THE KING’S HOUSEHOLD
Not Solomon in all his glory--nor Sultan Suleyman the Magnificent of
Istambul--was lodged more sumptuously than Tudor King Henry VIII of
England. When Katherine Parr espoused the much-married monarch, she
found herself mistress of a score of royal palaces, each furnished in
a manner not unworthy of the splendour of Aladdin after that fortunate
youth had gained possession of his magic Lamp, and served by the most
numerous retinue ever brought together in this ancient kingdom of ours.
The Venetian envoys, accustomed to the luxury and artistic elegance
of the Queen of the Adriatic, were fairly dazzled by the sight of the
treasures Henry gathered about him. Although within the space of a
few brief years he suffered vandal hands to rob his country of more
noble abbeys, churches, libraries, and works of art than had been
destroyed by time and foreign and civil war combined since William’s
Conquest, the King’s own artistic sense was highly developed, and he
revelled, with a glee that sometimes verged upon the childish, in pomp
and luxury and all things rare and beautiful.[36] To the confiscated
collections of Wolsey he added the spoils of a hundred monasteries, and
the Inventory of his effects, taken a few days after his death,[37]
fills two enormous folio volumes preserved among the Harleian Papers
in the British Museum. It is written in a round, legible hand, on the
finest paper of the period, and a glimpse of its contents cannot fail
to excite the longing of the _virtuoso_ and to stir the imagination
as effectually as any brilliant page of description in the _Arabian
Nights_. A perusal of these bulky tomes facilitates some partial
conception of the extraordinary magnificence of the Court at which Lady
Jane Grey figured as a child, and whence, no doubt, she derived that
taste for “costlie attire, music and other vanities,” which was to
evoke the unfavourable criticism of her Puritan friends at Zurich and
Strasburg, who exhorted her, if she really desired to save her soul,
to forswear all such trash, and imitate “the simplicity in dress and
modesty in demeanour” practised by her cousin the Princess Elizabeth.
We find hundreds of entries touching bedsteads, tables, card or playing
tables, chairs, couches and footstools of carved ebony, cedar-wood,
walnut, or oak, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, ivory, or rich metal
wirework, and upholstered in silk, satin, velvet, or Florence brocade,
fringed with gold, and even with strings of seed-pearls. Persian and
Turkish carpets, silks and woollen, covered every available space in
corridor, gallery, hall, and bedchamber, and there is mention of one
especially wonderful carpet “of silk,” probably Persian, “nine yards
long by two and a half wide.” One chamber was decorated with “101 yards
of white satin embroidered and fringed with gold,” while the walls of
another were panelled with purple cloth of gold, _i.e._ purple silk
shot with gold.
There must have been some hundreds of complete sets of the costliest
tapestries and arras in the various royal palaces. Wolsey, whose
passion for tapestry as a mural decoration became quite unreasonable,
collected scores of the finest specimens the looms of Italy and
Flanders could produce and lavish outlay secure. After his fall these
remained as he had left them at Hampton Court, where we still admire
the splendid series representing the “Story of Abraham,” designed
by Raphael’s pupil, Bernard van Orly, and another of yet earlier
date illustrating the “Triumphs,” of which three, those of “Death,”
“Renown,” and “Time,” occupy their original positions in Henry VIII’s
Great Watching or Guard Chamber. As we gaze on their faded beauty,
we should remind ourselves that the immense quantity of gold thread
wrought with infinite care and taste into their composition, and now
tarnished, glistened in King Henry’s time in all the glory of its
freshness. In the Audience Chamber at Whitehall many a great Ambassador
may have envied the arras hangings, representing the “Acts of the
Apostles,”[38] from designs by Raphael presented to the King by Pope
Leo X when he gave him the proud title of “Defender of the Faith.”
