when you look at this image?

-For more information about Mary on the Anne Boleyn Files.
-Francis Hackett’s Henry the Eighth on Amazon.
-Princess Mary Tudor at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford

Anne Boleyn: More than a Vagina

January is a monumental month for Anne Boleyn fans. Not only do we have the speculated date for her secret marriage to Henry VIII on the 25th of 1533, but several other less fortunate events, consisting of what would be the ultimately infamous year 1536. On January 7th, 1536 Catherine of Aragon died at Kenilworth; Henry questionably celebrated the death of his first wife by throwing parties, jousting, doting on his second, legitimate daughter Elizabeth, and wearing ‘yellow for mourning.’ These festivities lasted weeks to the offense of Catherine’s supporters and most of the public.

Yet while Henry saw Catherine’s death as the ultimate finalization of his second marriage, Anne Boleyn, 15 weeks pregnant, was nervous. Her marriage to the king already suffered fissures and cracks, and he had begun to tire of the fiery personality that had won his heart nearly ten years earlier. The king’s eye had begun to wander again, this time to her own lady in waiting, Jane Seymour.

On January 24th, Henry suffered a severe jousting accident and was unconscious for several hours. Anne was understandably distraught, and the stress of Henry’s near-death, her failing marriage, and catching her husband with Jane Seymour ‘on his knee’ likely resulted in the miscarriage of a male foetus on January 29th (ironically the same day as Catherine’s funeral).

This miscarriage is widely acknowledged to be the kick-start of Anne Boleyn’s quick demise from her already-tenuous situation as Queen. I’ve heard the loss of this baby described as her greatest failure.

I pondered this. In conjunction to this ‘failure,’ her birthing the girl who would become Elizabeth I is largely considered her greatest triumph or accomplishment.

Now, I know this is not an universal agreement, but I’ve come across these opinions often enough to feel fair in generalizing it for the sake of this post. I’m also not a mother, so if producing a child is the greatest thing a woman can do in your opinion, that’s great, too.

However, to say that Anne Boleyn’s greatest failure is the miscarriage of a child is a bit inaccurate, don’t you think? She didn’t make the mistake of miscarriage, she didn’t have a choice. Circumstances were unfortunate what with Henry’s accident and her failing marriage, but it was not a failure in the sense that she had a conscious option to instead succeed.

If you want to talk about her greatest failures, perhaps we could include making an enemy of Thomas Cromwell, or underestimating the love of the king, or what colour dress she wore on a certain day. Those are mistakes and failures, things she could have done differently to prevent the outcome that eventually came to be. Miscarriage is a biological occurrence with many factors, factors that the century was unable to control. The loss of her child on January 29th was a tragic happening. It might have been her greatest misfortune, but it was not her greatest failure.

The flip side of this coin is the birth of her daughter Elizabeth almost three years earlier, on September 7th, 1533. Was it her greatest accomplishment? Some might see it that way, and others might see it as a result of chance and good luck. Elizabeth just happened to come to term and survive infancy. Anne had very little part in the enduring existence of her daughter.

In this regard, it might be more fair to say that Anne Boleyn’s influence on Elizabeth was her greatest accomplishment, but even this is uncertain. Like all royal children, Elizabeth was raised by nurses and nannies, and saw her mother only occasionally. There is no doubt that Anne loved Elizabeth, there is no question of that, but Elizabeth wasn’t even three years old when her mother met the French swordsman on May 19th, 1536. Whatever stories were passed down and whatever idea the little bastard princess formulated on her own of Anne Boleyn may have influenced her later actions as both woman and queen, but Elizabeth was her entirely own person. Anne Boleyn had scarce much to do with who her daughter would become.

So was Elizabeth’s birth the greatest accomplishment of the ‘most controversial queen’ in English history? I just can’t say it. Labelling such an extraordinary woman as Anne Boleyn — who I often see as the epitome of womanhood and female strength — for her success as a baby-making machine is something I disagree with. She was much more than a vagina, uterus, and ovaries, despite being forced into the role of fertile, heir-producing queen.

Feel free to share, with credit, of course!

