1530-1534
HENRY'S DEFIANCE--THE VICTORY OF ANNE
The deadlock with regard to the validity of the marriage could not
continue indefinitely, for the legitimacy of the Princess Mary having been
called into question, the matter now vitally touched the succession to the
English crown. Katharine was immovable. She would neither retire to a
convent nor accept a decision from an English tribunal, and, through her
proctor in Rome, she passionately pressed for a decision there in her
favour. Norfolk, at the end of his not very extensive mental resources,
could only wish that both Katharine and Anne were dead and the King
married to some one else. The Pope was ready to do anything that did not
offend the Emperor to bring about peace; and when, under pressure from
Henry and Norfolk, the English prelates and peers, including Wolsey and
Warham, signed a petition to the Pope saying that Henry's marriage should
be dissolved, or they must seek a remedy for themselves in the English
Parliament, Clement was almost inclined to give way; for schism in England
he dreaded before all things. But Charles's troops were in Rome and his
agents for ever bullying the wretched Pope, and the latter was obliged to
reply finally to the English peers with a rebuke. There were those both
in England and abroad who urged Henry to marry Anne at once, and depend
upon the recognition of the _fait accompli_ by means of negotiation
afterwards, but this did not satisfy either the King or the favourite.
Every interview between the King and the Nuncio grew more bitter than the
previous one. No English cause, swore Henry, should be tried outside his
realm where he was master; and if the Pope insisted in giving judgment for
the Queen, as he had promised the Emperor to do, the English Parliament
should deal with the matter in spite of Rome.
The first ecclesiastical thunderclap came in October 1530, when Henry
published a proclamation reminding the lieges of the old law of England
that forbade the Pope from exercising direct jurisdiction in the realm by
Bull or Brief. No one could understand at the time what was meant, but
when the Nuncio in perturbation went and asked Norfolk and Suffolk the
reason of so strange a proclamation at such a time, they replied roughly,
that they "cared nothing for Popes in England ... the King was Emperor and
Pope too in his own realm." Later, Henry told the Nuncio that the Pope had
outraged convention by summoning him before a foreign tribunal, and should
now be taught that no usurpation of power would be allowed in England. The
Parliament was called, said Henry, to restrain the encroachment of the
clergy generally, and unless the Pope met his wishes promptly a blow would
be struck at all clerical pretensions. The reply of the Pope was another
brief forbidding Henry's second marriage, and threatening Parliaments and
Bishops in England if they dared to meddle in the matter. The question
was thus rapidly drifting into an international one on religious lines,
which involved either the submission of Henry or schism from the Church.
The position of the English clergy was an especially difficult one. They
naturally resented any curtailment of the privileges of their order,
though they dared not speak too loudly, for they owed the enjoyment of
their temporalities to the King. But they were all sons of the Church,
looking to Rome for spiritual authority, and were in mortal dread of the
advance of the new spirit of religious freedom aroused in Germany. The
method of bridling them adopted by Henry was as clever as it was
unscrupulous. The Bull giving to Wolsey independent power to judge the
matrimonial cause in England as Legate, had been, as will be recollected,
demanded by the King and recognised by him, as it had been, of course, by
the clergy; but in January 1531, when Parliament and Convocation met, the
English clergy found themselves laid under Premunire by the King for
having recognised the Legatine Bull; and were told that as subjects of the
crown, and not of the Pope, they had thus rendered themselves liable to
the punishment for treason. The unfortunate clergy were panic-stricken at
this new move, and looked in vain to Rome for support against their own
King; but Rome, as usual, was trying to run with the hare and hunt with
the hounds, and could only wail at the obstinacy both of Henry and
Katharine.
In the previous sitting of Parliament in 1529, severe laws had been passed
against the laxity and extortion of the English ecclesiastics,
notwithstanding the violent indignation of Fisher of Rochester; but what
was now demanded of them as a condition of their pardon for recognising
the Bull was practically to repudiate the authority of the Pope over them,
and to recognise the King of England as supreme head of the Church, in
addition to paying the tremendous fine of a hundred thousand pounds. They
were in utter consternation, and they struggled hard; but the alternative
to submission was ruin, and the majority gave way. The die was cast: Henry
was Pope and King in one, and could settle his own cause in his own way.
When the English clergy had thus been brought to heel, Henry's opponents
saw that they had driven him too far, and were aghast at his unexpected
exhibition of strength, a strength, be it noted, not his own, as will be
explained later; and somewhat moderated their tone. But the King of
England snapped his fingers now at threats of excommunication, and cared
nothing, he said, for any decision from Rome. The Emperor dared not go to
war with England about Katharine, for the French were busily drawing
towards the Pope, whose niece, Katharine de Medici, was to be betrothed to
the son of Francis; and the imperial agents in Rome ceased to insist so
pertinaciously upon a decision of the matrimonial suit.
