Fairy Tale Queens: Representations of Early Modern Queenship (19 page)

Anne of Cleves’s assumed unattractiveness became an accepted part of the lore surrounding Henry’s marital woes. The often repeated claim that Henry compared Anne to a “Flanders mare” came in 1679 from Gilbert Burnet, the bishop of Salisbury, over 100 years after Anne became queen. Burnet wrote that Henry “swore that they had brought over a Flanders mare to him” and complained of her “ill smells”; Burnet also charged that Holbein had “bestowed the common compliment of his art too liberally” upon Anne.
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This kind of misogynistic insult and inaccurate reporting proves difficult to erase from popular memory. Although the historical record long affirmed Henry’s assessment of Anne’s appearance, more recent historians have argued that Anne may have been no less attractive than his other wives.
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A more moderate assessement came from French ambassador Charles de Marillac who wrote shortly after Anne’s arrival that “The Queen of England has arrived who, according to some who saw her close, is not so young as was expected, nor so beautiful as everyone affirmed. She is tall and very assured in carriage and countenance, showing that in her the turn and vivacity of wit supplies the place of beauty.”
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Marillac does not claim that Anne was unattractive, simply not “as beautiful as everyone affirmed.” It is also difficult to believe that any of the scouting ambassadors would have sent such encouraging reports of Anne’s appearance if she were so unappealing, and certainly the extant portraits suggest a pleasant appearance.

Although the parameters of this study are limited to a discussion of verbal accounts, it is important to emphasize the influence of the portrait, not only in a monarch’s self-representation, but in the royal marriage market as well. In the Anne of Cleves chapter of Henry’s marital saga, her two existing portraits have been carefully scrutinized as though they could confirm or refute Henry’s dramatic reaction, but the accuracy of the paintings has not been challenged.

As a means of courting and gathering information, however, the early modern portrait was a critical component of royal courtship protocol. In d’Aulnoy’s “The Hind in the Woods,” the story that highlights jealousy over women’s beauty and the delicate balance of marriage negotiations, the portrait of the second princess is responsible for kindling the prince’s attraction: “[He]was so struck by it that he refused to part with it. He put it in his closet, shut himself up with it and talked to it in the most passionate manner as if it had been alive and could understand.” The princess similarly dotes on the portrait she receives in exchange. Later in the story, when the substitute princess arrives for the wedding, the prince complains, “This is not in the least like the lovely picture that won my heart.” The pretend princess replies, “I see how wrong it is to let a painter flatter you a little! But does it not happen every day? If princes refused their brides for that reason, not many of them would marry.”
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If the portrait was a desirable tool in the preliminary stage of royal courtship, it was also fallible, as both fairy tales and the Anne of Cleves episode demonstrate. What Henry’s treatment of Anne of Cleves also suggests is that an impossible standard of beauty continued to be upheld for queens, even when experience revealed again and again that human imperfections strained against it. Moreover, the whims of individual preference challenged the very notion of such an ideal; Anne was the only one of Henry’s six wives he had not personally seen and selected.

