Women in Tudor England: Religion with Catherine of Aragon
In this second half of Season 3, we’re traveling back to Tudor England to spend some time with a few of its queens.
Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Catherine Howard, and Catherine Parr. Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced, Beheaded, Survived.
King Henry VIII’s wives have long captured our imaginations, fascinating us with their tumultuous rises, sometimes perilous queenships, and often dramatic falls. They lived privileged, sumptuous, and extremely singular lives: the kind that most women could only dream of. But they were still women, experiencing many of the same conditions, trials, and challenges as all the others.
These episodes aren’t going to be straight birth-to-death biographies: there are so many fantastic podcasts that have done that work already, and I’ll make sure to feature some in the show notes. Instead, these six women are going to be our guides as we dive into different aspects of womanhood in the Tudor era. They will give us glimpses into courtship and sex, pregnancy and childbirth, religion and female education. We will walk alongside them to see how these issues touched a Tudor queen’s life. But they will also offer us a window through which to see how they looked like for all women of the age.
And lucky us, we have an expert in all things Tudor women traveling with us on this journey. Her name is Elizabeth Norton, the historian who wrote a book called The Lives of Tudor Women.
Now: grab your rosary and your relic of the Virgin Mary’s breastmilk. Let’s go traveling.
William Bromley, “Catherine of Aragon,” oil on canvas, 1866, Manchester Art Gallery, Art UK. This painting shows Catherine, in black, surrounded by her ladies and speaking to Cardinal Wosley and the Papal Legate Cardinal Campeggio.
MY SOURCES
BOOKS & scholarly articles
G.W. Bernard. “The King’s Great Matter: Henry’s Divorce and Anne,” in Anne Boleyn: Fatal Attractions. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010.
Saskia Lettmaier. “Marriage Law and the Reformation,” Law and History Review 35, no. 2 (May 2017): 461-510.
Katherine L. French. “Epilogue: Women and the Reformation,” in The Good Women of the Parish: Gender and Religion After the Black Death, 223-230. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008.
John Edwards. “Sentimental Education of a Princess, 1516-1525,” in Mary I, 1-17. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011.
Maria Teresa Micaela Prendergast. “Catherine of Aragon's Letters, English Popular Memory, and Male Authorial Fantasies,” Studies in Philology 118, no. 2 (Spring 2021): 207-241.
Michelle L. Beer. “Introduction,” in Queenship at the Renaissance Courts of Britain: Catherine of Aragon and Margaret Tudor, 1503-1533, 1-26. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, Royal Historical Society, 2018.
J.F. Hadwin. “Katherine of Aragon and the Veil,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 66, no. 3 (July 2015): 509-523.
Michael Everett. “The Break with Rome,” in The Rise of Thomas Cromwell: Power and Politics in the Reign of Henry VIII, 1485-1534, 205-246. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2015.
Barbara J. Harris. “A New Look at the Reformation: Aristocratic Women and Nunneries, 1450-1540,” Journal of British Studies 32, no. 2 (1993): 89-113.
Diane Watt. “Reconstructing the Word: The Political Prophecies of Elizabeth Barton (1506-1534),” Renaissance Quarterly 50, no. 1 (Spring 1997): 136-163.
Fleur Houston. “Reformation: A Two-edged Sword in the Cause of the Ministry of Women,” Feminist Theology 26, no. 1 (2017): 19-33.
Timothy G. Elston. “Widow Princess or Neglected Queen,” in Queens and Power in Early Medieval Modern England, edited by Carole Levin, 16-30. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2009.
Jackie Eales. “To Booke and Pen: Women, Education and Literacy in Tudor and Stuart England,” The Historian 119 (Autumn 2013): 24-29.
Sarah Duncan. “‘Most godly heart fraight with al mercie’: Queens’ Mercy during the Reigns of Mary I and Elizabeth I,” in Queens and Power in Early Medieval Modern England, edited by Carole Levin, 31-50. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2009.
Alison Weir, The Six Wives of Henry VIII. New York: Grove Press, 1991.
Michelle L. Beer. “Queenship and Pre-Reformation Piety,” in Queenship at the Renaissance Courts of Britain: Catherine of Aragon and Margaret Tudor, 1503-1533, 122-148. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, Royal Historical Society, 2018.
Elizabeth Norton. The Hidden Lives of Tudor Women: A Social History. New York: Pegasus Books, 2017.
Doreen Rosman. From Catholic to Protestant Religion and The People in Tudor England. Milton Park: Taylor and Francis, 1996.
Frederick James Furnival. The Babees' Book: Medieval Manners for the Young, done into Modern English from Dr. Furnivall's texts. London: Chatto & Windus,1923.
PODCASTS
Natalie Grueninger and Dr. Michelle Beer. “Katherine of Aragon & Queenship with Dr. Michelle Beer.” Talking Tudors Podcast, episode 120. July 28, 2021.
Interviews
Elizabeth Norton, interview by Kate Armstrong, August 24, 2021, transcript and recording, The Exploress Podcast.
ONLINE
PRACTICES AND PERFORMANCES OF QUEENSHIP: CATHERINE OF ARAGON AND MARGARET TUDOR, 1503-1533. By Michelle Beer.
Jone Johnson Lewis. “Catherine of Aragon-Marriage to Henry VIII.” Thought Co. May 31, 2017.
“Catherine of Aragon.” Encyclopaedia Britannica. September 24, 2021.
Claire Ridgway. “Catherine of Aragon Sets Sail for England.” The Anne Boleyn Files. September 27, 2010.
Claire Ridgway. “The Coronation of King Henry VIII and Queen Catherine.” The Anne Boleyn Files. June 24, 2010.
Angella d’Avignon. “Why have we always been so obsessed with virginity?” Medium. May 11, 2016.
Meilan Solly. “When Catherine of Aragon Led England’s Armies to Victory Over Scotland.” Smithsonian Magazine. October 14, 2020.
Claire Ridgway. “21 June 1529- Catherine of Aragon’s Speech at Blackfriars.” The Anne Boleyn Files. June 21, 2011.
Natalie Grueninger. “Did Arthur, Prince of Wales, Consummate His Marriage to Catherine of Aragon?” On the Tudor Trail. September 20, 2012.
