Someone had made a very grievous mistake, and they were going to suffer for it. Part of the fault lay with Holbein, who had so cunningly misrepresented Anne in his portrait of her. Yet Holbein Henry could forgive: he was an artist, with an artist's conception of things, something the King understood very well. But Cromwell had suggested this marriage and manoeuvred Henry into it; Cromwell had extolled the lady's charms and her beauty. Cromwell, had he but known it, was doomed from the very moment Henry set eyes on Anne of Cleves.
When the visit was over, the King left his unsuspecting bride and found Sir Anthony Browne waiting in the corridor. Sir Anthony could see he was in a terrible temper, and was quickly enlightened when Henry told him he had been 'so struck with consternation when he was shown the Queen' that he had never been 'so much dismayed in his life as to see a lady so far unlike what had been represented'. Scowling ferociously, he said, 'I see nothing in this woman as men report of her, and I marvel that wise men would make such report as they have done!' And with that he stumped off.
As soon as Henry got back to court, he sought out the Lord Admiral, who had given him such glowing reports of Anne. 'How like you this woman?' demanded Henry aggressively. 'Do you think her personable, fair and beautiful, as report hath been made unto me? I pray you tell me true.' 'I take her not for fair,' replied the Admiral cautiously, 'but to be of a brown complexion.' 'Alas!' wailed the King, 'Whom shall men trust? I promise you I see no such thing as hath been shown me of her, by pictures and report. I am ashamed that men have praised her as they have done - and I love her not!' Years before, he had written in his book against Martin Luther of 'the fate of princes to be in marriage of far worse sort than the condition of poor men. Princes take as is brought them by others, and poor men be commonly at their own choice.' He was now for the first time experiencing the painful reality of this.
From eager anticipation, Henry had quickly descended to the depths of gloom. 'I like her not! I like her not!' he kept saying, and it was thought by his courtiers, not incorrectly, that he would do his best to extricate himself from the betrothal contract. Yet on 2 January, he departed with the court for Greenwich, as arranged, to prepare for the wedding that was supposed to take place in a few days' time. With him he took a cherished New Year's gift, the only thing that cheered him in his disappointment - a portrait by Holbein of the two-year-old Prince Edward, in a red satin gown and bonnet, and bearing a strong resemblance to his father. There was no likelihood after that of Holbein falling from the King's good graces.
Anne of Cleves was then at Dartford, where she would remain until summoned to London for her official reception. Cromwell was still receiving messages congratulating him on his sound judgement in choosing Anne as the future Queen, but the senders of these messages had not yet seen the King. However, it was not long before word of Henry's discontent spread, and it soon became apparent that he was 'very melancholy', as well as being 'nothing pleasantly disposed' towards Cromwell. As soon as Henry arrived at Greenwich, he sent for Cromwell and accused him, before the Council, of having deceived him over Anne of Cleves. For a moment or two, an alarmed Cromwell floundered, trying to think of a way to excuse himself, then he vainly tried to shift the blame on to the shoulders of the Admiral, saying that,
When that nobleman found the Princess so different from the pictures and reports which had been made of her, he ought to have detained her at Calais till he had given the King notice that she was not so handsome as had been represented.
Southampton, who was present, reacted angrily to this, and protested that he 'was not invested with any such authority; his commission was to bring her to England, and he had obeyed his orders.' Cromwell then admitted that he had spoken of the lady's beauty 'in terms of commendation which had misled his Highness and his Council', but protested that this was not his fault, because he had received false reports. As he said this, he looked meaningfully at the Admiral, who blustered and said that 'as the Princess was generally reported for a beauty, he had only repeated the opinions of others, for which no one ought reasonably to blame him, especially as he had supposed she would be his queen'. The King agreed that the Admiral could not have acted in any other way, but he was furious with Cromwell. Cromwell had got him into this mess, he now expected Cromwell to get him out of it, and he put this to his minister in no uncertain terms.