She was a well-read, educated woman who formed her own opinions, supported religious beliefs that were at the time considered incorrect and scandalous, and debated at equal and sometimes superior skill with the highest and most notable noblemen and scholars of her time; she was a patron of the arts, advocate of religious reform, and supporter of the less fortunate. Her friendships — and indeed enmity — with the highest men in the land brought both greatness and demise. She defied the convention of her times by taking the bold step into independence, becoming an utterly unique person envied by all the court, and left everything she knew beyond into the murky waters ahead by capturing the heart of the most powerful man in the country, which led to the separation from the Roman Church and creation of today’s Church of England. She dined and danced with kings and queens, both supported and argued with some of the most distinguished intellects of our history. She married for love, an act in itself unknown. She defended her innocence like few had done. Her infamous death at the hand of a French swordsman and is seen as a beautiful act of bravery and true faith. Her words and actions survive today to inspire new generations of women to embrace who they are and the dare defy what society wants to mold us into.

Yes, she popped out one of the greatest monarchs, but this in itself was not her greatest act.

Anne Boleyn was more than a vagina.

Let them grumble!

Matthew Shardlake: a Lawyer You’ll Love

I stumbled across C.J. Sansom’s Tudor mystery novels quite by accident. Books 2, 3, and 4 were sitting innocently on the shelf of the cottage I was staying at in Prince Edward Island last week — and suddenly I was whiling away my spare time reading (reading is what vacation is for, isn’t it?). Over the week I chomped my way through Dark Fire and most of Sovereign, both of which are 500+ pages.

I was delighted with the concept of the novels (I hadn’t heard of them before,

Book 4, Revelation

though the reason escapes me). Most of the historical fiction I’ve read — which frankly isn’t much to brag about. I generally try to avoid it unless it has a good rep — directly concerned one or more of Henry VIII’s wives. It was all glitz and glam, gorgeous dresses and unrequited love, and the occasional beheading of a queen.

Not the Shardlake novels, no sir. They take the romanticist’s idea of Tudor London, turn it on its head, and grind it into a pile of horse manure. They’re gritty, grimy, but in a delightful way. They take the reader down to the poorest of London’s beggars, the filth lining the streets, the monster Henry became in his older years…It’s disgusting, but extremely real and utterly believable. 

The real star is not the realism, however. It’s poor Matthew Shardlake, the hunchback lawyer of Lincoln Inn. While I haven’t read the first of the series, Dissolution, (on my to-read list) what I have read about Shardlake endears me to him. He’s not a young, pompous lover of adventure; he’s middle-aged, has suffered a life time of mockery, and only has a desperate wish to live a quiet life in court.

But C.J. Sansom has him chasing crazed serial killers, being tortured, facing rejection from the few women he dared to hope for, killing villains, and doing all he can to make his protagonist lose his faith, his physical well-being, and (seemingly) his mind. This might make Shardlake seem like a hard rock of a man, but he’s a gentle soul, unsure of himself, high in his morals, and rightly wary of the deadly politics of Henry VIII’s dangerous court.

And what’s a detective without his side kick? Enter Jack Barak. We first meet him in Book 2, Dark Fire, when his master Cromwell forces him to assist Shardlake in finding a rare weapon of mass destruction. The two clash at first, for Barak is rough and ill-mannered, but in such a way that he immediately became my favourite character. By the time they close the case, Cromwell has fallen from favour — headless – and Barak agrees to stay on as Shardlake’s clerk. Their rather strange friendship is perhaps the greatest theme over the novels.

For some reason or another, I pictured Barak as Madmartigan (Val Kilmer)

Jack Barak, is that you? (via amazon.com)

  from the 1988 movie Willow. Devilishly handsome and rough all over, but with a good heart, Jack Barak easily made up for slow pieces of the Dark Fire and Sovereign, and I felt fondly frustrated at his prideful refusal to patch up his problems with his spirited wife Tamasin in Revelation. Their love story in Sovereign was a subplot, but a golden one.

