Henry VIII (19 page)

May Day was celebrated as usual. “The King, lying at Greenwich, rode to the wood to fetch may,” and for three days, he, Howard, Brandon, and Neville “held jousts against all comers. Many a sore stripe was given and many a staff broke.”
²⁷

During his summer progress of 1511, Henry travelled through the Midlands, visiting Nottingham and Coventry, where he and the Queen watched part of the famous cycle of mystery plays, performed by local guildsmen. The King also indulged himself in sports and gambling, but there were complaints from his courtiers that he was “much enticed to play at tennis and at dice” by “crafty persons” who “brought in French-men and Lombards to make wagers with him, so he lost much money.” Fortunately, before too much damage had been done, “he perceived their craft” and sent them away.
²⁸
Thereafter, he would be on his guard against professional tricksters.

During the year 1511, Henry rebuilt Sunninghill, an old royal lodge in Windsor Forest, which he intended to use as a hunting box. It was kept in repair for most of his reign, but has long since disappeared, its exact location being now uncertain.

In October, the King joined the Holy League. As a sign of solidarity with the Church, he commanded his courtiers to curb their extravagance and dress more soberly; he even forbade the nobility to wear silk. Instead of wasting their money on outward show, they should be spending it on the weapons and horses required for a crusade against the King of France. Henry himself put away his rich garments, donning plainer clothes, and in December, when attending Parliament, he appeared in the House of Lords wearing “a long grey cloth gown” cut in the Hungarian fashion.
²⁹

This fad for austerity did not last long. The King spent Christmas at Greenwich “with great and plentiful cheer in a most princely manner, where was such viands served to all comers of honest behaviour as hath been few times seen.”
³⁰
The King spent over £800 (£240,000) on New Year's gifts.
³¹
On New Year's Night, a pageant, The Fortress Dangerous, was put on in the great hall. It featured a castle with towers and a dungeon, “garnished with artillery and weapons, after the most warlike fashion”— there was a message here for Henry's courtiers—and inside were six ladies wearing gowns of russet satin “laid all over with leaves of gold.” Predictably, the castle was assaulted by the King and five other knights; the ladies, “seeing them so lusty and courageous,” readily yielded, and came down to dance with them.
³²

For Twelfth Night, William Cornish had devised something novel: “The King with eleven other were disguised after the manner of Italy, called a masque, a thing not seen afore in England. They were apparelled in garments wrought with gold, with visors and caps of gold; and after the banquet [was] done, these masquers came in with six gentlemen, disguised in silk, bearing torches, and desired the ladies to dance. Some were content, and some that knew the fashion of it refused because it was not a thing commonly seen. After they danced and communed together, and as the fashion of the masque is, they took their leave and departed, and so did the Queen and her ladies.”
³³

What caused all the fuss was that, rather than dancing with ladies they had rehearsed with, as in a pageant, the men were choosing their partners from the audience. Masques, or “masks,” as they were known in England, were a form of drama in which the plot took second place to disguises, poetry, music, and dancing, and they were usually performed by amateurs. They began with a spectacular entry, continued with a “presentation,” and ended with a dance, which was often very complicated and required skill and agility. Like pageants, many masques had allegorical or political themes. The introduction of this new form of entertainment into court festivities is an indicator that Italian influence was beginning to be felt at the English court. The King's growing preference for masques, in which he could show off his talents to perfection, heralded the demise of the pageant, but that would not take place for several years.
³⁴

Henry was at Greenwich when, at the end of April 1512, the Palace of Westminster was largely destroyed by a fire that broke out in the kitchens. Westminster Hall, the Painted Chamber, the crypt of St. Stephen's Chapel, and the Jewel Tower luckily survived, but the rest of the royal lodgings and the service quarters were gutted. They were not rebuilt, although the hall continued to house the law courts and the Palace of Westminster remained the official seat of government. The ruins of the old palace were not finally cleared away until 1532.
³⁵

The loss of his chief London residence drove the King to look elsewhere for somewhere to lodge in the capital, yet the two palaces available in the City, which the King immediately made use of, proved outdated, too small, and insufficiently grand.

One was Baynard's Castle, a battlemented, double-courtyard house with octagonal corner towers. It was sited in Thames Street, between Paul's Wharf and Blackfriars, with a frontage facing the north bank of the River Thames. The first castle on the site had been built in the reign of William the Conqueror, and was named after its custodian, Ralph Baignard, but it had been rebuilt in 1428 by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and again in 1501 by Henry VII, who made it “beautiful and commodious”
³⁶
for the wedding celebrations of Prince Arthur and Katherine of Aragon, who spent their wedding night there. Prior to that it had been the London residence of Cecily Neville, Duchess of York, the mother of Edward IV and Richard III. It was now the Queen's property, and used chiefly to store her Wardrobe stuff. The King found that the site was cramped and that there was no room to expand.
³⁷

His other London residence was, of course, the Tower of London. He used the lodgings built by his father, and erected temporary buildings near the White tower for the officers of his household. He also rebuilt the thirteenth-century Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula, which had been damaged by fire.
³⁸
But the Tower was still too small.