Claire Ridgway. “Anne Askew Sentenced to Death.” The Anne Boleyn Files. June 18, 2020.
Michael Carter. “What Became of the Monks and Nuns at the Dissolution?” English Heritage UK.
Unknown artist, “Katherine of Aragon,” oil on panel, National Portrait Gallery. This portrait was painted in the early 18th century, and features the Queen as she may have looked circa 1530.
TRANSCRIPT
this transcript won’t match the audio exactly, as I sometimes edit and change things in the booth. Please excuse typos, too: I’m only human.
The Queen looks around the courtroom. It’s packed with powerful men: archbishops, lawyers, men of the law and of God. And her husband, her king, on his throne, all draped in cloth of gold. He is here in front of this court because he wants to divorce her. No, he wants to prove their marriage was never real at all. For twenty years, Catherine has played the game of queenship. She has been a good wife, and everything a successful consort is supposed to be. And yet she must endure her husband trying to prove that she is not the rightful queen – that her daughter, Mary, has no claim on England’s throne. But God is on her side, and Catherine will not be silent. The room hushes as she stands, the crimson velvet of her gown brushing the witnesses as she weaves across the floor. And when she reaches her husband’s throne, she goes down on her knees before him, not to pray, but to speak.
Religion lives at the heart of Catherine of Aragon’s story, and at the very center of life for everyone in Tudor England. Let’s walk beside her, exploring the role religion plays in her reign, and in the day to day of the women all around her.
Growing up Catholic in Spain
Catherine is born on December 16, 1485. It’s said her mother, Isabella, had been riding all day, and chose to go back on the march shortly after giving birth to her youngest daughter. That’s how passionate she felt about her and her husband’s holy war.
Catherine’s parents, Queen Isabella of Castille and King Ferdinand of Aragon, were one of Europe’s true power couples. When they got together, they reigned over a powerful and unified Spain. So much of their lives and rules were driven by religion. In fact, they were referred to as the Catholic Monarchs, and they earned that title through faith, conviction, and…well…some rather ruthless persecution.
When Catherine was young, her kingdom was diverse, both ethnically and religiously, home to Jews, Muslims, and Christians. But her parents saw it as their duty to make theirs a strictly Catholic nation. Back in 1478, the Pope himself, Sixtus IV, issued a decree asking them to root out heresy, defined as deviation from Catholic doctrine. Isabella and Ferdinand were more than happy to oblige him. And so the Spanish Inquisition began. At first, the mission was to get people to convert to Catholicism. Of those, the Inquisition was meant to identify those who didn’t really mean it in their hearts. You would know when the Inquisition reached your town when an Edict of Grace was announced, giving you 40 days to come forward and confess your sins against God and Catholicism. Many people would, as the punishments if you confessed willingly were more lenient than if you waited for someone else to tell on you. Which happened frequently: these confessions were rife with anonymous accusations. Those found guilty were imprisoned, exiled, or made to wear a garment marking them as a sinner. Those who refused to convert or recant were sometimes burned at the stake. Yikes.
Isabella and Ferdinand were righteous and passionate about the Inquisition: if they couldn’t get people to convert to what they say as the true religion, then they needed to pack their bags and leave ASAP. In 1492, they issued the Alhambra decree, which gave Jews four months to convert to Catholicism or leave the country. Later, they would do the same to those who practiced Islam. This would go on for hundreds of years, all in the name of God.
Catalina grew up in this tense religious climate. She spent much of her childhood on the road with them as they worked to conquer the Moorish kingdom of Granada. In 1499, they settled in the Alhambra: the palace where the last Nasrid sultan once reigned. Catalina spends many of her formative years secluded with her siblings in this beautiful palace full of burbling fountains, arched hallways, and surrounded by Islamic artistry. With calligraphy carved into the walls said things like: “There is no victor but God.”
This princess of Spain is extremely well educated. She learns the womanly arts, of course: sewing, dancing, weaving. But she also immerses herself in Christian Latin literature, history, philosophy, and even law. The tudor her mother picks out for her is a holy man, and it’s no surprise that she is taught to be a pious Catholic, making religious belief and practice a central part of her existence. In many places at this time, including England, all girls are taught that their chief duty is to be Godly. They must be a moral paragon so that the oft-sinning men around them are inspired into behaving more chastely, and she’s responsible for making sure her children follow the word of God. Catalina grows up hearing that piety was one of a woman’s most important qualities. As for learning what it meant to be a pious Catholic queen, she had a role model close at hand.
Catalina grows up knowing she will be a queen herself, in England. From the age of three, she is engaged to English Prince Arthur Tudor. His father, Henry VII, was the first Tudor king, and with such a shaky claim on the throne, he wanted his son to marry into old royal blood and old dynastic money. Isabella and Ferdinand hoped that, in giving up their youngest daughter, the English king would help them in their fight against France. By the time Catherine sets sail for England in 1501, she is already married by proxy. Her husband, whom she has yet to set eyes on, has been writing her flowery letters for years, calling her things like “my dearest spouse.” And yet it must make her heart hurt to sail away from Spain and her family, who she knows she might never see again, for a land she doesn’t really know. The first thing Catherine of Aragon does when she reaches that land is go to church.
She is welcomed by throngs of well-wishers eager to see the red-haired, pretty girl. When she rides into London, there are parades in her honor. Everyone is thrilled at the prospect of their handsome 15-old-year prince marrying this regal, 16-year-old infanta. So when she and Arthur finally enter St Paul’s Cathedral to be married, Catherine must feel a sense of destiny: of God’s guiding hand taking her toward her queenly fate.
That night, at the wedding feast, she dances with her husband and laughs with his family. And then she and her husband are ceremonially put to bed. They are undressed by attendants, then sit together on the bed while an Archbishop and a bishop stand over them, blessing the bed and their union. And then the witnesses leave, the curtains close, and the teenaged couple are left alone together. The next morning Arthur swaggers out, saying to his buddy Sir Anthony Willoughby: “Willoughby, bring me a cup of ale, for I have been this night in the midst of Spain.” Cute, Arthur. But did they consummate their marriage that night? Did they EVER? It’s a question that we will be returning to shortly.