The walls of three State rooms at Hampton Court were hung “with cloth
of gold, blue cloth of gold, crimson velvet upon velvet, tawny velvet
upon velvet, green velvet figury, and cloth of bawdekin,” a regal
material woven partly of silk and partly of gold. Some of the chief
tapestries at Whitehall represented the “History of Our Lady,” the
“Story of Ahasuerus and Esther,” the “Crucifixion,” the “Story of
Apollo and Daphne,” “St. George and the Dragon,” “Hawking and Hunting
Scenes,” the “Siege of Jerusalem,” and many other like episodes in
sacred and profane history and in mythology. The King would order a
score of sets of tapestry at once, and would spend a sum equal to
£10,000 or £15,000 of our money upon them. The overflow of tapestries,
“picture-hangings,” Oriental silks, Genoa velvets, Florence and Venice
brocades, curtains of French lace, Chinese silks, and costly furniture,
went to the State rooms of the stern old Tower; to Windsor--where a
few remnants of Henry VIII’s belongings still remain; to Woodstock,
to Richmond, to Greenwich, to Oatlands in Surrey--where Prince Edward
often lived; to Newhall to Havering atte Bower--the chief country
seat of Princess Mary; to Hatfield and Enfield Chase--where Princess
Elizabeth spent her girlhood; to the Queen’s dower-houses at Hanworth
and Chelsea; and above all, to that marvel of the age, the new Palace
of Nonesuch, which Henry had built him at Cheam, Surrey.[39] At
Whitehall there were scores of cupboards crammed with gold and silver
plate, and there were ivory and ebony cabinets with crystal doors, in
which glittered strange Italian jewels, and curiosities from all parts
of the then known world. In none of Henry’s palaces does there seem
to have been a gallery exclusively devoted to pictures, such as would
be found in most contemporary Italian and French royal and princely
residences; but there were plenty of pictures or “painted tables,” as
the Inventory quaintly calls them, in nearly every chamber. In 1540
Holbein’s great fresco in the King’s Privy Council Room at Whitehall,
representing King Henry VII and Queen Elizabeth of York in the
background, with Henry VIII and Jane Seymour standing in front, was a
comparatively recent work. The illustrious artist, who died in London
of the plague in 1543, had also designed the ceiling of the “Matted
Gallery,” and covered the walls of the Chapel Royal with frescoes and
arabesques.
The King’s appearance, as he developed from boyhood to manhood and
middle age, might have been studied in scores of presentments of him,
to be met with at every turn: here, a plump little boy, by Mabuse;
there, a singularly handsome fair-haired young man by Paris Bordone;
and yonder, a full-length portrait by Hans Holbein, in which it was
evident that His Majesty was beginning to “put on flesh.” In the
Audience Chamber was a “table” of the monarch painted by Bartolomeo
Penni, wherein the “peepy eyes” and the bloated cheeks of his latter
years were only too faithfully portrayed. Though there were portraits
of nearly all the King’s contemporaries, including one of Charles VIII
of France and another of Charles V, besides a round dozen of Francis
I, the likenesses of the five queens who preceded Katherine Parr
had all been carefully removed, or, as in the case, of Anne Boleyn
and Katherine Howard, destroyed. A cabinet full of relics of Queen
Jane stood, however, in the anteroom of the King’s bedchamber at the
Tower; and at Westminster, in a picture-book, there was a portrait of
this Queen with another of the King facing it on the opposite page.
Among the great “tables” at Whitehall were the “Virgin and Child,” by
Leonardo da Vinci,[40] given to the King by Francis I in exchange for
a picture by Holbein; “St. George and the Dragon,”[41] by Raphael;
“Christina of Denmark,”[42] by Holbein, full length; a portrait, “Like
unto Life,” of “Thomas, Duke of Norfolk,”[43] and “one table of the
King’s Highness trampling upon the papal tiara, whence issues a serpent
with seven heads snorting fire. In the King’s hand is the Bible, and a
sword whereon is written _Verbum Dei_.”[44]
If the art of painting was well represented in the King’s many palaces,
that of music was even more cherished. Page after page in the Royal
Inventory is devoted to “double” and “single” virginals, with cases
inlaid and encrusted with ivory and mother-of-pearl or adorned with
arabesques of gold, studded with gems; while of lutes and flutes,
rebecks and viols, there seems to have been a perfect arsenal. Then
there was a library of over a thousand precious volumes, a sort of
perambulating feast of reason, for in the Household Expenses we find
various sums of money disbursed from time to time for the removal
of boat-loads of books from one palace to another. The number of
gold, silver, bronze, crystal, and glass chandeliers, sconces, and
candlesticks distributed among the royal residences baffles belief.
