Marriage with Anne of Cleves

It’s December 1539, and Anne of Cleves is tired, cold, and sea-sick. She has been traveling for weeks across the stormy seas, sent to a foreign land to marry a complete stranger. There is no time to rest: once she lands at Calais, she’ll journey onward by carriage, stopping along the way to meet the English nobility with a gracious smile. At each stop, Anne will try her best to make a good impression, all the while trying to keep her mounting anxiety at bay. What will her future husband say when she arrives in London? Will he be handsome, even though he’s twice her age? Will he be kind, even though he divorced his first wife and beheaded his second? How will they even communicate? She can’t speak English, and she doubts very much that he speaks German. How will she fare in this court, so different from her own?    

Like most royal women, Anne didn’t have much of a choice when it came to whom she married. It was considered her “duty” to honor the needs of her family and her kingdom over whatever her own might be. So when she was told she would marry Henry VIII, the king of England, she did what she was told and started packing. In Tudor times, as in many others, royalty didn’t often have the privilege of indulging in courtship or romance. Arranged marriages were economic contracts, and very little else…right? And what about everyone else - non-royals. Did they get to pursue their hearts a little more freely? What does courtship and marriage look like for those who aren’t entwining their lives for some dynastic gain?

Let’s take a walk with Anne of Cleves, who’ll show us more about what love, courtship, and marriage were like for women in Tudor England. As always, we’ll be joined by our Tudor expert Elizabeth Norton. Grab a priest, your dowry, and your best dress. Let’s go traveling.

hot or not? (hot, obviously.)

(Most contemporaries agreed that this was a good likeness of Anne of Cleves, and she wears traditional German clothing here.)

RESOURCES


books

  • The Hidden Lives of Tudor Women by Elizabeth Norton. Pegasus Books, August 14, 2018

  • The Six Wives of Henry VIII by Alison Weir. Vintage (Penguin), March 3, 2008

  • How to Be a Tudor by Ruth Goodman

Online Sources

Books & Academic Journals

  • Kimberly Schutte, “Marrying Out in the Sixteenth Century: Subsequent Marriages of Aristocratic Women in the Tudor Era,” Journal of Family History 38, no. 1 (Jan. 2013): 3-16. https://journals-sagepub-com.ezproxy.neu.edu/doi/10.1177/0363199012469952

  • Amy M. Froide, “Marital Status as a Category of Difference: Singlewomen and Widows in Early Modern England,” in Singlewomen in the European Past, 1250-1800, ed. by Judith M. Bennett and Amy M. Froide, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998, pg. 236-269. http://www.jstor.com/stable/j.ctt3fhbvn.12

  • Lady Margaret Douglas and Others, The Devonshire Manuscript: A Woman’s Book of Courtly Poetry, ed. Elizabeth Heale, New York: Iter Press, 2012.

  • Lawrence Stone, “Marriage among the English Nobility in the 16th and 17th Centuries,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 3, no. 2 (Jan. 1961): 182-206. https://www.jstor.org/stable/177627

  • Eric Carlson, “Courtship in Tudor England,” History Today 43, (August 1993): 23. https://www.proquest.com/docview/202807765/fulltext/88DF1063FBD49DEPQ/1?accountid=12826

  • Josephine Billingham, “Love, Law and Liminality,” in Infanticide in Tudor and Stuart England, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2019, pgs. 113-150. 

  • David Cressy, Birth, Marriage, and Death: Ritual, Religion, and the Life-Cycle in Tudor and Stuart England, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999.

  • Diane O’Hara, Courtship and Constraint: Rethinking the Making of Marriage in Tudor England, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002.

podcasts

  • Natalie Grueninger and Heather Darsie, “Talking Tudors with Heather Darsie,” Talking Tudors Podcast, episode 37, June 21, 2019.

  • Natalie Grueninger and Hilary Jane Locke, “Talking Tudors with Hilary Jane Locke,” Talking Tudors Podcast, episode 70, April 19, 2020.

  • Natalie Grueninger and Dr. Nicola Clark, “Women and Family in Tudor England with Dr. Nicola Clark,” Talking Tudors Podcast, episode 82, July 29, 2020.

  • Natalie Grueninger and Heather Darsie, “Anne of Cleves & Her Siblings with Heather Darsie,” Talking Tudors Podcast, episode 98, January 24, 2021.

Interviews

1. Elizabeth Norton, interview by Kate Armstrong, August 24, 2021, transcript and recording, The Exploress Podcast.

This painting is the first in a satirical series of 6 works entitled “Marriage A-la Mode,” that chronicle the various stages of marriage. This painting shows the conclusion of marriage negotiations between a rich merchant and a debt-ridden Earl, while their miserable children sit by and watch- the son, in blue, has a black spot on his neck (syphilis) and the distraught daughter is being consoled by a lawyer.

“Marriage A-la Mode, 1. The Marriage Settlement,” oil on canvas, William Hogarth, 1745,  The National Gallery.

episode transcript

OF A MARRIAGEABLE AGE

Let’s jump back into 1539, shall we? And look out, ladies, because King Henry VIII is back on the marriage mart…for the fourth time. Although we’ve all learned that monogamy clearly isn’t his cup of tea, Henry can’t afford to kick back and live it up bachelor style. Protestant England is surrounded by hostile Catholic nations, and with France and the Holy Roman Empire plotting a possible attack, Henry needs to find a strong Protestant ally to shore up his defenses. He finds one in the Schmalkaldic League, a group of Lutheran duchies in Germany, and sets his sights on a marriage alliance with one of the League’s most prominent members: the House of Cleves. 

