Authors: Linda Porter
Mary Tudor (18 page)
Chapuys, reporting the christening of the child that he consistently referred to as ‘the little Bastard’, betrayed his anxiety that the withdrawal of Mary’s title was only the beginning:‘In fact a rumour is afloat … that her household and allowance are to be shortly reduced. May God in his infinite mercy prevent a still worse treatment!’ But, he added, Mary was taking it all well and her first thought was for her mother: ‘meanwhile the princess, prudent and virtuous as she is, has taken all these things with patience, trusting entirely in God’s mercy and goodness. She has addressed to her mother, the queen, a most wonderful letter, full of consolation and comfort.’
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The ambassador’s characterisation of Mary’s response was highly misleading. She had accepted nothing, and she was far from prudent. In this first great crisis of her life, she showed how much she was her mother’s daughter. For the choice that Henry compelled her to make was not so much between himself and Katherine, as it has often been characterised, but between her rightful heritage, as she saw it, and denial of who she was. It was also an overtly political choice, and it set her on a collision course with many of those close to the king, who were much more seasoned political campaigners. At a meeting in the second week of September with Cromwell and the duke of Norfolk, at which George Boleyn, Anne’s brother, skulked in the vicinity but took no direct part, Chapuys reiterated his concern for Mary. Disingenuously, he told the chancellor and the duke that he understood the proclamation made at the birth of the king’s new daughter, but ‘I was only afraid that by so doing the rights of the first-born might be impaired … Hearing this, the duke and the chancellor looked at each other for a time without knowing what to say.’
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It was, of course, perfectly evident what they were thinking; Mary was serving notice that she took precedence over Elizabeth. Even as she recovered from the birth, Anne Boleyn already knew that Mary would not acknowledge her or her child.
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It was, of course, perfectly evident what they were thinking; Mary was serving notice that she took precedence over Elizabeth. Even as she recovered from the birth, Anne Boleyn already knew that Mary would not acknowledge her or her child.
Henry’s first move was to implement the threat to reduce the number of Mary’s household. This was more of a gesture than a fixed intention to deprive her of all her servants.The privy chamber staff remained more or less untouched and her establishment still numbered about 160 persons. The countess of Salisbury, Richard Fetherstone and Lord Hussey stayed in post. Everything now hinged on Mary’s acceptance of her father’s orders. Compliance with his commands would have left Mary to continue her life much as she had done before. But it would also have meant acknowledging her own illegitimacy and the invalidity of her mother’s marriage. This she could never accept, and by 10 October it was obvious to Chapuys that the situation was deteriorating. Mary would not be told what to do by a deputation of elderly aristocrats, sent to convey her father’s instructions.When they left, she
wrote a long letter to the king, her father, saying that she would as long as she lived obey his commands, but that she really could not renounce the titles, rights and privileges which God, Nature and her own parents had given her. Being the daughter of a king and queen, putting aside other circumstances, she was rightly called princess. The king, her father, might do his pleasure and give her any title he liked, but it could not be said of her that she had expressly or tacitly prejudiced her legitimacy or the rights of the queen, her mother, whose example she was determined to follow, by placing herself entirely in the hands of God, and bearing with patience all her misfortunes.
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So the die was cast. It is hard to imagine an answer that would have displeased Henry more. It was defiant, supercilious and contemptuous of Henry’s authority. As long as she lived, she would obey his commands, but only when these suited her. And he had no right to deprive her of her title. Only God could do that. But Henry knew that what God gaveth, he, as king, could take away. Having used the word of God as his excuse for defying the pope, the emperor and anyone else who disagreed with him, Henry could not stomach it being thrown at him as a justification for brazen disobedience by a 17-year-old girl. And he had had enough of her prim, unyielding letters. By 3 November, Mary’s household was being dismantled and the countess of Salisbury was dismissed. Her offers to continue with Mary at her own expense were rebuffed. The king believed that the countess and others of those around Mary were responsible for encouraging her stance and he wanted her separated from them. ‘This the king has done, as he says, to daunt and intimidate her.’ He would put both his daughters in the same household, partly for reasons of economy but also to keep Mary in check.Whether he or Anne Boleyn actually proposed that Mary should serve Elizabeth as a maid of honour is not clear, though it is the sort of remark that Anne might have made. Nor would it have been entirely inappropriate for an illegitimate daughter, if she had been brought up as such. But Mary had not and she was appalled. ‘Both the queen and the princess’, reported Chapuys, ‘are marvellously disturbed and in great trouble. They sent to me … for advice in this emergency and begged I would speak to Cromwell and see what could be done to arrest the blow.’