Henry found that he had to compromise. If he could not live comfortably in London, he could live near it in the style to which he had become accustomed, and so he based himself chiefly at Greenwich, making use also of Richmond, Eltham, or Lambeth Palace, the London house of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Henry also began to take an interest in Leeds Castle, near Maidstone, Kent, a beautiful palace built on two linked islands in the middle of a lake. Edward I had purchased it in 1278 for his beloved wife, Eleanor of Castile, and after that it had been a dower house for the queens of England until the death in 1437 of Katherine of Valois, widow of Henry V and Henry VIII's great-grandmother by virtue of her second union with Owen Tudor. The Queen's Gallery leading to the Fountain Court was probably built for her. After her death Leeds had lost favour with royalty, but Henry VIII saw its potential. In 1512, he made Henry Guildford Constable of the castle, and allowed him to live there. Henry himself visited from time to time. He also commissioned certain works, which were completed by 1515. Guildford's job was to act as overseer.

Later, between 1517 and 1523, Henry spent £1,300 (£390,000) on Leeds. He installed bay windows in the royal lodgings in the Gloriette tower and refurbished every room. The upper floor was fitted out for the Queen; her bedchamber and withdrawing room, much remodelled, remain today, and her badges may still be seen on a fireplace in her gallery. Henry also built the Maidens' Tower to provide accommodation for her ladies, and the splendid banqueting hall, which is seventy-five feet long and has a polished floor of ebony wood and a ceiling of carved oak. The contemporary fireplace is French and was installed in the twentieth century; Henry's original chimneypiece is now in the room that has been fitted out as the bedchamber of Katherine of Valois.

16

“A Galaxy of Distinguished Men”

In May 1512, William Blount, Lord Mountjoy,
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a distant cousin of the King, replaced the Earl of Ormonde as Lord Chamberlain to Queen Katherine. Blount was unusual among his caste in that he had an international reputation as a humanist scholar. Having displayed an early brilliance, he had been sent by his uncle and guardian, Sir James Blount, to be educated in Paris, where the great scholar Erasmus was one of his tutors. The two struck up a friendship, and when Mountjoy was recalled to England in 1499 to consummate his marriage to the young heiress Elizabeth Say, he invited Erasmus to visit him at his house at Greenwich.

Blount was a man of many parts: a wealthy nobleman, a soldier who had fought for Henry VII in the Cornish Rising of 1497, and a man of culture. He was modest and high-minded, and he had little time for gambling or idle pursuits. Erasmus held a high opinion of his learning, calling him an elegant Latinist,
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and it was probably for this reason that Henry VII engaged him in 1499 as an academic mentor for Prince Henry; there is every reason to believe that Blount, with his powerful intellect, exerted a lasting influence over his charge. It was Blount who took Erasmus and Thomas More to visit the royal children at Eltham Palace in 1499. By 1505, Mountjoy had been made a privy councillor. His friendship with Erasmus drew him into the humanist circle that included Thomas More, Thomas Linacre, William Grocyn, and John Colet.

Mountjoy's promotion reflected the interest of the King and Queen in learning and humanism. His family's record of impeccable loyalty to the Crown was an advantageous credential, and he was to display the same loyalty to Katherine while she was queen. He married one of her Spanish ladies, Iñez de Venegas, as the second of his four wives.

Henry VIII was keen to encourage the appointment of such men to high office. It behove the magnificence of a Renaissance prince to be surrounded by men of learning, who would by their very presence at his court draw attention to his own erudition and thereby add lustre to his fame. His grandfather Edward IV had been “a most loving encourager of wise and learned men,”
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and Henry VII had been “not devoid of scholarship,”
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nor was he a stranger to humanism. Yet perhaps the most profound intellectual influence on Henry VIII was his grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, who had been an early patron of the new learning, as humanism was beginning to be called.

The Renaissance witnessed—as its name implies—the rebirth, or rediscovery, of the classical works of ancient Greece and Rome, and those who studied these and evolved philosophies based upon them were known as humanists (from the word
humanitas
, then meaning culture). The movement had begun with Petrarch in fourteenth-century Florence, and within a short period Italy had once more found itself at the heart of European civilisation. England being on the fringe of Europe, new ideas took time to permeate, but one of the earliest Renaissance influences was that of humanist thought, which had made its mark by the end of the fifteenth century. Most learning had until that time been the preserve of the Church, yet with the spread of printing and literacy, and the growth of capitalism, laymen were beginning to take an interest in matters of the intellect, and to question the world around them.