Unlike Henry, most Tudors aren’t contemplating marriage to forge an epic political alliance. They’re getting married primarily for three things: someone to play horizontal tennis with, money, and kids. The church believes that all sex outside of marriage is a sin, particularly if you’re a lady. So if Tudors want to participate in any sort of sexy time, they have to put a ring on it first. The church knows the score: pressuring people into getting married before they did the deed was a much more effective strategy than trying to stop them from giving in to their carnal desires altogether. (Here- just say these vows real quick and then we don’t care what you do!) 

Lustful motivations aside, a Tudor marriage is often at least partly about money. At their core, marriages are economic contracts between families, and thus almost always begin with financial negotiations. For the poorer amongst us, marriage is a surefire way to build generational wealth, as more children means more workers and more income. For the nobility, marriage allows families to manage their land holdings, pass on the family name, elevate their social status, and yes, sometimes create political alliances. 

Among the English nobility and royal family, marriage negotiations often take place when the prospective couple are still young children. Catherine of Aragon, for example, was betrothed to Prince Arthur at the ripe old age of 3, although they didn’t marry until she was 15. Early marriages like Catherine’s are socially acceptable as long as the groom is at least 14, and as long as the bride is at least 12. Yikes. That’s usually when Tudor girls begin menstruating, and are thus considered to be “of childbearing age.” (Because the most important thing girls can bring to a marriage is a working set of reproductive lady parts.) But don’t think this is par for the course in Tudor England. Royalty and nobility are usually the only ones getting married this young, and early marriages will fall out of favor by the Elizabethan age, at which point the legal marriageable age will be raised to 16 for men and 14 for women, with all couples under the age of 21 requiring parental consent to tie the knot.  

In truth, it’s much more common for Tudors to wait to get married. Men are usually between the ages of 24 and 30 when they first walk down the aisle, and women are usually between 22 and 27. This delay means that young people can gain experience in a job or apprenticeship, accumulating enough savings to establish a household and, hopefully, the know-how they’ll need to keep it running. In this patriarchal world, working-class women know not to accept a suitor unless he’s able to provide for her. In 1539, Agnes Adane told her suitor, Henry Corbett, that she would not marry him until he had his own farm, so “that we dwell not within your mother nor my mother.” (YES, Agnes.) Many parents also advise couples to wait until their twenties because they view young people as too immature and irresponsible to handle marriage. One contemporary author wrote, “Until a man grow into the age of twenty-four years, he is wild, without judgment and not of sufficient experience to govern himself.” (LOL: 24? Try 30.) 

If Tudor marriage is primarily an economic contract, do Tudors expect to find love with their future spouse? Yes, ideally.

ELIZABETH: Yeah, so I mean, it was generally accepted that the ideal position was that there will be some love between a couple if they were, you know, thinking of getting married. So you know, fundamentally the ideal was you bring a young couple together, and they would, you know, at least have some affection for each other before they're married.

That said, passion and romantic love are not considered good foundations for a stable marriage. As one proverb warns, “he who marries for love and no money, hath good nights but sorry days.” Instead, reciprocal affection is considered the gold standard. A “good” Tudor marriage seems to be a companionable partnership in which the couple gets along well, and works together to raise a family and attain financial stability, while hopefully learning to love each other along the way. Many people do expect to find love with their spouse… just not immediately, with another proverb advising couples to, “Marry first, and love after by leisure.” 

One thing we know for certain is that arranged, loveless marriages are most common among the nobility. These alliances are about power and money, and when you have large sums on the line, your daughter’s feelings don’t rank that high.) Unsurprisingly, between 1595 and 1620, around a third of noblemen are living separately from their wives. One classic example is that of William Parr, the brother of King Henry’s sixth wife, Katherine. At 14 years old, William’s mother arranges for him to marry one Lady Anne Bourchier. Unfortunately, Lady Anne hates William with a burning passion of and refuses to live with him for years. Eventually, she publicly tells him that, “she would take her pleasure and live as she listed (liked),” and that “she never loved him nor never would.” (Tell us how you really feel, Anne!) But Anne isn’t joking about taking her pleasure. She elopes with her lover and becomes pregnant, causing a humiliated William to seek a separation, and begin an affair of his own. The Parrs live like this for years, causing so much scandal that their marriage finally has to be annulled by an Act of Parliament. (Congratulations! You two hated each other so much that the government had to get involved!)

ROYAL COUPLING

Love matches are about as rare as a unicorn sighting amongst Tudor-age royals. No matter how much their parents might love them, royal daughters are seen as political bargaining chips. What’s the best way to cement a key alliance? Through marriage, obviously. In the chess game of European power, princesses are key pieces, moved around through marriage to whomever suits their family dynasty best. 

Most royal couples don’t even meet one another before their marriage treaty is signed, let alone engage in proper courtship. Catherine of Aragon and her first husband, Arthur Tudor, are engaged before they both turn six, and spend the next decade writing letters to each other. They’re married by proxy years before they actually clap eyes on each other. At least these life-long penpals went into it wanting to like each other, and knowing they were around the same age. Henry VIII’s unfortunate sister, Mary, is basically forced to marry the French king, Louis. She’s 18, and he’s 52. So that’s…yikes. 

But as a king, Henry VIII has had a lot more room to choose his partners. All three of his wives were chosen primarily for the affection Henry felt for them. Though Catherine married Arthur for the alliance, Henry chose her because he wanted her. His next two wives were both controversial in their different ways, and yet Henry let his heart - and maybe his codpiece? - do the choosing. Lover of poetry and courtly games that he is, Henry thinks of himself as a romantic. But after Jane Seymour’s death, he was reluctant to get back in the marrying saddle. But it becomes increasingly apparent that he needs allies in Europe. He also needs another heir, just in case something happens to baby Edward, and he isn’t getting any younger. The Catholic wolves of Europe are definitely circling, and Henry’s legacy is far from assured. So his advisor, Thomas Cromwell, pushes for this next marriage to be unapologetically political. Something to help the country out. But Henry says he isn’t just going to marry some random foreign princess: the lady has to meet certain requirements. She has to be fertile, obviously, young enough to bear him children, and sweet tempered. And, perhaps most important of all, she’s gotta be hot.

