Henry VIII and Me

We have been watching The Tudors. We are at the part where Henry VIII has turned against Anne Boleyn and is eyeing Jane Seymour. He is randy and wicked, worried about living up to his father’s reputation, and tortured about the great mess of heads and blood on his hands, and he hasn’t even gotten to Anne yet.

He has had beheaded advisers who served and mentored him, one of them, Thomas More, dying with a small cross in his hand which Henry seems to always carry with him afterwards, apparently as a way to never let go of his torment. There were others, of course, but it is Thomas More that torments him and gives way to the essence of Henry VIII’s cursed life.

Over a short period of time, Henry’s wild devotion to Anne Boleyn turns to loathing. At first, one thinks this is a function of Henry’s vast ego and his constant need for new conquests. Of course, he is eyeing Jane Seymour, he is done with Anne. Finished. Empty of regard for her. And enticed by the new face, the new look, new electricity not short-circuited by childbirth or disagreement. That is what I have always thought.

But I see now what probably everyone has seen before. Henry loathes Anne because of what he thinks she made him do. He blames her for his decision to charge and then behead Thomas More and when he looks at her he sees his reflected horridness and he wants to break the mirror, stomp it under his boots and be free of his immense, smothering guilt.

Anne, sly but not strategic and unaware that Henry’s disaffection for her is rooted in his vast well of regret, pushes him to do more awful things – kill the Queen Catherine and her daughter, the Lady Mary. And it is here that the worm turns. Henry cannot stand what he has become or who has made him become it, in his view. So he is ready to be done with Anne – by whatever means necessary. She has brought out his evil, so, in his mind, she is to blame for all of the carnage.

This makes sense to me. We end up hating people who encourage our bitterness, who abet our revenge, though we appreciate them at the time for their alliance. Later, when we try to wash off the wrongs we’ve committed, stand in the shower for hours in the steaming heat, and scrub at our raw skin with rough towels, we try to rid ourselves of guilt and responsibility, shed everything that is wrong. Including the people who stroked our heads and told us everything we did was justified. I understand this.

Not from personal experience, of course. It is just a story.

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Photo by Paweł Furman on Unsplash