I’m of the opinion that these books aren’t for everyone. They deal quite heavily with the religious changes of the day (the power ping-ponging back and forth between conservatives and radicals) and have characters that might require background knowledge on to completely comprehend or appreciate. Little scenes are also thrown in, seemingly for my own pleasure, such as an episode in Sovereign where the Lady Rochford is demanding the keys for another exit for Queen Catherine Howard in case there would ever be a fire. This scene does play a larger role later, but if you don’t know your history this might seem like an annoying distraction from the person Shardlake is actually trying to find.

Aside from the limiting of target audience, there were a dreadful number of editing errors, mainly in Sovereign, that caught my attention. Missing periods, commas, quotation marks… This isn’t unusual, but there was a sentence where a British ‘pound’ sign was plopped in the middle of a word. Also, the author changed Archbishop Cranmer’s eye colour between books. Oops! Despite these errors, my interest in the plot was not hindered, though I’m sure others might find it infuriating and impossible to read.

If you’re a Tudor junkie, like me, then the other thing you’ll notice is the names. You know as well as I how common names were. Look at how many Thomases there were (Wyatt, Cranmer, Cromwell, Wolsey, Seymour…you get my point). In the Shardlake novels there is scarce a repeat name, aside from the ones the author couldn’t change (Cromwell, Cranmer, Seymour). Only one Joan, one Ellen, one Margaret, one Dorothy, one Abigail. I see what the author was trying to do, but for me it was a little obvious — especially as I doubt Tamasin is a Tudor name — and sucked a smidgen of the realism away.

Out of the three books I’ve read over the last two weeks, I don’t think I could choose a favourite. Dark Fire was gruesome with a sick-minded killer, which held intrigue for me, but was thick and slow in parts. Sovereign was lacking a sadistic flare, but Shardlake can only take so much, right? I enjoyed a slightly more domestic flavour as Barak meets the flighty and wilful Tamasin and Shardlake begins his friendship with the elderly Master Wrenne. Revelation was definitely eery, but it was only until page 486 that I began to panic because I had no idea who the killer was and what he might do next. All three books each had similar plots — a murderer on the loose, a client of Shardlake’s that had to do with a mental illness, and an order from a high-standing Tudor figure.

So you see how Shardlake has wormed his way into my heart. I think part of it is the fact that he’s not a good-looking twentysomething with a love interest. He’s a minority with an interest in law and an awful habit of becoming mixed with dangerous court politics (despite his pleas at the end of each novel to live a quiet life).

I need to get my hands on Book 1 and 5 (Dissolution and Heartstone) now…

Happy reading!

Happy St. Patty’s Day

The breakfast of…a leprechaun, perhaps? Or rather, the breakfast of my one of my dearest friends on St. Patrick’s Day. She’s so creative! FYI, those are green Fruit Loops, and the egg is dyed with food colouring. (“I do not like green eggs and ham!”)

And, while we’re doing some heavy imagining here, what are the odds that leprechauns exist? And if they do, was Henry VIII perhaps part leprechaun? Red hair, love of gold, rainbows, and tricking people, could play musical instruments, not to mention taunting pretty women…Hmm…Well, if someone can write Anne Boleyn as a vampire, why not Henry as a leprechaun?

Happy St. Patty’s Day!

You’re A What? A Leapling?

Leapling. It sounds like a creature from a fantasy novel — I’m thinking a cross between Gollem and the Marshwiggle from CS Lewis’ Narnia. However, this is the fabulous-sounding name given to those born on February 29th. So, happy birthday to all leaplings of this world, and others!

The concept of the leap year is interesting, and I wondered how it worked in Tudor times, because I knew their New Year began on March 25th. The Tudors used the Julian calendar (Julius Caesar being the man who calculated the leap year), which dictated every year divisible by 4 would be a leap year.

