The Six Wives of Henry VIII

The question whether Henry VIII ever truly loved any of his six wives is to me not only irrelevant but also unhistorical. A man of his standing would never marry solely for romantic reasons, but rather to strengthen his dynastic position, to cement diplomatic alliances and to create political ties. But before I move on, let’s make sure we separate Tudor history from the stories on Showtime’s The Tudors. Fact and fiction, to be sure, do often influence each other – and that certainly applies to the historiography of Henry VIII and his six wives. In many respects his reign can be regarded as an aberration. The violence and terror, the religious turmoil, as well as the King’s marital affairs or his tyrannical cruelty, are all uncanny in British history. It is therefore easy, though probably simplistic, to blame Henry for capriciousness.

We must first of all remember that Henry had been married to his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, twenty-four years before he had their marriage annulled. There were several factors that doubtless influenced him, but apparently never his feelings for the Queen herself. The King deeply desired a male heir, which she was unable to produce. Consequently, he projected that desire onto someone else, and that happened to be Anne Boleyn. Henry may even have been genuinely disturbed by the idea that Catherine had consummated her first marriage to Henry’s brother Arthur, before she became his queen. A religiously and legally endorsed annulment of their marriage should have been the least complicated method to terminate their relationship. A divorce with Catherine could jeopardize Britain’s ties with Spain; and in the religious wars of the time, a break with the Vatican would further endanger England’s international position.

It is not surprising, then, that Henry immediately sought political support for his marriage with Anne – and found it in France. The Boleyn family, not coincidentally was highly regarded at the time. It remains possible that the King found Anne’s initial rejection tantalizing, as his desire for a male heir grew. (He had already maintained an affair with her older sister Mary.) As the King’s Great Matter (securing the annulment from Catherine) dragged on, his (unconsummated) courtship with Anne, moreover, lasted for seven years! Naturally, Anne’s upbringing, education, and intelligence added to the attraction. However, such personal traits were disagreeable once she became Queen and openly meddled in court politics, especially effecting the downfall of Thomas Moore and Bishop Fisher. She soon became a threat to Thomas Cromwell. After giving birth to Princess Elizabeth, Anne failed to deliver the much desired male heir, miscarrying twice. None of this smacks of fickleness on the king’s part – although the charges of treason (adultery and incest) now seem preposterous.

Henry then married Jane Seymour (second cousin of Anne), also of prominent noble descent, though not as high as her predecessors – nor as well educated. There isn’t much to say about the King’s third Queen. She was conservative, Catholic, urged Henry to reconcile with Lady Mary (to no avail), but did bear a male heir to the throne, Prince Edward. Shortly after, she died from postnatal complications (perhaps puerperal fever). The King mourned for months and did not remarry for three years.

It’s with the next queen that we can discern a measure of folly on the king’s part. His marriage to Anne of Cleves was first and foremost a diplomatic alliance with the Protestant German Confederation, a decided move against Catholic France and Spain – not to mention Rome. It was Cromwell who advised to the union – and Henry had never met her in person until shortly before their wedding. If it’s incredible the King would arrange another annulment within mere months, it’s even more remarkable that subsequently he treated her generously – inviting her to court frequently and styling her his “beloved sister.” Anne certainly wasn’t hideous and Henry clearly came to respect her. It seems to me there were other motives behind the dissolution of their marriage that have not been transmitted.

When we get to Henry’s marriage to Catherine Howard, we shouldn’t lose out of sight that the King by now was nearing 50, weighed some 300 pounds, and had a festering ulcer on his leg, while she was not even 20 years old. No matter how much he was looking forward siring another son with this young lass, she must have found that idea repulsive. There can be no doubt that Henry felt deeply betrayed by Catherine’s affair with Culpeper – for even if she had borne a child, he would never have been able to know who the father was. But more than betray the King personally, the Queen also betrayed the royal house and the country over which it ruled by threatening the dynastic succession with a bastard child. The King’s response is therefore quite understandable – even if by modern standards her execution was brutal.

While I do not understand why Henry was attracted to Catherine Parr, if he was so perturbed about the idea that Catherine of Aragon or Catherine Howard may have consummated their prior marriages, I find no madness in this last marriage. Unhappily married twice before (though without bearing children), Catherine Parr was much desired as a wealthy widow. Taking on a maternal role, she was able to reconcile the king with his daughters, Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth, who were now officially restored in line of succession after Prince Edward. The Queen reigned aptly as regent while the King campaigned unsuccessfully against France. She may have clashed with Henry over religious matters, feeling his reforms were merely half-measure; her protestant sympathies certainly roused the suspicion of Bishop Gardiner and Chancellor Wriothesley. But she survived the King and, by now in her mid-thirties, Catherine could finally marry out of love and bear a child to Thomas Seymour, only to die in childbirth herself.

As for the actresses portraying Henry’s wives in The Tudors, I have great respect for Maria Doyle Kennedy’s poised depiction of Catherine of Aragon. Apart from the fact that she is stunningly beautiful, she displayed a strong-willed character with stoic endurance and faithful loyalty to her king, her nephew (the Spanish Charles V), the pope, and to god. In contrast, I couldn’t stand Natalie Dormer, who played Anne Boleyn. I found her frivolous, meddlesome and simply annoying. In all honesty, I don’t recall much of Annabelle Wallace’s Jane Seymour. She flashed by in four episodes, was adored, gave birth, and died. I had much difficulty with Joss Stone portraying Anne of Cleves – not just because she is Joss Stone, or because of the silly German accent, but because she was so stiff and uncomfortable. In the last season, however, that stiff and formal performance fitted the circumstances very well. It’s not so much that I find Tamzin Merchant a poor actress (although that horse’s mouth is fairly distracting) – in fact her performance when she “confesses” her “sins” is quite impressive –, it’s that Catherine Howard’s mindless, hysterical character annoyed me to no end. Then we come to Joely Richardson’s fine performance as Catherine Parr: not especially attractive, though charming, but certainly respectable and righteous.

One last note: I find that the passage of time (1518-1547) is poorly depicted in the series. (My greatest qualm being that JRM’s Henry VIII hardly ages over those three decades, and then suddenly is old overnight.) Season 1 covers the years from 1518 till 1530 (over a year per episode); seasons 2 just deals with the four years between 1532 and 1536; seasons 3 similarly covers just four years, between 1536 and 1540; and season 4 covers the last seven (well over half a year per episode, but the first six just cover two years). Nevertheless, we hardly get the impression that more than five years have passed. It would have helped if we saw characters, like the King or Charles Brandon, age with time. All we get are a few grey hairs by the end of season four; and then overnight Henry is old and hoarse, reads poorly and moves about even worse. Of course, being a historian, I take some umbrage with that.