Katharine alone clamoured unceasingly that her "hell upon earth" should be
ended by a decision in her favour from the Sovereign Pontiff. Her friends
in England were many, for the old party of nobles were rallying again to
her side, even Norfolk was secretly in her favour, or at least against
the King's marriage with his niece Anne, and Henry's new bold step against
the Papacy, taken under bureaucratic influence, had aroused much fear and
jealousy amongst prelates like Fisher and jurists like More, as well as
amongst the aristocratic party in the country. Desperate efforts were made
to prevent the need for further action in defiance of the Papacy by the
decision of the matrimonial suit by the English Parliament; and early in
June 1531 Henry and his Council decided to put fresh pressure upon
Katharine to get her to consent to a suspension of the proceedings in
Rome, and to the relegation of the case to a tribunal in some neutral
territory. Katharine at Greenwich had secret knowledge of the intention,
and she can hardly have been so surprised as she pretended to be when, as
she was about to retire to rest, at nine o'clock at night, to learn that
the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, and some thirty other nobles and
prelates, sought audience of her. Norfolk spoke first, and in the King's
name complained bitterly of the slight put upon him by the Pope's
citation. He urged the Queen, for the sake of England, for the memory of
the political services of Henry to her kin, and his past kindness to her,
to meet his wishes and consent to a neutral tribunal judging between them.
Katharine was, as usual, cool and contemptuous. No one was more sorry than
she for the King's annoyance, though she had not been the cause of it; but
there was only one judge in the world competent to deal with the case.
"His Holiness, who keeps the place, and has the power, of God upon earth,
and is the image of eternal truth." As for recognising her husband as
supreme head of the Church, that she would never do. When Dr. Lee spoke
harshly, telling her that she knew that, her first marriage having been
consummated, her second was never legal, she vehemently denied the fact,
and told him angrily to go to Rome and argue. He would find there others
than a lone woman to answer him. Dr. Sampson then took up the parable and
reproached her for her determination to have the case settled so quickly;
and she replied to him that if he had passed such bitter days as she had,
he would be in a hurry too. Dr. Stokesley was dealt with similarly by the
Queen; and she then proudly protested at being thus baited late at night
by a crowd of men; she, "a poor woman without friends or counsel." Norfolk
reminded her that the King had appointed the Archbishop of Canterbury, the
Bishop of Durham, and the Bishop of Rochester to advise her. "Pretty
councillors they are," she replied. "If I ask for Canterbury's advice he
tells me he will have nothing to do with it, and for ever repeats _ira
principis mors est_. The Bishop of Durham dares to say nothing because he
is the King's subject, and Rochester only tells me to keep a good heart
and hope for the best."
Katharine knew it not, but many of those before her were really her
friends. Gardiner, now first Secretary, looked with fear upon the Lutheran
innovations, Guilford the Controller, Lord Talbot, and even Norfolk wished
her well, and feared the advent of Anne; and Guilford, less prudent than
the rest, spoke so frankly that the favourite heard of his words. She
broke out in furious invective against him before his face. "When I am
Queen of England," she cried, "you will soon lose your office." "You need
not wait so long," he replied, as he went straightway to deliver his seals
to the King. Henry told him he ought not to mind an angry woman's talk,
and was loath to accept his resignation; but the Controller insisted, and
another rankling enemy was raised up to Anne. The favour she enjoyed had
fairly turned her head, and her insolence, even to those who in any case
had a right to her respect, had made her thoroughly detested. The Duke of
Suffolk, enemy of the Papacy as he was, and the King's brother-in-law, was
as anxious now as Talbot, Guilford, and Fitzwilliam to avert the marriage
with Anne, who was setting all the Court by the ears. Katharine's attitude
made matters worse. She still lived under the same roof as the King,
though he rarely saw her except on public occasions, and her haughty
replies to all his emissaries, and her constant threats of what the
Emperor might do, irritated Henry beyond endurance under the taunts of
Anne. The latter was bitterly jealous also of the young Princess Mary, of
whom Henry was fond; and by many spiteful, petty acts of persecution, the
girl's life was made unhappy. Once when Henry praised his daughter in
Anne's presence, the latter broke out into violent abuse of her, and on
another occasion, when Katharine begged to be allowed to visit the
Princess, Henry told her roughly that she could go away as soon as she
liked, and stop away. But Katharine stood her ground. She would not leave
her husband, she said, even for her daughter, until she was forced to do
so. Henry's patience was nearly tired out between Anne's constant
importunities and Katharine's dignified immobility; and leaving his wife
and daughter at Windsor, he went off on a hunting progress with Anne, in
the hope that he might soon be relieved of the presence of Katharine
altogether. Public feeling was indignantly in favour of the Queen; and it
was no uncommon thing for people to waylay the King, whilst he was
hunting, with entreaties that he would live with his wife again; and
wherever Anne went the women loudly cried shame upon her.