Is She or Isn’t She
On April 5, 1502, just five months after they get married, Prince Arthur sickens and, to everyone’s shock, dies. At just 16 years old, Catherine is now a widow. But instead of seeing her as a member of the family who should be protected, King Henry VII sees her as a bargaining chip. Her parents haven’t paid him the full dowry he was promised, but Ferdinand and Isabella want their daughter engaged to the next in line before more jewels leave their hands. Henry Tudor, then just 10 years old, already has a bit of a crush on his brother’s widow. Sure, Catherine’s a bit older than he is, but that isn’t SO big an issue. But religiously speaking, there is a problem with her marrying the spare: canon law forbids a woman from marrying her husband’s brother. But here’s the thing, Catherine says, and her lady’s maid vehemently backs her up on it: she and Arthur never actually consummated their marriage, and thus it wasn’t considered legally binding. Despite all of Arthur’s boastful claims, Catherine swears that they only lay in the same bed together: they never got physical. She swears on the sacrament to a papal legate that it never happened. Everyone wants to believe it’s true. In 1503, King Ferdinand puts his feelings about it in writing: “It is well known in England that the princess is still a virgin.” So they get the Pope to write a papal bull to give them permission. At the time it’s considered a formality, some red tape to be swiftly snipped through. Little does Catherine know how it will come to haunt her later.
And so, in 1503, young Henry and Catherine are engaged. It is agreed that, once Henry turns 15, they will marry. Perfect! But King Henry VII is already having reservations. Is she really the most advantageous choice for England’s next queen? His doubts only grow louder in 1504, when Isabella dies, plunging Spain into chaos. But if he sends her back he will never gets his hands on that dowry. So he keeps her on the hook, all the while discreetly looking into other marriage prospects for Henry.
Meanwhile, neither Ferdinand or Henry VII feels it is his duty to pay for Catherine’s upkeep. She writes pleading letters to both men to no avail. She spends six lonely, stressful years in discomfort and humiliation, having to sell her lands and jewels to pay her servants, doing the Tudor era equivalent of couch surfing between different royal households. Her servants are in rags, her own threadbare dresses growing inches too short for her. By 1508, she is so tired of it all that she asks to go back to Spain and become a nun.
But then Henry VII dies in 1509, and it’s Henry VIII’s turn to rule. This series isn’t about Henry, really, so I will try to shove him offstage as often as possible, but let’s take this moment to read his dating profile.
Hello, ladies. I’m Henry. Long of limb and blessed with a fine head of ginger hair, I cut quite a fine figure on the dance floor. I defy you to resist my finely-toned calves. I’m a passionate sportsman - hawking, jousting, hunting, etc. – but I also have a creative side. I’m an accomplished musician and, if you’re lucky, I might just write you a madrigal. My chivalry game is unparalleled. I’m likely to romance you right out of your kirtle before you know what’s hit you. Fair warning!
This strapping 18-year-old king strides into Catherine’s apartments and makes her year by asking her to be his wife and queen. Catherine, 23, is relieved and related, but no one is at all surprised by Henry’s choice. He’s spent years admiring the beautiful Spanish princess, and the fact that his father tried to keep them apart probably only made winning her all the sweeter. Catherine would also help legitimize the Tudor dynasty. Henry VIII is the first of his line to inherit the throne through regular old succession rather than war, and having a wife from such a distinguished family isn’t going to hurt any. It seems that Catherine’s many prayers have been answered and she can start being the queen she was born and raised to be.
But again, there is a religious problem here. It’s against God’s law to marry your brother’s widow. The Pope gives them permission, though, and they are married in a private ceremony. Catherine wears white satin and lets her long hair flow freely, emphasizing that she is going into this second marriage still a virgin. They are both coronated at Westminster Abbey two weeks later.
June 24th, they process behind twenty-eight bishops from the Palace of Westminster to the Abbey for the coronation ceremony. In this era, religion plays a big part in a monarch’s coronation. It is, at its most basic level, god’s blessing of your right to rule. The English queen’s coronation also emphasizes her special relationship with God, encouraging her to cultivate virtue and spread the Christian faith. The most important role model for all women of this age is the Virgin Mary, the ultimate example of Christian chastity and motherhood. But she represents specific virtues for queens. Catherine has a special relationship with Mary, who, as Queen of Heaven, is the heavenly equivalent of earthly queens. That connection gives her a special kind of power, as mediator between her king and the people. If the king is seen as the head of a nation, the queen is seen as its heart. This public anointing and coronation empower Catherine as Henry’s partner in sacred monarchy. It deems their union legitimate in the eyes of the law and her rule under the eyes of God.
And so, sceptre in hand and crown on her head, Catherine is queen at last. Let’s leave her sitting triumphant on her throne for a minute and talk about religion in Tudor England at this time.
Holy Religion
For the first couple of decades of the Tudor period, England is a staunchly Catholic nation. Religion lives at the very centre of life, and almost everyone believes in God.
ELIZABETH: Yeah, I mean, God was everywhere. I mean, we're in an era is largely pre science. And so actually, the world looks miraculous to 16th century people in a way that we can understand more about, you know, natural processes. Natural Science is actually a lot of what happened is just inexplicable, and was clearly the work of God. And I think that's really the kind of the key point to take from religion in the period.
In an age of superstition, where so little is understood about the world’s workings, life is hard, and people die all the time, religion is a way to make sense of things. It is a comfort and a framework by which to interact with the world. Its presence is felt in good times, at christenings and weddings, and in hard times. Churches, abbeys, and nunneries are in every town, feeding the poor and taking in the sick. English people’s religious convictions are deeply felt and deeply important to us in a way some in our era might not be able to fully appreciate. The Tudor year is structured around holy days and high holidays. They are even used to keep the time. Instead of saying “I’ll meet up with you on Tuesday” you are more likely to say, “I’ll meet up with you on St. Michael’s Day.” Plays with biblical themes are performed during festivals and religious relics or icons are paraded through the streets. Catholics believe in the spiritual power of material objects, things like consecrated bread and wine, holy water, saints’ bones, fragments of the cross, drops of Christ’s blood. And so Tudors often go on pilgrimages to see and pray to these objects. Many believe that being in the presence of them will bring you closer to God. Farmers regularly use panus Benedictus, the bread used during the transubstantiation, tossing it over crops to ensure they flourish.
