Anne of Cleves was a most unfortunate, ill-treated princess, but she possessed so many virtues that she surely deserved a better fate than to become the wife of a king so devoid of the feelings of a gentleman as Henry' VIII.
After the death of his third queen, this capricious monarch did not find it so easy to get another as he probably expected it would be. Certainly it must have been a woman of rare courage who would willingly subject herself to such a yoke, knowing the experience of his other victims.
Jane Seymour had not been dead more than a month when he made a request of Francis I. that he might be permitted to choose a lady from the royal blood of France for his queen. That monarch replied, "that there was not a damsel of any degree in his own dominions who should not be at his disposal."
Henry was quite flattered at this compliment, and thought it would only be necessary for him to put out his hand to secure any woman he might condescend to favor, so he requested Francis just to bring all the fairest ladies of his court to Calais for him to take his choice. The gallantry of the French king was shocked at such an idea, and he replied, "that it was impossible to bring ladies of noble blood to market as horses are trotted out at a fair."
Then Henry wanted to marry James V.'s lady-love, whom he had seen and admired, not paying the slightest attention to the fact that she was already engaged. When he found it impossible to get her, he was ready to consider the proposition of his ambassador with regard to her sister or Mademoiselle Vendôme.
"Let them be brought to Calais," he said, "and I will take a look at them."
"That would be impossible," was the reply; "but your majesty could send somebody to Paris to see them."
"Good gracious! how can I depend upon any one but myself?" asked Henry. "I must see them, and hear them sing; and what is more, I must see how they look while they are singing," he added.
By the end of the year he found that there was no hope for him in France, so he put on a most melancholy air, and pretended to be dreadfully grieved at the death of his pretty Jane.
This state of mind lasted for about two years; then Cromwell spoke in such flattering terms of the princesses of the house of Cleves that Henry began to think he had played the rôle of forlorn widower long enough.