In his distraction Henry was at a loss what to do. He always wanted to
appear in the right, and he dared not imprison or openly ill-treat
Katharine, for his own people favoured her, and all Europe would have
joined in condemning him; yet it was clear that even Windsor Castle was
not, in future, big enough for both Queen and favourite at the same time,
and positive orders at length were sent to Katharine, in the autumn of
1531, to take up her residence at More in Hertfordshire, in a house
formerly belonging to Wolsey.[80] She obeyed with a heavy heart, for it
meant parting--and for ever--with her daughter, who was sent to live at
Richmond, and was strictly forbidden to communicate with her mother.
Katharine said she would have preferred to have been sent to the Tower, to
being consigned to a place so unfit for her as More, with its foul ways
and ruinous surroundings, but nothing broke her spirit or humbled her
pride. Her household was still regal in its extent, for we are told by an
Italian visitor to her that "thirty maids of honour stood around her table
when she dined, and there were fifty who performed its service: her
household consisting of about two hundred persons in all." But her state
was a mockery now; for Lady Anne, she knew, was with her husband, loudly
boasting that within three or four months she would be a queen, and
already playing the part insolently. The Privy Purse expenses of the
period show how openly Anne was acknowledged as being Henry's actual
consort. Not only did she accompany the King everywhere on his excursions
and progresses, and partake of the receptions offered to him by local
authorities and nobles,[81] but large sums of money were paid out of the
King's treasury for the gorgeous garb in which she loved to appear. Purple
velvet at half a guinea a yard, costly furs and linen, bows and arrows,
liveries for her servants, and all sorts of fine gear were bought for
Anne. The Lord Mayor of London, in June 1530, sent her a present of
cherries, and the bearer got a reward of 6s. 8d. Soon after Anne's
greyhounds killed a cow, and the Privy Purse had to pay the damage, 10s.
In November, 19-3/4 yards of crimson satin at 15s. a yard had to be paid
for to make Lady Anne a robe, and L8, 8s. for budge skins was paid soon
afterwards. When Christmas came and card-playing was in season, my Lady
Anne must have playing money, L20 all in groats; and when she lost, as she
did pretty heavily, her losings had to be paid by the treasurer, though
her winnings she kept for herself. No less than a hundred pounds was given
to her as a New Year's gift in 1531. A few weeks afterwards, a farm at
Greenwich was bought for her for L66; and her writing-desk had to be
adorned with latten and gold at a great cost. As the year 1531 advanced
and Katharine's cause became more desperate, the extravagance of her rival
grew; and when in the autumn of that year the Queen was finally banished
from Court, Anne's bills for dressmaker's finery amounted to extravagant
proportions.
The position was rendered the more bitter for Katharine when she
recognised that the Pope, in a fright now at Henry's defiance, was trying
to meet him half way, and was listening to the suggestion of referring the
question to a tribunal at Cambray or elsewhere; whilst the Emperor himself
was only anxious to get the cause settled somehow without an open affront
to his house or necessary cause for quarrel with Henry.[82] And yet,
withal, the divorce did not seem to make headway in England itself. As we
have seen, the common people were strongly against it: the clergy,
trembling, as well they might, for their privileges between the Pope and
the King, were naturally as a body in favour of the ecclesiastical view;
and many of Henry and Anne's clerical instruments, such as Dr. Bennet in
Rome and Dr. Sampson at Vienna, were secretly working against the cause
they were supposed to be aiding: even some of the new prelates, such as
Gardiner of Winchester and Stokesley of London, grew less active advocates
when they understood that upon them and their order would fall ultimately
the responsibility of declaring invalid a marriage which the Church and
the Pope had sanctioned. Much stronger still even was the dislike to the
King's marriage on the part of the older nobility, whose enmity to Wolsey
had first made the marriage appear practicable. They had sided with Anne
to overthrow Wolsey; but the obstinate determination of the King to rid
himself of his wife and marry his favourite, had brought forward new
clerical and bureaucratic ministers whose proceedings and advice alarmed
the aristocracy much more than anything Wolsey had done. If Katharine had
been tactful, or even an able politician, she had the materials at hand to
form a combination in favour of herself and her daughter, before which
Henry, coward as he was, would have quailed. But she lacked the qualities
necessary for a leader: she irritated the King without frightening him,
and instead of conciliating the nobles who really sympathised with her,
though they were forced to do the King's bidding, she snubbed them
haughtily and drove them from her.