Women often turn to such relics in times of crisis. As we’ll talk about in a future episode, pregnancy in this period is dangerous. And so pregnant women, royal and otherwise, often ask to use a church’s holy girdle when the time to deliver comes. What is a girdle? I’m glad you asked. Let’s let E explain.
ELIZABETH: A girdle is sort of underwear. So it's, you know, it's the Virgin Mary's underwear. And they were sort of clutch it, while they were in labor, to alleviate their labor pains and to hope, you know, for some sort of spiritual help. So, I mean, most women don't have access to the Virgin Mary's girdle. But there are other techniques that they use as there's the very sniff report from the late 16th century from for a priest about because the women of their town would run to the church and tie their shoelaces around, sort of the bell ropes and things. So you know, and that was to alleviate the pains and danger of childbirth. And it's because people are really scared, trying to come up with a way that they can take action to help themselves.
The Catholic Church is a powerful institution. It owns of a quarter of the land in England and is richer than just about everyone, including the king himself. Separation of church and state? Hell no. In this age they’re hopelessly, thornily entwined. Monasteries and nunneries are the bedrock of every town. They supply spiritual guidance, of course, but for centuries they have supplied a whole lot more. They are where many people turn if they need medical treatment. They give alms to the poor, and they offer employment: a lot of farmers and craftsmen work directly for the local monastery, and sometimes women will earn money washing the monks’ clothes.
And for women who can’t, or won’t, get married, nunneries offer them a socially prestigious alternative. We often get this image of nunneries as places wayward girls are sent against their will – and sure, sometimes – but they also present girls with opportunities they wouldn’t get otherwise. They are centers of learning, where women can practice art, read great literature, dabble in medicine, and of course practice philanthropy. They can discuss important spiritual matters without being told to sit down and zip their lips. Nunneries are safe places for women, and they’re mostly run by women. The prestigious role of abbess, the female head of a nunnery, is one of the only visible, official roles a woman will be given in the world of the church.
Everybody is subject to church law and going to church is required. Priests are often dealing with people’s disputes relating to marriage, society’s moral code, and issues of legitimacy. Women, of course, are a big part of their local congregation. Field work (aka men’s work) is considered more important than household work, so women are often told to attend church more often than their husbands, or that they should continue praying and not return to work as soon as men did after mass. This reinforces the belief that women are more religious and pious than men are. Of course, the clergy find reasons to complain about their female parishioners: how some come to church too finely dressed, clearly hoping to attract and seduce the men. Women and men are usually separated during mass for that purpose. Though even in church, we see that how much money you have impacts your experience. A good seat in church gives you a good view and puts you closer to a holy object, which means that wealthy women usually reside in them; poorer women with less social clout usually stand in the back. Keep in mind, too, that the Bible is written in Latin, and the services are also in Latin. No one has their own English copy at home to leaf through and come to their own conclusions. The congregation relies on their priest to tell them the Word of God and interpret it. And of course, the church and its priests are setting the tone for social expectations for women. Images and paintings in church all tend to promote submission and modesty in women. Priests underscore this in confession and at mass, expounding on the idea that women’s primary identities are as wives and mothers. In other words, good Christian behavior is tied to gender roles and failure to conform is seen as not only unfortunate but sinful. But church is still a place for women to exercise their leadership skills. There are all-female parish guilds: groups that give women a place to socialize, talk about their shared experiences, and display their piety by assisting with fundraising and maintaining the parish. Imagine having a place to talk freely with your lady friends, away from the demands of father, husband, and house. Of course, some men are afraid of these all-women parish guilds, as they think this temporary release from their husbands’ control will lead to sin, mischief, and rebellion. I hope that at least SOME rebellion is involved.
Women perform most of their local church’s domestic duties, washing decorative linens, sewing and repairing altar coverings, cleaning and refreshing God’s house. This is good for their souls, of course, but women are often paid for these services. None are allowed to become priests or archbishops – oh, no – but they have many important roles to play.
Catherine of Aragon by Unknown artist, oil on oak panel, circa 1520.
ELIZABETH NORTON: … They're not running the church, you know, they're not preaching, but they are very, very involved, you know, they are the parishioners and women are viewed as innately more into the church, if you like, than men, in many respects, in a similar way to now actually, it's often the women of the family who are the more eager churchgoers. Women, of course, are responsible for their children's early education. And so that includes religious education because again, religion is so central, and so it's often the mother that sort of pushes the children towards one side of the religious spectrum, whether it's Catholic or it's Protestant, in the period. And so it's really, really important.
There IS one crucial religious function that certain women get to perform. Midwives are given the right to perform baptisms because of how often babies die during labor or shortly afterward. If that baby isn’t baptized, they can’t go to heaven, so this is one Tudor England’s most fraught and sacred duties.
ELIZABETH NORTON: And they have a really, really crucial role because they're actually the only women who are authorized by the church to perform a sacrament, they can perform the sacrament of baptism. And so this is really, really key. And really unusual, because generally women are not allowed anywhere near the running of the church…
Special baptism rights and abbesses aside, there is only ONE position within the church that’s open to women. Let’s talk a bit about prophetesses. What are they, exactly?
ELIZABETH: And so these are women who speak for God, you know, God speaks through them.
It’s the Tudor notion that a woman is a man’s intellectual and moral inferior that makes her a particularly good candidate for being God’s earthly mouthpiece. Their words aren’t their own; they come direct from the holy father, so if she happens to say something rather scandalous or confronting, look, don’t hang the messenger. In this way, prophecy offers women a rare chance to get directly involved in politics. In fact, one such woman gets involved in Henry and Catherine’s love life. Let’s meet her.
ELIZABETH: Elizabeth Barton is a peasant girl from Kent. And while she's working in the house, in a farmhouse of a local gentleman, she starts to have visions, she falls ill and sort of writhes around on the floor and has visions where a voice appears to come from her stomach and starts prophesying the future. And she is investigated by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he accepts her sanctity. She then is taken to Quarter Street, which is a sort of small chapel, where the Virgin Mary has told her that will be a miracle. So she goes out with a huge crowd watching and starts writhing around and talking for several hours in this strange voice.
