The Lion in Winter: The History Behind the Drama
“Well, what family doesn’t have its ups and downs?”
By Champagne
The 1968 movie The Lion in Winter is a terrific drama. With a stellar cast headed by Peter O’Toole and Katharine Hepburn, and based on the acclaimed play by James Goldman, it offers the moviegoer over two hours of rapier dialogue and nonstop scheming. It puts the “fun” in family dysfunction, and anyone can enjoy the movie just on that basis. Even so, some knowledge about the historical background can add to the viewer’s appreciation and help avoid some confusion.
Before I go any further, two words of caution. First, I’m no historian and no scholar, just someone who loves English history and reads voraciously about it. My purpose here is not to give anything resembling a comprehensive retelling of this part of history, but rather to give the casual viewer—that is, someone who wants to know a bit more about these people but doesn’t have the time or desire to pore through history textbooks—enough background to gain more appreciation of the movie. Also, this is not about showing where the movie deviates from historical accuracy; The Lion in Winter is a drama, not a documentary. Only where it seems interesting will I note what supposedly “really happened.”
Second, this is not going to be an analysis of the movie itself. Here’s my review: It’s great. See it.
The main characters are an English king, his estranged wife, their three sons, a French princess who is the king’s mistress and is betrothed to the oldest son (!), and the French king, half-brother to the aforesaid princess. The year is 1183, and they’re all gathering at Chinon Castle in France for Christmas, where the English king is going to settle his succession. The title refers to King Henry II, the lion, who is at this point in the drama is in his fifties—quite an age in the latter part of the twelfth century, especially for a warrior king. “Good God, boy, I’m the oldest man I know! I’ve got a decade on the pope!” So, it’s “winter” for him.
More about Henry later, but for now let’s turn to the queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Intelligent, strong-willed, and talented, Eleanor was heiress to the duchy of Aquitaine, at that time an enormous, and enormously wealthy, region covering a very large chunk of central and southern France. The ruler of the Aquitaine held more land, wealth, and power than the French king, though by the feudal rules of the time, it was a fiefdom to the French king and, in theory if not practice, subject to the rule of the French king. In history and in the movie, the Aquitaine is a great prize that, along the English throne, is at the heart of all the dealings and double-dealings. Appreciating how big it was makes it clear why.
Told you it was big!
Besides being the duchess of Aquitaine in her own right—and thus wealthy and powerful—Eleanor was renowned as an extraordinarily beautiful woman. As a young girl, she had been married to the then king of France, Louis VII. It was not a successful marriage. Some sources put it down to a matter of temperature. Eleanor, from the warm south of France, was lively, outgoing, high-spirited, a patroness of the arts, lover of dancing and entertainments, and accustomed to beauty and luxury in her surroundings. Louis of the cold and austere north had an ascetic nature and had been intended for a career in the church; only with the death of his older brother did he become king. He was said to be so devout that he engaged in sex rarely and only reluctantly, considering it sinful except for the procreation of children. That description of Louis seems likely: in fifteen years of marriage, they had only two children, both daughters. Keep in mind that this was an age when married women routinely produced a child every year or two. It was said that Louis had to be chided by his priest to engage in marital relations.
None of this sat well with the passionate Eleanor. “Simon pure and Simon simple,” as the movie Eleanor dismisses him. After fifteen years, Eleanor got an annulment, and her marriage to Louis was dissolved. That there was no son born of their union simplified matters—can’t have an heir to the throne who’s illegitimate! “If I’d managed sons for him instead of all those little girls, I’d still be stuck being queen of France. . . . Such, my angels, is the role of sex in history.”
An aside: If you know something about the history of Henry VIII’s efforts to get rid of his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, by papal annulment to clear his way to marry Anne Boleyn, the relative ease with which Louis and Eleanor obtained their annulment might surprise you. Annulments of royal and noble unions were not uncommon; as it was with Louis and Eleanor, the pretext was usually some “newly discovered” degree of consanguinity that rendered the union invalid. Henry VIII had good reason to think that he could get an annulment without too much difficulty, but he got caught in political machinations involving the pope and Catherine’s family.