His first choice is the beautiful French widow Madame de Longville. He sends envoys to put forward his suit, but alas, she’s already engaged to the young, attractive King James of Scotland. She isn’t really free, and doesn’t want what Henry is selling. Fine, Henry thinks, a little embarrassed. He writes to ask that the most eligible French women be presented at a manor house in Calais for his inspection. The French king, Francis I, is NOT impressed. And so he turns to Denmark and the famously beautiful Christina of Denmark. She’s smart, witty, sweet: perfect. But Christina wants nothing to do with Henry. She poses for her portrait, listening half-heartedly to his nvoy’s speech about Henry’s many charms. She isn’t moved by it. “I would marry King Henry,” she’s reported as saying, “if I only had an extra head to spare.”

What about the House of Cleves? Thomas Cromwell suggests. They’d be a helpful ally. The Duke of Cleeves has a 24-year-old sister. Henry asks his envoys in Cleves for a full report on Anne’s appearance, to which his ambassador replies, “everyone praises the lady’s beauty, both of face and body. One said she excelled the Duchess [of Milan] as the golden sun did the silver moon.” Henry still isn’t satisfied. After all, his ambassador has never actually seen Anne: she always covers herself for modesty. Who knows WHAT’s going on under there? As negotiations progress, a slightly panicked Henry sends famed artist Hans Holbein the Younger to Cleves to paint Anne. He needs a definitive profile pic so he can decide whether or not to swipe right. Hans ends up producing a stunning portrait - you can see it for yourself in the show notes - and when Henry sees it, his lukewarm feelings for the marriage evaporates on the spot. 

Who exactly is this girl from Cleves, and why is her family so willing to marry her off to a man that beheads his wives? Anne of Cleves is 24 years old, and she has an impressive pedigree: she is related to King Louis XII of France, and her brother-in-law is the Head of the Protestant Confederation of Germany. Thanks to the strict morals underpinning her era’s German culture, Anne had a very sheltered upbringing. It’s common for German noblemen and women to live sequestered from one another, so Anne spends most of her time in the women’s quarters, where male visitors are prohibited from visiting at night, and all male servants have to be under the age of 12. Anne has grown up surrounded by women, raised primarily by her Catholic mother and her governess. She speaks only German - no English, no French - and hasn’t been trained in music or poetry. She knows very little about the ways of the English court. Not the best situation for someone bound to marry Henry VIII.

Even though Germans view the English as morally loose barbarians, the Schmalkaldic League is eager to form an alliance with their fellow Protestants. So when Anne’s 22-year-old brother Wilhelm becomes the new Duke of Cleves in 1539, he welcomes Henry’s interest in his sister. The marriage treaty is officially signed in October of that year.

A FAMILY AFFAIR

The church was heavily involved in regulating Tudor marriages. Most weddings would have taken place in church, after which the priest would bless the marriage bed for consummation. 

“The Wedding of Stephen Beckingham and Mary Cox,” oil on canvas, William Hogarth, 1729,  The Met.

Although most women aren’t forced to marry royal megalomaniacs, it’s normal for Tudor families to be heavily involved in facilitating marriage. After all, it has repercussions for the social standing of the whole family, and can affect their future prospects. This can cause strife, of course. Sometimes the person your dad wants you to marry is NOT the one you would’ve chosen for yourself. Although secret liaisons and elopements do happen, they are considered scandalous, and best avoided. Unless you’re looking to get disowned… or worse. When Joan Conyers refuses to put on her wedding dress, as she isn’t interested in marrying the man her parents have picked out for her, her father warns her that he “would not leave one whole bone of her” if she doesn’t get herself down that aisle. (Stellar parenting, Mr. Conyers.) Parents are very invested in their daughters marrying someone appropriate, in social station and situation. When Margaret Paston decides to marry a servant - horrors - her parents think beating her for days on end will convince her to call off the betrothal. It doesn’t (Shocker!) and she marries the man anyway, losing her inheritance in the process.

Money is one of the biggest reasons parents are able to exert so much control over their children’s marital choices. Many will only distribute property, allowance, or inheritance to their heirs if they agree with their son’s prospective choice. Daughters have an especially difficult time because they are more financially dependent on their parents, who feel morally obliged to see their daughters married off. After all, in Tudor England, becoming a wife and mother is the safest way for women to achieve financial stability and social acceptance. Some parents even try to control their daughter’s marital choices from beyond the grave. They nominate husbands in their wills, or make bequests that any future marriages are conditional upon approval of the groom by their executors. Imagine falling in love, then having to ask your dad’s executors for permission to marry him! Step off my business already.

For most Tudors, the idea of forcing two young people to marry is distasteful, but plenty of girls marry their parents’ choice of suitor because they feel they have to. Elizabeth Rayner says she “never consented in her heart to her father’s saying,” and yet she allowed herself to be measured for wedding garments, “for fear of her father and mother’s displeasure.” How many Tudor women like Elizabeth found themselves stuck in marriages they weren’t keen on because they were afraid or unable to stand up to their parents? The amount of agency daughters have in all of this varies greatly, so it’s hard to say for sure. Technically, though, daughters don’t need their parents' consent to marry if they are of age, but most heed their wishes out of love, respect, and obedience. In a society that’s all about respecting one’s elders, especially their fathers, it makes sense that most women aren’t likely to push back.