She’s so convincing, in fact, that she becomes a nun at the direct urging of the powerful Archbishop of Canterbury. Pretty soon she's known far and wide as the Holy Maid of Kent. For a farm girl, she goes on to become influential in the very highest circles.
ELIZABETH: She asks William Warham, who's the Archbishop of Canterbury, for an audience with Cardinal Wolsey, who is Henry VIII’s Chief Minister, and that is, of course, granted, because she's a holy woman. And Wolsey seems to be quite frightened of her. I'm certainly Thomas Cranmer, who later becomes Archbishop of Canterbury, believed that both Wolsey and his predecessor Warham, were frightened of her with her “godly threatenings” he calls it so you know, she basically threatens them from God to do what she wants.
Elizabeth’s visions and bold protestations will come to play a role in Catherine of Aragon’s story. But let’s leave her for now, men weeping as they see her coming, and talk more about religion in Catherine’s marriage and her queenship.
Ugh…this guy. after Hans Holbein the Younger oil on copper, probably 17th century, based on a work of 1536
NPG 157, National Portrait Gallery, London.
The Catholic Queen
In the early years of his marriage to Catherine, Henry VIII is a devoted Catholic. It’s said he attends up to six masses a day, and three on hunting days. Every night he goes to the queen’s chamber to hear the offices of vespers and compline. He even writes a pamphlet called A Defence of the Seven Sacraments against Martin Luther, speaking out against what he sees as the heretical claims of the German man that will later be called the founder of the Protestant movement. Within it, he writes about how when two people are joined in marriage, nothing should ever part them, and that England should “set forth the Pope’s authority to the uttermost.” All things he will regret putting into writing later. The Pope likes it so much that he gives Henry a new title, calling him the Defender of the Faith. Henry knows that the Catholic church has some bad apples, and sometimes abuses its power, but he also believes in it. If the church is threatened, then the monarchy is threatened. Right now, he has every reason to hold fast to his beliefs.
Lutheranism concerns Catherine deeply, and this is something she and her husband bond over, turning them into a theological team. While Henry publishes his own tracts denouncing Luther’s ideas, Catherine enlists her Spanish confessor Alphonsus de Villa Sancta to write some treatises also, which he dedicates to the woman he referred to as “Defendress of the Faith.” She is noted, always, for her religious devotion. Erasmus describes her as “more pious than learned” – is that a backhanded compliment? – and “as religious and virtuous as words can express.” She spends huge chunks of her day at prayer, attending religious devotions and praying in her private chambers. But her belief isn’t just a private, personal matter. No, she’s a queen, so it’s public, too.
Society expects their Queen to display a certain amount of devotion. All women are considered moral leaders in their households, so Catherine must be a moral example to the country at large. And she does it extraordinarily successfully. Historian Michelle Beer says that Catherine of Aragon makes herself a successful queen consort by being good at building “spiritual authority and moral capital.” She does this not just because she is as true believer, but because she understands the authority such acts give her and how they build her reputation with the people at large.
Some of the ways she builds this moral capital is through almsgiving and donations. Charity is often associated with women because of their responsibility for hospitality. In his book of the time, The Education of a Christian Woman, Juan Luis Vives says that wives, as managers of the household, should give generously to the poor and make sure their servants were properly taken care of. But queens are expected to participate in charity on a whole other level. As Christine de Pizan says in his handbook called “Treasure of the city of ladies,” princesses should distribute largesse in many different circumstances ‘with great discretion and prudence.’ We think that Catherine is giving out between £160 and £190 a year, though that amount doesn’t include alms that come from Catherine’s own privy purse or ones given in her name by the king. And not just money: she’s also donating clothing, which we know is valuable. Her accounts show her ordering clothes of linen and russet, and some shoes, for nine poor women. In March 1520, she bought 96 yards of cloth to make gowns for 35 poor women. If a queen buys you such a valuable present, you aren’t likely to forget about it in a hurry.
Almsgiving is an important mark of Catherine’s elite, queenly status, but it’s also a chance for her to interact with the people in a very particular way. The Royal Maundy is a prime example. “Maundy Thursday,” celebrated the day before Good Friday, has been around since the 14th century, celebrated by English royals by giving alms to poor men and women. It’s a huge event, witnessed by both court and commoner. Henry would go to the royal chapel, where he would hear mass, watches the altar scrubbed clean, and then perform the pedilavium, or the ritual washing of poor people’s feet. He gets down on his knees, albeit on a fancy cushion, and does an action meant to emulate the Last Supper, when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. It’s great optics for Henry, aligning himself with Jesus, and it reminds people that his kingly status was given by God himself. Catherine performs the pedilavium, too, for the female poor, publicly placing her on equal spiritual footing with her husband. It reminds people that she, too, is an anointed consort. Plus, this washing of feet connects her with the common woman, too, which only cements their fond feelings toward her. Who knew that washing random feet could hold such potent public power? Henry knows it. That’s why, during their divorce crisis in 1534, he won’t let Catherine hold her Maundy while under house arrest. In 1535 she insists, and her jailor writes to the king for instruction, because this is way above his pay grade. Henry decides that Catherine can hold her Maundy only if she does it as a royal widow, not as a queen. If she defies him, Henry instructs, “she is to be told that she and all her officers and such as receive it will be guilty of high treason.” The Spanish ambassador at the time will write that Anne Boleyn, too, forbids any contact between Catherine and the poor because “the alms she has been accustomed to give have attracted the love of the people.” So we see that queenly Maundies must have significant symbolic power.
Catherine doesn’t have an official position in the church, per se, but she is still involved in its workings and influences who gets money and when. She checks in with England’s clerics by going on lots of pilgrimages. These oft-lengthy journeys aren’t just casual road trips; they are a major undertaking. She is accompanied by an entourage and her substantial household as they travel between holy sites, touching religious relics, greeting monks, and paying their respects to local churchmen. They stay with local nobility as they go, making valuable connections. Though Catherine herself probably wouldn’t call these networking opportunities, that’s in part what they are. She supports members of the church, and so they continue to support and champion her. These trips endear her to her people, too; it allows them to see her and feel like they know her. They build her public image and serve as a prime piece of great PR. They make it so it doesn’t matter that she’s Spanish: they consider her one of them. As an English ambassador, Sir John Wallop, will write later, “[The] Queen was beloved as if she had been of the blood royal of England.”