And so, here are some Henrican-Tudor dates that occured in a leap year (I’m sure I missed quite a few, but I just picked these from the top of my head!):

• 1504: death of Mary I’s grandmother, Isabella of Castile
• 1512: England declared war on France
• 1516: birth of Mary I, death of Mary’s grandfather Ferdinand of Aragon
• 1528: the sweating sickness sweeps England and Anne Boleyn falls ill
• 1536: death of Catherine of Aragon, execution of Anne Boleyn
• 1540: Henry VIII married Anne of Cleves and Katheryn Howard; Thomas Cromwell was executed
• 1544: Mary and Elizabeth were restored to the succession

Caesar miscalculated by only 11 minutes, but by the sixteenth century the calendar was inaccurate by 10 days. A new calendar was opted by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582 which put things back on track, but because of the Protestant reign of Elizabeth I, England did not adopt the Gregorian calendar until 1752. Our calendar is Gregorian.

I just love learning new things.

Happy birthday to you, if you are a leapling!

~~~

Sorry this post is a bit late. A neighbour’s horse was loose, which means 1) everyone has to check it isn’t their horse and 2) once they realize it isn’t their horse, everyone in a five kilometer radius feels compelled to help (or rather, flock together uselessly while the first responders take care of it). Weather doesn’t matter. -20 C. Brr!

• The Elizabethan Calendar
• Leap Year

Anne Boleyn at the Academy Awards

“Ready?” Henry asked his wife.

“Of course,” said Anne. She took his large, warm hand and the pair stepped out of their limo onto the red carpet. A thousand bulbs flashed and popped and the crowd screamed hysterically at the beautiful couple. Anne, stunning in a black lacy McQueen number shot through with hints of emerald, owned the audience with her captivating black eyes and flirty grin. Henry was dashing in a dark blue tux, a bit bear-like, but definitely handsome. They nearly caused a riot with their beauty.

Nat Dormer, who played Anne Boleyn in 'The Tudors,' is a perfect and enchanting Anne.

“Oh, Anne. You look stunning!” Angelina had towed Brad over by the hand and now brushed kisses on Anne and Henry’s cheeks. “How are you?”

Anne twisted her mouth a bit ruefully. “I’m fine. How are you two?”

“Exhausted between all these award shows and running the kids around.” Angie put her hand on Anne’s forearm and laughed a bit. “Being a mother is tiring. And, speaking of which, how’s little Elizabeth?”

“She’s great. A miniature genius, she is,” Henry said abruptly.

“But let’s not talk about our kids anymore! We’re at the Oscars!” Brad grinned easily. He pulled his skinny wife closer to him. “Again.”

Henry also wrapped his arm around his thin wife. “Again,” he agreed, like it was a regular Sunday night.

“Oh, there’s George! Let’s go say hi.” Angelina tugged her husband away again, this time beelining for Clooney and whatever new girlfriend he came up with this year.

Anne, though a winning smile remained on her face, whispered, “If they say one more thing about their…their bus-load of children –”

“I’ll send them to the Tower,” Henry finished. Anne rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” she said. “The show is about to start, and we still haven’t spoken to any reporters. We need some positive press after that TMZ story about you and old Catherine.” Anne began walking elegantly towards Ben Mulroney and stepped on Henry’s foot when he didn’t move. He was staring at a suspicious line of four women with nametags. Jane Seymour, Anne Cleves, Kitty Howard, Kate Parr. His brow creased. Did he know those women?

“Of course not, Henry dear. I’m your wife. I’m the only one you’ve ever taken to the Oscars.” Anne plucked a remote from her clutch, hit a button, and watched with satisfaction as the four women vanished. “Now, I think Benny from Canada wants to talk with us.”

~~~

Well, Anne was always a bit of a show-stealer, and I couldn’t resist. But can’t you imagine Henry and Anne, desperate for a son, meeting with Brangelina, who have a ‘bus-load’ of kids? Awkward. Can’t you imagine seductive, elegant Anne perched on the arm of the imposing and majestic pre-obese Henry Tudor surrounded by celebs and flashing cameras? I can. And can’t you imagine Anne decked out in McQueen?? BECAUSE I CAN!

It’s always Anne in the movies. I’ve never seen a movie starring Cat of Aragon, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Kitty Howard, or Kate Parr as the lead. Yes, C.o.A and J.S. usually play supporting roles, but not the others. Shows like The Six Wives of Henry VIII and The Tudors do try to make each wife shine, but let’s face it. In The Tudors, Anne starred in 21 episodes, Cat of Aragon in 18, Jane in 10, Anne of Cleves in 5, Kitty Howard in 6, and Kate Parr in 5.