Almost immediately after the annulment, Eleanor married Henry, duke of Normandy, count of Anjou, and soon to be King Henry II of England. “He came down from the North to Paris with a mind like Aristotle’s and a form like mortal sin. We shattered the Commandments on the spot.” Whether or not it happened quite that way and quite that fast, they married soon, and without the knowledge or permission of Louis, who was still Eleanor’s feudal lord as well as Henry’s. As such, this was viewed as a grave insult and fomented tension between the English and French kings. Adding the rich Aquitaine to his holdings, Henry became the largest and wealthiest landowner in Europe, far outstripping the possessions of the French king. Henry was, moreover, a skilled warrior who knew how to hold onto his lands and how to gain control, and sometimes outright possession, of even more lands.
Henry was several years younger than Eleanor. She was about thirty at the time of their marriage, he about nineteen. The age difference notwithstanding, it was an extremely successful—and by all accounts passionate—marriage, at least at the beginning. She had eight children by Henry, including the three sons that appear in the movie. Fecundity was one medieval feminine ideal that Eleanor had no problem living up to, once she was rid of the monkish Louis.
As time went on, the marriage soured. One reason was that marital fidelity was not one of Henry’s qualities. Though powerful men were not expected to be chaste, Henry seems to have taken his sexual wanderlust to extremes. “We could populate a country town with country girls who’ve borne you sons,” observes Eleanor. Even so, power struggles were just as strongly to blame for the marital discord. Henry, a great military man and strong tactician, was accustomed to controlling everyone around him—including not only the soldiers under his command but also his family. The movie shows how well that went down with the proud and independent Eleanor and their ambitious sons.
The sons in the movie are Richard, the oldest of the three, who later became King Richard I, called the Lion Heart. A great fighter and, most significant to this movie, Eleanor’s favorite. She wants him to inherit the Aquitaine (though, in the movie, not during her lifetime) as well as the English throne. The youngest son is John—later the infamous King John—who is Henry’s favorite, though nobody can figure out why: he’s stupid, weak, crude, cruel, and deceitful, even to his doting father. In the middle is Geoffrey, who had become duke of Brittany through marriage. In the movie he is portrayed as resentful of his status as being the favorite of neither parent and is shown biding his time and scheming to get ahead. Whether or not this is historically accurate, it makes for great drama.
There was one other son, mentioned in the movie but who doesn’t make an appearance. For good reason: he’s dead by the time it opens. He had been the oldest. Named after his father, he is known in history as “the young Henry” or “the Young King.” Henry (the old king) had named his eldest son king during his lifetime. In later times, this was no longer done; a prince became king only on the death of his father, determined by birth order: the law of primogeniture. However, in the time of Henry II, this practice was not yet universally carried out. Henry had named his oldest son king as part of his political machinations, but the young man felt that he didn’t have the power or authority—or the income—that befit his station. So, eventually, he led a rebellion against his father, aided and abetted by his equally resentful mother and brothers. The parties were eventually reconciled, but further rebellions, reconciliations, and realignments followed in dizzying succession. Keeping it all straight is tough for anyone except the most devoted historian.
Henry managed to keep his standing, and there was some intermittent defrosting of tensions. However, during a campaign against his father and his brother Richard, the Young King died of dysentery. With his death the succession was once again to be determined.
After the last family rebellion, Henry decided it was time to imprison Eleanor to prevent her from causing him more trouble. She lived for many years in richly appointed lockdown in England, with occasional releases for important events. At the beginning of the movie, she’s released to spend Christmas at Chinon Castle in France.
