This Week in History, 1529: The Pomegranate Challenges the Rose

From Thomas More’s illustrated manuscript on the coronation of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon (1509)

Pomegranate. Rose. Neither of these blooming beauties are likely to strike fear into one’s heart at their mere mention of their names, yet almost 500 years ago this week, the Pomegranate did indeed defy England’s royal Rose.

No, this description isn’t of some type of horticultural Street Fighter matchup (though that DOES sound interesting). Instead, it refers to medieval European emblems that were used to represent important families and individuals. In an age when most of the population was illiterate, recognizable symbolism played a key role in communicating a person’s identity, prestige and societal rank. Chosen not simply according to personal preference but often for a common symbolic meaning, the choice of one’s heraldic emblem or badge could convey a message about its owner’s character, aspirations, and even lineage.

The Pomegranate: Katherine of Aragon, Queen of England

The pomegranate has a long and symbolic history in much of the Mediterranean region, including the ancient Egyptian, Jewish and Greek cultures. The many seeds of its fruit represented fertility, life and marriage, and its rounded shape could represent an imperial orb, symbolizing imperial rule. With such associations, the pomegranate was a fitting emblem of Katherine of Aragon, daughter of those renowned Spanish monarchs, Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile.

Katherine was born on December 16, 1485, and although she was the youngest daughter, she was engaged to the Prince of Wales at only three and was raised to be a capable queen. The Treaty of Medina del Campo not only secured Katherine’s future, it also created an alliance between Spain and England against France. When Katherine wed into the Tudor family (marrying first her betrothed, Arthur, and after his death marrying his younger brother, Henry VIII), her pomegranate was established within English heraldry, joining his Tudor rose as the visual representation of the monarchy.

The Rose: Henry VIII, King of England

Roses were a popular emblem around the world during the medieval and early modern periods, rich in symbolism in many cultures. In Europe, faithfulness, enduring affection and beauty were among the secular qualities associated with the rose, while Christian imagery often associated the white rose with the Virgin Mary’s purity and the red rose with Christ’s blood.

Roses had long been used in English royal imagery, and when Henry Tudor claimed the English throne after his victory at the Battle of Bosworth, he combined the red rose of his house of Lancaster with the white rose of defeated house of York to create the symbol of his new dynasty, a single red and white rose that symbolized the peace and unity he hoped to achieve. This Tudor rose was adopted by his son and heir, who became Henry VIII upon his father’s death.

The Tudor rose represented the houses of York and Lancaster united

Alliance and Marriage

Seven years after the death of Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales and Katherine’s first husband, hopes for the continued friendship between England and Spain were bolstered when Henry VIII, newly ascended to the throne, chose Katherine as his wife and queen in a love match. They were married and crowned together at Westminster Abbey in 1509. All appeared rosy indeed.

Katherine and Henry’s celebrity marriage may have started as a fairytale-come-true, but the pressures of 16th-century king- and- queenship could take its toll on the best of relationships. After England had suffered decades of civil war during the Wars of the Roses, ensuring a smooth succession from father to son was a vital necessity for the new Tudor dynasty. Henry and Katherine now desperately needed a boy to raise and prepare to take over his father’s throne.

The coronation of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon, featuring the Tudor rose and Katherine’s pomegranate (woodcut, 16th c.)

‘The King’s Great Matter’

Sadly, despite their best efforts – Katherine had at least six pregnancies during their marriage – only one of their children survived to adulthood. That child, Mary I, went on to occupy the English throne, but Henry was not satisfied with leaving his kingdom to a female. By the late 1520s, Henry became convinced that their lack of surviving male children was proof that God did not approve of his marriage to Katherine. (Why? That’s the subject of a separate post, dear reader, but some of the sources listed below may satisfy your curiosity in the meantime.) In Henry’s mind, he needed a new wife – one that would please God – and fast.

As Henry discovered, ending a marriage in the early 16th century wasn’t as easy as he (and his lord chancellor, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey) had hoped. They appealed to the Pope to annul Henry’s marriage to Katherine, but Pope Clement VII was reluctant to angering Katherine’s parents, his strong supporter. Clement forestalled making the decision by sending his representative to England to hear Henry’s case and pass judgment on what became known as The King’s Great Matter.

The Pomegranate with an Iron Spine

In June 1529, Cardinal Campeggio, the papal legate, opened a court session to essentially put the marriage of Henry VII and Katherine of Aragon on trial. On June 21, both Henry and Katherine were seated in the impressive Parliament Hall of Blackfriars Friary, and both were officially called into the court. Henry idly announced his presence, expecting all the hubbub to be merely a formality.

Katherine, however, was not a meek or timid woman who was content to have her fate (and subsequently that of her daughter, Mary) decided by a king’s whim. Instead of responding demurely when the court’s clerk called her name, Katherine rose and presented herself not in front of the Legatine Court, but directly in front of Henry. She fell to her knees and addressed him plainly, as her husband, calling him to account for the injustice being dealt to her.

Katherine of Aragon appealing to Henry VIII before the Legatine Council

Contemporary writer George Cavendish recorded her words:

Sir, I beseech you for all the love that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice. Take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman, and a stranger born out of your dominion. I have here no assured friends, and much less impartial counsel…

Alas! Sir, wherein have I offended you, or what occasion of displeasure have I deserved?… I have been to you a true, humble and obedient wife, ever comfortable to your will and pleasure, that never said or did any thing to the contrary thereof, being always well pleased and contented with all things wherein you had any delight or dalliance, whether it were in little or much. I never grudged in word or countenance, or showed a visage or spark of discontent. I loved all those whom ye loved, only for your sake, whether I had cause or no, and whether they were my friends or enemies. This twenty years or more I have been your true wife and by me ye have had divers children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world, which hath been no default in me…

When ye had me at first, I take God to my judge, I was a true maid, without touch of man. And whether it be true or no, I put it to your conscience. If there be any just cause by the law that ye can allege against me either of dishonesty or any other impediment to banish and put me from you, I am well content to depart to my great shame and dishonour. And if there be none, then here, I most lowly beseech you, let me remain in my former estate… Therefore, I most humbly require you, in the way of charity and for the love of God – who is the just judge – to spare me the extremity of this new court, until I may be advised what way and order my friends in Spain will advise me to take. And if ye will not extend to me so much impartial favour, your pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my cause!

Henry and the Counsel were, understandably, stunned by the power of her words and by her temerity in speaking so against the king’s obvious will. Katherine curtsied to Henry, then turned on her heel and glided from the courtroom, her ladies following. Astounded, the clerk cried for her to return to her seat, but Katherine kept her head high and her eyes forward, declaring without turning “On, on, it makes no matter, for it is no impartial court for me, therefore I will not tarry.”

Katherine ultimately lost her battle to retain her place as queen, but her impassioned speech that day at Blackfriars proved once again that she was no wilting flower. The Pomegranate of Spain was a formidable woman indeed.