Each of the two hundred and eighty-four guest-chambers at Hampton
Court boasted a bedstead hung with the richest silk and satin, with a
gorgeously embroidered and wadded counterpane to match, an Oriental
carpet, and a toilet set, ewer, basin, and candlesticks complete,
of massive silver; while one closet at Whitehall was stored with an
immense collection of the choicest German and Venetian glass. Such, in
fact, was the King’s mania for collecting things rich and rare that,
in spite of the hopeless and suffering condition of his health, he was
still “buying,” down to the ultimate week of his life, and some of his
last purchases seem never to have been paid for by his successors.
These contemporary accounts of the Household of Henry VIII strike the
student by their marked resemblance to similar descriptions, by such
writers as Sagrado and Knowles, of the quaint and numerous population
of the Seraglio in the palmy days of the Ottoman Khaliphats. The Tudor
King, like the Grand Turk, had four battalions of pages--pages of the
Outer and of the Inner Court, of the King’s Antechamber, and of the
King’s Presence Chamber; and yet a fifth contingent was attached to
the service of the Queen. These lads, some hundreds in number, had
their captains and even their school-masters; they were mostly of good
family, and were apparelled, according to their rank, in wondrous
State garments either of satin, green and white, the colours of the
house of Tudor, or else of royal scarlet and gold. There was a legion
of Grooms of the Wardrobe, Keepers of the King’s Horse, Sports and
Pastimes, of his Harriers and Beagles, Sergeants-at-Arms, Sergeants
of the Woodyard, Sergeants of the Bakehouse, Sergeants of the Pantry,
Sergeants of the Pastry, Sergeants of the Trumpeters, Yeomen of the
Wardrobe, Yeomen of the Armoury, Yeomen of the Buttery, Yeomen of
the Chamber, Yeomen of the Chariots, of the Cooks, of the Henchmen,
Stables, and Tents. The Royal Chapel was served by a full complement
of chaplains, sub-chaplains, organists, and choir-boys. There were
apothecaries, physicians, astronomers,[45] astrologers, secretaries,
ushers, cup-bearers, carvers, servers, singing-boys, virginal players,
Italian singers and English madrigalists, and a perfect orchestra of
players on the lute, the flute, the rebeck, the sackbut, the harp, the
psalter, and all manner of instruments.
Full fifty cooks and twice as many scullions worked in the spacious
kitchens, and in 1544 we hear of a French pastry-cook of good repute
who rejoiced in the very pleasing and appropriate name of M. Doux. A
regiment of gardeners and under-gardeners trimmed the pleasaunces and
kept the King’s orchards in order.
The dresses and costumes of this army of picturesque, though often
quite useless, folk, numbering some thousands or so, were sufficiently
costly to account in part for the straits of the Royal Exchequer. Their
wages and silks and satins cost the nation, in the last year of Henry
VIII’s reign, £56,700--against £17,280 in the last year of that of his
father; a prodigious increase--when we take into consideration the
relative value of money--and sufficient to explain the depletion of the
coin.
