Mary Tudor (74 page)
Authors: Linda Porter
There was certainly embarrassment and anger in England in January 1558 when Calais was lost. Despite its difficulties and the fact that it was a drain on English resources, the symbolism of this little piece of England was potent, at least to the ruling class. Lord Grey apart, the manner of its loss was so abject that treachery was naturally suspected and morale at home severely dented. There may even have been a temporary loss of faith.When Philip’s special envoy, Count Feria, arrived in England to try to put some stomach into the council to fight for the return of Calais, he said he had been told that ‘not one third as many Englishmen go to mass as went before’.
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Cardinal Pole referred to it as ‘this sudden and grievous catastrophe’, in a letter to Philip. But though he described the words of laboured comfort he gave the queen, invoking divine providence and ‘the example of the Emperor, of King Philip and her own likewise, in bearing with fortitude and constancy any distressing and adverse casualty, not allowing herself to be depressed’, his description of Mary’s reaction is somewhat coyly expressed:‘Her majesty really shows that in generosity of nature and in pardoning she is very like herself, and no less connected with your majesties in this respect, than she is by ties of blood.’
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But who was Mary ‘pardoning’ and why should she be exhibiting ‘generosity of nature’? Was this an awkward way of saying that she held no one to blame, or does it imply quite the reverse, that she did hold her husband at least in part accountable, but was willing to forgive him for his failure to come to her aid? Mary’s precise response to the news that Calais had fallen is unknown. Perhaps it did not grieve her as desperately as it outraged later commentators. She may also have derived false comfort from the belief that she might be pregnant again. Certainly, neither her council nor her parliament was willing to commit vast sums of money for the town’s recovery. It had been an anomaly for a long time, and its loss was tinged with relief as well as regret.
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Cardinal Pole referred to it as ‘this sudden and grievous catastrophe’, in a letter to Philip. But though he described the words of laboured comfort he gave the queen, invoking divine providence and ‘the example of the Emperor, of King Philip and her own likewise, in bearing with fortitude and constancy any distressing and adverse casualty, not allowing herself to be depressed’, his description of Mary’s reaction is somewhat coyly expressed:‘Her majesty really shows that in generosity of nature and in pardoning she is very like herself, and no less connected with your majesties in this respect, than she is by ties of blood.’
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But who was Mary ‘pardoning’ and why should she be exhibiting ‘generosity of nature’? Was this an awkward way of saying that she held no one to blame, or does it imply quite the reverse, that she did hold her husband at least in part accountable, but was willing to forgive him for his failure to come to her aid? Mary’s precise response to the news that Calais had fallen is unknown. Perhaps it did not grieve her as desperately as it outraged later commentators. She may also have derived false comfort from the belief that she might be pregnant again. Certainly, neither her council nor her parliament was willing to commit vast sums of money for the town’s recovery. It had been an anomaly for a long time, and its loss was tinged with relief as well as regret.
Philip’s reaction was different. He feared, quite rightly, that this would gravely compromise English support for his military ventures in Europe. ‘We feel compelled to urge you’, he wrote to the privy council, ‘to be swayed by no private interests or passions, but only by your care for the welfare of the kingdom, lest its reputation for power and greatness, earned the world over in former times, be lost now through your own neglect and indifference.’
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That Calais may have been lost through his own neglect and indifference was not something Philip wanted to consider.The king probably cared little for the blow to English pride, but he recognised that his own position was weakened as a result and that he needed to show his concern. Consequently, in his reply to Pole he was eager to demonstrate that he was distressed by the loss of Calais. ‘That sorrow’, he wrote, ‘was unspeakable, for reasons which you may well imagine and because the event was an extremely grave one for these states.’
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By which, of course, he meant the Netherlands. He saw Calais primarily as a piece of a European jigsaw.The blow to English patriotism was unfortunate but such losses were inevitable in war.
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That Calais may have been lost through his own neglect and indifference was not something Philip wanted to consider.The king probably cared little for the blow to English pride, but he recognised that his own position was weakened as a result and that he needed to show his concern. Consequently, in his reply to Pole he was eager to demonstrate that he was distressed by the loss of Calais. ‘That sorrow’, he wrote, ‘was unspeakable, for reasons which you may well imagine and because the event was an extremely grave one for these states.’