One of my personal favourite movies, Anne of the Thousand Days (1969), turned out to be a good friend of Oscar despite many negative reviews. It won an Academy Award for Best Costume Design and was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Cinematography, Best Leading Actor (Richard Burton), Best Leading Actress (Geneviève Bujold — a French Canadian!), Best Supporting Actor (Anthony Quayle), Best Art Direction-Set Decoration, Best Music, & Best Sound.

Happy 84th Oscar Night! Will you be watching? And will you be imagining sixteenth-century women walking the red carpet? ‘Cause I will be.

Also, Susan Bordo will be releasing her book on Anne Boleyn in pop culture, The Creation of Anne Boleyn, next year. I am very excited!

Another Nursery Rhyme

[Warning. Longer post than intended.]

Divorced, beheaded, died

Divorced, beheaded, survived.

This nursery rhyme depicts the fate of each of Henry VIII’s wives; ironically it is usually only by their fate they are remembered. Just to give ya’ll a brief run-down of the six women who were married to ‘Bluff King Hal’…

Catherine of Aragon: 1486-1536

This pious, intelligent little woman was married briefly to Arthur Tudor in October 1501 before his death shortly after. She married his younger brother Henry in 1509 when she was 23 and he was 17. She suffered several miscarriages, stillborns, and children who died shortly after birth (take little Prince Henry, alive for 52 days), was strong in her faith, her love for her surviving daughter Mary, and her love and devotion to her husband. Daughter of the Spanish Kings Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, sister of Juana the Mad, and aunt of Emperor Charles V, Catherine was a princess by birth and by actions. When Henry began his campaign to divorce her, Catherine caused him a rather impressive six-year headache. She was only one of two of Henry’s wives to serve as regent while he was at war. Her daughter would one day become Mary I, or “Bloody Mary.”

Anne Boleyn: c.1501-1536

Witty, fiery, temperamental, intelligent Anne Boleyn was educated under Margaret of Austria and served two Queens of France. She caught the king’s eye when she returned to England to serve Catherine of Aragon, sometime after her sister Mary’s affair with him in the early 1520s. After six years of courtship, Anne and Henry married in secret in 1533, and Anne gave birth to a baby girl on September 7^th. Anne was also highly passionate about the Reform of the Church, and she can be pinned down to the woman responsible for England’s break from Rome. Her pregnancies in 1534 and 1536 both ended in miscarriage, and her argumentative, jealous ways were beginning to wear on her husband, who was starting to pay attention to lady-in-waiting Jane Seymour. Anne was executed on fabricated charges of adultery, incest, and treason on 19 May 1536. Five men were executed in association with her, including her younger brother George. Her daughter became Elizabeth I, or “Gloriana.”

Jane Seymour: c.1508-1537

Not much is known about the pale, prim woman whom Holbein captures on canvas. Quiet, pious, thought to be leaning towards the ‘old religion,’ many people believe her to be the polar opposite of her flighty predecessor Anne. Probably educated and intelligent, Jane was much loved by Henry, and her brothers Edward and Thomas became prominent men in the court. She gave birth in 1537 to the long-awaited male heir, but died shortly after. Her son became the boy-king Edward VI.

