You’ve probably seen the portraits. Henry VIII looking like a literal mountain of silk and ego, or Elizabeth I buried under enough white lead makeup to paint a fence. We see them as statues. Icons. Icons don't go to the bathroom. They don't have bad breath or messy breakups or skin rashes that won't go away. But the reality? It was way grosser, way more intimate, and significantly more stressful than your history teacher let on. This is exactly why The Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Borman is such a gut-punch of a book. It stops looking at the crown and starts looking at the person underneath the velvet.
History is usually written through the lens of wars and treaties. Boring. Borman, who is the Joint Chief Curator at Historic Royal Palaces, takes a different route. She goes through the back door. Literally. She looks at the "Groom of the Stool"—the guy whose actual job was to help the King "ease himself." It sounds humiliating, but in the Tudor world, that guy was the most powerful person in the room. He had the King’s ear when the King was at his most vulnerable.
Why the Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Borman Hits Different
Most history books feel like a lecture. This one feels like gossip from someone who actually spent time in the laundry rooms of Hampton Court. Borman doesn’t just tell you that Henry VIII was fat; she explains how his leg ulcer smelled so bad you could track his movement through the palace by the scent of rotting flesh. It’s vivid. It’s visceral.
The book tracks the dynasty from Henry VII, the thrifty survivor, all the way to the "Virgin Queen" herself. What’s fascinating is how the "private" was never actually private. If you were a Tudor monarch, your bedroom was a public stage. People watched you dress. They watched you eat. They watched you go to bed with your spouse to see if you were actually "performing" your royal duty of making an heir. Honestly, it sounds like a nightmare. You’d have zero privacy. None.
The Groom of the Stool and the Power of the Privy
We have to talk about the bathroom stuff. People get weird about it, but it’s the key to understanding Tudor politics. The Groom of the Stool wasn't just a servant. Because he dealt with the King's most private physical needs, he became a confidant. While the great lords were fighting for attention in the presence chamber, this guy was chatting with Henry VIII while the King was on the "close stool."
Imagine the influence. You’ve got the King's undivided attention for fifteen minutes. You can whisper a name, suggest a favor, or ruin an enemy. Borman highlights how these intimate physical services created a hierarchy of access. The closer you were to the King’s body, the more power you held. It’s a complete reversal of how we think about "dirty work" today. In 1530, wiping the royal backside was a high-status career move.
Henry VIII: From Athlete to Ailing Giant
When we think of Henry, we think of the guy with six wives. We think of the executioner’s axe. But Borman paints a much more tragic picture of his physical decline. Young Henry was a jock. He was handsome, athletic, and obsessed with his health. He spent a fortune on "physic" and medicines.
But then the jousting accidents happened.
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The leg ulcer he suffered in 1536 changed everything. It never fully healed. It stayed open and weeping for the rest of his life. Borman describes the sheer agony he was in, which probably explains why he became such a paranoid tyrant. When you’re in constant, throbbing pain, you’re probably not going to be the most patient guy in the world. He started self-medicating. He used various ointments and "plasters," but nothing worked. By the end, he had to be moved around the palace in a "tram," a sort of early wheelchair, because he couldn't walk.
The Ritual of the Royal Morning
The morning routine was a massive production. It wasn't just "wake up and grab coffee." It was the "Pageant of the King's Person."
- First, the King was washed (usually just his face and hands with rose water).
- Then, the layers of clothing. Doublet, hose, gown.
- Every piece of clothing had to be pinned and tucked.
- The "Grooms of the Privy Chamber" did all the heavy lifting.
If you weren't a member of the Privy Chamber, you weren't getting in. This created a massive divide between the public face of the monarchy and the private reality. Tracy Borman’s research shows that even the most powerful courtiers—men like Cardinal Wolsey or Thomas Cromwell—could be frozen out of power simply by being denied access to these morning rituals.
Elizabeth I and the Mask of Youth
If Henry VIII's private life was defined by physical decay, Elizabeth I's was defined by total control. She was the master of her own image. As she aged, she created the "Mask of Youth."
She used a thick paste made of white lead and vinegar (ceruse) to hide smallpox scars and wrinkles. It was toxic. It literally ate her skin. So, she’d apply more. It was a vicious cycle. Borman delves into the reality of Elizabeth's hair loss and her reliance on elaborate wigs.
But here’s the kicker: she stayed in control by making her private life a mystery. Was she actually a virgin? Did she have secret lovers? Borman looks at the evidence and suggests that Elizabeth's "virginity" was her greatest political weapon. If she married, she lost power. By staying single, she kept every prince in Europe dangling. Her ladies-in-waiting were her "guard dogs." They slept in her room. They protected her secrets. If you wanted to know what the Queen was really thinking, you had to bribe a lady-in-waiting, but they were notoriously loyal.