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By which, of course, he meant the Netherlands. He saw Calais primarily as a piece of a European jigsaw.The blow to English patriotism was unfortunate but such losses were inevitable in war.
If Mary hoped that Philip would come over in person to talk her ministers into further expenditure, she was to be disappointed.That task fell to Feria, whose visit in February was one of three he made on Philip’s behalf in 1558. For the English, Feria was perhaps the most well liked of the Spanish courtiers who had accompanied the king from Spain. He was betrothed to Jane Dormer and their wedding was planned for later in the year. But though personable and less openly dismissive of English ways than many of his colleagues, he still had his share of haughty superiority. He could also be horribly lacking in tact; it was Feria who took it upon himself to inform Mary that the stories she had heard of English heroism at St Quentin were untrue. Not surprisingly, he reported that the queen was very much distressed. Like Renard before him, he never grasped the way politics was conducted in England. The council’s prevarication, its lack of unanimity and, above all, its apparent spinelessness in accepting that Calais had gone exasperated him. By March, having failed to secure more troops for Philip, or produce any plan of action at all, he began to get desperate. ‘I am at my wits’ end with these people here, as God shall be my witness, and I do not know what to do … The queen tells me she is doing all she can. It is true she has spirit and goodwill. With the rest, it is hard labour.’ Pole he referred to as a dead man (this seems to have been a reference to the cardinal’s spirit, weighed down by his dispute with the pope, rather than to any bodily illness at this point) and ‘as for the others, I do not know which is the worst of them from the point of view of your majesty’s service; but I do know that those to whom you have shown the greatest favour are doing the least for you’. He went on to castigate in particular Pembroke, Paget, Arundel, Petre and the Lord Chancellor, Nicholas Heath, who was archbishop of York: ‘They do nothing but raise difficulties, whatever one proposes, and never find any remedy.’
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He could not even get a decision out of the council as to which of the towns in Flanders might replace Calais as a staple for the wool trade.
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He could not even get a decision out of the council as to which of the towns in Flanders might replace Calais as a staple for the wool trade.
Mary had taken an active interest in the preparations for levying men in January, exhorting her servants in the counties to do their duty. She was working as hard as ever and her commitment was no doubt intensified by the sad delusion that she was, once again, pregnant. Her claim that she had held off making the announcement until she was certain convinced nobody. Strangely, she does not seem to have informed Philip herself; he learned the news from Pole.The king was evidently, and understandably, sceptical, but he made the right noises.There was a politely enthusiastic reference in the same letter he wrote to the cardinal about the fall of Calais:‘… news of the pregnancy of the queen, my beloved wife, … has given me greater joy than I can express to you, as it is the one thing in the world I have most desired and which is of the greatest importance for the cause of religion and the welfare of our realm’.Yet though Mary was still maintaining that her condition was genuine eight months after she had last seen Philip, there were no prayers offered for her, no elaborate lying-in planned and, apparently, no encouragement from anyone in her household. She made her will at the end of March,
thinking myself to be with child in lawful marriage between my said dearly beloved husband and lord, although I be at this present (thanks be unto Almighty God) otherwise in good health, yet foreseeing the great danger which by God’s ordinance remain to all women in their travail of children, have thought good, both for the discharge of my conscience and continuance of good order within my realms and dominions to declare my last will and testament …
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Mary’s assertion that she was carrying an heir was more than the defiant refusal to accept reality. It was, above all, a statement of her determination to keep the throne away from Elizabeth.
The spring came, but no child. This time there was no major public humiliation. The topic simply disappeared. The question of Elizabeth’s marriage, however, did not. Philip had never given up entirely on the quest to marry his sister-in-law to the duke of Savoy. The pressure he brought on Mary - and her resistance to it - put a further strain on their relationship. The queen continued to find excuses to prevent any marriage at all. Her first line of argument was that nothing could be done without the consent of Parliament. Mary’s own marriage treaty had been approved by Parliament, though the assent of the peers and commons was assured in 1554. Maybe she felt that protocol dictated that a match for Elizabeth must be handled similarly. Philip saw it as an unnecessary delaying tactic. The dispute between husband and wife became acrimonious, with Philip urging his wife to examine her conscience and Mary responding that she was willing to be instructed by learned men on the matter. Those who had tried thus far, however, had not yet convinced her: ‘in so short a time it is impossible for me to regulate my conscience’. She reminded him that she had said she would agree to ‘this marriage … if I should have the assent of the kingdom, but without that consent I fear that neither your highness nor the kingdom will be the better for it’.