Anne flattered and pleased the King, but it was hardly her mind that moved
him to defy the powerful Papacy, or sustained him in his fight with his
own clergy. From the first we have seen him leaning upon some adviser who
would relieve him from responsibility whilst giving him all the honour for
success. He desired the divorce above all things; but, as usual, he wanted
to shelter himself behind other authority than his own. When in 1529 he
had been seeking learned opinions to influence the Pope, chance had thrown
the two ecclesiastics who were his instruments, Fox and Gardiner, into
contact with a learned theologian and Reader in Divinity at Cambridge
University. Thomas Cranmer had studied and lived much. He was a widower,
and Fellow of Magdalene, Cambridge, of forty years of age; and although in
orders and a Doctor of Divinity, his tastes were rather those of a learned
country gentleman than of an ecclesiastic in monkish times. In
conversation with Fox and Gardiner, this high authority on theology
expressed the opinion that instead of enduring the delays of the
ecclesiastical courts, the question of the legality of the King's marriage
should be decided by divines from the words of the Scriptures themselves.
The idea seemed a good one, and Henry jumped at it. In an interview soon
afterwards he ordered Cranmer to put his arguments into a book, and placed
him in the household of Anne's father, the Earl of Wiltshire, to
facilitate the writing of it. The religious movement in Germany had found
many echoes in England, and doubtless Cranmer conscientiously objected to
Papal control. Certain it is that, fortified as he was by the
encouragement of Anne and her father, his book was a persuasive one, and
greatly pleased the King, who sent it to the Pope and others. Nor did
Cranmer's activity stay there. He entered into disputation everywhere,
with the object of gaining theological recruits for the King's side, and
wrote a powerful refutation of Reginald Pole's book in favour of
Katharine. The King thought so highly of Cranmer's controversial ability
that he sent him with Lee, Stokesley, and other theologians to Rome,
Paris, and elsewhere on the Continent, to forward the divorce, and from
Rome he was commissioned as English Ambassador with the Emperor.
Whilst Cranmer was thus fighting the King's battle abroad, another
instrument came to Henry's hand for use in England. On the disgrace of
Wolsey, his secretary, Thomas Cromwell, was recommended to Henry by
friends. The King disliked him, and at first refused to see him; but
consented to do so when it was hinted that Cromwell was the sort of man
who would serve him well in what he had at heart. The hint was a
well-founded one; for Thomas Cromwell was as ambitious and unscrupulous as
his master had been; strong, bold, and fortunately unhampered by
ecclesiastical orders. When Henry received him in the gardens at
Whitehall, Cromwell spoke as no priest, and few laymen, would have dared
to do: for, apart from the divorce question, there was to be no dallying
with heresy if Henry could help it, and the fires of Smithfield burning
doubters were already beginning to blaze under the influence of Sir Thomas
More. "Sire," said Cromwell to the King, "the Pope refuses you a divorce
... why wait for his consent? Every Englishman is master in his own house,
and why should not you be so in England? Ought a foreign prelate to share
your power with you? It is true the bishops make oath to your Majesty; but
they make another to the Pope immediately afterwards which absolves them
from it. Sire, you are but half a king, and we are but half your subjects.
Your kingdom is a two-headed monster: will you bear such an anomaly any
longer? Frederick and other German princes have cast off the yoke of Rome.
Do likewise; become once more king, govern your kingdom in concert with
your lords and commons."[83]
With much more of such talk Cromwell flattered the King, who probably
hardly knew whether to punish or reward such unheard-of boldness; but when
Cromwell, prepared for the emergency, took from his pocket a copy of the
prelates' oath to the Pope, Henry's indignation bore all before it, and
Cromwell's fortune was made. He at once obtained a seat in Parliament
(1529), and took the lead in the anti-clerical measures which culminated
in the emancipation of the English clergy from the Papacy, and their
submission to the King. Gardiner, ambitious and able as he was, was yet an
ecclesiastic, and looked grimly upon such a religious policy as that into
which Henry was being towed by his infatuation for Anne; but Cromwell was
always ready with authorities and flattery to stiffen the King's resolve,
and thenceforward, until his fall before a combination of nobles, his was
the strong spirit to which Henry clung.
It will be seen that the influences against the King's marriage with Anne
were very powerful, since it had become evident that the object could only
be attained by the separation of England from the Papal communion; a step
too bold and too much smacking of Lutheranism to commend itself to any but
the few who might benefit by the change. The greatest danger seemed that
by her isolation England might enable the two great Catholic powers to
combine against her, in which case Henry's ruin was certain; and, eager as
he was to divorce Katharine in England and marry Anne, the King dared not
do so until he had secured at least the neutrality of France. As usual, he
had to pay heavily for it. Dr. Fox, Henry's most able and zealous foreign
minister, was again sent to France, and an alliance was negotiated in the
spring of 1532, by which Henry bound himself to join Francis against the
Emperor in case of attack, and Francis undertook to support Henry if any
attempt was made by Charles to avenge his aunt. Anne was once more
jubilant and hopeful; for her cause was now linked with a national
alliance which had a certain party of adherents in the English Court, and
an imperial attack upon England in the interests of Katharine was rendered
unlikely. But, withal, the opposition in England itself had to be
overcome, for Henry was ever a stickler for correctness in form, and
wanted the divorce to have an appearance of defensible legality. The
bishops in Parliament were sounded, but it was soon evident that they as a
body would not fly in the face of the Papacy and the Catholic interests,
even to please the King. Timid, tired old Warham, the Archbishop of
Canterbury, was approached with a suggestion that he, as Primate, might
convene a quorum of prelates favourable to Henry, who would approve of the
entire repudiation of the Papal authority in England, and themselves
pronounce the King's divorce. But Warham was already hastening to the
grave, and flatly refused to stain his last hours by spiritual revolt.