Cromwell, still strongly convinced that the alliance with Cleves was necessary to England, stood his ground. If Henry alienated the Germans, he pointed out, he would stand alone without allies, with France and the Empire possibly poised for a joint offensive against him. Besides, Anne herself had done no wrong, and it would be most unchivalrous of the King to reject her at this late stage and send her home disgraced; no man would consider her after that. More to the point, her brother, impoverished though he was, might well retaliate by declaring war on Henry. There was no way out, in fact: the King must marry Anne of Cleves and make the best of it.
Henry stalked out of the council chamber in a rage, but even he knew that Cromwell was right, and that he must go through with the marriage. Yet he was consumed with anger against the man for having involved him with Cleves in the first place; but for Cromwell's insistence that he ally himself with these German heretics he would not now be faced with the prospect of taking a wife so repugnant to him. For all his reluctance Henry forced himself to continue with the wedding preparations. His messengers had already 'made public outcry in London that all who loved their lord the King should proceed to Greenwich to meet and make their devoir to my Lady Anne of Cleves, who would shortly be their queen,' and even now crowds were gathering around the palace and along the banks of the Thames. Many noblemen had brought their wives to court to be received by the future Queen. It was too late to back out now.
Yet Henry was not giving in gracefully. He grumbled to Cromwell that Anne was 'nothing so well as she was spoken of', declaring vehemently that 'if I had known so much before, she had no coming hither. But what remedy now?' Cromwell replied firmly that there was no remedy, and said he was sorry that his Grace was 'no better content'. Even now, Henry had not given up hope of being freed from his obligation to honour the marriage contract. When, on 3 January 1540, the Lord Chamberlain asked which day his Majesty would be pleased to name for the coronation of his queen, Henry replied tartly, 'We will talk of that when I have made her my queen!' All the same, on that same day he left Greenwich with a great train to receive his bride and her retinue at Shooter's Hill, near Blackheath, and welcome them to London.
'Blackheath hath borne some gorgeous and pleasant spectacles,' wrote the Elizabethan antiquary William Lambard many years later, 'but none so magnificent as that of King Henry VIII, when he brought in the Lady Anne of Cleves.' It was one of the last great spectacles of Henry's reign, and if the King was feeling less than enamoured of his bride he concealed it well in public. He went by barge to Greenwich on that Saturday, accompanied by all his nobles and the Lord Mayor and aldermen of London; every barge was decorated with streamers and banners. At the same time, the Lady Anne was travelling to Blackheath from Dartford. At the foot of Shooter's Hill a rich pavilion of cloth of gold had been set up; surrounding it were other, smaller pavilions. Inside them were braziers containing scented fires at which Anne and her ladies could warm themselves. Anne was accompanied by what remained of her retinue from Cleves, which now consisted of a hundred persons on horseback, as well as the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and other bishops, lords and knights. At twelve o'clock, she led her train down Shooter's Hill, and was received in front of the pavilions by her Lord Chamberlain, the Earl of Rutland, and Sir Thomas Denny, her Chancellor, and all her other councillors and the newly appointed officers of her household. Dr Kaye, her almoner, then made a short address in Latin, and formally presented to Anne all those sworn to serve her: as she could speak no English, Duke William's secretary replied to the address on her behalf. The great ladies of her household then came forward and curtsied to her: Lady Marg
aret Douglas and the Marchioness of Dorset, the King's nieces, his daughter-in-law the Duchess of Richmond, the Countess of Hertford, the Countess of Rutland, and Lady Audley; sixty-five ladies of lesser rank followed them. Anne then alighted from her chariot and 'with most goodly demeanour and loving countenance' thanked everyone most heartily, and kissed the chief ladies of her household; her councillors and officers then knelt in turn to kiss her hand, after which she retired with her ladies into the main pavilion to get warm.
Word was then sent to the King, waiting at Greenwich, that Anne had arrived, and he at once set off with a great train across Greenwich Park. He had dressed himself magnificently for the occasion, in a coat embroidered with cloth of gold, diamonds, rubies and Orient pearls, with a jewelled sword and girdle and a velvet bonnet adorned with precious stones, 'so rich of jewels that few men could value them'. About his neck hung a collar of such gems and pearls 'that few men ever saw the like'. He was attended by ten footmen attired in rich liveries of goldsmiths' work. Not once did his face betray his inner feelings: his behaviour in the public eye was as usual impeccable, conveying the impression that he was an eager and satisfied bridegroom. Indeed, he would never show anything other than courtesy towards Anne of Cleves in public, and he played his part so well that it was not until weeks after their wedding that she realised she did not please him.