 Anne of Cleves: 1515-1557

Educated differently than her predecessors but still intelligent, innocent, and ultimately self-preserving, Anne of Cleves make up Wife No. 4 of the list. Despite having gone down in history as ‘the Flander’s mare’ and the ‘ugly wife,’ modern society generally agrees that Holbein’s portrait of her is the most flattering of the six wives. After the death of Jane Seymour, Henry was persuaded by his man Thomas Cromwell (the figure given credit to the destruction of Anne Boleyn) to marry one of the sisters of the Duke of Cleves, therefore making a Protestant alliance against the Catholic Spain. Holbein was sent to paint the sisters, Anna and Amelia, and became enamoured by the portrait of the elder, Anna. She was sent for and Henry was anxious to meet his 24-year-old bride, but when she finally arrived in England everything fell apart. Henry, the romantic buffoon that he was, decided to sneak up upon Anna in a guise as so many courtly romantic figures did. Unfortunately, Anne, who couldn’t speak a stitch of English at the time, didn’t recognize him (he was disguised, after all!) and ignored the strange man trying to embrace her. It went downhill from there. After a lavish wedding, Henry declared he couldn’t consummate his marriage because his wife just didn’t excite him, but quickly defended his manhood saying he felt he could ‘do so with other women.’ Anyway, Anne readily agreed to an annulment and accepted the title of ‘the King’s beloved sister.’ She was given manors and money and was the highest woman in England save for the King’s wife and his daughters. Anne lived to see her ex-stepdaughter Mary become Queen and rode with Elizabeth in the procession.

Katheryn Howard: c.1521-1542

Polite, energetic, generous, and a bit naïve, this cousin of Anne Boleyn also made her mark on the King. She served Anne of Cleves and quickly caught the King’s eye, steering away from her crush Thomas Culpepper. Katheryn was married to Henry only six weeks after the annulment of his marriage with Anne and quickly became the apple of his eye. His “Rose Without a Thorn” however, had some secrets. After her past and promiscuous life was exposed, the young queen and her lady were sent to block on 13 February 1542. Read my post on Katheryn here.

 Katherine Parr: 1512-1548

Highly intelligent with a passion for the Religious Reform, Katherine was already twice-widowed when she married Henry in July of 1543. She saw her marriage to the King as an act of duty, not necessarily love, and an opportunity to further the Reform. A mother to his two younger children,Elizabeth and Edward, and a friend to his elder daughter Mary, Katherine is often known as the ‘survivor.’ Religious conservatives sought to end her radical ways and was nearly arrested; she endured, however, to become to first English queen to have a book published under her own name. After the King’s death in January of 1547, Katherine and Elizabeth moved to Chelsea where the Queen Dowager lived with her new husband Tom Seymour (brother to Wife No. 3). The remainder of her life was not exceptionally happy, though. Tom was rumoured to have been unfaithful with his own stepdaughter, 13-year-old Elizabeth. Katherine’s behaviour became strange when she joined her husband to his romps in Elizabeth’s bedroom, holding her down while he tickled Anne Boleyn’s daughter. Katherine died on 7 September 1548 after contracting puerperal fever while giving birth to a daughter Mary. It’s not known what happened to little Mary Seymour, but Tom Seymour was executed in January 1549 after attempting to marry Elizabeth. As David Starkey puts it, “Perhaps marriage to Henry had been the better part after all.”

 There is a lot of favouriting and bashing happening with Tudor fans and the wives, especially between Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, and Jane Seymour. Insults have been thrown, pathetic hate-Facebook pages have been started, and malice brewed. Why? These women have been gone for nearly 500 years and none of them directly caused the fate of another. I dislike when people pick a ‘favourite’ of the wives — they were people, not colours!

I can understand, however, finding some wives more interesting than the others. For me, the interest from greatest to least goes: Anne Boleyn, Anne of Cleves, Catherine of Aragon, Katheryn Howard, Katherine Parr, and Jane Seymour. Some of it is the personality they’ve left behind, or the legacy, or the end. I do respect each of these brave women and hope others can respect their memories as well.

Further reading:

• Six Wives: The Queens of Henry VIII by David Starkey, 2003
• The Six Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser, 1992 
• The Anne Boleyn Files also has bios of the wives

OH, and guess what? Claire Ridgway, author of the Anne Boleyn Files, will be guest posting on March 6th as part of her virtual book tour. Don’t miss it!

Sing a Song of Sixpence…

Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye

Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing,

Oh wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the King!

The King was in his counting house,

Counting out his money,

The Queen was in the parlour

Eating bread and honey;

The maid was in the garden

Hanging out the clothes

When down came a blackbird and

Pecked off her nose!

There was such a commotion

That little Jenny wren

Flew down into the garden and

Put it on again!