Despairing of the English churchman, Henry then turned to the lay peers
and commons, and, through Norfolk, asked them to decide that the
matrimonial cause was one that should be dealt with by a lay tribunal; but
Norfolk's advocacy was but half-hearted, and the peers refused to make the
declaration demanded.[84]
The fact is clear that England was not yet prepared to defy spiritual
authority to satisfy the King's caprice; and Anne was nearly beside
herself with rage. She, indeed, was for braving everybody and getting
married at once, divorce or no divorce. Why lose so much time? the French
ambassador asked. If the King wanted to marry again let him do as King
Louis did, and marry of his own motion.[85] The advice pleased both Henry
and his lady-love, but Norfolk and Anne's father were strongly opposed to
so dangerous and irregular a step, and incurred the furious displeasure of
Anne for daring to thwart her. Every one, she said, even her own kinsmen,
were against her,[86] and she was not far wrong, for with the exception of
Cranmer in Germany and Cromwell, no one cared to risk the popular anger by
promoting the match. Above all, Warham stood firm. The continued attacks
of the King at Cromwell's suggestion against the privileges of the clergy
hardened the old Archbishop's heart, and it was evident that he as Primate
would never now annul the King's marriage and defy the authority of Rome.
The opposition of Lord Chancellor More and of the new Bishop of
Winchester, Gardiner, to Cromwell's anti-clerical proposals in Parliament
angered the King, and convinced him that with his present instruments it
would be as difficult for him to obtain a divorce in legal form in England
as in Rome itself. More was made to feel that his position was an
impossible one, and retired when Parliament was prorogued in May; and
Gardiner had a convenient attack of gout, which kept him away from Court
until the King found he could not conduct foreign affairs without him and
brought him back.
In the meanwhile Katharine neglected the opportunities offered to her of
combining all these powerful elements in her favour. Nobles, clergy, and
people were almost universally on her side: Anne was cordially hated, and
had no friends but the few religious reformers who hoped by her means to
force the King ever further away from the Papacy; and yet the Queen
continued to appeal to Rome and the Emperor, against whom English
patriotic feeling might be raised by Anne's few friends. The unwisdom of
thus linking Katharine's cause with threats of foreign aggression, whilst
England itself was favourable to her, was seen when the Nuncio presented
to Henry a half-hearted exhortation to take his lawful wife back. Henry
fulminated against the foreigner who dared to interfere between him and
his wife; and, very far from alarming him, the Pope's timid action only
proved the impotence of Rome to harm him. But the results fell upon the
misguided Katharine, who had instigated the step. She was sent from the
More to Ampthill, a house belonging to one of her few episcopal enemies.
All through the summer of 1532 the coming and going of French agents to
England puzzled the Queen and her foreign friends; but suddenly, late in
July, the truth came out. Henry and Anne had gone with a great train on a
hunting tour through the midlands in July; but only a few days after
starting they suddenly returned to London. The quidnuncs whispered that
the people on the way had clamoured so loudly that the Queen might be
recalled to Court, and had so grossly insulted Anne, that the royal party
had been driven back in disgust; and though there was no doubt some ground
for the assertion, the real reason for the return was that the interview
between Henry and the French king, so long secretly in negotiation, had at
last been settled. To enlist Francis personally on the side of the
divorce, and against the clerical influence, was good policy; for the
Emperor could not afford to quarrel both with France and England for his
aunt, and especially as the meeting arranged between Francis and the Pope
at Nice for the betrothal of the Duke of Orleans with Katharine de Medici
was already in contemplation, and threatened the Emperor with a
combination of France, England, and perhaps the Papacy, which would be
powerful enough to defy him. The policy was Cromwell's, who had inherited
from his master, Wolsey, a leaning for the French alliance; but Norfolk
and the rest of Henry's advisers were heavily bribed by France, and were
on this occasion not inimical. The people at large, as usual, looked
askance at the French connection. They dreaded, above all things, a war
with Spain and Flanders, and recollected with apprehension the fruitless
and foolish waste in splendour on the last occasion of the monarchs of
France and England meeting. An attempt was made to provide that the
preparations should be less costly and elaborate than those for the Field
of the Cloth of Gold, but Henry could not forego the splendour that he
loved, and a suite of 3000 or 4000 people were warned to accompany the
King across the Channel to Boulogne and Calais.