Yet even as Henry rode out to welcome Anne, his lawyers were examining the marriage contract to see if there were any flaws in it, and also investigating the circumstances of Anne's supposed betrothal to the son of the Duke of Lorraine. As she waited in her tent for the King to appear, Anne was happily innocent of this. She had changed into a taffeta gown embroidered with raised cloth of gold; it was in the Dutch fashion, with a round skirt, and lacked the courtly train worn by ladies of rank in England. Nevertheless, it drew flattering comments from onlookers. A caul held her hair in place, over which was 'a round bonnet or cap set full of Orient pearls', surmounted by 'a coronet of black velvet'. Around her neck she wore a parure of rich stones that glittered in the winter sunlight. In this attire, she sallied forth when word came that the King was half a mile away. At the door of the pavilion, she mounted her richly caparisoned horse, and with her footmen in liveries embroidered with the Black Lion of Cleves rode to meet her future husband. Henry, seeing her approach, reined his horse to a standstill and waited until she drew level with him. He then doffed his bonnet, 'and with most lovely countenance and princely behaviour saluted, welcomed and embraced her, to the great rejoicing of the beholders'. Whereat the Lady Anne, 'not forgetting her duty, with most amiable respect and womanly behaviour received his Grace with many sweet words and great thanks and praise'. Certainly, she was making strenuous efforts to familiarise herself with the English language.
For a while, the royal couple chatted and exchanged pleasantries; then, with Anne on the King's right hand, they rode back towards the pavilions and the vast crowds waiting to see them.
Oh! What a sight was this, to see so godly a prince and so noble a king to ride with so fair a lady of so goodly a stature and so womanly a countenance! I think that no creature could see them but his heart rejoiced!
So gushed the chronicler Hall for whom Henry VIII could do no wrong. With the trumpets going before them, King and Princess proceeded through the assembled ranks of knights and esquires, followed by the lords of the Privy Council, the gentlemen of the privy chamber, the men of Cleves in velvet coats, the Lord Mayor, the barons, bishops, earls and dukes, Archbishop Cranmer, Duke Philip of Bavaria (still waiting for an answer to his proposal to the Lady Mary), the foreign ambassadors, Lord Privy Seal Cromwell, and the Lord Chancellor. With the King rode Sir Anthony Browne, while Sir John Dudley, newly created Master of her Horse, accompanied the future queen, leading a spare palfrey for her.
For the processional journey back to Greenwich Palace, Anne rode in a carved and gilded chariot bearing the ducal arms of Cleves. With her sat 'two ancient ladies of her country', while the next chariot held six young German ladies dressed in ornate gowns, who were reckoned by the English to be very good looking. A chariot bearing Anne's chamberers followed, and then one carrying her laundresses. Behind that was drawn an empty litter of cloth of gold and crimson velvet, a gift from the King to his bride. Anne's serving men, all clad in black and riding great horses, brought up the rear of the procession. Thus they rode through the park, while the citizens of London were crowding the Thames in their boats, straining to catch a glimpse of the German princess who would soon be their queen. The guilds of London were also there in their barges, many of which had been painted with the royal arms of England and the ducal arms of Cleves, and from every barge issued the melodious sounds of minstrels and the voices of men and children singing in honour of the occasion. Henry and Anne paused on the wharf to see and hear the pageant and were lavish in their praise of it.
Soon afterwards, Anne was alighting from her chariot in the inner courtyard of Greenwich Palace. As the royal pair arrived, a great peal of guns let off a salute from one of the towers. Henry embraced and kissed his bride, and bade her welcome to her own house; then taking her by the arm, he led her through the great hall, where the King's guards were standing to attention before the hearth, and on to her privy chamber, where he left her to rest for a while.