At the end of the day, though, parents want the same thing as their daughters when it comes to marriage: to find happiness, financial stability, and status. Thus most daughters welcome their parents’ assistance, and most parents make a genuine effort to take their child’s feelings into consideration. Parents mostly allow the couple to get to know each other first through courtship, which gives them a chance to either veto the match, or, hopefully, fall in love. Thus most familial involvement and arranged marriages are often less of a “parent vs. child” conflict and more of a “we are all on the same side” team effort. After all, most parents acknowledge that forcing your child to marry someone they hate will only lead to extramarital affairs and a lifetime of misery. (Just ask William Parr!)

Refreshingly, the church emphasizes the importance of consent in marriage. A union is only considered valid if all parties involved enter into it of their own free will. If either party can prove later that they were coerced into the marriage, it can be annulled, and there are plenty of court cases in which couples in their twenties are able to successfully prove that they were married against their will as young children. This issue of consent is also helpful when couples decide to elope or get married against their parents’ wishes. If both parties are of age, have given their consent, and have consummated the union, no number of scandalized mothers or angry fathers in the world can part them. Their union’s indissoluble in the eyes of the church. (So just build a bridge and get over it, mom.)

A TIME FOR WOOING

As 1539 drew to a close, Anne begins her journeys toward her future husband. After arriving in Calais, she goes to stay in Rochester before continuing on to London to meet Henry in the flesh. On her journey, she asks the nobleman in charge of her escort to help her prepare to impress her husband. She got him to teach her how to play Henry’s favorite card game and asked that he bring English nobles to dinner. She might not understand much of their language, but she still wants to try and get used to their manner and jokes.

Their meeting, set for Christmas, is delayed: Henry is told he’ll have to wait for better weather.

Henry, however, has other ideas. He’s spent months staring at Anne’s portrait, concocting all sorts of romantic fantasies about his mail-order bride. So in love has he fallen that he decides he can’t be apart from her one moment longer. I mean, wouldn’t it be oh so romantic to show up unannounced at Rochester and surprise her? He knows that it’s going to be love at first sight.

On New Year’s Day, Anne is minding her own business, watching a celebratory bull baiting through her sitting room window in the courtyard below. Suddenly, a group of nine cloaked, masked men storm in and accost her. The tallest and most physically imposing of the bunch grabs her up and tries to kiss her. Horrified, she shoves him away. Of course she does! Anne is in a foreign land, she doesn’t speak the native language, and she’s grown up in a culture where men and women are hardly allowed in the same room. A cloaked stranger wearing a mask has just assaulted her, and now the men around them are laughing. Doesn’t this man know who she is? That she’s to be married to their king? Unbeknownst to her, it IS the king. When the men leave the room, her ladies try to explain: it’s a game of chivalry, of courtly love. Anne didn’t find it very amusing. Why would Henry come to his bride in such disguise? The idea was that Anne would see right through Henry’s disguise and embrace him! That’s the way it worked with court ladies and his past wives. The ladies love it: Anne will too. (Oh, honey. This is NOT the way to woo a queen.)

What does courtship look like for other Tudor women? Let’s start with what it looked like for the nobility: for them, courtship revolves around chivalry and courtly love. Chivalry involves old-fashioned guidelines about how men should interact with women, emphasizing qualities like courage and honor.

Here’s Elizabeth: “Yeah, so courtly Love comes from the medieval period. Very, very fashionable. And it's this idea about a young sort of lower-status male, but you know, still gentleman or Knight, who is in love with, you know, a queen, or a princess or highest status woman, and it's very much about attainability, you know…this love is never going to be consummated, they are loving a goddess and idyll and, you know, they'll sort of write poetry and they'll speak words of love to the woman, they'll dance with them, you know, but it's all very much a game in that it's not expected that they will, you know, eventually sleep together. It's much more about this idea of attainability....”

If chivalry is a code of conduct men try to go by, at least in public, courtly love is a sort of game. For women, it’s about flirting prettily, and even encouraging men’s devotion, but NEVER actually letting it go any farther than that.

Henry might be horrible at marriage, but he is actually a stone cold fox when it comes to courtship. When he was young, he and his courtiers would try to impress the ladies by hosting jousts and tournaments. Now that Henry’s jousting days are over, though, and his athlete’s physique is falling by the wayside, the young men of his court turn to courtly love poetry. Many of these verses are preserved in the Devonshire Manuscript, a collection of poetry created by ladies-in-waiting and male courtiers beginning in the court of Anne Boleyn. The members of the court would trade the manuscript back and forth, creating flirty verse conversations by adding an answer to a poem someone else wrote. One such example reads, “For to the flame wherewith ye burn my thought and my desire // when into ashes it should turn my heart by fervent fire // ye send a stormy rain that doth it quench again // and makes mine eyes express the tears that do redress // my life in wretchedness.”

The majority of Tudors aren’t living at court and writing love poems about wretchedness, though, so how are they meeting and courting their prospective spouses? Young people are fairly free to mix and mingle at markets, fairs, or dances, and many people meet their spouse after leaving home to undertake an apprenticeship. Family members or friends also try to play matchmaker and introduce compatible pairs to one another. One single guy remembers his wingman trying to set him up by asking, “How say you if I would help you to a widow, who is come of worshipful parentage and hath twenty pounds a year dowry or jointure, who hath no children and is of years nigh about five or six years younger than yourself?” Wealthy noble bachelors don’t need to try particularly hard to find someone to court. At least not according to one Simon Forman, who boasted that he was, “offered a wife many times and had the sight and choice of four or five maids and widows.” (I hope for your wife’s sake that your tackle is as big as your ego, there, Simon.) 