[Illustration: HENRY VIII IN 1548
FROM AN OLD ENGRAVING]
Scarlet, or rather deep red, was the predominant colour of the garments
of King Henry’s retainers, but dark blue and orange, with the white
and light apple green of the house of Tudor, were not lacking, and
added to the kaleidoscopic aspect of the courtyards and staircases,
galleries and audience chamber, in the stately residences of “bluff
King Hal.” One Venetian Ambassador, commenting on the order kept
at the English Court, declared that “everything is regulated as by
clock-work, and no one ever seems to be out of his place.” When the
King condescended to walk abroad, he was attended by a host of superbly
attired courtiers, by his grand equerries and chamberlains, the
Grand Master of his Horse, his almoners, ushers, and physicians; his
fool--Will Somers[46]; his pages, and even by a favourite musician or
so. In the last years of his life, owing to his increasing infirmity,
Henry was sometimes carried upon the shoulders of six sturdy noblemen,
in a kind of _sedia gestatoria_ like the Pope’s. At His Majesty’s
approach every knee was bent, and many who particularly desired to
conciliate his favour “grovelled” face downward as Orientals before
some Eastern despot. The officials and serving-men who prepared the
table for His Majesty’s meals made an obeisance each time they passed
the vacant chair wherein the monarch was presently to seat himself. The
Queen-Consort, and the Princesses, his daughters, knelt whenever they
addressed him. In brief, King Henry, having filched from Peter some of
Peter’s pontifical prerogatives, exacted the same sort of homage as
that paid to the Roman Pontiff, and turned himself from mortal into a
sort of demigod or idol. But foreigners and Catholics noted that though
people knelt as he rode past, His Majesty bestowed no blessing upon
them. This slavish etiquette continued throughout the reign of Edward
VI,[47] but was modified when Mary renounced the titular position of
Head of the Church. Elizabeth, however, demanded, and, what is more,
received, _quasi_-divine honours from her subjects.
Yet another point of resemblance between the Courts of England and the
Ottoman at this period: Whitehall, like the Seraglio, was gay and
brilliant on the surface, but in each case there was an undercurrent of
terror and suspicion. The Tudor Court swarmed with spies and informers,
and often a thoughtless jest, a careless remark, spitefully retailed
at headquarters, would send men or women to the Tower, or even to
the stake. Folks went in fear and trembling lest what they had said
overnight in their cups might be brought home to them with appalling
consequences in the morning. This state of abject and habitual fear
engendered habits of whispering and talking apart and an atmosphere of
mystery, in spite of which the gossip and rumours of the King’s own
chamber passed to the pages, grooms, and serving-men in the courtyards
below, and thence to the general public, as rapidly as news flies
nowadays by telephone and telegraph.
There can be no doubt that Jane Grey, the daughter of one so closely
connected with the throne as was the Marchioness of Dorset, must often
have mingled in the gaudy crowd that thronged her grand-uncle’s palace.
Henry was as “fond of children as he was of pastry,” although, for
obvious reasons, he did not display any overweening affection for his
own offspring. This engaging little niece, now about six years of age,
is likely to have found favour in the monarch’s sight, and Jane Grey,
for all we know, may even have throned it on her dread relative’s
august knee. Cranmer’s hand, too, must have rested in benediction
upon her head, and she may, perchance, have won the smile of Gardiner
and of Bonner. She must often have heard the sick King, who had lost
his own fine voice, accompany his favourite fool, Will Somers, on
the lute, in some song or hymn of his own composition. She must have
been familiar with the two Seymour brothers; with the dreamy face and
austere manner of the Earl of Hertford, and the bluff good-nature of
Sir Thomas. She may even have been tossed in the strong arms of John
Dudley, at this time Lord High-Admiral of England and Viscount de
Lisle, reputed a “magnificent gentleman,” but otherwise of secondary
importance. Wriothesley, Rich, and foredoomed Surrey and his father,
old Norfolk, must often have watched her run along, clinging to her
portly mother’s trailing brocades as she passed on her way to and from
the King’s cabinet, and may even have whispered one to the other that
the little damsel would surely be as good a match for young Prince
Edward as the Scottish Queen’s daughter, Mary Stuart. In the apartment
of her grand-aunt the Queen, where that busy little lady nestled like
a sultana among her innumerable soft pillows and cushions,[48] encased
in cloth of gold and silver, the child Jane must have heard much
evangelical counsel from the erstwhile widow Latimer, who found some
consolation in the gorgeousness of her thraldom for the loss of her
handsome lover, Sir Thomas Seymour.