Religion also lets Catherine do something no other woman in England would dare to: publicly intercede when her husband is too harsh. Queenly intercession is a public act pulled by many queens throughout Europe; the king is law, but the queen is mercy, and thus she can ask for pardons to save lives when she wants. The thing to do is go down on her knees in a public place, asking the king to practice mercy. And at her request, he often does. On May 1, 1517, several hundred Londoners riot, threatening the mayor of London and a cardinal with death. After Henry VIII demonstrated “very great vengeance” on the ringleaders, Queen Catherine intercedes on behalf of the approximately four hundred still awaiting execution. This “most serene and most compassionate Queen, with tears in her eyes and on her bended knees, obtained their pardon from his Majesty.”
Catherine’s position in England is unusual in early modern society. She’s a foreign woman who outranks every man around her and who has access to power. So she always has to walk a high wire between asserting her status as divinely ordained ruler while also appearing to be everything a good wife and mother should be. I mean, God forbid she act like…dare we even say it…Cleopatra. Her public piety goes a long way towards helping her do that.
For several years, Catherine and Henry seem happy, indulging in lavish court entertainments and working together in matters of political and military policy. Two beautiful people on top of their game. Case in point: In 1513, when Henry goes off campaigning in France, he makes a 27-year-old Catherine Regent and Governess of England. That’s right: she has the power to summon troops, appoint sheriffs, sign warrants, and get money from the treasurer. And then, when Scotsman James IV sacks some towns in northern England, she sends an army out to defeat him.
She’s downright enthusiastic about this decision, writing in a letter that “My heart is very good to it.” She sends soldiers, money, artillery, gunners, a fleet of eight ships and supplies ranging from grain to beer and armor. Then, just like her mother before her, Catherine gets on a horse and marches toward the battle – while pregnant. But it’s over before she can get there, and it’s a huge victory. This turns out to be one of the greatest military victories of Henry’s whole reign, and Catherine knows it. As she write to Henry, “[T]o my thinking this battle hath been to your grace, and all your realm, the greatest honour that could be, and more than should you win all the crown of France.” She plans to send Henry James’ body as a little ‘look we won!’ present, but her entourage tell her that maybe just sending his bloody coat might be better.
As she writes to Henry: “…I could not send your Grace the piece of the King of Scot’s coat which John Glyn now bringeth. In this your grace shall see how I can keep my promise, sending you for your banners a King’s coat. I thought to send himself unto you, but our Englishmen’s hearts would not suffer it.”
Later, Henry himself will reflect that Catherine was of course fully capable of carrying “on a war…as fiercely as Queen Isabella, her mother, had done in Spain.”
But Catherine is struggling to perform her most sacred God-given prerogative: having children. She is pregnant many times in the course of her marriage. Three of those pregnancies end in a miscarriage or stillbirth. Two of her newborns make it out into the world only to die in a matter of weeks. In 1515, after her third failed pregnancy, Catherine turns to God for guidance. She goes on pilgrimage to the ‘Holy House of Nazareth’ at Walsingham in North Norfolk, which holds a relic of the Virgin Mary’s breastmilk. She will visit this shrine four times during her queenship. In fact, these MANY pilgrimages tell us how heavily she felt the burden of her childbirth problems and communicated her anxieties to the kingdom at large.
At last, on February 18, 1516, a living child is born: a daughter, Mary. A girl isn’t what they’d hoped for, but surely, it’s a sign of boys to come. Isn’t it? But by the late 1520s, and Henry is slipping away from Catherine. He needs an heir, and he’s beginning to think that perhaps his union with Catherine isn’t going to give him one. And then his eye falls on one of Catherine’s own ladies in waiting: the beguiling Anne Boleyn. Catherine hopes the infatuation will prove fleeting, but it doesn’t. And then Anne tells a besotted Henry that she has no interest in becoming his mistress. She will be his wife, and his queen, or nothing at all.
The Great Matter
Of course, Henry can’t just break up with Catherine. First, because the Catholic Church is a definite NO on divorce. He starts talking about how he is sorely troubled by his conscience about his marriage to Catherine. After all, Leviticus 18:16 says: “If a man shall take his brother’s wife, it is an unclean thing, they shall be childless.” Maybe THAT’S why they haven’t had an heir, he says. When his advisors gently remind him that, well, the Pope DID give you permission and say that God was fine with it, Henry says that maybe the Pope was wrong. Drama, drama.
And so begins a period where Catherine must endure a strange sort of public threesome: she is still the queen, but Anne is always there, hovering. The tempestuous Henry is giving Catherine serious emotional whiplash. He’ll take his supper with her one night in her chamber, only to disappear the next day to spend some sexy time with Anne. For Catherine, this isn’t just about preserving her marriage. She views its survival as inextricably tied to the Catholic Church’s survival. It’s no secret that A is a fervent reformer. and so she isn’t backing down, no matter what anyone says. The church gets involved, and they side with Catherine. The people do, too: they love Catherine. When she appears on public they shout her name, wishing her victory over her enemies. She’s especially loved by the ladies. “If the matter were decided by women,” a French ambassador reported, “the king would lose the battle.” Come on, Henry: read the room! But the king isn’t giving up on what will come to be called The King’s Great Matter. Maybe it’s because he’s just hot for Anne, but it could also be because of very real anxiety about his heir situation. Either way, he’s not about to win any Exploress goodie points. In 1527, he and his advisors try to convince the Pope that the marriage was never legitimate because Catherine was once married to his brother Arthur. Catherine then appeals to Pope Clement VII, saying her marriage to Henry is valid because she went into it a virgin. Henry's case for annulment isn’t such a strong one politically, either, because Pope Clement VII has just surrendered to Catherine's nephew, who happens to be the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. He’s just sacked Rome, and the pope thinks it would be injudicious to alienate the emperor's aunt.