The Simon Formans of the world notwithstanding, courtship is actively encouraged before marriage. It is a process of bonding with your future spouse, as well as clarifying intentions before negotiations take place. This process has several unwritten rules that one has to follow: a man can’t just randomly start showing up at his crush’s house and get down to wooing. Usually, courtship begins with the young man’s father or the suitor himself writing to the father of the lady in question, asking if a visit would be welcome. The woman’s father has a chance to screen this potential suitor, and if he likes the man, he’ll invite him over. The man can then start stopping by to bring the lady gifts and get to know her and her family. 

Gifts are often exchanged in the earlier stages of courtship, and 99% of the time, men are the ones doing the gifting. (Women aren’t expected to reciprocate. Sorry, guys.) Funnily enough, money is the most popular gift, although common tokens also include ribbons, gloves, and girdles. Oh my! Gifts like these signal a deeper commitment and serve as an acknowledgement that the courtship has moved beyond casual flirting. When Richard Clething gave Agnes Hutchinson a gift, he wrote, “I will give you this kerchief on this condition that you shall never have another husband while I live but me.” (Richard is not playing.) Gifts are also important because they represent tangible physical evidence of a young man’s intentions. As many Tudor ladies will come to learn, evidence is key if a courtship goes south.  

Case in point: let’s find out what happened to Alice Carre when she found herself being courted by a new boy in town named Thomas. He talked a big game about his wealth, being such a great baker, and he started having her over for dinners at his house in Stratford-at-Bowe. When he proposed, she said yes, and when his friend gave her some documents to sign, she signed them. Nevermind that Alice couldn’t read: no cause for alarm. She started moving out of her house, handing Thomas’ friend all of her most prized possessions. Somehow, both possessions AND fiancé disappeared. The house she’d been visiting wasn’t even his: the whole thing had been a scam to get at her valuables. And those papers she signed? They stated that she owed his friend quite a large sum of money, but she signed it, which meant she had to pay it out. 

Besides evidence, witnesses are also super important. All stages of courtship require onlookers: family members or friends are always present during visits, and they often act as messengers or go-betweens. Courting publicly formalizes and legitimizes the courtship; secret liaisons are considered dishonest and scandalous in the extreme, with serious consequences for a lady. We’ll find out a lot more about THOSE in our next episode, but suffice to say that Tudor England doesn’t abide a hussy. And don’t count on your neighbors’ discretion in such matters, either. One couple, William and Sibill, are reported to the church by their neighbors, who claim that they, “have been contracted about a yeare since, and yet are unmarryed, and live in one house suspiciously together.” Witnesses protect both parties from such accusations, and act as a fail-safe should one of them renege on a promise in the future.

Of course, Henry and Anne haven’t had time for wooing. Most arranged royal couples don’t. And that’s why Henry goes to surprise Anne in costume: he thinks it’s going to be romantic. But what it ends up being is a humiliating failure. After changing into his kingly attire, he comes back to introduce himself, and she is horrified. She knows she’s made a huge misstep and does her best to apologize for the confusion. Henry appears affable, even gracious about it. But when he leaves her, the first thing he says to Thomas Cromwell is the now-famous line: “I like her not.” Their relationship never recovers from this devastating blow to his ego. (Maybe next time don’t try to live out your weird role play fantasy on the first date, buddy.) 

And yet, despite the worst first meeting ever… Henry and Anne still have to get married. They might be separated by language, culture, and age, but their kingdoms have spent months negotiating this marriage treaty. Henry can’t risk offending the Duke of Cleves, even if he feels tricked by this woman. I mean, she doesn’t look anything LIKE her portrait. As he said, rather rudely, “I see nothing in this woman as men report of her.” He demands that Thomas Cromwell get him out of this marriage. Unfortunately, it’s too late to call it off.

PUT A RING ON IT

For most couples, the courting stage is followed by a betrothal. This is usually signified by the exchanging of rings and the handfasting ritual, which is basically a glorified handshake agreement. The single most important part of this betrothal process is making sure you have witnesses, because once a couple is betrothed, they are seen as “married in the eyes of God,” and we know what that means: it’s officially time for some bedroom sport.

Despite all of our previous talk about negotiations and parental pressure, it turns out that most people aren’t overly bothered about said sport if marriage is firmly in view for the couple. That is probably why between 20-30% of Tudor brides arrive at the altar already pregnant. When one Christopher Selherst finds his brother in bed with Joanne Port, he said when, “examined whether he was myscontent that they had so companyed together before they were married, he saith no for that he toke them together assured as man and wife.” And remember William and Sibill, that couple with the peeping neighbors? It turns out they were right to be suspicious: she gave birth one month after they got hitched. 

This arrangement might work out fine for William and Sibill, but this whole “let’s shake hands and promise to get married so we can start getting naked” arrangement causes plenty of drama, especially for women. Church courts are filled with cases in which a woman gets with child by her betrothed, only for him to abandon her before the marriage ceremony. In these cases, the jilted woman can call upon her trusty witnesses to testify that a courtship and handfasting took place. She can even present any gifts she received as evidence. Church law regards promises to marry as binding, so if a betrothal can be proved, the church court will enforce them. (God’s justice is apparently a bunch of angry bishops frog-marching such reluctant grooms down the aisle.) Similarly, if paternity can be proven, the court will also hold the father accountable for child support. Which sounds lovely, if you can in fact prove it. But how many women do you imagine are left in dire straits when they can’t?