The interest in all things classical had led naturally to a revival of the study of ancient languages. Latin, although the universal language of Europe, had gradually become debased during the Middle Ages, while Greek was little known. Humanist scholars sought to revive these languages in their ancient glory so that they could arrive at a better understanding of classical authors and indeed of the original texts of the Scriptures themselves. It was Erasmus who was chiefly responsible for the restoration of the Latin language, and also for the revival of the study of Greek. When he and friends such as Thomas More corresponded, it was in classical Latin.

Henry VIII's efforts at mastering Greek were probably halted by other demands on his time, yet he knew enough to be able to tell Bishop Tunstall that, in his reading of St. John Chrysostom, he had “gathered a wrong sense upon his words.”
⁵
The King was fierce in his defence of Greek scholarship. When, in 1521, he learned that there was at Oxford a Society of Trojans who had denounced not only the study of Greek, which they deemed impious, but also Erasmus himself, Henry invited one of its members to preach before him at Abingdon. Listening to the man ranting from the pulpit, Henry and his secretary Richard Pace smiled meaningfully at each other. Afterwards, Henry appointed Thomas More to dispute with the preacher. The man's arguments were quickly demolished and, falling on his knees, he begged the King for forgiveness, saying his words had been prompted by a spirit.

“Nevertheless, that was not the spirit of Christ, but of foolishness,” reproved Henry. The preacher was then forced to admit that he had not read any of Erasmus's works, whereupon the King retorted, “Why then, you are a foolish fellow to censure what you read.”

This prompted the man to remember after all that he had read
In Praise of Folly
, at which Pace drily observed, “Which has a great deal to do with the case, Your Majesty.” Henry gave orders that this preacher was never to preach before him again.
⁶

Humanism coexisted side by side, and not always comfortably, with the old mediaeval scholasticism, which regarded the Scriptures and the works of St. Thomas Aquinas and the Church Fathers as the ultimate authorities in received wisdom, and resisted any attempts at reinterpretation. Many early humanists, not to mention Henry VIII himself, were also scholastics, yet scholasticism was dying in the face of critical inquiry. As the Reformation dawned, the new learning became increasingly identified with the forces of anticlericalism and religious reform. Not surprisingly, humanists found themselves divided in their sympathies.

In England, there were five men who, more than any other, were responsible for spreading the new learning: Desiderius Erasmus, Thomas More, John Colet, Wiliam Grocyn, and Thomas Linacre. They were not all luminaries of the court, but humanists with an international reputation for scholarship, and their influence, at court and elsewhere, was incalculable.

These early humanists advocated a Platonic society in which members of the elite laity, even princes, were educated to a high standard of erudition and eloquence in preparation for public service. The description of the perfect courtier in Thomas More's
Utopia
(1516) could be that of the ideal Tudor gentleman. Inspired by Cicero, humanists also pressed for a more comprehensive and liberal curriculum in the schools and universities, with greater emphasis on the classics and natural science. They believed that every man had a duty to master all his God-given talents, both intellectual and physical. They called for an end to war, and for the wealthy to take into account the needs of the poor. Above all, they wanted people to take a broader view of the universe, and a less pessimistic view of man's humanity. In short, they would be the founders of a new commonwealth.

The English humanists were all friends and members of the same circle, and they were proud to claim the Dutchman Erasmus as one of their number. He in turn declared that they “have not their equal in Italy,”
⁷
which was praise indeed, considering that Italy was the cradle of humanism.

Desiderius Erasmus had one of the greatest minds of the age. Born the bastard son of a monk around 1466 in Rotterdam, he had spent a miserable youth in holy orders, from which he was not released until 1517, and had devoted his life to scholarship. He was a brilliant writer and a passionate advocate of truth. Yet, conscious of his own worth, he expected others to provide him with the wherewithal to continue his studies in comfort, and spent much of his life seeking wealthy patrons. The great scholar was not always easy company: although witty and erudite, he could be uncomfortably outspoken and was always complaining of his numerous ailments. His enemies were fiercely critical of him, accusing him of presumption for daring to rewrite the Gospels.

Erasmus had a high opinion of England, its King, whom he described as “a universal genius,” and also its Queen, with whom he corresponded regularly. But he looked to them in vain for patronage. He visited seven times between 1499 and 1517, sometimes as a guest of Thomas More. During these stays he attracted the attention of Archbishop Warham and Bishop Fisher, who arranged for him to lecture at Cambridge, and of Cardinal Wolsey, who gave him a pension. But the King, who may have been swayed by the antipapal stance of
In Praise of Folly
(1511), did little for him beyond extolling his works. In 1521, Erasmus settled at Basel, where he continued to write, study, and correspond with his many friends and admirers. His greatest works were his translations of the New Testament and the works of St. Jerome. He died in 1536.