The Queen’s lodgings were parted from the King’s by a short corridor,
and nearly all her windows overlooked the Thames. Here Katherine Parr
played the housewife, and in the midst of her tapestries and brocades
and her “stretches” of silver and gold cloth, made poultices for
Henry’s ulcered legs, wrote her pious treaties on probity and prayers,
and probably counted the hours till the Lord in His mercy should
deliver her royal spouse from his sore sufferings. In these rooms,
perhaps, Jane Grey sat for her miniature to Lavinia Tyrling; Bartolomeo
Penni may here have limned her diminutive but very pretty features; and
we fancy we can see Mr. Crane or Mr. John Heywood, His Majesty’s chief
virginal players, teaching her the notes upon the King’s “favourite
virginal,” the one “enlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl.” In the last
months of Henry’s life, when Lady Jane is known to have been much with
Katherine Parr, the little girl may have listened with delight to the
wonderful warbling of the King’s Italian singers, Alberto of Venice,
Marc Antonio Galiadello of Brescia, or Giorgio da Cremona, as they
vainly endeavoured to soothe the sufferings of the dying monarch by
their elaborate _cadenze_.
Queen Katherine soon made her influence felt at Court. She could not
control the violent passions of her wayward lord, but she did in a
measure modify them, and steered her own course amid the shoals of
regal existence with consummate skill. No breath of scandal ever
sullied her fair name, though Thomas Seymour, back from his convenient
mission to Hungary, was appointed her Chamberlain, and must have been a
good deal in her company. Even her worst enemies never ventured on that
track. When at a later date they planned a blow, which they hoped would
prove fatal to the Queen, they selected her religious leanings, not her
love affairs, as their fell weapon. Katherine Parr, to her credit, lost
no time in reconciling the King with his hitherto neglected daughters.
Princess Mary was near her own age, and had been intimate with her when
she was Lady Latimer. The Emperor’s Ambassadors praise “the new Queen
for her kindness to the daughter of Katherine of Aragon,[49] who now
takes her proper place at Court.” Elizabeth, too, was summoned from her
suburban retreat, but had not been many weeks under her father’s roof
ere he became so exasperated by her pert obstinacy that he summarily
ordered her back to Enfield. In a few weeks, however, Katherine patched
up the quarrel, and on 24th July 1544 Elizabeth wrote Her Majesty, in
Italian, a most graceful letter of thanks for her good offices.[50]
Edward was too delicate to be much in London, but none the less his
stepmother looked after his health with so much “gentleness” that she
soon won his sincere affection and lasting goodwill. He wrote her
letters in Latin, French, and Italian, addressed to his _charisima
Mater_, and full of praise for her beautiful penmanship, which, on
comparison, proves greatly inferior both to his own and to that of
either Elizabeth or Jane Grey. Katherine induced her stepdaughter Mary
to assist in the translation of Erasmus’s _Paraphrase of the Four
Gospels_. The Princess selected that of St. John, and when the work
was finished, an amusing correspondence ensued as to the propriety of
the future Queen of England placing her name, as translator, on the
frontispiece. “I see not why you should reject the praise deservedly
yours,” argued the Queen; and the Princess at last allowed the editor
of the work, the learned Dr. Udall, to allude to the fact that “the
most noble, the most virtuous and the most studious Lady Mary” had a
hand in its success.[51]
To occupy her own leisure, Queen Katherine devoted herself to the
composition of a quaint book entitled _The Lamentations of a Penitent
Sinner_, a pious work which gives us, at least in one passage, a lucid
idea of the methods employed by Her Majesty to keep her hold over her
extraordinary husband, among which gross flattery was by no means the
least. A copy of this work was once in the possession of John Thelwall,
and was sold at the death of his second wife. It contained a curious
autograph, indicating that it had been given by the Queen to her “dear
cosyn, Jane Grey,” who no doubt read it with veneration and delight.
In this tiny volume Henry had the satisfaction of being likened unto
Moses leading the Children of Israel out of bondage. “I mean by Moses,
King Henry VIII, my most sovereign favourable lord and husband, one (if
Moses had figured any more than Christ) through the excellent grace
of God, meet to be another expressed verity of Moses’ conquest over
Pharaoh (and I mean by this Pharaoh the Bishop of Rome), the greatest
persecutor of all true Christians than ever was Pharaoh of the Children
of Israel.”
