For a king very conscious of his own power, who gloried in his status and commissioned famous artists to depict that status, Henry VIII’s death, in January 1547, was tawdry and pathetic, yet shrouded in squalid mystery.
According to the accepted story, after being weak and ailing for some time, the king died in the early hours of Friday morning, 28 January 1547. However, the official proclamation of the king’s death was not made until the afternoon of Monday, 31 January.
Henry apparently had great affection for Katherine Parr and adored his only son, Edward. Consequently, it is intriguing that as Henry slipped towards death, neither Katherine, Edward nor Henry’s two daughters, Mary and Elizabeth, were allowed any access to him whatsoever.
The Archbishop of Canterbury and royal confidante, Thomas Cranmer, may have come hurrying from Croydon on Friday, 28th January, to give spiritual consolation to his monarch, but on that previous Thursday, 27 January, Cranmer had been at Westminster where the king lay dying. It is curious that in the depths of a cruel, hard winter, and with his royal master grievously sickening, Cranmer had not been instructed to remain at the royal palace in preparation for Henry’s final hours. By the time Cranmer did reach the king on that Friday, Henry was incoherent and nearly comatose. All Cranmer could do was ask the king to squeeze his hand if he still trusted in the saving mercies of Christ; Henry obliged.
Henry was over six foot high and weighed at least 25 stone when he died. His body was raddled with disease and infection, although the common allegation that he had some form of venereal disease cannot be proved. The court apothecaries, once the intestines had been removed and buried in a casket in the royal chapel at Westminster, apparently spent lavish sums on purchasing spices and all the other necessaries to embalm the king’s corpse. Once ready, Henry’s remains were placed in a sealed lead coffin which was in turn enclosed in an elmwood casket.
Nevertheless, one possible indignity also deepens speculation about Henry’s demise. During February 1547, the king’s embalmed corpse was transported on a towering hearse across country from Westminster to Windsor. The entourage came to rest at Syon-on-Thames, in what used to be a Bridgettine convent until it was dissolved by Henry himself. This foundation had been turned into a gunpowder factory and later served as a goal for one of Henry’s wayward wives, Catherine Howard. It is ironic that Henry’s corpse arrived at Syon on the very anniversary of Catherine Howard’s execution. According to Catholic sources, hardly amicable to Henry, during the stay at Syon, the king’s massive corpse swelled, burst and erupted so violently that bodily fluids dripped through both the lead coffin and the elmwood casket. As a final insult, wandering dogs crept into the church and licked these grisly remains. The source of such a story could be the Franciscan, Cardinal Peto, who had warned Henry to his face that his marital affairs could bring down upon him the fate of King Ahab in the Old Testament whose blood was licked by dogs. However, Henry’s lonely, unadorned tomb in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, has been opened on a number of occasions. Rents in the coffin and casket have been observed.
Henry had instructed that his remains be interred next to his third beloved wife, Jane Seymour, under the flagstones of St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, in a beautiful black sarcophagus originally intended for Cardinal Thomas Wolsey. Wolsey, of course, fell from grace and his tomb was promptly seized by the king. However, Henry’s wishes were blatantly ignored and the black marble sarcophagus remained unused until appropriated by Parliament after the Battle of Trafalgar to bury Horatio Nelson. Henry VIII’s father and his daughter Elizabeth all possess beautiful tombs, even shrines, to their memory. Henry VIII’s wishes for such a magnificent display over his last resting place were ignored, both by his Council and his successors.
Of course, in the final analysis, this begs the question, was Henry’s death the way it was proclaimed? Was his corpse properly prepared or was the tyrant, closeted in his private chambers crammed with the forfeited goods of his many, many victims, mysteriously hustled to his death?
Dr Paul Doherty is a historian, former headmaster and novelist. He is author of The Last of Days, his 100th novel, which is published in paperback by Headline (£13.99).
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