That evening there was a sumptuous banquet in Anne's honour, after which she changed into a taffeta gown with long flowing sleeves gathered above the elbow into armlets; it was trimmed with rich sables - probably those presented to her on the King's behalf at Rochester - and the tight undersleeves were made of very costly material. On her head, she wore a lawn cap in the Dutch style, adorned with pearls and precious stones, which was judged to be of great value by those who saw it. Cleves might have been a poor duchy, but it had done its princess proud in sending her to England with such a splendid trousseau.
Later, when Anne had retired to bed, the King sought out Cromwell. 'How say you? Is it not as I told you?' he demanded. 'She is nothing fair. Her person is well and seemly, but nothing else.' Cromwell, trying to make the best of the situation, replied, 'By my faith, you say right, but me thinketh she hath a queenly manner withal.' Henry had to admit that was so, but he was not at all happy and made no secret of the fact. On the following day, Sunday, 4 January, he was complaining that he was 'not well handled', and declared that,
If it were not that she had come so far into my realm, and the great preparations and state that my people have made for her, and for fear of making a ruffle in the world and of driving her brother into the arms of the Emperor and the French King, I would not now marry her. But now it is too far gone, wherefore I am sorry.
Cromwell was sorry too. He was filled with anxiety, for Henry was in what he recognised to be a dangerous mood. It now wanted but two days until the date set for the wedding ceremony. The King's lawyers had found no evidence at all of a precontract between Anne of Cleves and the son of the Duke of Lorraine, nor could they find any fault with the marriage contract. Every avenue of escape was closed to the King: he would have to go through with the wedding. Cromwell was staking all his hopes on Henry growing to like Anne better once he had established a sexual relationship with her; should she become pregnant, then the King might well view her with very different eyes.
Henry, however, had no intention of trying to make this marriage a success. He was desperate to be free of his obligations, and on the day before the knot was to be tied, he besought a worried Cromwell to help him. 'Is there no remedy, but that I needs must put my neck into the yoke?' he cried. Once again, Cromwell patiently explained why it was too late to back out, and after a while Henry calmed down and agreed to go ahead with the wedding on the following day. In the evening, he duly informed the Privy Council that that was his intention, while his bride-to-be was making her own preparations in blissful ignorance of the controversy raging around her.
It is difficult now to pinpoint exactly what it was about Anne of Cleves that aroused so much distaste in th
e King. Henry was realist enough to accept that a monarch had to marry for the good of his realm, and that this might mean a union with someone with whom he might be ill matched, yet in this case he professed to feel such revulsion that he was on the brink of putting his own needs before the benefit of his kingdom. There can be no doubt that Holbein exaggerated Anne's charms, and therefore it may be concluded that looks were not her strong point. Because Anne was queen for such a short time, there was little demand for portraits of her. Apart from Holbein's work, only one other portrait type survives, being a likeness by a Flemish artist, Barthel Bruyn the Elder, which today hangs in St John's College, Oxford. This picture may well hold the clue to Anne's looks, for it depicts a more angular face than that in the Holbein portraits; it also, being a side-facing portrait, shows that Anne had a long pointed nose and heavy-lidded eyes. Figure- wise, her tall stature may well have made her seem ungainly to a man who had been married to three petite women. Furthermore, she suffered from excessive body odour, according to the King. Taken together, all these things could well account for his distaste, and he could only deplore her lack of education, wit and musical ability, three things he greatly esteemed in women. Anne's other personal qualities, and her earnest desire to please, meant little when compared with all her drawbacks. Others had been impressed by her, but then they did not have to marry her and sleep with her. Henry did, and he was so revolted at the prospect that he had even forgotten the urgent need to beget more sons.
The wedding day, Tuesday, 6 January 1540, was the Feast of the Epiphany and the last day of the Yuletide celebrations at court. The King was up early, and dressed in his wedding clothes: a gown of cloth of gold, embroidered with great flowers of silver and banded with black fur, a coat of crimson satin slashed and embroidered and fastened with huge diamonds, and a rich collar of gold about his neck. At eight o'clock, accompanied by his nobles, he paused in the gallery leading to the chapel where the marriage ceremony would take place, and declared, 'My lords, if it were not to satisfy the world and my realm, I would not do what I must do this day for any earthly thing.' And he looked pointedly at Cromwell. However, there was no time for further recriminations, as the bride was coming, escorted by the lords sent to fetch her.