Nonetheless, queen candidates continued to be assessed against the illusory criteria. The narrative constructed of Henry’s spousal choices has been that each queen was chosen in contrast to her predecessor. Thus, Anne of Cleves’s alleged unattractiveness was cited as an explanation for why Henry settled on Katherine Howard, a young, attractive wife from his own country to succeed her. Just months after Anne’s arrival, Henry was already scouting out his next wife; Marillac reported, “It is commonly said that this King will marry a lady of great beauty.”
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A Spanish chronicler described Katherine as “the handsomest of his wives and the most giddy”
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and diplomat William Thomas thought she was “a very beautiful gentlewoman.”
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Chapuys described Katherine as “fatter and handsomer than ever she was” though this description is difficult to read given that she was at this time awaiting her execution.
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Most accounts of Katherine are generalized praise, though she was often said to be petite and dark-haired. Perhaps the most interesting description of Katherine is one that has nothing to do with her appearance but is relevant to this discussion. When the demoted Anne of Cleves came to court in January 1541 for the New Year festivities, a potentially awkward meeting of two living queens was prevented by their gracious behavior. According to Chapuys, “Having entered the room, Lady Anne approached the Queen with as much reverence and punctilious ceremony as if she herself were the most insignificant damsel about Court, all the time addressing the Queen on her knees, notwithstanding the prayers and entreaties of the latter, who received her most kindly, showing her great favor and courtesy.” Chapuys adds that Anne and Katherine danced together and that Katherine gave Anne one of the New Year presents she had received from Henry. Though Katherine was the youngest and most naïve of Henry’s queens, this episode offers a rare counterpoint to the culture of rivalry between queens.
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The more common competitiveness resurfaced when Henry married his last wife, Catherine Parr. According to Chapuys, Anne of Cleves was upset at the news: “Indeed, I hear from an authentic quarter that the said dame...is in despair and much afflicted in consequence of this late marriage of the King with a lady who, besides being inferior to her in beauty, gives no hope whatever of posterity to the King, for she had no children by her two first husbands.”
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It is not clear that Anne thought that remarriage to Henry was a possibility or that she truly desired such an outcome, but her defensive comparison with Catherine is understandable since Henry made Anne’s alleged imperfections such public knowledge.

Whether Catherine was superior to Anne in beauty is not clear, as there are relatively few reports about the appearance of Henry’s last queen. When the Spanish Duke of Najera visited Henry’s court in 1544, he wrote that Henry’s queen had “a lively and pleasing appearance and is praised as a virtuous woman.”
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Catherine’s contribution to regal fashion, which we will discuss in the next chapter, was often praised. One other detail about Catherine Parr’s appearance is notable in the context of fairy tale treatment of female beauty. Susan James notes that “In a time when few people paid much attention to personal hygiene, Kateryn indulged in milk baths taken in a leaden bathtub. Orders were sent out for expensive oils, almond, olive and clove, for perfumes and unguents, rose water and breath lozenges...she carried with her small jeweled boxes of lozenges flavoured with liquorice or clove or cinnamon for sweet breath.”
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Like so many fairy tale protagonists, such as the heroine in Straparola’s “Biancabella and the Snake” who bathed in milk and perfumed waters, cleanliness could be as appealing a quality as any other physical characteristic. What can be said about Henry’s marital choices within the contemporary discourse of ideal beauty? Appearance mattered to Henry, but so did agreeability, humility, and reproductive potential, as well as social or political suitability. As was the case with many monarchs, Henry’s known mistresses were said to be more beautiful than his wives, so perhaps there was an unacknowledged understanding that it was difficult for a queen consort to embody all desirable qualities.

Even when consensus formed about a particular person, the notion that an ideal standard could be satisfied was undermined repeatedly by individual preferences and opinions and by the impingement of normal human imperfection.

Still, the expectations for queenly beauty continued: Henry’s two daughters, always subject to the public’s curious eye, were amply assessed and inevitably compared to each other. Mary Tudor, like her mother, was found attractive in her younger years, but time did not serve her well. When Mary was a young woman, the Venetian ambassador described her in complimentary terms: “This Princess is not very tall, has a pretty face, and is well proportioned with a very beautiful complexion.”
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Some years later, French ambassador Charles de Marillac was more circumspect: “She is of middle stature, and is in face like her father, especially about the mouth, but has a voice more manlike, for a woman, than he has for a man. To judge by portraits, her neck is like her mother’s. With a fresh complexion she looks not past 18 or 20 although she is 24. Her beauty is mediocre, and it may be said that she is one of the beauties of this Court. She is active, and apparently not delicate, loving morning exercise and walking often two or three miles.”
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As Mary aged and descriptions became more critical, they also became more specific. When Mary was 38, a Venetian ambassador wrote: “She is of low stature, with a red and white complexion, and very thin; her eyes are white and large, and her hair reddish; her face is round, with a nose rather low and wide; and were not her age on the decline she might be called handsome rather than the contrary.”
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This description offers a few more specific details but is also rendered in qualifying rhetoric—“It may be said,” “she might be called”—to temper any overly critical judgments.