Philip would have no truck with this kind of argument. His half of the correspondence has not survived but he must have made it clear that if she persisted and Parliament did not oblige, then he would hold her responsible. Mary was immensely hurt, but still she would not give in. This was too weighty a matter to be decided in his absence. She was probably influenced by the subtext of trying to get him back to England, assuring him that his presence would be required: ‘But since your highness writes in those letters, that if Parliament set itself against this thing, you will lay the blame upon me, I beseech you in all humility to put off the business till your return, and then you shall judge if I am blameworthy or no. For otherwise your highness will be angry against me, and that will be worse than death for me, for already I have begun to taste your anger all too often, to my great sorrow.’ Yet even his coming in person, she made clear, was no guarantee that she would submit to his wishes. She intended that they should both appeal to a higher authority - God. ‘Wherefore, my lord,’ she continued,
in as humble a sort as I may, I, your most true and obedient wife - (which indeed I confess that I ought to be, and to my thinking more than all other wives, having such a husband as your highness - not that I am speaking of the multitude of your kingdoms, for that is not the chief thing in my eyes) I beg your majesty that we two should pray to God and put our whole trust in him, that we may live and come together again; and that the very God who has the thoughts of the hearts of princes in his hand, will, I make no doubt, so enlighten us, that the outcome shall be to his glory and your contentation. But I beg your highness nevertheless to pardon my assurance of God’s mercy. For, though I have not deserved, nevertheless I have had the experience of it, and that beyond the expectation of all the world, in whom I have the same hope that I have always had.
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It is an extraordinary letter. For there is no doubt that though Mary was miserable at the quarrel with Philip and the tone of his reprimand to her, she was not going to do his bidding, unless she could be utterly convinced that God willed it. And her words convey her underlying belief that God would favour her interpretation.
Mary might displease Philip, but Elizabeth was quietly delighted to find her sister, for once, firmly on her side. She had no desire whatsoever to be bounced into a marriage. Her reasoning was the obverse of Mary’s. The queen felt that marriage would strengthen Elizabeth’s position as heiress to the throne. The princess thought that her freedom of manoeuvre would be greatly weakened by it. Their unanimity of approach had the superficial effect of bringing them closer together. Mary was cast in the role of her sister’s protector and Elizabeth responded by making sure that she was punctilious in her dealings with the queen.There was no further talk of disloyalty. When an ambassador from the heir to the Swedish throne (the future Erik XIV) called on Elizabeth to seek her hand for his master, the princess was quick to point out the impropriety of such an action. She would entertain no requests for her hand unless they came through the proper channels. Mary was queen and must be consulted first. Sir Thomas Pope, who was still officially in charge of Elizabeth, reported ‘how well the queen liked her prudent answer’. But he also wanted to know, on Mary’s behalf, what Elizabeth thought of the proposal. The princess’s reply is highly revealing of her attitude to marriage, not just at this point, but throughout her reign.‘In the king my brother’s time,’ she told Pope, ‘there was offered me a very honourable marriage or two … whereupon I made suit to his highness, as some yet living can testify, for leave to remain in that state that I was, which best pleased me. I am at present of the same mind, and intend so to continue, with her majesty’s favour. There is no life comparable to it.’ Pope heard her in some amazement. Surely she would be content with an appropriate match should the queen suggest one? ‘Her grace answered:What I shall do hereafter I know not, but I am not at this time otherwise minded than I have declared, though I were offered the greatest prince in Europe.’
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But this reply was only diplomatic. When she was queen her brother-in-law, by any definition the greatest prince in Europe, proposed to her himself. She turned Philip down, too. Her mind was already decided during Mary’s lifetime. Elizabeth considered that her sister’s marriage was a mistake. She would not compromise her own freedom of action by repeating the error.
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But this reply was only diplomatic. When she was queen her brother-in-law, by any definition the greatest prince in Europe, proposed to her himself. She turned Philip down, too. Her mind was already decided during Mary’s lifetime. Elizabeth considered that her sister’s marriage was a mistake. She would not compromise her own freedom of action by repeating the error.
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