As well as spending time with her at Hatfield, Anne and the king visited their daughter at Eltham, and Anne derived intense satisfaction from the obvious delight that her husband took in their daughter. “Her grace is much in the King’s favour,” observed one courtier who was present. [Tracy Borman]
After dinner Henry went down into the Great Hall where the ladies of the court were dancing, with his sixteen-month-old daughter in his arms, showing her off to one and another. After several days of such paternal enthusiasm, he evidently decided that something more masculine was called for, and the tiltyard was soon busy with his favorite form of self-exhibition. Even though, as is possible, he paid public court there to Jane Seymour, Anne could be sure that Elizabeth and her unborn child were the true centre of Henry’s interest.[Eric Ives]
He [Henry] entered the Chapel Royal clad all in yellow and Elizabeth, who was visiting the court for the Christmas festivities, was carried into Mass, too, with the sound of trumpets. After dinner, Henry took his little daughter in his arms, ‘like one transported with joy’, and showed her off to the assembled company. [David Starkey]
It is a commonly-held idea that Henry VIII was extremely disappointed, even upset or angered, by birth of his daughter Elizabeth in September 1533. Indeed, many historians and authors judge her arrival as the sort of “beginning of the end” of her parents’ marriage, then not yet a year old. Henry himself is often erroneously portrayed as being indifferent to or disinterested in Elizabeth, even while still married to her mother Anne, due to his disappointment in her sex.
In fact, Henry’s affection for Elizabeth and the pride he took in her were plain for everyone at court to see. The birth of a second daughter, rather than a longed-for son, had hardly been ideal; however, Anne’s quick conception, easy labor, and the baby’s good health all boded well for the future. Henry must have been pleased that the infant princess clearly took after him with her red hair and fair complexion. It may be telling that he chose to name her after his mother, Elizabeth of York, to whom he had been very close.
As was royal custom, little Princess Elizabeth was raised in a household in the country. However, her parents visited her–both together and separately–as often as they could and frequently sent her gifts. When she was brought to court at Christmas in 1535, Henry publicly indulged his paternal side by carrying Elizabeth, already a precocious, pretty, and promising child, among his courtiers to be admired.
Henry does seem to have neglected at least some of Elizabeth’s needs directly following the execution of her mother in May 1536. Perhaps he harbored some doubts about her paternity in light of Anne’s alleged adultery. If so, however, these proved temporary. His older daughter Mary, writing to him that summer, told Henry that he would “have cause to rejoice of [Elizabeth] in time coming.”
Contrary to the popular belief that Henry conveniently forgot Elizabeth during this time, she was at court again by October. Her circumstances had changed dramatically in the preceding six months–yet her father’s feelings had not. One observer wrote that “the King is very affectionate to [Elizabeth]. It is said he loves her much.”
[happy birthday @alicehoffmans–thank you for waiting so patiently for the Henry/Elizabeth set I promised weeks ago!]
Will the Real Henry VIII Please Stand Up? by Eric Ives (sorry the font sucks, zooming in makes it better)
500 years later: Henry VIII, leg ulcers and the course of history is another very comprehensize one.
The link for the PDF of the Will the Real article is now broken; but I did an excerpt here.
And added another excerpt on a post where it was relevant:
“I thought [Henry] was a man with personality disorder, possibly narcissistic with sociopathic tendencies who had some form of mood disorder later on [in] his life and took it out on his subjects. That is not what I ended up finding.”
So, this passage is from a biography I’m reading right now, and I’m going to challenge it. The author is certainly not the first to state something similar to this take; in fact this is a common narrative that I’ve come across a lot.
My belief is that this narrative is due (at least in part) to something I’ve privately (well, up till now), referred to as the Anne of the Thousand Days effect:
That line, along with this one:
Yes, I’ve
been told it’s not safe for any of us to say no to our king. That put on, kindly, hail-fellow-well-met of yours. My father’s house will be pulled
down, and Northumberland’s too, they tell me. Well, pull them
down, Your Majesty, you are
what I said.
…are what have endured.
They have, in fact, endured so steadfastly that I’ve never read anyone challenge them; nor have I ever read an examination of evidence pertaining to the subject (Henry VIII, his mistresses, and treatment of them when they were, and no longer were), and whether or not it fits this narrative or contradicts it.