This slightly morbid but catchy nursery rhyme has been around at least since the eighteenth century. Often I find myself humming it under my breath while sketching or making a sandwich. It drives my sister crazy, but this only gives me more incentive to sing it.

The origins of it are interesting. Many think it refers to Henry VIII, Catherine of Aragon, and Anne Boleyn. The king ‘in his counting house’ referring the dissolution of the monasteries, while Queen Catherine was ‘eating bread and honey’ like a good little wife. The maid — Anne — was ‘hanging out the clothes’ in service to the Queen when her nose was pecked off! This could be in reference to Henry swooping down and taking her love, marrying her, and eventually taking her virginity. Of course, with poor Catherine shoved aside and the public’s dislike of Anne, as well as his eventual gal pal Jane Seymour*, Henry and his man Thomas Cromwell were forced to put Anne away. Putting the ‘nose’ back on was, I guess, divorcing her, bastardizing her daughter, and chopping her head off.

I wonder what big toughie Cromwell would think of being immortalized in a children’s rhyme as ‘little Jenny wren’?

Also, some cooks did put live birds in their pies as a surprise, so when it was opened they would fly away. Odd, but interesting.

*Later this week I’ll do a quick telling of the story of The Six Wives, just so no one is completely lost!

Another Teenage Queen Loses her Head

[Last Tudor-related post of the week. Promise.]

Katheryn* Howard was a bubbly, generous girl raised by her step-grandmother the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk in a dormitory-esque setting. The Duchess was responsible for several children and the household she ran was similar to that of an informal school. The size of the household — over a hundred people at Lambeth — seems to have allowed the hormone-riddled teenagers to essentially do as they pleased.

After flirting then ditching her music teacher, Henry Mannox,  in 1538 Katheryn set her eyes on Francis Dereham. Dereham was a member of the Duchess’ household and seems to have swept Katheryn off her feet. They began calling each other ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ and their relationship was probably — if not undoubtedly — consummated. If they believed they were married, or as good as, there was nothing wrong with behaving as such. At least, until Mannox became jealous and tipped off the Duchess of her step-granddaughter’s promiscuity. Duchess Agnes was not impressed when she found Katheryn and Dereham ‘embracing’ and flew into a rage, hitting nearly everyone in the room.

Though Dereham was better born than Mannox, it still wasn’t a great match for a girl descended from Edward I, no matter Katheryn’s feelings for him. Incidentally, they cooled while Dereham was in Ireland and she was transferred closer to court, where she met the dashing Thomas Culpepper in 1539.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), while attending on Queen Anne of Cleves, the King fell in love with her.

So, out with Henry VIII’s fourth wife and in with the fifth.

As historian David Starkey puts it, her husband was not the stuff dreams are made of. Henry, at forty-eight, was no longer the lean golden-haired prince of 1509. Balding, overweight with a stinking ulcer on his thigh and with a horrible marital history, Katheryn apparently put some spring back into His Majesty’s step. He was hopelessly in love with the teenage cousin of his second wife, showering her in gifts and jewels.

Katheryn, who had grown up considerly poor, was probably quite happy other than

A miniature identified as Katheryn Howard.

the fact that she was married to a man more than twice her age. She maintained a friendly relationship with Anne of Cleves; after dinner the two regal ladies danced together while the King retired to his chambers. I once read somewhere — probably online – that Katheryn Howard and Anne of Cleves had a lesbian affair.  I don’t believe so and I’ve read no reasonable proof, just as I don’t believe George Boleyn and Mark Smeaton were lovers.

Anyway, Katheryn continued to enjoy her queen-hood, though her husband often had to restrain her from lavishing valuable gifts at everyone she knew. Joan Bulmer, who lived with Katheryn at Lambeth, was inducted as one the new Queen’s ladies-in-waiting and Dereham himself begged his way into becoming her gentleman usher.

Though the King and Queen…met…often, there was no sign of a Duke of York to accompany Jane Seymour’s (Wife No. 3) son Edward in the nursery, despite Katheryn coming from an extremely fertile family. And Henry often spent days in his chambers nursing his swollen legs and decreeing that his wife not be allowed to see him.