As may well be imagined, Queen Katherine Parr did not fail to use her
influence to obtain prominent positions about the Court for her own
kith and kin. Her uncle and Chamberlain, Sir Thomas Parr, was created
Lord Parr of Horton; her brother was raised from the rank of Baron
Parr of Kendal to be Earl of Essex, in lieu of the lately decapitated
Thomas Cromwell; and her brother-in-law, William Herbert, was knighted.
These gentlemen received their new dignities in the Chapel Royal, but
were not entertained in one of the apartments spread with Persian
carpets. Their dinner was served in the choir-boys’ mess-room, in
which a fresh litter of rushes was strewn for the occasion--a curious
fact, which leads one to conclude that the acting master of ceremonies
expected the party to indulge in libations which might result in some
injury to Oriental rugs but were not likely to do much damage to
fresh rushes costing 3s. 6d. the litter. Parr had to pay 40s. for his
new paraphernalia, and the choir-boys got 10s. for singing after the
dinner.[52]
On 14th July 1544 King Henry sailed from Dover for France to
superintend in person the approaching siege of Boulogne. He left our
shores in a vessel with sails made of cloth of gold, the glitter of
which does not appear to have added to the ship’s speed, for the King
did not get to Calais for nearly twenty-four hours, although the
weather was fine, and the sea calm--probably too calm. The last time he
had crossed the Channel, on his way to the Field of the Cloth of Gold,
Henry had acted the part of pilot, garbed in nether garments of cloth
of gold, and had blown the pilot’s whistle as loud as any trumpeter.
This time he was too anxious and enfeebled to play at all. His Majesty
was attended by his brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, also a very
sick man; by Sir William Herbert, who acted as his spear-bearer, by the
Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Surrey, the Spanish Duke of Alberqurque,
John Dudley, the Lord High-Admiral, afterwards Duke of Northumberland,
and half the English nobility. Before his departure he appointed the
Queen Regent of England and Ireland, with power to sign all official
and State documents, this being almost the first occasion on which a
Queen-Consort of England held so responsible a position. The Earl of
Hertford was to be Her Majesty’s constant attendant, but should he
chance to be temporarily absent, Cranmer was to remain with her, and
with these two, Sir William Petre and Lord Parr of Horton, her Grace’s
uncle, Wriothesley, and Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, were to sit in
council.
During this regency Katherine kept aloof from politics and occupied
herself principally with assisting the University of Cambridge and with
the royal children, who were left in her charge. Princess Mary, who
was an almost constant guest during the King’s absence, and Princess
Elizabeth, were both invited to join the circle at Oatlands, where
Prince Edward was residing, and whither, owing to an outbreak of the
plague, the Queen herself soon retired. From the various suburban
palaces in which she was residing, Katherine addressed letters almost
daily to the King, giving him accounts of the health and the doings
of his children; and the monarch vouchsafed in return to write most
approvingly of all she did. Towards the middle of August the Lady
Dorset and her daughter, the Lady Jane Grey, came to Oatlands for a
few days’ visit. This was perhaps the first and probably the only
time spent by Lady Jane and Prince Edward under the same roof. The
royal kinsfolk may have lived a very quiet life, spending their days
in the gardens and park, and their evenings either listening to the
singing of Princess Mary, who is reputed to have had a magnificent
contralto voice, or to Princess Elizabeth’s playing upon the virginals,
an art in which she already excelled. The Queen may perchance have
favoured the company with a chapter or so from some one or other of her
remarkably dull theological compositions. There is no evidence that
she was a musician, and she does not seem to have been infected with
the prevailing Court vice--gambling--in which even the pious Princess
Mary indulged, frequently losing much more than she could pay--as
demonstrated by the Household Books of Henry VIII.
