thomas cromwell: you see that old man? he’s the baron of whocaresbury, but his creditors are just waiting in the shadows for him to die. they’re going to ruin his heirs. you see, he just can’t stop buying clothes sourced through ghent
gregory: father, sir, may i please hear one story about the first 30 years of your life?
thomas cromwell: the tragic thing is, most of the clothes use a cheap red dye
anne boleyn: *wears yellow to celebrate the death of queen katherine*
thomas cromwell: oh. okay. i see. she thinks this has everything to do with her. she went to her wardrobe and she selected that yellow dress sewn with pearls because she's trying to remind the world of when she was first at court and danced in a masque in 1522. but what she doesn't know is that dress is not just yellow, it's not marigold, it's not tansy, it's not saffron, it's actually giallorino. and she's blithely unaware that the fashion for fabric dyed with giallorino started amongst the weathly in basle. for a few months, if a draper could get a hold of it, he could make a killing. and then suddenly it was everywhere, in sleeves and hose and even hairbands for those who couldn't afford more than a sliver. and then it trickled down the scale abroad where eventually anne boleyn fetched half a dozen yards out of some french clearance bin. that yellow represents millions of marks and countless jobs. and it's sort of comical that, by the time of lady anne's english debut, in the domains of the emperor you'd see women in brothels hoisting their fat dugs and tight lacing tragic yellow bodices.
lady rochford: that's the most long-winded way of calling a woman a whore i ever heard. anyway, it was all a waste because no one looks good in yellow. anne should stick to black.