Perhaps these days alone reminded Katheryn of her admiration for Thomas Culpepper. Culpepper was in his late twenties, charming, and highly favoured by the King. Historian Antonia Fraser compares him to a young Duke of Suffolk: a ladies’ man who would climb high in royal favour. The Queen, about nineteen now, bestowed upon Culpepper treasured gifts, met secretly at night, and in April of 1541 wrote him a terribly spelt yet passionate love letter.

The fall of Katheryn Howard was a swift, tragic chain of events beginning in early

Tamzin Merchant as Katheryn Howard.

November. Mary Hall, who served in the Duchess’ household at the same time as Katheryn, told her brother of the late-night meetings Katheryn enjoyed with Mannox and Dereham. Her brother then told Archbishop Cranmer, who told the King, who was a little disbelieving but insecure enough to let questioning ensue.

Mannox admitted to flirtation but nothing as horrible as a full-fledged affair. Dereham admitted that he had been pre-contracted to the Queen and of their consummated relationship. Neither of these were a crime. However, Dereham told his interrogators (and torturers?) that ‘Culpepper had succeeded him in the Queen’s affections.’ Jane Boleyn Viscountess Rochford (sister-in-law and wife of Anne and George Boleyn) was also a part of this tale. She, as maid-of-honour, had been the go-between for Katheryn and Culpepper and had encouraged her mistress in persuing the dangerous relationship. Katheryn nervously but continuously maintained her innocence.

On December 1, Dereham and Culpepper were found guilty of treason. On the 10th they were executed, Culpepper by axe but Dereham by a full traitor’s death.

Katheryn was transferred to the Tower of London on 10 February with some resistance. After an Act of Attainder (which spared Henry the grief of signing another wife’s death warrant) was passed on the 11th, Katheryn Howard and Jane Rochford were legally dead. The poor girl was notified on the 12th that she was to die the following day.

Katheryn asked for the block to be brought to her, so she could practise how to place her neck upon it.

On Monday the 13th, Katheryn climbed the scaffold steps, spoke of her sins, love for and goodliness of the King, and called upon God for mercy. She knelt and placed her neck on the block as practised, and her head was struck off.

She might have not reached her twentieth birthday.**

~~~

*The spelling of Katheryn’s name is basically a personal preference. It has been spelt Katherine, Catherine, Katheryn, Kathryn, and Katharine. Many people spell it with a ‘y’ to discern her from Catherine of Aragon and Katherine Parr, or otherwise call her ‘Kitty.’

**The birthdate of Katheryn Howard is unknown, but can be pinned down around 1521-1525, making her between seventeen and twenty-one at the time of her execution.

Further reading:

• The Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser
• Six Wives: the Queens of Henry VIII by David Starkey
• A Tudor Tradegy: the Life and Times of Catherine Howard by Lacey Baldwin Smith

Let them grumble!

Christmas of 1530: Anne Boleyn was being treated like the Queen of England by her suitor Henry VIII, though he was still married to Catherine of Aragon. The court grumbled and complained about Anne’s postition, and rightly so. But Anne, proud and defiant, briefly changed her motto to Ainsi sera, groigne qui groigne — ‘Let them grumble, that is how it is going to be!’ (Ives, pg. 141)

This spirit has always been in me (not the spirit to date Henry VIII, however!), the spirit to defy convention and do or write or wear something that most people scorn or laugh at, or are simply afraid of. They can grumble all they want, but this is how it is.

This blog will be a combination of things that I do/wear/write/see/read about that make other people grumble, along with some lessons in Tudor history, writing, movie and book reviews, modern royalty, horses, garden gnomes and whatever else might strike my fancy or make someone grumble.

Please bear with me while I try to figure out how my own blog works, but I promise I’ll have some grumble-worthy posts up soon! (Going to see The Woman in Black  on the weekend, so I bet I’ll have lots to say there!)

I was going to attach a photo for you, but unfortunately I haven’t figured out how yet…

Remember: let them grumble!