[Illustration: _ANNE BOLEYN_
_From a portrait by_ LUCAS CORNELISZ _in the National Portrait Gallery_]
For the interview to have its full value in the eyes of Henry and his
mistress, the latter must be present at the festival, and be recognised by
the French royal family as being of their own caste. Francis was not
scrupulous, but this was difficult to arrange. His own second wife was the
Emperor's sister, and she, of course, would not consent to meet "the
concubine"; nor would any other of the French princesses, if they could
avoid it; but, although the French at first gave out that no ladies would
be present, Anne began to get her fine clothes ready and enlist her train
of ladies as soon as the interview between the kings was arranged. So
confident was she now of success that she foretold to one of her friends
that she would be married whilst in France. To add to her elation, in the
midst of the preparations Archbishop Warham died, and the chief
ecclesiastical obstacle to the divorce in England disappeared. Some
obedient churchman as Primate would soon manage to enlist a sufficient
number of his fellows to give to his court an appearance of authority, and
the Church of England would ratify the King's release.
The effects of Warham's death (23rd August 1532) were seen immediately.
There is every probability that up to that time Anne had successfully
held her royal lover at arm's length; but with Cranmer, or another such as
he, at Lambeth her triumph was only a matter of the few weeks necessary to
carry out the formalities; and by the end of the month of August 1532 she
probably became the King's mistress. This alone would explain the
extraordinary proceedings when, on the 1st September, she was created
Marchioness of Pembroke in her own right. It was Sunday morning before
Mass at Windsor, where the new French alliance was to be ratified, that
the King and his nobles and the French ambassador met in the great
presence chamber and Anne knelt to receive the coronet and robe of her
rank, the first peeress ever created in her own right in England:
precedence being given to her before the two other English marchionesses,
both ladies of the blood royal. Everything that could add prestige to the
ceremony was done. Anne herself was dressed in regal crimson velvet and
ermine; splendid presents were made to her by the enamoured King, fit more
for a sovereign's consort than his mistress; a thousand pounds a year and
lands were settled upon her, and her rank and property were to descend to
the issue male of her body. But the cloven hoof is shown by the omission
from the patent of the usual legitimacy clause. Even if, after all, the
cup of queendom was dashed from her lips untasted, she had made not a bad
bargain for herself. Her short triumph, indeed, was rapidly coming. She
had fought strenuously for it for many years; and now most of the legal
bars against her had fallen. But, withal, there was bitterness still in
her chalice. The people scowled upon her no less now that she was a
marchioness than before, and the great ladies who were ordered to attend
the King's "cousin" into France did their service but sourly: whilst
Francis had to be conciliated with all sorts of important concessions
before he could be got to welcome "the lady" into his realm. When, at
last, he consented, "because she would have gone in any case; for the King
cannot be an hour without her," Francis did it gallantly, and with good
grace, for, after all, Anne was just then the strongest prop in England of
the French alliance.
Katharine, from afar off, watched these proceedings with scornful
resentment. Henry had no chivalry, no generosity, and saved his repudiated
wife no humiliation that he could deal her in reward for her obstinacy. He
had piled rich gifts upon Anne, but her greed for costly gewgaws was
insatiable; and when the preparations for her visit to France were afoot
she coveted the Queen's jewels. Henry's sister, the Duchess of Suffolk,
Queen Dowager of France, had been made to surrender her valuables to the
King's favourite; but when Henry sent a message to his wife bidding her
give up her jewels, the proud princess blazed out in indignant anger at
the insult. "Tell the King," she said, "that I cannot send them to him;
for when lately, according to the custom of this realm, I presented him
with a New Year's gift, he warned me to send him no such presents for the
future. Besides, it is offensive and insulting to me, and would weigh upon
my conscience, if I were led to give up my jewels for such a base purpose
as that of decking out a person who is a reproach to Christendom, and is
bringing scandal and disgrace upon the King, through his taking her to
such a meeting as this in France. But still, if the King commands me and
sends specially for them himself, I will give him my jewels." Such an
answer as this proves clearly the lack of practical wisdom in the poor
woman. She might have resisted, or she might have surrendered with a good
grace; but to irritate and annoy the weak bully, without gaining her
point, was worse than useless. Anne's talk about marrying the King in
France angered Katharine beyond measure; but the favourite's ambition grew
as her prospect brightened, and when it was settled that Cranmer was to be
recalled from Germany and made Primate, Anne said that she had changed her
mind. "Even if the King wished to marry her there (in France) she would
not consent to it. She will have it take place here in England, where
other queens have usually been married and crowned."[87]
Through Kent, avoiding as they might the plague-stricken towns, the King
and his lady-love, with a great royal train, rode to Dover early in
October 1532. At Calais, Henry's own town, Anne was received almost with
regal honours; but when Henry went forth to greet Francis upon French soil
near Boulogne, and to be sumptuously entertained, it was seen that, though
the French armed men were threateningly numerous, there were no ladies to
keep in countenance the English "concubine" and the proud dames who did
her service. Blazing in gems, the two kings met with much courtly ceremony
and hollow professions of affection. Banqueting, speech-making, and
posturing in splendid raiment occupied five days at Boulogne, the while
the "Lady Marquis" ate her heart out at Calais in petulant disappointment;
though she made as brave a show as she could to the Frenchmen when they
came to return Henry's visit. The chronicler excels himself in the
description of the lavish magnificence of the welcome of Francis at
Calais,[88] and tells us that, after a bounteous supper on the night of
Sunday 27th October, at which the two kings and their retinues sat down,
"The Marchioness of Pembroke with seven other ladies in masking apparel of
strange fashion, made of cloth of gold compassed with crimson tinsel
satin, covered with cloth of silver, lying loose and knit with gold
laces," tripped in, and each masked lady chose a partner, Anne, of course,
taking the French king. In the course of the dance Henry plucked the masks
from the ladies' faces, and debonair Francis, in courtly fashion,
conversed with his fair partner. One of the worst storms in the memory of
man delayed the English king's return from Calais till the 13th November;
but when at length the _Te Deum_ for his safe home-coming was sung at St.