I have never been able to find a single shred of evidence that suggests Henry pursued any woman, and then, once she rejected him, set out to “ruin her family”. Certainly he had the power to do so, being king, if he so wished, but having the power does not necessitate that he ever abused the power. Moreover, once this is considered, the argument that Anne only entertained his affections out of fear of the ruin of her family weakens; unless there was proof that her father pushed Mary into being Henry’s mistress out of this fear – or ambition– himself.
Beyond the realm of The Tudors and The Other Boleyn Girl; there is no such evidence. In fact, it would be fair to say there might be evidence to suggest the contrary (that Thomas Boleyn did not approve of the former affair– which could’ve taken place during Mary’s marriage to Carey, or before it). Even the work making the claim that Henry offered ‘no direct financial support’ contradicts itself with its own evidence–
“Thomas Boleyn obviously little did little to assist Mary, since Henry VIII later granted Anne the wardship of Mary’s son Henry [after Mary’s husband had died; this leaving Mary in financial straits].”
Henry granted Anne the wardship. Surely this was at Anne’s behest; but it suggests a collaborative effort– after all, it is not as if he refused to grant the wardship to Anne, and the pension to Mary.
Beyond that they had sex at least once, we know nothing for certain about the nature of the relationship between Henry and Mary Boleyn. Due to what we don’t know, it does make it a bit difficult to examine the claim that Henry offered her nothing because she was no longer his mistress, or that he “discarded” her, which is another narrative I’ve often read (again, this assumes a lot– for all we know, they could have had a mutual parting of ways, a one-night-stand, a few-week ‘fling’, a month-long affair, etc.). That he “refused to accept parental responsibility” assumes that he had paternity of Mary Boleyn’s children…this is, again, something we do not know. As we cannot date when the affair was (not even, as I said, if it was during her marriage to Carey or before it) beyond that it occurred before he asked for a dispensation pertaining to ‘a degree of affinity through…illicit intercourse’ to marry Anne; it is impossible to determine if it was even possible that Catherine and Henry Carey were Henry’s illegitimate children, born 1524 and 1526 (approximately), much less probable.
Henry VIII issued a series of grants to William Carey from February 1522 to May 1526. It has been assumed that this must have dated the duration of his affair with Mary, and that the end of the grants marked the beginning of his interest in Anne, but this is mere speculation. If we mark Henry’s interest in Anne to the Shrovetide Joust of February 1526, with his “Declare I Dare Not” motto, and the letter claiming he’s been “a whole year stricken with the dart of love" (which is dated, by several historians, to have probably been written late 1526/early 1527), it is probable that– at the very least– he continued to make grants to Carey for at least five more months after ending the affair with Mary (although this is, again, hypothetical dating).
So, let’s take a look at that claim again:
“Thefactthat Henry offered no direct financial support to his former mistress is an indication of his indifference to those who no longer contributed to his pleasure.”
A) How, exactly, does any kind financial support (even if ‘indirect’, which– hello – has a similar effect to direct financial support in the case of grants to Mary’s husband, and an identical effect with her annual pension granted in 1528, as well as the assurance that her son would be receiving a fine education by skilled tutors at the assurance of her sister) indicate indifference?
B) Given the timeline of the probable longest hypothetical for the affair, it seems like Henry did continue to offer financial support, in the form of grants to her husband, after Mary “no longer contributed to his pleasure.”
C) Moreover, why would Mary have expected a man she had slept with to offer her financial support? It was her husband that was under obligation to do so, and he was Gentleman of the Privy chamber, and Esquire of the Body to the King– the implication that they were destitute after Henry stopped issuing grants due to “his indifference”, when both positions had a salary, seems a little far-fetched. After Carey died and she lost her husband’s financial support, Henrydid give her an annual pension to support herself, as well as ensure that her son was taken care of (again, her son whose paternity was either William’s or Henry’s– and we don’t know which).
D) The assumption that he would not have helped her if he’d had no relationship with Anne at the time of Carey’s death is just that– an assumption. We don’t know if he wouldn’t have in that scenario, because that scenario didn’t occur.
E) There is no indication that he offered “no direct financial support” or assistance to his earlier mistress, Bessie Blount (even after their relationship ended) or the illegitimate child he had by her– in fact, Henry Fitzroy was titled a duke. After she had Henry’s son, a marriage was arranged to her for a baron– so the underlying assumption and drama of the speech in AOTD (that to be Henry’s mistress was, and had always been, the ruin of a woman’s life, standing, and reputation), again, falters in the face of the actual historic record (at least, as far as precedent goes– which was, before he asked Anne to be his “official mistress”, only Blount and Mary for certain).