What Most People Get Wrong About Tudor Hygiene
We have this idea that the Tudors were filthy. That they never bathed and just smelled like old cheese. It’s a myth. Well, mostly.
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They were actually quite obsessed with cleanliness, but their version of it. They didn't do full-body immersion baths often because they thought it opened the pores to disease (like the plague). Instead, they changed their linen. Frequently.
Linen was the "filter" for the body. It was supposed to soak up sweat and oil. A wealthy Tudor would change their linen shirt several times a day. If your linen was white and clean, you were clean. Borman points out that the Tudor laundry bills were astronomical. They used lye soap and dried clothes on sweet-smelling bushes. So, while they might have had some body odor, it was masked by rose water, perfumes, and fresh linen. It wasn't the medieval mud-pit we see in movies.
The Food: A Slow-Motion Health Crisis
The Tudor diet was a disaster. If you were rich, you didn't eat vegetables. Vegetables were for poor people. "Fruit of the earth" was considered lowly.
Instead, they ate meat. All of it.
- Beef, mutton, pork.
- Venison and wild boar.
- Seagulls, herons, and even porpoises (on fish days).
- Sugar. Tons of it.
The sugar was the real killer. They put it on everything. They even made "subtleties"—elaborate sugar sculptures. This is why Elizabeth I’s teeth were black. Her teeth were literally rotting in her head because of her sugar addiction. Borman explains that the lack of Vitamin C led to scurvy and other issues, while the heavy meat diet caused gout. They were basically eating themselves to death.
Domestic Life Behind Closed Doors
We think of palaces as grand, cold spaces. But for the Tudors, they were homes. Very crowded, very loud homes. There was no such thing as a "quiet night in." There were always servants around. Always guards. Always spies.
Childbirth was the most dangerous private moment. Borman’s account of "lying-in" is haunting. A queen would be shut away in a room with the windows boarded up and tapestries covering the doors to keep out drafts. Only women were allowed. It was a dark, stifling environment. For Jane Seymour, this "private" moment ended in death shortly after giving birth to Edward VI. The stakes of private life weren't just about comfort; they were about survival.
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Tracy Borman’s Research and E-E-A-T
Why should you trust Borman? She isn't just a writer; she’s a historian who works at the sites she writes about. When she describes the "backstairs" of Hampton Court, she’s walking those stairs every day. She uses primary sources—letters, ambassadors' reports, and household accounts.
Ambassadors were the original paparazzi. They would bribe servants to find out what the King had for breakfast or if the Queen looked "bloated" (a sign of possible pregnancy). Borman sifts through these biased reports to find the grains of truth. It's meticulous work. She acknowledges where the trail goes cold—like the exact nature of Elizabeth's "private" relationship with Robert Dudley. We’ll never know for sure, and Borman is honest about that.
Actionable Takeaways for History Fans
If you're fascinated by the Tudor era and want to dig deeper than the surface-level drama, here is how you can actually apply the "Borman method" to your own historical exploration:
- Visit the "Back Areas": If you go to Hampton Court or the Tower of London, don't just look at the Great Hall. Look at the kitchens. Look at the small side doors. That’s where the real history happened.
- Read the Letters, Not Just the Textbooks: Look up the "State Papers" online. They contain the messy, frantic letters written by people living through these events. You’ll see the fear and the humanity that Borman highlights.
- Think About "Material Culture": Instead of just reading about Henry VIII’s wives, look at the jewelry or the fabrics of the time. The weight of the clothes tells you a lot about how they moved and interacted with the world.
- Follow the Money: Look at the household accounts. Seeing how much was spent on sugar or wine gives you a better idea of royal life than any official portrait ever could.
The private lives of the Tudors weren't just a side-show. They were the engine of English history. Every time Henry VIII had a bad night’s sleep or Elizabeth I felt insecure about her appearance, the course of the nation shifted. The "private" and the "political" were the same thing.
To really understand this era, you have to stop looking at the crown and start looking at the person wearing it. Look at the ulcers, the black teeth, the toxic makeup, and the crowded bedrooms. That's where the real story lives. Go find a copy of the book and see for yourself. It’ll ruin the "fairytale" version of history, but the reality is a lot more interesting anyway.
Focus on the primary accounts from the 16th century—specifically the letters of Chapuys or the reports of the Venetian ambassadors—if you want to see the "paparazzi" view of the Tudor court in real-time. This primary source material provides the foundation for Borman's work and offers a direct window into the chaos of the 1500s.