Paul's, Anne knew that the King of France had undertaken to frighten the
Pope into inactivity by talk of the danger of schism in England, and that
Cranmer was hurrying across Europe on his way from Italy to London, to
become Primate of the Church of England.
The plot projected was a clever one, but it was still needful to handle it
very delicately. Cranmer during his residence in Germany and Italy had
been zealous in winning favourable opinions for Henry's contention, and
his foregathering with Lutheran divines had strengthened his reforming
opinions. He had, indeed, proceeded to the dangerous length of going
through a form of marriage secretly with a young lady belonging to a
Lutheran family. His leanings cannot have been quite unknown to the
ever-watchful spies of the Pope and the Emperor, though Cranmer had done
his best to hoodwink them, and to some extent had succeeded. But to ask
the Pope to issue the Bulls confirming such a man in the Primacy of
England was at least a risky proceeding, and Henry had to dissemble. In
January, Katharine fondly thought that her husband was softening towards
her, for he released her chaplain Abell, who had been imprisoned for
publicly speaking in her favour. She fancied, poor soul, that "perhaps God
had touched his heart, and that he was about to acknowledge his error."
Chapuys attributed Henry's new gentleness to his begrudging the cost of
two queenly establishments. But seen from this distance of time, it was
clearly caused by a desire to disarm the suspicion of the Pope and the
Emperor, who were again to meet at Bologna, until the Bulls confirming
Cranmer's appointment to the Archbishopric had been issued. Henry went out
of his way to be amiable to the imperial ambassador Chapuys, whilst he
beguiled the Nuncio with the pretended proposal for reconciliation by
means of a decision on the divorce to be given by two Cardinal Legates,
appointed by the Pope, and sitting in neutral territory. In vain Chapuys
warned the Emperor that Cranmer could not be trusted; but Henry's
diplomatic signs of grace prevailed, and the Pope, dreading to drive
England further into schism, confirmed Cranmer's election as Archbishop of
Canterbury (March 1533).
It was high time; for under a suave exterior both Henry and Anne were in a
fever of impatience. At the very time that Queen Katharine thought that
her husband had repented, Anne conveyed to him the news that she was with
child. It was necessary for their plans that the offspring should be born
in wedlock, and yet no public marriage was possible, or the eyes of the
Papal party would be opened before the Bulls confirming Cranmer's
elevation were issued. Sometime late in January 1533, therefore, a secret
marriage was performed at Greenwich, probably by the reforming Franciscan
Friar, George Brown,[89] and Anne became Henry's second wife, whilst
Katharine was still undivorced. The secret was well kept for a time, and
the Nuncio, Baron di Burgo, was fooled to the top of his bent by
flatteries and hopes of bribes. He even sat in state on Henry's right
hand, the French ambassador being on the left, at the opening of
Parliament, probably with the idea of convincing the trembling English
clergy that the King and the Pope were working together. In any case, the
close association of the Nuncio with Henry and his ministers aroused the
fears of Katharine anew, and she broke out in denunciations of the Pope's
supineness in thus leaving her without aid for three and a half years, and
now entertaining, as she said, a suggestion that would cause her to be
declared the King's concubine, and her daughter a bastard.[90] In vain
Chapuys, the only man of his party who saw through the device, prayed that
Cranmer's Bulls should not be sent from Rome, that the sentence in
Katharine's favour should no longer be delayed. It was already too late.