GET THAT MONEY, HONEY

Once you are officially betrothed, your parents sit down to talk money. Negotiations often take months, and sometimes lawyers are called upon to draw up formal “articles of marriage.” There are usually two main points to consider in any marriage contract: the dowry and the jointure. The dowry is the responsibility of the bride’s family, and it is the amount of money or land that she brings with her into the marriage. The dowry often depends upon the bride’s status: if she is a noble woman from a respectable family, her dowry might be lower, as her status makes her a more valuable catch. Royal dowries are usually obscene. Catherine of Aragon’s dowry was some 40,000 pounds: in today’s terms, that’d be over 20 million pounds. Besides paying this enormous sum, usually in installments, the father of the bride will also pay for the bride’s trousseau and the marriage feast. 

The jointure is the responsibility of the groom’s family, and usually consists of land and an annual allowance for the bride in the event that she becomes a widow. The jointure is important, as women often outlive their husbands, and so many fathers have to pay jointures to their sons’ widows for decades. The amount of jointure again depends on status. For example, remember how Mary Tudor was forced to marry the very old French king? That only lasted about three months. As Louis’ widow, Mary was entitled to a jointure of £10,000 a year. But then she does something scandalous, marrying her brother’s childhood friend, Charles Brandon, in secret. Henry forces her to give him £4,000 annually as a punishment for remarrying without his consent. (Henry, can you just try not to be awful for two seconds?) Speaking of awful… for the first couple of years, many newlyweds (especially nobles) will live with their in-laws, so that they can learn to run a household, and accumulate enough money for things like a good mattress. (Clearly a bunch of marriages are being tested right out of the gate.) 

GETTING TO THE CHAPEL

On January 6, 1540, Anne and Henry are married. She leaves her blonde hair loose, beset with jewels and gold cloth. 

What do most Tudor wedding ceremonies look like? Once a couple is betrothed, they have to attend church so that the banns of marriage can be declared three times. This involves the priest formally announcing the couple’s intention to marry, and asking the congregation if anybody knows of any reason why they shouldn’t wed. The whole point of this ritual is to prevent any secret marriages, and it’s done three times to ensure that everyone has plenty of time to come forward with any impediments. I’ll bet that occasionally causes some drama.

The most common impediment is the discovery of a previous betrothal. Pre-contracts aren’t binding unless they are consummated, but they do have to be formally disavowed. One young couple, Thomas Soley and Agnes Smith, completed the handfasting ritual, and Thomas gave his bride-to-be a ring. But during their banns, a stream of witnesses came forth to testify that Agnes had been betrothed to William Headley two years prior. (Naughty, Agnes!) Apparently, William and Agnes also completed the handfasting and William gave Agnes a ring as well, with one of the witnesses confessing that he “thought in his conscience that they two were man and wife before God and could have no other.” Eventually, it was revealed that Agnes ditched William once a better prospect came along, and she wasn’t allowed to marry Thomas. (Nice try, though.)

Thomas Cromwell uses this old chestnut to try and get Henry out of marrying Anne. Back when Anne was ten, it’s said she was promised to the Duke of Lorraine. The ambassador from Cleves didn’t understand when asked about it. Anne wasn’t of an age to consent, then. The thing wasn’t at all legally binding. It’s no problem. But Cromwell still has him send for the proper paperwork, proving that Anne could marry Henry after all.

The church tries its part to regulate who is allowed to get married. For example, it does not allow young children to marry, nor does it allow people to marry their close relatives. These rules often cause problems for the upper classes, many of whom are related either by blood or affinity due to decades of intermarriage. Royalty and nobles could once get around this rule by requesting a dispensation from the Pope to permit marriage within the forbidden degrees. (For a price, of course.) This was how Catherine of Aragon and King Henry were able to marry, even though he was technically her ex-brother-in-law. 

After the Reformation, though, things change. Henry can no longer run to the Pope with all of his marital problems. The Reformation also tries to change things by redefining marriage as “a partnership between equals.” Unfortunately, this didn’t actually pan out in practice. Tudor society is designed to limit women’s economic and educational opportunities to ensure that wives would always be financially dependent upon their husbands, and this unequal power dynamic is baked right into the marriage vows. While men are prompted to love and protect their wives, women are prompted to love and obey their husbands. (Do in exchange for agreeing to a lifetime of unwavering obedience, Tudor brides are receiving protection from… what, exactly? Dragons?) As Elizabeth Norton told us in one of our previous episodes, gaining a husband means losing your legal independence. In the eyes of the law, when a Tudor woman marries, her status is subsumed by her husband and she ceases to exist, because she is now technically his possession. (Yes, that definitely sounds like equality.)

Elizabeth: So when you marry in the Tudor period, you lose your legal personhood, you're no longer an individual at law, you have no rights at all. So everything that a married woman owns before her marriage now belongs to her husband, and that includes her clothes, her lands, if she's inherited any every single thing, clothes, furniture, and all belongs to her husband. And that's one of the reasons why a married woman can't make a will because actually, they don't own anything, you know, they've got nothing to leave

If no impediments are discovered during the banns, then the marriage ceremony can proceed. Now, technically, you don’t actually need a priest or even witnesses to get married. A wedding ceremony can be as simple as the young couple holding hands and exchanging barebones vows. I take you to be my wife, I take you to be my husband, bam: married. There’s no need for a marriage certificate, or witnesses, or even consummation, and the only thing that really makes the marriage legal is the verbal consent of both parties…which, it turns out, is hard to prove in court.

But it can work in a lady’s favor too. When Jane Singleton decides to wed Gilbert Halsall in 1588, she is careful. She makes sure a local friend, one James Spenser, comes to witness their marriage at the local church. They stand up at the altar and both plighted their troth, kiss, and spent the night together. But then Gilbert ghosts Jane, forcing her into the humiliation of going to the Church court at Chester. She wins, at least - she has enough evidence to prove he’s wronged her. Though I can’t think she was happy with her husbandly prize.