There is so much more to this part of history, but we’ll stick with what you need to know to understand the movie. Early in the movie we meet the young and lovely Alais, who had been betrothed to Richard as a child and raised in Henry and Eleanor’s household; betrothal of children for dynastic reasons among royalty and nobility was a routine practice of the time, as was housing them with their future in-laws. In the movie, Alais is Henry’s mistress. That was perhaps a less routine practice. Whether it was true is open to doubt, though various historians admit it could possibly be so. For the movie, the focus of Alais’s importance is her dowry: the Vexin, a little bit of land strategically located from a military standpoint that Henry and Alais’s half-brother are fighting over.
That brings us to young Philip, king of France, known as Philip Augustus. After the annulment of his marriage to Eleanor, Louis VII remarried and had children by his second and third queens—presumably he figured out that sex was necessary. His children included Alais and Philip, the latter of whom inherited the crown. In the movie, Philip is portrayed as especially cunning, deftly parrying Henry’s machinations. Henry meets his match in Philip, perhaps more so than in his own sons. Fun fact: Philip was the first French monarch to style himself “King of France”; his predecessors were known as “kings of the Franks.”
There’s also discussion in the movie of a rather unconventional relationship between Philip and Richard. From my readings, the historical basis for this is slim at best, but it’s handy for the drama, and it allows the script to bring up the fact that Richard might have been gay.
Just one big happy family.
There’s a very quick mention of Becket, but that’s a whole other story—and whole other movie! (Check out the 1964 film Becket starring Richard Burton in the title role and, yes, Peter O’Toole as King Henry II. The Lion in Winter was O’Toole’ second foray into playing that role.) For purposes of this film, it’s enough to know that Thomas Becket had been a close friend and confidant of Henry who became Archbishop of Canterbury. He broke with Henry over legal and political issues and was assassinated in Canterbury Cathedral, with Henry partially responsible.
Eleanor was an unusual woman for her time, with a strong and independent personality that did not fit the era’s feminine ideal. Accordingly, she had what we might call today “bad press.” Shocking things were attributed to her that later historians can find no basis for. For example, another off-screen dead character that comes in for some discussion is Rosamund Clifford, one of Henry’s many mistresses. Henry was said to have deeply loved her, so much so that a legend sprang up about “the Fair Rosamund,” as she was known. Though it’s not mentioned in the movie, it was one of the most infamous acts ascribed to Eleanor. As the story goes, a fiercely jealous Eleanor, wishing to eliminate her rival, offered Rosamund the choice of a dagger or a cup of poison. The meek Rosamund chose the poison. Historians dismiss this as folklore; Rosamund did die, but from natural causes, not by forced suicide.
Eleanor giving Rosamund her options.
A couple of other stories show how deeply Eleanor’s reputation was defamed. When she was married to Louis, Eleanor accompanied him to the Holy Land on the Second Crusade (yes, she was quite a woman!). One scurrilous rumor was that she had an affair with her own uncle, Raymond, who at the time held the title King of Jerusalem. Most probably not at all true.
Another sexual rumor regarding Eleanor is rather more important to the movie. According to the gossip, before she met and married Henry she’d had an affair with Henry’s father, Geoffrey, duke of Anjou. Again, probably not true, though less unlikely than her having slept with her own uncle. In the movie, Eleanor “confesses” to a sexual encounter with Geoffrey. In the context of the drama, she’s clearly doing so to upset Henry and throw him off balance, so it shouldn’t be construed as a true confession.
This about covers what you need to know to understand the movie. But I can’t resist adding a bit more.
Key to understanding Henry’s character is learning how he came to the English throne. He inherited it through his mother, Matilda (sometimes called Maude), who was the only surviving child of King Henry I, widow of a Holy Roman Emperor—and maybe even tougher and more forceful than her future daughter-in-law! A dynastic dispute followed between Matilda and King Stephen, who had claimed the throne. The dispute may be more accurately described as a civil war, a devastating one that lasted years and was resolved only with the agreement that Matilda would cease her efforts to claim the throne if her son were named Stephen’s heir. That son was the product of her second marriage, to the aforementioned Geoffrey.