Katherine exhorted Mary to be strong: ‘Almighty God will prove you; and I am very glad of it, for I trust He doth handle you with a good love…I pray you, good daughter, to offer yourself to Him … for then you are sure armed.’ Isabella of Castile would have approved of such zeal in the face of the enemy. Whether Mary really embraced what was happening to her so enthusiastically is debatable, but she followed as closely as she could her mother’s precepts. Katherine, in her own way, kept up as much pressure on her as her father did, imploring her in tones very reminiscent of Juan Luis Vives ‘to keep your heart with a chaste mind, and your body from an ill and wanton company, [not] thinking or desiring any husband for Christ’s passion; neither determine yourself any manner of living till this troublesome time be past’.
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How long it would be in passing neither mother nor daughter knew.
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How long it would be in passing neither mother nor daughter knew.
If Mary had not fully appreciated what he might do when she confronted her father in writing a few weeks earlier, she could have no illusions now. She recognised that if she was to get something of what she wanted, she would need to work through Cromwell, as well as Chapuys. But Cromwell could not (or would not) see Chapuys at this point, so the ambassador sent his secretary with veiled threats that imperial friendship might be withdrawn and expressing astonishment at the treatment of Mary. Cromwell’s answer was studiously opaque:
… He begged to be excused and pardoned if he did not reveal to me in particular what he knew of the princess’ affair. This having been discussed in the Privy Council with the greatest possible secrecy, he could not reveal it to me or to anyone else unless he had the permission and consent … of the king. He could, however, assure me in general terms that the king was an honourable, virtuous and wise prince, incapable of doing anything that was not founded on justice and reason.
The ambassador’s secretary was told that there was no one in the whole privy council who laboured more assiduously than Thomas Cromwell to foster good relations with Charles V. Up till now, he had done ‘all that was within his power’ in relation to the treatment of Katherine and Mary, ‘and would still do so in the future’.
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This was certainly what both Chapuys and Mary hoped, for Cromwell was their only effective channel to the king.The wily politician now began to figure prominently in Mary’s life. Cromwell, a Londoner and son of a cloth merchant, was a highly able lawyer, then in his late forties. Over the centuries, historians have seen him as the driver of the Reformation in England, the author of the legal changes that separated the English Church from Rome and the destroyer of its monastic life and institutions. His true role and importance have recently been questioned.
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Yet even if the king, and not Cromwell, was the moving force behind many of the changes in government and religion during the decade, ‘Good Master Secretary’, as Mary always addressed him, convinced his contemporaries of his influence. It is hard to imagine how the Reformation in England might have taken shape without this former member of the House of Commons, a property lawyer who had ably served Wolsey. Showing great skill in networking, Cromwell survived the cardinal’s fall. His growing interest in new religious ideas and his administrative competence made him extremely useful to the king. Ruthless and cynical, by 1533 he was chancellor of the exchequer, but everyone knew that he was destined for greater office. Certainly Mary thought he was important and Chapuys could not function without him. The two men came to know one another well and their relationship was one of wary respect. Neither trusted the other but circumstances forced them to work together. Cromwell was a difficult man to know, and the image he projected was of the consummate minister, trying to accommodate the desires of his monarch in a search for the best solutions for England. He was self-effacing but in a way that left no doubt that he was someone to be reckoned with. Despite avowals to the contrary - his professed desire to be of service, to smooth things over, to make Mary’s life easier - one is left with the strong impression that he was utterly indifferent to Mary personally. She was part of a problem that needed to be solved. Ameliorating her situation and restoring her finally to a better relationship with her father was one way forward, but it was not the only possible outcome. During 1534 he told Chapuys more than once that if her ill health continued and it pleased God to take her, well, so be it. Perhaps he said this only with the intention of alarming Chapuys, but it is equally possible that he meant it.
10
Yet even if the king, and not Cromwell, was the moving force behind many of the changes in government and religion during the decade, ‘Good Master Secretary’, as Mary always addressed him, convinced his contemporaries of his influence. It is hard to imagine how the Reformation in England might have taken shape without this former member of the House of Commons, a property lawyer who had ably served Wolsey. Showing great skill in networking, Cromwell survived the cardinal’s fall. His growing interest in new religious ideas and his administrative competence made him extremely useful to the king. Ruthless and cynical, by 1533 he was chancellor of the exchequer, but everyone knew that he was destined for greater office. Certainly Mary thought he was important and Chapuys could not function without him. The two men came to know one another well and their relationship was one of wary respect. Neither trusted the other but circumstances forced them to work together. Cromwell was a difficult man to know, and the image he projected was of the consummate minister, trying to accommodate the desires of his monarch in a search for the best solutions for England. He was self-effacing but in a way that left no doubt that he was someone to be reckoned with. Despite avowals to the contrary - his professed desire to be of service, to smooth things over, to make Mary’s life easier - one is left with the strong impression that he was utterly indifferent to Mary personally. She was part of a problem that needed to be solved. Ameliorating her situation and restoring her finally to a better relationship with her father was one way forward, but it was not the only possible outcome. During 1534 he told Chapuys more than once that if her ill health continued and it pleased God to take her, well, so be it. Perhaps he said this only with the intention of alarming Chapuys, but it is equally possible that he meant it.