Hoping to avoid such catastrophes, most couples get married in front of a priest. On their wedding day, the priest meets the couple at the front door of the church. The woman stands to the left of the man, to symbolize the fact that Eve was made from Adam’s left rib, and they recite their vows right there on the church porch. The priest blesses the ring and the groom places it on the bride’s right ring finger before they are led into the church and pronounced married. 

The ceremony is usually followed by a feast and festivities, after which the priest blesses the marriage bed. The newlyweds are then taken to that bed by their friends and family and left alone to find their conjugal bliss. It is not unusual for consummation to be postponed until well after the ceremony, particularly if the couple are still in their teens. King Henry’s illegitimate son, for example, gets married at 15, but he isn’t allowed to live with his new wife because their parents feel they’re too young for horizontal tennis time. (Ugh, dad, you’re embarrassing me!) While early consummation ensures that the legality of the marriage won’t be questioned, by the end of the 16th century it is seriously frowned upon. Tudors start to realize that giving birth is extremely dangerous for younger girls, and they also believe that sperm is vital for a boy’s growth and that having sex too early and too often might impair his physical and mental development. (Unless you want to stop growing at 5’4, keep it in your pants, okay, son?)

What is Anne and Henry’s wedding night like? By all accounts, not great. They’re married in January 1540 at Greenwich Palace in London, only five days after their awkward first meeting. Anne was pretty much totally innocent about what went on between the sheets for a married couple, and Henry is used to…well, more experienced partners. To be fair, Anne has almost NO information about making babies: she’s been given very little to go on. Henry’s impatience, combined with his intermittent impotence, doesn’t help matters, and they are unable to consummate the marriage. The next day, Henry tells Cromwell, “Surlye my lorde as ye know I lyked her befor not well but now I lyke her moche worse.” Still, he persisted, returning to Anne’s bedchamber for four more nights. When he continues to have trouble, um, raising the flag up the flagpole, Henry does what he does best: he blames his wife. Although Anne is widely described as beautiful by court members, Henry claims she’s too ugly for him to bed. I mean, he tells his doctors, it’s not MY fault I couldn’t consummate the thing properly. Her breasts and belly are saggy. She’s probably not even a virgin. Obviously that is why, as he put it, “he could never in her company be provoked and stered to know her carnally.” These rumors make their way around court, and they’ve never really left us. By the end of the 16th century, (long after Anne has passed away), it will become common to criticize Anne’s appearance by calling her the Flanders Mare. (Rude.) 

STAYING SINGLE?

Anne, we know, didn’t have much say over whether or not she married Henry. But what about Tudor ladies who don’t want to get married, or don’t need to, because you are perfectly capable of fighting dragons by yourself, thank you very much? Did all Tudor women get married? Not necessarily, but most do, because the alternative is grim. A Tudor woman’s marital status essentially determines how she will live her life, and in a society where the only acceptable roles for women are that of wife and mother, single women are outcasts. Society has no place for them, and actively punishes the few women who do try to live outside the confines of marriage. Governors and officials limit where single women can live and in what trades they can work. In Coventry, for example, one law states that, “no single woman ... under the age of fifty years, [should] take or keep from henceforth houses or rooms to themselves.” The only acceptable place for a single woman, then, is as a household dependent. This means living with your parents or family, or trying to find another place to live as a servant or lodger.

So, even though marriage means losing your independence, it also means gaining important privileges. Becoming a wife means you had earned the right to head a household, and that privilege doesn’t go away when your husband dies. Widows are perfectly free to live independently as single female heads of house. Widows also regain their independent legal status: they can once again own property, enter into contracts, and make a will. Under common law in England, a widow is entitled to at least a third of the income of the estate for the rest of her life. Most widows receive more than this, and live off the prearranged income and property allocated to them by their jointure. 

Here’s Elizabeth: But as long as you had a bit of money as a widow, it's really quite a liberating time for women…if you've got a bit of money and you're comfortable enough, actually being a widow is pretty much the freest time of a woman's life. 

Things get complicated if you want to remarry, though. All of the property you receive as a part of your jointure from your first marriage legally becomes the property of your second husband the moment you say “I do” again. Around 1592, the widow Ellen Tanfield turns away Richard Heslington’s proposal of marriage, because she would have to forfeit the farm bequeathed to her by her first husband. (Ellen is certainly no fool.) It makes sense, then, that while 70% of households in England are headed by married couples, about 13% of households are headed by widows (the second most common arrangement). And it’s so bad out there for single ladies that even though there are twice as many single women as widows in England, only 1% of all households are headed by them. The moral of the story? If you really don’t want a man in your life in Tudor England, you are better off plotting your husband’s early demise than staying single. (Poison, anyone?) 

If your spouse does die (totally by accident, of course) you can marry again. In fact, multiple marriages are extremely common because life expectancy is so short. About 25% of all marriages in the 16th century are remarriages for either the husband or the wife. Most people marry at least twice, and having three or four spouses over the course of your life is normal, especially in the upper classes. Lady Margaret Beaufort married thrice, Henry’s last wife Katherine Parr will marry four times, and Henry VIII's sister, Margaret, marries three times. Women of childbearing age usually remarry, and it’s not unusual for a son by a first marriage to have a stepmother of the same age, or younger, than himself. (Awkward.) 

Older women from the upper classes aren’t as eager to remarry, especially if they have a large jointure to live off. Because they no longer have to listen to their parents or take financial matters into consideration, these women often take this moment as an opportunity to choose their partner for love. After Henry dies, his last wife Katherine Parr will do just that, wedding the guy she’s long pined for, thomas Seymour. He turns out to be…well…not her smartest decision, but that’s a story for another time.