The financial support Henry continued to offer Blount and his son by her would indicate the opposite of what this passage claims Henry’s actions indicate– again, that he was indifferent to those that “no longer contributed to his pleasure”.
But my examination of the evidence concerning Bessie Blount (and perhaps, a speculated-mistress for good measure– I’m thinking perhaps Jane Popincourt, or Anne Stafford) is something I will tackle in “part 2″.
“She is ‘her father’s daughter’. This phrase is first used about her at the age of six, and constantly thereafter. For contemporaries had only to use their eyes to see that it was true. She looked like Henry, with her father’s hair, skin-colour, nose and lips. She had much of Henry’s character as well: his intelligence, his force of personality, his eloquence, and his ineffable star-quality that made her, like him, the automatic centre of attention.
But in other respects, she is self-consciously different. When her father makes himself Supreme Head of the Church, he begins by reconsidering his coronation, much of whose ritual and language was wholly incompatible with his present claims. In particular, he revised the second part of the coronation service, the oath, which is the equivalent of a contract between monarch and people. And he alters the oath fundamentally. Obviously, the monarch’s promise, central since Magna Carta, to respect ‘the liberties of the Church’ is wholly rewritten. But that is only the beginning. The result is to transform the oath from what it had been since the Anglo-Saxon period, a compact between the king and the people, into a solipsistic promise to defend the rights of the crown. But most interesting are his alterations to the undertaking that deals with the monarch and justice. At his coronation he had sworn, like his predecessors and like all his successors, from Elizabeth I to Elizabeth II, to do justice not only in truth but in mercy. But now, in his redrafting (which happily was never used), he crosses the word ‘mercy’ out.
“[Henry VIII] had over 2,000 pieces of tapestry, the largest collection ever
recorded. Only one or two per cent remain in the royal palaces. His books have
fared better. His library at Whitehall was made up of books catalogued in two
numerical series, one going up to 910, the other to 1,450. Several of these
remain in the Old Royal Library, which is now in the British Library. The
losses from the library at Greenwich, which numbered 329 volumes, were more
severe and only twenty-seven have been identified, all in the library of
Trinity College, Oxford.
In
fact only his munitions remain occasionally intact. The string of castles and
forts he built along the south coast still stand, whereas his palaces have
vanished; his armour and weapons, lodged now as then in the Tower, survive in
prodigious quantities; even his loss of his warship, the Mary Rose, has been
our gain.
Otherwise
the losses have done incalculable harm, both to the king’s reputation and to
our understanding of him. For, by an irony of time, what Henry destroyed has
survived better than what he built. The palaces have vanished, but the ruins of
the monasteries, whose confiscated wealth built those same palaces, stand as a
mute indictment of Henry’s policies. The achievement of Henry’s victims, More
and Fisher, as it was other-worldly, survives; the king’s own glory, as it was
this-worldly, has gone.
The
result is a gross imbalance. We judge Henry simply on the negative side of the
account. This is large, and I am not pretending otherwise. But so is the credit
side: if Henry destroyed and dispersed more than any other king of England, he
also built and accumulated more.”
“The third quality that dazzled contemporaries was personality. In the desperate crisis of the summer of 1549, Henry’s erstwhile secretary implored Protector Somerset to act on behalf of the young King Edward:
Sir, for a king, do like a king. Go no further than to him who died last of noble memory, Henry VIII. Kept he not his subjects from highest to lowest in due obedience? And how? By the only maintenance of justice in due course.
Mary I faced with male counsellors ready to treat her orders as an invitation to debate, burst out on one occasion that ‘she only wished her father might come to life for a month’. Early in James I’s reign, the theatrical company ‘Prince Henry’s Men’ had a huge success at the Fortune Theatre with a play with the significant title When you see me you know me. Indeed, so successful were they that His Majesty’s Players, their rivals at the Globe, had to get Shakespeare and John Fletcher to write Henry VIII. Each play assumes that Henry’s personal foibles and mannerisms would be immediately recognized by a London audience despite the years since the King’s death. Henry was remembered as a proper king.
There is a chasm between the ways historians see Henry VIII and the way his subjects saw him. But it would be wrong to reject the latter because today we are so much better informed. Both characterizations have to be held in tension. Fallible though Henry was, modern criticism cannot destroy the reality that to his people he was a great king. A ballad written soon after his death summed him up in these words.
