(© Unknown Artist – The National Portrait Gallery)
The Tudor Court. One of the most written about, blogged, filmed and discussed periods of history in all media. The fact that this era and its characters all walked the earth over five hundred years ago is mind boggling! Television shows are regularly commissioned (the latest being Firebrand, based upon the Queen’s Gambit), and if you go to the fiction section of any bookstore, you will find a vast quantity of the historical novels are given over to the Tudor period. There are many esteemed authors who are well known in Tudor faction / fiction, some coming from a historian viewpoint (such as Tracy Borman, Alison Weir), and others tackle the genre as fiction writers (such as Philippa Gregory and Elizabeth Fremantle, to name just a few).
Everyone seems to have a key moment that led them into their passion for the Tudors, and quite often it is either through a book or a film. For myself, it was seeing the famous ‘B’ portrait of Queen Anne Boleyn in the National Portrait Gallery when I was very little. From there I began to read about the Tudors through works by Antonia Fraser and David Starkey, but what really and truly absorbed me totally into the dazzling world of the Tudors was Jean Plaidy. Specifically, it was her book ‘The Lady in the Tower’.
© The Lady In The Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn by Alison Weir
The image of Anne Boleyn on the cover, taken from the famous painting by Edouard Cibot, evoked so much in its sadness. I was immediately drawn into the world that Plaidy created, and how she set the scene and told the story of Anne’s life. From there I devoured all that I could. I am not sure how well known Plaidy is today, but her effect on me was profound, and gave me a life long love affair with the Tudors.
Later on, I have seen that same love affair sparked in people by Philippa Gregory’s work, specifically The Other Boleyn Girl. It is a wildly successful novel, that is spawned a film, TV series and a book sequel. Some of her other works have also been made into TV productions as well, clearly showing that she absolutely knows how to create a rich and developed world that people want to dive in to, with a cast of characters that are intriguing, romantic, and dangerous, all in succession. She is truly a blockbuster author when it comes to the Tudors, and the fact that people can clearly cite her as a reason for becoming interested in this era is truly remarkable; people have gone on to become historians, Tudor writers, bloggers, all because of that initial spark her novels created.
That is not to say that her work is not without controversy; specifically, The Other Boleyn Girl, again, a huge book beloved by many, but also extremely polarising. This is mainly due to her depiction of Anne Boleyn herself, which we will discussing later.
Alison Weir is one of the foremost historians of the day, and the top selling female historian in the UK. She is published around twenty history books, and her historical novels are ever growing. The most recent massive achievement being ‘Six Queen, Six Years: The Six Wives of Henry VIII’, where she has released six novels, year by year, with each one being devoted to one of the six wives. This whole series is to be concluded this Spring with the release of Henry VIII’s viewpoint, which is sure to be just as thrilling as the original six novels.
Upon reflecting on the works of both authors, it is so very important to note that one is writing her work purely as a novelist, and the other is writing with her background being an eminent historian. It does not make for one being ‘better’ or ‘truer’ than the other, but it is important to understand that aspect when approaching both of their collection of works. Gregory is perhaps more inclined toward drama, and what makes a good storyline, rather than leaning more towards a ‘faction’ way of writing that Weir does.
For this blog post, I would like to focus on the portrayal of Anne Boleyn, and each authors characterisation of her. Everyone has their own Anne. From the Anne in ‘Anne of the Thousand Days’ to Six the Musical, to Natalie Dormer portraying her in the Tudors… each and every version is pretty much wildly different from the other. She truly has taken on multiple lives through her alternate creative forms.
Geneviève Bujold and Richard Burton in Anne of a Thousand Days scene still, 1969.
One of the most infamous portrayals is by Gregory in The Other Boleyn Girl. As mentioned, it is extremely polarising with people either believing this truly is the Anne of history, or viewing it as rampant character assassination. In the novel, Anne is often written as being cruel, manipulative, and hateful to her sister Mary. For example, Anne was granted the wardship of Henry Carey, Mary Boleyn’s son. This would have been a great help to Mary who was a widow, with little money to live on. It would ensure that little Henry had a great start in life, and he did indeed grow to have a glittering career in his cousin / potential half-sisters court, Queen Elizabeth I. In The Other Boleyn Girl, it is shown in a very different light;
‘The thing is,’ Anne said lightly, turning her collar up against the cold wind, ‘I thought I would adopt Henry.’
‘You thought what?’
‘I thought I would adopt little Henry as my own son.’
I was so astounded, I could only look at her. ‘You don’t even like him very much,’ I said, the first foolish thought of a loving mother. ‘You never even play with him. George has spent much more time with him than you.’
Anne glanced away, as if seeking patience from the river and the jumbled rooftop of the City beyond. ‘No. Of course. That’s not why I would adopt him. I don’t want him because I like him.’
Slowly I started to think. ‘So that you have a son, Henry’s son. You have a son who is Tudor by birth. If he marries you, then in the same ceremony he gets a son…Of course this way, you take my son away from me. So I am less desirable to Henry. In one move you make yourself the mother of the king’s son, and you take away my great claim to his attention.’
So, this is clearly a different take upon the matter of adopting her nephew; it is used as a calculated step on her way to the throne, to ensure the only link to the Boleyn’s is through Anne herself, and not with the child her sister may have begotten by Henry. This is an obvious dramatic device and is being used to create the character of Anne that Gregory wants you to know. What should be noted is that there is not any evidence as to how either sister felt about the adoption of Mary’s son, but it was a common practice in Tudor times, as it ensured children were provided for. So, the point that Gregory is making with Anne’s character is that of utter vindictiveness.