Thomas More is the most famous of the English humanists. Born in London around 1478, he was the son of Judge John More. When the elder More discovered that Thomas was being taught Greek at Oxford, he immediately removed him and sent him to Lincoln's Inn to learn law.
⁸
Later, Thomas contemplated taking holy orders, but decided he could not renounce the pleasures of the flesh, nor what turned out to be a distinguished legal career. By 1502, when he was called to the Bar, he had already earned the reputation of being one of the most brilliant classical scholars of the age, and was learned in both Latin and Greek. In 1504, he became a Member of Parliament, and in 1510 an Under-Sheriff of the City of London.

In 1505, Thomas More married Jane Colt, who bore him four children— Margaret, John, Elizabeth, and Cecily—before dying in 1511, aged only twenty-three. More quickly remarried so as to provide a mother for his young children. His choice fell upon Alice Middleton, a widow who was “aged, blunt and rude”
⁹
and certainly no scholar; yet despite her shortcomings, she was an excellent housekeeper and More came to love her. In 1512, he purchased the wardship of an infant heiress, Anne Cresacre, who was brought up in his house and educated with his children; in 1529, she married More's son, John. More also adopted one Margaret Giggs, who later gained renown as a Greek scholar. In 1526, she married her tutor, Dr. John Clement, who was also a member of More's household and later President of the Royal College of Physicians.

More's house in Bucklersbury in the City of London soon gained a reputation not only as a meeting place for humanist scholars, but also as a haven of domestic felicity. According to Erasmus, the household “breathed happiness”; it was run on firm Christian principles and resembled Plato's academy.
¹⁰
All More's children, even his daughters, were given a classical education; they were taught Latin, Greek, logic, philosophy, theology, mathematics, and astronomy. Their father exchanged letters with them in Latin, and also found time to make merry with them. He also kept a number of wild animals as pets and an aviary of birds.

More was a complex character, whom Richard Pace called a laughing philosopher. He was calm, kind, witty, and wise, a man of staunch faith who refused to compromise his principles, and something of an ascetic, despite his sensual nature. His piety was intense, and he wore a hair shirt next to his skin. He spurned fine clothing and gold chains. John Colet, who was his spiritual mentor, described him as England's only genius. More had a talent for friendship and was essentially charming and courteous, yet he could be scathing when aroused, and he was overfond of using scatalogical terms when reviling heretics and others of whom he disapproved. “He had great wit,” wrote Edward Hall, “but it was mingled with taunting and mocking.”

More is remembered not only as a martyr, but also for his writings. His first success came in 1511, when his translation of the life of the Italian humanist Pico della Mirandola, was published. Other famous works would soon follow.

John Colet, the wealthy son of a Lord Mayor of London, had studied at Oxford, where he later lectured, as well as in France and Italy; in 1498 he had been ordained a priest. Tall, good-looking, austere in dress and lifestyle, yet of a merry disposition, he was a great scholar, a passionate lover of truth, and an advocate of the integrity of the original biblical texts. “When Colet speaks,” wrote Erasmus, “I seem to be listening to Plato.”
¹¹
In 1505, Colet was appointed Dean of St. Paul's Cathedral in London, and four years later he founded St. Paul's School. Its first High Master was William Lily, an expert linguist who pioneered the teaching of Greek and cowrote with Erasmus a standard Latin grammar book, which formed the basis of the syntax later authorised by Henry VIII for use in grammar schools.
¹²
Henry had great respect for both Lily and Colet.

William Grocyn was a priest who had been educated at Winchester and Oxford, and in 1488, aged forty, had gone to Italy, where his rare knowledge of Greek qualified him to help translate the works of Aristotle. Back in England by 1491, he taught Greek at Oxford before being preferred to the living of St. Lawrence Jewry in London.

Dr. Thomas Linacre was appointed one of Henry VIII's physicians, at £50 (£15,000) a year, in 1509. Also Oxford educated, he had learned Greek, then gone to Padua to study medicine. His experience of Italy set him firmly in the vanguard of the humanist movement in England; Erasmus called him “as deep and acute a thinker as I have ever met with.”
¹³
Linacre had translated several of the works of the ancient Greek physicians Galen and Hippocrates into Latin, taught Greek at Oxford, and served for a time as physician to Henry VII and tutor to Prince Arthur. His reputation as a doctor was second to none, and he numbered among his patients Wolsey, Warham, Foxe, More, Erasmus, and Colet.