For if wisdom or manhood by any means could
Have saved a man’s life to ensure for ever,
The King Henry the 8th so noble and so bold
Out of this wide world he would have passed never.
Not even Henry could manage that, butit is no little achievement that 450 years after his death it remains true that ‘When you see me, you know me’.”
“Both Henry’s defence of the papacy and his breach with it highlight another aspect of this multifarious man: his bookishness. Henry was not the first English king to be literate, but he was probably the first to be thoroughly at home with books. He was certainly the first to write and put one into print himself. Much of the preparatory work (for which Henry naturally had research assistants, like Thomas More) for his Assertio septem sacramentorum must have taken place in the library at Greenwich. This was Henry’s second addition to the palace after the tiltyard, and similarly displaced his father’s at Richmond. Its contents were different too, as Janet Backhouse points out. Henry VII’s library, like Edward IV’s which was incorporated into it, consisted mainly of big, boldly illuminated books. These, like their coffee-table equivalents today, were for patrons who looked at books rather than read them. Henry VIII, on the other hand, read, marked and inwardly digested his, and his annotations, in his unmistakable hand, are still extant in his manuscripts and provide some of the most valuable guides to the otherwise unfathomable processes of his mind.”
I really think bias has led historians – and particularly popular historians/fiction authors that fancy themselves academics – to undermine Henry’s aptitude as a politician and leader, and to even go so far as to omit or lie to frame everything he did as king as selfish, foolish, clumsy, or downright nonexistent.
There’s been a lot of rhetoric that Wolsey, Anne, Cromwell, and co were the only ones who ran the show and had all the ideas … but Henry was the one who made things happen. He was the boss. And it needs to be understood that listening and taking the advice of consellors is actually the mark of a good leader? Elizabeth suffers much of the same treatment of people attributing her success to advisors and those around her (due to misogyny in her case), but it’s been noted in counter-arguments that she was the one that reworked ideas provided to her and made them function.
I’m not claiming he was the Best King or most skilled diplomat by noting this, but there’s a keen urgency to dismiss anything Henry might have accomplished that was productive, to blame him for the pitfalls in his reign but claim he was a puppet king if anything had positives. His role in the Reformation is constantly written off, and if it’s noted, it’s condensed to him being power hungry (and honestly, most kings were…?).
I don’t blame people for disliking Henry – although it irritates me how many deem anyone who finds him interesting an “apologist” – but it seems to go forgotten that so many historical politicians and monarchs were personally vile, abhorrent people…
This and no other is the root from which a tyrant springs; when he first appears he is a protector. [ x ]
“Alongside their very real political value, the energetic revelries at court were meant to be enormous fun. Since political credibility was so closely linked to personal charisma and chivalric display, this is no contradiction. Hall’s description of Henry’s first year, after the excitements of the coronation, is instructive. He describes the king behaving as a chivalrous king should. Henry pardoned the innocent in the person of Henry Stafford, brother to the Duke of Buckingham, making him Earl of Wiltshire; he expanded the company of the King’s Spears; he sent relief to Calais, which was afflicted by the plague; he held Parliament in which Empson and Dudley were condemned.” – [ x ]
“Henry VIII and his councillors barred the [1509] pardon to a few people: they sacrificed Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley, chief financial agents to the late king, to appease popular discontent. Most of the others excepted from the pardon received mercy after individually pleading their cases. In the first year of the reign, nearly 3,000 people bought copies of the pardon from Chancery and over the following three years, almost 300 more joined them. Again, people of all social ranks obtained pardons; some pardons applied to all citizens of a town or all members of a monastery.” – [ x ]
“The text [of the general pardon of 1515] listed those offenses that it pardoned, including statutory felonies, contempts, hunting and forest offenses, forcible entries, and usury. It specifically excluded treasons, murder, robbery, and all other common law felonies, as well as concealments and unlawful assemblies of more than twenty people. In this respect, the statute resembled earlier grants. Effecting a striking change, however, this act declared that people did not have to obtain individual copies and thus freed them from the fees demanded by the Chancery. Instead, it voided any future suits concerning matters it pardoned and had no expiration date. It allowed people guilty of the pardoned offenses but not yet charged to rest easy. People currently before the courts for offenses pardoned in the act only had to plead the statute to have their cases discharged. The pardon, then, demanded no fees above the 12d due to the court clerk who entered the plea. This arrangement persisted in all subsequent Tudor parliamentary pardons and presumably made it much easier for greater numbers of people to take advantage of the royal grants of mercy.” – [ x ]
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