Three months after Elizabeth’s birth, a household was set up for the infant princess at Hatfield House, in Hertfordshire. When she moved there, in the dark days just a week before Christmas, Lady Anne Shelton, Anne Boleyn’s aunt and the baby’s lady governess, was already aware that Elizabeth would not be her only charge. Mary was expected to join them imminently.
The news was delivered with his habitual brusqueness by Norfolk. The duke ‘went himself to the princess and signified her father’s pleasure that she should attend the court and enter the service of his other bastard daughter’ (Chapuys’ words), whom he referred to, quite deliberately, as princess of Wales. ‘Upon which Princess Mary replied: “that is the title which belongs to me by right, and to no one else.” ’
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She then proceeded to explain politely but firmly how unfitting the proposals being made to her were. It was not what Norfolk wanted to hear and he cut her short: ‘he had not gone hither to dispute but to see the king’s wishes accomplished and his commands executed’. Mary then asked for half an hour alone and used the time to draw up a formal protest, probably using a wording suggested earlier by Chapuys.When she emerged, still apparently in command of her emotions, she asked Norfolk to give those of her servants who were being dismissed one year’s wages and asked how many she could take with her to Hatfield.The reply was not encouraging.There would be plenty of servants where she was going, so no great train was needed. Margaret Douglas was removed from Mary’s service and sent off to join Anne Boleyn’s entourage.The attractive and popular Margaret, a favourite of her uncle, the king, adapted immediately and got on surprisingly well with the new queen. For Mary, the prospects were much less encouraging. She was left with just two ladies and a small number of male retainers from her staff. Her farewells to the countess of Salisbury must have been painful, and Margaret Pole, who been her guide for many years, no doubt shared Chapuys’ concern as to how Mary would cope.
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She then proceeded to explain politely but firmly how unfitting the proposals being made to her were. It was not what Norfolk wanted to hear and he cut her short: ‘he had not gone hither to dispute but to see the king’s wishes accomplished and his commands executed’. Mary then asked for half an hour alone and used the time to draw up a formal protest, probably using a wording suggested earlier by Chapuys.When she emerged, still apparently in command of her emotions, she asked Norfolk to give those of her servants who were being dismissed one year’s wages and asked how many she could take with her to Hatfield.The reply was not encouraging.There would be plenty of servants where she was going, so no great train was needed. Margaret Douglas was removed from Mary’s service and sent off to join Anne Boleyn’s entourage.The attractive and popular Margaret, a favourite of her uncle, the king, adapted immediately and got on surprisingly well with the new queen. For Mary, the prospects were much less encouraging. She was left with just two ladies and a small number of male retainers from her staff. Her farewells to the countess of Salisbury must have been painful, and Margaret Pole, who been her guide for many years, no doubt shared Chapuys’ concern as to how Mary would cope.
Mary arrived at Hatfield forlorn and apprehensive, dreading what lay ahead and convinced that she would not find friends there. Norfolk, still doggedly carrying out Henry’s instructions, asked whether she would like to ‘see and pay court to the princess’. This was deliberate provocation of a vulnerable young woman, stripped of all the certainties of her existence. From the very outset, she was placed in a hostile relationship with Elizabeth. But, even at this moment, she strove to retain her dignity and deflect any animosity that she might have felt for the baby. ‘She answered that she knew of no other princess in England but herself. She would treat her as a sister, but that was all.’ Mary was then asked whether she had any message for her father and replied: ‘None, except that the princess of Wales, his daughter, asked for his blessing.’
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It was a vain hope and probably Mary knew it. Henry, when he heard, was angry with Norfolk, reproaching him for treating his stubborn daughter too mildly. This was not the way to make her see sense. ‘He would soon find the means of humiliating her and subduing her temper.’
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Perhaps if he had seen her he would have realised that he had made a good start. Mary, often in tears, passed a miserable Christmas at Hatfield.
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It was a vain hope and probably Mary knew it. Henry, when he heard, was angry with Norfolk, reproaching him for treating his stubborn daughter too mildly. This was not the way to make her see sense. ‘He would soon find the means of humiliating her and subduing her temper.’
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Perhaps if he had seen her he would have realised that he had made a good start. Mary, often in tears, passed a miserable Christmas at Hatfield.
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