Anne Boleyn is less polarising in A King’s Obsession by Weir. Whereas she is the outspoken and dark-haired villain to Mary Boleyn’s pale haired heroine in Gregory’s work, she is perhaps more faceted in Weir’s novel. You get to experience both moments of sorrow and great joy with her, along with times you want to yell at the page to tell her to stop. Once again that is not to say one is more accurate than the other, but it is just a different way to approach the character.
A huge part of both novels is the ‘miscarriage of her saviour’, when Anne’s final pregnancy ends with her having to deliver a stillborn boy in early 1536. In both novels, it takes place after the traumatic event of Anne happening upon Henry, alone with Jane Seymour, sat upon his lap. In Weir’s retelling, Anne is desperately unhappy at this point, and everything she had was leading up to the birth of this hoped – for a Prince.
Henry loomed over her. In his face she could read bitter disappointment and grief.
‘A boy!’ he wept. ‘A stillborn foetus of fifteen weeks’ growth, they tell me. This will be the greatest discomfort to all my realm.’ He was in agony.
‘I was in peril of my life,’ Anne murmured, remembering the pain and the blood. I have miscarried of my saviour, she thought. Never had she felt such extreme misery.
‘And I have lost my boy!’ Henry wailed.
‘It was because of your unkindness!’ she burst out. ‘You have no one to blame but yourself, for it was caused by my distress of mind over that wench Seymour.'
Henry stood up. ‘I will have no more boys by you…. I see clearly that God does not mean to me give me male children.’
In Gregory’s telling, this probably is the most alternative view of the miscarriage. In her novel, Gregory often notes that George and Anne are extremely close, and it is commented upon by Jane Boleyn, her sister-in-law, how unnaturally close that bond is. This ultimately culminates in George and Anne sleeping together ‘…journeying to the gates of hell’, in order for Anne to beget a son, by one means or another. This treasured pregnancy not only ends in a miscarriage, but what Anne birthed was …
‘…a baby horribly malformed, with a spine flayed open and a huge head, twice as large as the spindly little body.’
There is absolutely no truth to this whatsoever; Anne did miscarry, and it was far enough along to know that it was a boy. If it was a hideously deformed creature, that would have been grounds enough for the King to separate from Anne, but there is nothing to support this. Of course, you can argue there is ‘evidence’ for George and Anne sleeping together, which would be their official charges against them, which ultimately led to their deaths. But what must be remembered was that when inventing how to be rid of the Queen, Thomas Cromwell had to ensure there was a charge so hideous that it could not be neglected or ignored, and would ultimately lead to death for all involved. Incest was the chosen crime that was so beyond evil and wicked, no one could recover from the charges. Not even a Queen of England. So, when Gregory was picking a historical journey for her Anne to go on, why not make it fact, and why not explore the possibility that incest with her brother is how desperate Anne had become to maintain the throne, and Henry’s love.
The oft-quoted fact about Anne is that she had six fingers; there is absolutely no evidence to support this, other than George Wyatt (grandson of Thomas Wyatt, one of Anne’s contemporaries) saying ‘there was found indeed, upon the side of her nail upon one of her fingers, some show of nail’. (1) This would lead me to believe that perhaps there may have been something a little unusual on one of her fingers, but far from the whole extra finger of legend. Nicholas Sander, who was a staunch Catholic in Elizabeth I’s time, wrote all sorts of ugly things about Anne, and he seemingly adapted this idea of an odd nail to a full-blown extra digit. Both Gregory and Weir include the fact of Anne having an extra something attached to her hand, and Weir shows that it is part of Anne’s interest in fashion to cover this up;
‘The dark colour became her too. The only thing that was wrong was the cut of the sleeves, which were tight to the wrist and did not cover the deformity of which she was always so painfully aware. She was forever curling it into her palm, the little finger on her right hand, so no one should see the extra nail. If only she could have a gown with hanging sleeves to cover it!’
With how King Henry VIII had an absolute abhorrence for deformity, witchcraft, or any general malaise, it would be truly surprising that he would have kept on with Anne, if it was such a feature as it has made out to be in historical novels. While you can argue it is dramatic licence, it feels to me perpetuating of one of the main myths about Anne. It would be a pleasure to see it removed in novels about her in the future, just so it could perhaps not pop up so incessantly.
It really is up to the reader or viewer in how you view Anne, or relate to her or see her. She can indeed be the villain of history, taking away a husband from a devoted wife and relationship with her own sister, or how a young woman realised she is not anything in the Tudor world without power, and how that is much more intoxicating than searching for ‘courtly love’. She is probably one of the greatest figures of history that is truly open to so much interpretation; whore, saint, prototype feminist, reformist, villain…the list can go on, and it absolutely depends upon who you speak to. And I think what adds even more to her mystery is that there is not even a contemporary image of her; all we have is from later, when in her in daughter’s reign she became in fashion again after being all but obliterated from view for so many years.
My own personal Anne is a flawed character, like so many of us today. She had passion, an incredible mind, was incredibly chic, knew her worth, and tried to be a good Queen after all those years of fighting to get there. She could also be too bold with her speech, and let her passion rule her, when it would have been of far better use to rise above. She is not a saint, and she is not a sinner either…
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