Things come to a head on June 21, 1529, when Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon appear in front of at the Legatine Court at Blackfriars. Suddenly the question of whether or not Catherine and Arthur ever slept together is a crucial one that could decide the religious fate of a nation.
Arthur’s former body servant testified: “I made the said prince ready to bed and with others conducted him clad in his nightgown unto the princess’s bedchamber often and sundry times when he entered and then continued all night.” This is also where we learn about Arthur’s boast about having spent the night in Spain. Remember, Catherine is sitting through ALL of this, having her sex life dissected for a pretty prestigious audience. But she holds firm, saying that she and Arthur shared a bed for seven nights. Her people say he was sickly, not at all up for heir making. As one eyewitness will say in 1531, “[Arthur’s] limbs were so weak that he had never seen a man whose legs and other bits of his body were so small.” Another attendant will testify that: “Francisca de Caceras, who was in charge of dressing and undressing the queen and who she liked and confided in a lot, was looking sad and telling the other ladies that nothing had passed between Prince Arthur and his wife, which surprised everyone and made them laugh at him.”
Henry Nelson O’Neil, “The Trial of Queen Catherine of Aragon,” 1846, oil on canvas, Birmingham Museums Trust, Art UK. This painting depicts the Blackfriars trial, in which Catherine, in black, argues her case and throws herself at Henry’s feet.
Both the king AND queen are given a chance to speak at this hearing. Henry says that all he wants is for the court of prove his marriage valid, but he just knows it isn’t. Catherine doesn’t rail against his lie. Instead she goes to her husband, falling to her knees in front of a fully packed courtroom, and uses every drop of moral capital she’s garnered to make a desperate plea. Let’s hear some of it.
“Sir, I beseech you for all the love that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice. Take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman, and a stranger born out of your dominion. I have here no assured friends, and much less impartial counsel… Alas! Sir, wherein have I offended you, or what occasion of displeasure have I deserved?…I have been to you a true, humble and obedient wife, ever comfortable to your will and pleasure, that never said or did anything to the contrary thereof, being always well pleased and contented with all things wherein you had any delight or dalliance, whether it were in little or much. I never grudged in word or countenance, or showed a visage or spark of discontent. I loved all those whom ye loved, only for your sake, whether I had cause or no, and whether they were my friends or enemies. These twenty years or more I have been your true wife and by me ye have had diverse children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world, which hath been no default in me… When ye had me at first, I take God to my judge, I was a true maid, without touch of man. And whether it be true or no, I put it to your conscience. If there be any just cause by the law that ye can allege against me either of dishonesty or any other impediment to banish and put me from you, I am well content to depart to my great shame and dishonour. And if there be none, then here, I most lowly beseech you, let me remain in my former estate… Therefore, I most humbly require you, in the way of charity and for the love of God – who is the just judge – to spare me the extremity of this new court, until I may be advised what way and order my friends in Spain will advise me to take. And if ye will not extend to me so much impartial favour, your pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my cause!”
Despite all of her humble language, this act in one of clear defiance. Henry VIII tries to raise Catherine up twice during the speech, out of her posture of submission, but she won’t budge. It’s incredible, when you think about it, that this woman is able to use her moral authority to not only shame her husband, but openly disagree with him. Nobody’s putting her in any scold’s bridle! And it’s not just that she gets away with it. Many admire her for it, none more so than the women of England. One of them – our powerful prophetess, Elizabeth Barton – goes a step further.
ELIZABETH: She speaks out against Henry VIII’s divorce; she doesn't want him to divorce Catherine of Aragon and marry Anne Boleyn. And she says, you know, it's against God's will.
She writes letters to the pope encouraging him to stand against Henry, going so far as to say that God would plague him if he doesn’t rule in Catherine’s favor. Barton leans on her good relationship with the king as well, speaking to him directly. She predicts that if he goes through with his plans, he will be overthrown, that he’ll bring on wars and plagues. She even prophesizes his death, telling him that she “had seen the particular place and spot destined to him in hell.” Bold move, Elizabeth!
getting in reformation
But Henry is determined. When the Pope refuses to annul his first marriage, he decides to take matters into his own hands. His advisor Thomas Cromwell, who is already ALL about reforming the way religion’s done in England, is like, hey yo: why don’t you just break with the Catholic church and form your OWN, man? Henry thinks this is a great idea. And thus begins the foundation-shaking English Reformation.
There’s a lot to say about the Reformation, both in Europe and England, but let’s boil it down to its very simplest form, shall we? It’s been bubbling along in Europe for a while now. Though most of Europe is staunchly Catholic, theologians such as Martin Luther in Germany and John Calvin in Switzerland have been protesting what they see as abuses in the Roman Church. This protesting is where we get the term ‘Protestant’ from. You’ll remember that Henry and Catherine were speaking out against Martin Luther’s religious doctrine since very early in their reign. But now Henry has REASONS for wanting to break away from the Pope’s authority, and there are lots of reformers in England who see this as a chance to make some change. They want to get rid of the worship of icons and to see the Bible printed in English. That means parishioners can read and interpret it for themselves: it’s radical stuff. His buddy Thomas Cromwell starts putting new reforms in motion. One of the biggest is that he dissolves ALL the monasteries and nunneries. Between 1536 and 1540, every single abbey and priory in England – some 800 in total – are broken up. England’s nuns have everything they have built taken away. The Reformation’s answer to those bereft nuns who find their whole lives turned upside down? Hey, ladies, why don’t you all just get married?
This guy made some Bold Choices. Hans Holbein the Younger, “Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex,” oil on panel, National Portrait Gallery. This portrait of Henry’s right hand man was painted in the 17th century and was based upon a work of 1532.
Over time, the reforms get more and more aggressive. Cromwell reduces the number of saints’ days, abolishes all lights before images, dissolves pilgrimage shrines, and even ends the veneration of icons. Churches are suddenly required to purchase English Bibles. Church are stripped of all their splendor, including icons and relics. Say goodbye to your holy girdle, ladies: you’re gonna have to take your chances without it. Not all of England’s women are going to take this lying down. In 1536, a group of women in Exeter go to the Priory of St. Nicholas and assault the workmen hired to dismantle the church’s rood screen. It’s said the women grab and carried them bodily out.