Boulogne capitulated to Suffolk on 16th September, after a lengthy
siege, and on the 18th, the King, accompanied by the Duke of
Alberqurque, representing his ally the Emperor, received the keys of
the city from his brother-in-law’s hands, and made what he was pleased
to consider his triumphal entry into the town. But he rode through a
city untenanted and in ruins; even the magnificent Cathedral had not
been spared, and the townsfolk, who had fled for security, as they
hoped, to Hardelot and Etaples, were massacred, man, woman, and child,
by the allied Spanish, German, and English troops. English historians
have been reticent in dealing with the siege of Boulogne,[53] and
the majority have passed very lightly over the disagreement which
soon broke out between our King and his ally the Emperor.[54] Charles
now urged Henry to join him and march on Paris. Henry, who knew his
troops to be enfeebled by hardship and suffering, and moreover felt
himself far too ill to supervise fresh military operations, would go
no farther, more especially because he feared to infuriate the French
King, who might at any moment ally himself with his former enemy
the Emperor Charles, and thus form a Catholic coalition absolutely
inimical to the policy of the English King. Henry’s hesitation
undoubtedly saved the city of Paris. Seeing the Emperor’s troops
approach the capital, Francis roused himself for a moment from the
lethargy in which he had been plunged, and once more became the hero
of Marignano. The King’s attitude and the bravery of the Dauphin,
who was covering the capital with 8000 men, stimulated the drooping
spirits of the Parisians, and, with their usual heroism, they prepared
to offer a stout resistance to their foes. They even made merry at
the expense of their two arch-enemies, ridiculing the gouty Emperor
and caricaturing the corpulent English King--a proof, if one were
lacking, that the fatal diseases destined eventually to carry Henry
off had already made sufficient progress to excite general attention.
Queen Eleanor, the neglected wife of Francis I, foreseeing the horrors
to which the capital and its inhabitants were exposed, determined,
without consulting her husband, to plead personally with the Emperor.
Accompanied by a Spanish monk named Guzman, she proceeded to the
Imperial tent, and casting herself upon her knees before Charles, then
writhing in agonies of gout, obtained terms from him, thus averting a
siege which must have cost rivers of blood. The peace then concluded
was none too satisfactory, so far as England was concerned, since
it stipulated that Boulogne was to be restored in the space of six
years, during which time the place lost us in money and men far more
than it was worth. Never, indeed, was there a more futile expedition
than this, nor a greater waste of money. The much-talked-of sails of
cloth of gold wafted the King home on 1st October 1544. In London he
was received with little enthusiasm, or none at all. The nation was
disappointed by the terms of the peace, the army was disorganised,
Norfolk already out of favour, and Surrey, accused of insubordination,
was openly disgraced. Boulogne was left in the hands of Jane Grey’s
future father-in-law, Lord High-Admiral John Dudley.
The health of Lady Jane’s maternal grandfather, Charles Brandon, Duke
of Suffolk, failed him completely soon after his return to England.
He seems to have suffered from a complication of disorders not unlike
those which were afflicting his brother-in-law, the King. After the
siege of Boulogne, he appears to have been of very little use, and
eighteen months later he retired with his Duchess to Guildford Castle
“in much suffering and pain.” There is a portrait extant of Charles
Brandon, taken at this time, which represents him seated in a large
armchair, his head bound up in a sort of nightcap, and his swollen and
gouty feet, one of which rests on a stool, enveloped in bandages. The
bloated face bears a weird resemblance to Henry VIII. Brandon died at
Guildford in 1546 after a long illness, during which he was nursed by
his Duchess and his two daughters, the Ladies Frances and Eleanor, the
former of whom brought her eldest daughters, Jane and Katherine, with
her. By his will Charles Brandon left, after deducting a rather meagre
dower for his wife, the bulk of his vast fortune to his two sons,
with remainder to his daughters in unequal shares, the Lady Frances,
in the case of the death of her two brothers, inheriting considerably
more than two-thirds of her father’s lands and money. He desired to be
buried in Lincolnshire, but Henry, overlooking this request, caused
his body to be conveyed to Windsor, where it was interred with great
pomp in St. George’s Chapel, in the presence of his family and of a
multitude of courtiers.