#hevercastle

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee; A poet could not be but gay, In such a jocund company! I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:

England, 1540

 In the long gallery of Hever Castle, a young woman, fair, with a pale complexion and serious eyes, walks, enjoying the late September sun. She glances down at a letter, with heavy seals and important language.

This is Anne of Cleves, the young princess from Germany, born in Düsseldorf, raised in Solingen, daughter of the moderate and serious Duke John of Cleves. Contrary to the widely distributed reports from her previously-disgruntled husband and now solicitous "brother", Henry VIII, she is comely - well built, with a smooth complexion, gentle and kind eyes, a mouth neither tight-lipped to the merriment-loving English nor too sensual for the critical eyes of its clergy. She has discarded the tight bandings of her German clothes, that made her so distasteful to English eyes in the beginning of her sojourn here. She is a graceful, sophisticated, adult woman who above all knows the meaning of discretion. Wearing an English-cut gown of ivory damask, with discreet patterns of seeds pearls woven into her bodice and hood, she looks up from the letter, and stares out of the window. Swans are gliding in the moat - Anne of Cleves specifically orders the moat waters to be kept fresh for them, as she loves to see them near and not in the further lakes or rivers where her window cannot overlook them. Swans - an emblem that the Duchess of Cleves has taken for herself, to reflect her descent from the swan-knight Lohengrin, the animals whose grace and steadiness she determines to personify. She smiles ironically - these animals are also known to mate for life.

This was not her destiny. The English king, Henry VIII, who took a fancy to her portrait and raised her up from the obscurity of the minor German court that was her home, and sent for her to become Queen of his court - that fast-paced, tense, glamorous, and rich court, of a country that had defied the Pope and Catholic Europe, and sent three Queens to their graves - this king had decided, as soon as she had come, that she was unsuitable, and only six short months had passed with Anne of Cleves as Queen of England.

She shivers. The weeks leading up to the annulment of her marriage had been terrifying - her friends and supporters had gone to the Tower for their crime of being aligned with her, the despised wife. The king's cherished and trusted servant, Thomas Cromwell, had been executed crying for mercy, for bringing her to England. The pangs of conscience and pain she feels are mitigated by remembering how very many others that same trusted servant had brought to the block; and any feelings of bitterness or regret that she has been pushed aside, dissolve when she tastes the relief of her escape. For king Henry VIII is merciful to those who do not oppose his will, and Anne of Cleves, a newly-come stranger, relied upon her fine sensitivity and intuition and did what, indeed, so many English people failed to do - bowed her head and accepted what he willed. It had cost her nights of pain and tears, that her husband was not to be her own knight after all, and that she had failed in this duty - but to live to become his "beloved sister" and do whatever good she could in that way, became the consolation.

She is not ignorant that the king's fancy for the young Katherine Howard was another piece of this puzzle. That a young girl who had served her should take her place had at first revolted her traditional sensibilities - but as has been stated, Anne of Cleves is a perceptive young woman and does not rail against what cannot be helped. It is fortune's wheel, she thinks, with a rueful smile. Indeed, the only true bitterness is that the king has spread far and wide that her unattractiveness was a part of how he could not bear to truly make her his wife. But, she vows, with her behavior and new sense of sophistication and freedom, she will repudiate those statements silently. She has already gone very far in this, for her elegant poise, newfound sense of dress, and remodeled behaviors (more merry, for the merry English), has already improved the opinion of nearly the whole court. She gazes out the window, to the rolling countryside that is still lush and green with the warmth of early autumn. June is the month of roses in England, and this lovely castle - where another Anne had read letters from the same king, she thinks while shivering again - was not yet in her possession then. Yet, here and there, a remaining red one blooms, in the beautiful gardens. She rises from her seat near the window, contemplating her most recent formal letter from the king - praising her for her obedience to his will and judgment and his trust that she will remain in that state. The Duchess of Cleves has no intention of doing anything else. She has become a beloved sister where once she was Queen, but she has determined she will adorn his court, not attempt to tear it asunder with factionalism. The king's children all desperately need a friend, and that will be her. The new queen Katherine Howard will need one too, a true one, not the frolicsome playmates from her past or dour old women who look askance at her. As Anne of Cleves walks down and leaves the castle, she makes her way to Hever's famous rose garden in search of the late bloomers, which she will gather and place as posies in her bedchamber. They will be reminders of her status as a new rose of the Tudor court, but one that will only adorn with sweetness.