Ambassadorial tact is evident in a remarkably detailed report from another Venetian, Giovanni Michiel, whose observation about Mary’s lack of “deformity” or “defect” in “her limbs” we noted in a previous chapter. Michiel’s report continues: “She is of spare and delicate frame, quite unlike her father, who was tall and stout; nor does she resemble her mother, who, if not tall, was nevertheless bulky.

Her face is well formed, as shown by her features and lineaments, and as seen by her portraits. When younger she was considered, not merely tolerably handsome, but of beauty exceeding mediocrity.” Michiel resorts to numerous comparisons—Mary is compared to her father, her mother, and her younger self—and is accorded delicately qualified praise: “beauty exceeding mediocrity.” The ambassador’s conclusion about Mary is more telling about the larger context of the royal standard of beauty: “In short, she is never to be loathed for ugliness, even at her present age, without considering her degree of queen.”
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Michiel’s comment is equivocal: he could be suggesting, as did Sidney in the 
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, that because of her status as queen any criticism of her appearance is better left unexpressed. Or, Mary should not be “loathed” for any shortcomings given the extraordinarily high expectations for queenly beauty. At any rate, Michiel deliberately assigns Mary to a class of her own. That a queen’s distinct position sets her apart from all other women was noted by others, though not so reverentially. Many of the Spaniards who came to England with Philip were sharply critical of the queen’s age and appearance: a common slander circulated that “The baker’s daughter is better in her gown, than Queen Mary without the crown.”
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Even at the level of popular gossip, comparisons were irresistible.

After Michiel describes Mary in detail, he compares her to Elizabeth, “a young woman, whose mind is considered no less excellent than her person, although her face is comely rather than handsome, but she is tall and well formed, with a good skin, although swarthy; she has fine eyes and above all a beautiful hand of which she makes a display; and her intellect and understanding are wonderful, as she showed very plainly by her conduct when in danger and under suspicion. As a linguist she excels the Queen...and speaks Italian more than the Queen does.”
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Michiel also notes Elizabeth’s greater resemblance to Henry. As Anna Riehl points out, “Michiel’s letter tellingly juxtaposes the current queen—aging, unattractive, unloved by her subjects—and her youthful—good-looking, adored by the people, and ready to become the next queen of England.”
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Elizabeth herself made much of her similarities to Henry in asserting her right to the succession, but the comparison of the queen and the future queen is also one more example of the comparative strategy of beautifying queens.

We have more documentary evidence and portraits to recover Elizabeth’s appearance than perhaps for any other queen. The multiple accounts vary, for as Riehl points out, the numerous and well-known portraits of Elizabeth have helped aggregate “a certain image in the collective consciousness of later generations: the unmistakable ‘Elizabeth look’ that includes red hair, a Roman nose, and pearls in abundance. The contemporary verbal descriptions of the queen, however, draw attention to a variety of her features, and these accounts frequently contradict one another in ways that preclude an emergence of a definitive physical portrait.”
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Elizabeth’s red hair, her fair skin and complexion, and her height, which is so frequently mentioned, however, are all admirable attributes which also helped trade on her legitimizing resemblance to Henry. Inevitably, as Elizabeth’s long reign wore on, reports of the aging queen became more critical: as we noted in fairy tales, descriptions of beauty were abstract and hyperbolic whereas the antithesis was more concretized. German lawyer Paul Hentzner, who visited the English court when Elizabeth was in her late sixties, offered this sharp dissection: “Her Face oblong, fair, but wrinkled: her eyes small, yet black and pleasant; her Nose a little hooked; her Lips narrow, and her Teeth black...she wore false Hair, and that red.”
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An account that came just years later was no more complimentary: “Her Majesty, when she came out to be seen, was continuously painted not only all over her face, but on her very neck and breast also, and that the same was in some places near half an inch thick.”
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Elizabeth’s purported use of wigs and cosmetics have been subsumed into her legacy, but Riehl demonstrates that received opinion has overemphasized the queen’s use of these beautifying strategies.