Immediately on Stephen’s death, Henry took possession of his inheritance and quickly restored the royal administration in England as well as his grandfather’s lands and privileges, which had declined during the reign of the hapless and incompetent Stephen. Through conquest as well as inheritance and marriage, Henry amassed a vast amount of land: much of France—including Normandy, Brittany, and the Aquitaine—as well as England. “I’ve snapped and plotted all my life,” he says. “There’s no other way to be a king, alive, and fifty all at the same time.” This territory came to be called the Angevin Empire (Angevin being the adjectival form of Anjou). Henry was also the progenitor of the Plantagenet dynasty of English kings, so named because Geoffrey used to wear in his headgear a little flower known as the planta genesta.
Forget the women and the kids, here’s Henry’s real love: the Angevin Empire at its height.
Curious about how they all ended up, after the events of the movie? Henry died in his late fifties, perhaps from a bleeding ulcer (which, if true, would seem to fit his character)—still married to Eleanor. Richard inherited the English throne on Henry’s death and reigned about ten years before his own death. While still officially engaged to Alais, he married Berengaria of Navarre but had no children by her—and apparently none by anyone else, giving perhaps some credence to the claim that he was gay. As to poor Alais, her half-brother Philip offered her to John, but Eleanor objected. Alais married instead a French count and disappeared from the history books.
Despite his nickname of Lion Heart and the romanticized reputation that has come down through the Robin Hood stories, Richard is generally acknowledged to have been a terrible king. In one of her novels, author Josephine Tey described him as “a hyperthyroid type, rocketing to and fro about the earth like a badly made firework.” He spent only about a year in England, paying little attention to his kingdom, preferring instead to engage in wars in France and in the Holy Land. On his return from one crusade he was kidnapped and held for ransom, paid through onerous taxation on the English populace.
A sure-fire way to go down in history as a good king is to have your successor be much worse than you were. Such was the case with Richard. John is widely considered the absolute worst king in English history. I recently read a history of John’s reign in which the author claimed he wasn’t any worse than his immediate predecessors and successors. I doubt many people are going to buy it. The list of John’s outrages could go on for pages, but they can be summarized with the observation that there has never been another English king named John. Once you see the movie, you won’t be surprised to learn that John lost almost all the lands his father had amassed in France. The Angevin Empire pretty much ended with him.
Geoffrey died young, generally believed as the result of a jousting accident, leaving two children by his wife, Constance. On Richard’s death, Geoffrey’s son, Arthur, had a strong claim to the throne and was a rival to the rapacious John’s ambitions. Arthur was imprisoned and killed, almost certainly by John’s hand or at the very least on his orders. Geoffrey’s daughter, also named Eleanor and known as “the Pearl of Brittany,” lived out her life in England, imprisoned by John.
As to Eleanor, Richard released her from lockdown immediately after Henry’s death. She lived free and unencumbered through Richard’s reign and into John’s, well into her eighties—in the words of the humorist Florence King, “sans mammograms, sans Pap smears.” In her late seventies, the vigorous Eleanor journeyed across the Pyrenees to the kingdom of Castile to fetch one of her granddaughters and escort her to France to be married.
Eleanor was a glorious, rip-roaring dame. As Florence King also observed, it’s a wonder that she’s not more admired by today’s feminists. As a child during the 1970s, I remember feminists admiring women who could equal or excel men in forcefulness and ability. Now, it seems to me that they enshrine victimhood. For all the travails, tragedies, and slanders that she endured, the spirited Eleanor was nobody’s victim.
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If you like Jane Austen, check out my post here. I discuss many of the productions (series and movies) of her novels.
Superb movie. Love reading about the historical background! Though in my imagination, I’d emerge from a time machine to O’Toole, Hepburn, and all the other brilliant actors in this sparkling production.