Sometimes women throw all caution to the wind and marry much younger men well below their own social scale. (Tudor Cougars running the show!) These women wield much more power in the relationship than is the norm, and unsurprisingly, society doesn’t much approve of these kinds of marriages, which were often mocked for being unnatural. But one playwright offers the following comedic advice to Tudor men: ‘‘... get some rich old widow and grow wealthy by her.’’ 

WHEN TUDOR MARRIAGE GOES WRONG

Back to Anne, who is actually quite enjoying being queen of England, but isn’t much enjoying her marriage to the king. It isn’t long before Henry is sleeping with other women. Namely, Catherine Howard, who before long he will make his new wife. But no matter how the king behaves, Anne doesn't really have any choice when it comes to leaving him. No one leaves the king of England - if anything, he leaves you. Henry continues looking for a way to do just that. The alliance with Cleves is no longer necessary, as the political landscape in Europe has shifted. But still, Henry has to tread lightly: Anne is still a foreign princess, and he can’t exactly execute her for no reason. Still, he wants her gone, and sooner rather than later.

It takes Henry six months to have a lightbulb moment. In July, the King’s Council informs Anne that they are investigating her previous betrothal to Francis of Lorraine, back when she was 11 years old. The betrothal had been disavowed, Anne wasn’t of the age of consent when it happened, AND Henry knew about the pre-contract before their marriage, it come on: it’s the perfect excuse for an annulment. Anne is understandably anxious about it. The Council messenger arrives in the dead of the night, and didn’t Anne Boleyn’s downfall began with a similarly sketchy investigation? (And we all know how that one turned out.) A secret convocation of clergy is called - Anne isn’t notified of this meeting, let alone allowed to attend or defend herself - and they deem Henry and Anne’s marriage invalid. The decision was based on three things: the supposed betrothal between Francis and Anne, Henry’s lack of consent to marry Anne in the first place, and their lack of consummation. Henry, of course, got to testify (I guess his invitation to the secret meeting didn’t get lost in the mail). His testimony included this gem: “I never for love to the woman consented to marry; nor yet if she brought maidenhead with her, took any from her by true carnal copulation.” This argument is backed up by Anne’s ladies-in-waiting, who testified that Anne didn’t seem to understand that she actually had to have sex with Henry to make babies. I mean, he kissed her goodnight and good morning, didn’t he? Wasn’t that enough to get it done?

Was Anne genuinely this naive? Probably not. It’s far more likely she was feigning ignorance to avoid having to get naked with her rather gross husband. But it doesn’t matter, in the end. Anne receives news of the annulment via an interpreter, and she is so frightened of the implications that she faints on the spot. But she recovers quickly, hastily agreeing to the annulment. She writes to Henry: “So now being ascertained how the same Clergy hath therein given their judgment and sentence, I knowledge myself hereby to accept and approve the same, wholly and entirely putting myself, for my state and condition, to Your Highness’ goodness and pleasure… Your Majesty’s most humble sister and servant, Anne, the daughter of Cleves.” Henry is so relieved that Anne isn’t going to fight him the way Catherine of Aragon did that he writes back with his thanks, calling her his “right dear and right entirely beloved sister.” Their marriage is officially annulled on July 9, 1540. 

Feeling generous toward Anne, Henry grants her 4,000 pounds a year, and assures her high social status. He makes it so she ranks just below his daughters and his new queen. He also gives her several estates, as long as she agrees to remain in England. This well-treated-hostage type of arrangement ensures Anne’s brother’s acquiescence - Wilhelm is furious about the annulment and even more furious that Anne isn’t coming home. Anne probably chooses to remain in England because she has more money and independence there, and because she knows that no one else will want to marry her after Henry’s rejection. Thus, even though Anne is never crowned queen, she enjoys a lavish retirement. At age 25, she becomes one of the few single women in England heading up her own household. She remains on good terms with Henry and his two daughters and is invited to court often. She will go on to outlive Henry and all of his other wives, proving that, sometimes, it pays to be practical. 

Henry manages to get his marriage annulled, but can his subjects do the same? Is divorce even an option? In a word: Nope. According to the church, marriage is a binding contract, an indissoluble union lasting until death. There are loopholes, but they require going to church court. You can seek an annulment, but they aren’t granted easily. You have to prove the marriage wasn’t valid in the first place, like Henry did. Acceptable grounds for a marriage being deemed invalid includes lack of consent, blood affinity, non-consummation, pre-contract/betrothal, insanity, and impotence. Yes, women are allowed to use impotence as a reason to leave their husbands, the argument being that this will allow them to remarry and have a shot at having children. Unfortunately, women have to somehow prove their husbands’ impotence. (Your honor, the prosecution presents exhibit A… now will the defendant please remove his pants?)  

Tudors can seek what is essentially a separation. You can live apart from your spouse, but you can’t ever remarry, since your marriage is technically still valid. The only real grounds for separation are adultery and abuse, although judges are much more inclined to grant separations when the wife is the one caught cheating. When the husband cheats, separations are hardly ever granted (After all, boys will be boys. Look at the king!). King Louis XII of France is able to exploit a rare marriage loophole by forcing his first wife to join a convent, which Henry tries and fails to do with Catherine of Aragon. Still, the majority of people don’t bother. Rather than spend time and money trying to convince a judge to grant them an official annulment or separation, most Tudor women in bad marriages just quietly pray for the day they will become a widow. (And, with any luck, a wealthy cougar.)

MUSIC

All music comes courtesy of John Sayles, an amazing guitarist who makes his music available for anyone to enjoy.

Kate J. Armstrong