Eventually, these changes affect ALL churchgoing women. First of all, there’s no more all-women seating. You’ll be sitting with your husband or father, not your friends, which means no more lady bonding. Instead you’ll be watched by the men of your family, as always, ensuring you don’t get up to anything suspicious. No more all-female guilds, either, which means less independence and female community building. Women may not have as many church chores to do, which could be seen as a good thing, but without vestments to dust and altar cloths to wash, women lose opportunities for parish participation and to engage in activities that cleanse their souls and bring them closer to God.
There’s also a new ideological emphasis on women’s domesticity. Women are told to be silent and obedient, devoted to chores and childcare.
Protestants sing the praises of women, speaking to a kind of spiritual equality between the sexes. But it also talks a big game about males being the head within a marriage. Ladies, we all KNOW you were created for your man’s benefit, so ya gotta listen and obey. The Protestant wedding service liturgy has the groom promising ‘to love and to cherish’ his wife, while she promises to ‘love, cherish and to obey’ her husband. MMMk. Protestantism also challenges the authority of the female mystics and prophets like Elizabeth Barton.
Protestantism does create certain opportunities for women. Here’s Elizabeth:
ELIZABETH NORTON: I mean Protestantism to some extent gives women even more of a stake in the church because one of the key doctrines of Protestantism is sola scriptura, which is: you should go back to your original scriptures. So it's basically trying to throw out the total authority of the church fathers, the church teachings, saying, No, no, just read the Bible. These are the scriptures, the word of God. And as part of that they publish the scriptures in the vernacular. And while women are rarely taught classical languages, in the period - only very, very high status women - most women read English. So if you've now got a translated Bible, you can read the Scriptures for yourself, and you can understand them, and you can debate them. And this is really, really important to women…
It becomes fashionable for wealthy, learned women to translate religious works themselves and publish them. Catherine Parr, Henry’s sixth wife, who will we spend more time with later, writes one of the first works published by a queen of England, and guess what? It’s a book of prayers.
None of this is an overnight change. Instead, it’s a slow-creeping moss, starting at the royal level and spreading downward to the commonfolk as the years go on. But over the years this Great Schism, as it’s called, will create a kind of holy war in England, with people picking sides between Catholic and Protestant. It isn’t just a scholarly debate amongst the high ranking - it is fought on every level of society. It becomes a question not only of personal conviction, but of life and death.
It won’t surprise you to know that Catherine of Aragon is staunchly on the side of Catholicism. Plenty of other women are, as well. Those who hold with the old ways help to keep it alive by hiding priests in their homes, creating a kind of religious underground. These women risk death if caught. But staunch Protestant women aren’t necessarily safe, either. Let’s take a moment to meet a woman named Anne Askew.
Anne is a well-educated noblewoman who grows up memorizing scripture. Then King Henry passes an act in 1543 preventing all women (and men below the rank of gentlemen) from reading the Bible, so Anne decides to be a contrarian and start preaching herself. Her conservative husband kicks her out for her audacity. She escalates the situation by petitioning for divorce. When it’s denied by her local court, she goes to London. If her king can get a divorce when it suits him, then why can’t she? Eventually, her public preaching leads to her arrest for heresy, and she’s taken into the Tower of London. Someone puts her on a rack and torture her – the only record of a woman being tortured in the Tower – to try and force her to give up the names of others like her. The Lieutenant of the Tower, horrified by this illegal interrogation, tells Henry VIII, who orders her returned to her prison cell. But it’s only a temporary reprieve. Anne has to be carried to the stake on a chair because of her injuries from racking. She is burned at the stake at just 25 years old.
Catherine’s End
But let’s get back to Catherine. In May of 1533, the archbishop of Canterbury annuls her and Henry’s marriage. It makes her, for the second time, a royal widow. To underscore her new title, Henry issues a proclamation that strips Catherine of the title of queen and required all subjects to address her, humiliatingly, as Princess Dowager of Wales.
But Catherine refuses to accept it. She continues to act – and believe herself to be – England’s true queen. With some twenty-four-years of public piety behind her, she’s able to dig in her heels and subvert Henry’s agenda. She makes it pretty tough for Henry and his representatives to sell the idea of Catherine being a widow. The lower and middle classes, as a whole, are fuming over it. It gets so bad that a member of the Venetian Embassy wrote that to get people to stop publicly mentioning Queen Catherine, Henry’s government had to prohibit it under pain of death. That doesn’t stop a lot of people from being disrespectful to Henry’s new queen, Anne Boyeln. Authorities arrest one Margaret Chanseler after she publicly calls Anne “a goggyll yed hoore.”
Margaret isn’t the only one who gets in trouble for her protestations. Let’s return to our prophetess, Elizabeth Barton. She made it very clear that if Henry married Anne, he will be dead within six months. Which doesn’t happen.
ELIZABETH: And this is a real problem for Elizabeth. And she starts to backtrack. And she says, actually, you know, I've misinterpreted actually what God said is that he will no longer consider you King after six months. But really the damage has been done because Henry is, you know, very hale and hearty and is not going anywhere.
Her protestations have proven so destabilizing, though, that Henry starts trying to discredit her. How does he do it? With that tactic old as time, of course. He tells everyone she’s lost her mind. In 1533, she and her followers are arrested. In 1534, she is executed for treason, hung as a warning to all those who might speak out against Henry’s new wife.
Catherine takes a more Christian outlook on her replacement. "Pray for her,” she is quoted as saying, “because the time will come when you shall pity and lament her case..." Catherine never publicly fights with Henry or stands with his opposition politically. Instead, she waits for Henry to realize the error of his ways, repent, and return to her. Which, of course, he never does. He keeps her isolated, almost a prisoner. And when she continues to refuse to accept her fate and Henry’s position, he takes all communication with their daughter away from her. Catherine never sees her husband or Mary again. And yet to her dying day, the pious Catherine fervently stands by her convictions. Even Thomas Cromwell, that staunch Reformer, has nothing but praise for Catherine. “Nature wronged her in not making her a man,” he says. “But for her sex, she would have surpassed all the heroes of history.”
She believes with all her heart in the Catholic faith, and that she is England’s anointed sovereign. So when she goes to God in 1536, she does it still a queen.