The pride of Anne and her father at the secret marriage could not much
longer be kept under. In the middle of February, whilst dining in her own
apartment, she said that "she was now as sure that she should be married
to the King, as she was of her own death"; and the Earl of Wiltshire told
the aged kinsman of Henry, the Earl of Rutland, a staunch adherent of
Katharine, that "the King was determined not to be so considerate as he
had been, but would marry the Marchioness of Pembroke at once, by the
authority of Parliament."[91] Anne's condition, indeed, could not continue
to be concealed, and whispers of it reached the Queen at Ampthill. By
March the rumour was rife at Court that the marriage had taken place--a
rumour which it is plain that Anne's friends took no pains to deny, and
Cranmer positively encouraged.[92]
Cromwell, in the meanwhile, grew in power and boldness with the success
of his machinations. The Chancellorship, vacant by More's resignation, was
filled by Cromwell's friend Audley, and every post that fell vacant or
could be vacated was occupied by known opponents of the clergy. The
country and Parliament were even yet not ready to go so far as Cromwell in
his policy of emancipation from Rome in spiritual affairs; and only by the
most illegal pressure both in the two Houses and in Convocation was the
declaration condemning the validity of the King's marriage with Katharine
at last obtained. Armed with these declarations and the Bulls from Rome
confirming Cranmer's appointment, Henry was ready in April to cast away
the mask, and the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk were sent to tell Katharine
at Ampthill "that she need not trouble any more about the King, for he had
taken another wife, and that in future she must abandon the title of
Queen, and be called Duchess; though she should be left in possession of
her property."[93] Chapuys was indignant, and urged the Emperor to make
war upon England in revenge for the insult to his house. "The moment this
accursed Anne gets her foot firmly in the stirrup she will do the Queen
all the harm she can, and the Princess also, which is what the Queen fears
most.... She (Anne) has lately boasted that she will make the Princess
one of her maids, which will not give her too much to eat; or will marry
her to some varlet." But the Emperor had cares and dangers that his
ambassador in England knew not of, and he dared not avenge his aunt by the
invasion of England.
A long and fruitless war of words was waged between Henry and Chapuys when
the news of the secret marriage became known; the talk turning upon the
eternal question of the consummation of Katharine's first marriage.
Chapuys reminded the King that on several occasions he (Henry) had
confessed that his wife had been intact by Arthur. "Ah!" replied Henry, "I
only said that in fun. A man when he is frolicking and dining says a good
many things that are not true. Now, I think I have satisfied you.... What
else do you want to know?"[94] A day or two after this, on Easter Eve,
Anne went to Mass in truly royal state, loaded with diamonds and other
precious stones, and dressed in a gorgeous suit of tissue; the train being
borne by her cousin, the daughter of the Duke of Norfolk, betrothed to the
King's illegitimate son, the Duke of Richmond. She was followed by a
greater suite and treated with more ceremony than had formerly attended
Katharine, and, to the astonishment of the people, was prayed for
thenceforward in the Church services at Court as Queen.[95] In London the
attitude of the people grew threatening, and the Lord Mayor was taken to
task by the King, who ordered that proclamation should be made forbidding
any unfavourable reference to the King's second marriage. But the fire of
indignation glowed fiercely beneath the surface, for everywhere the cause
of Katharine was bound up, as it seemed, with the old faith in which all
had been born, with the security of commerce with England's best
customers, and with the rights of anointed royalty, as against low-born
insolence.
No humiliation was spared to Katharine. Her daughter was forbidden to hold
any communication with her, her household was reduced to the meagre
proportions of a private establishment, her scutcheon was taken down from
Westminster Hall, and her cognisance from her barge, and, as a crowning
indignity, she was summoned to appear before the Primate's court at
Dunstable, a summons which, at the prompting of Chapuys, she entirely
disregarded. Up to this time she had stood firm in her determination to
maintain an attitude of loyalty to the King and to her adopted country;
but, as she grew more bitter at her rival's triumph, and the flowing tide
of religious change rose at her feet, she listened to plans for bringing a
remedy for her ills by a subversion of Henry's regime. But she was a poor
conspirator, and considerations of safety for her daughter, and her want
of tact in uniting the English elements in her favour, always paralysed
her.[96]
In the meanwhile the preparations for the public recognition and
coronation of Anne went on. The new Queen tried her best to captivate the
Londoners, but without success; and only with difficulty could the
contributions be obtained for the coming festivities when the new Queen
passed through the city. On the 10th May Katharine was declared
contumacious by the Primate's court, and on the 23rd May Cranmer
pronounced the King's first marriage to have been void from the first.[97]
This was followed by a pronouncement to the effect that the second
marriage, that with Anne, was legal, and nothing now stood in the way of
the final fruition of so much labour and intrigue, pregnant with such
tremendous results to England. On the 29th May 1533 the first scene of the
pageant was enacted with the State progress by water from Greenwich to the
Tower.[98] No effort had been spared by Henry to make the occasion a
brilliant one. We are told that the whole river from the point of
departure to that of arrival was covered with beautifully bedizened boats;
guns roared forth their salutations at Greenwich, and from the crowd of
ships that lay in the stream. Flags and _feux de joie_ could be bought;
courtiers', guilds', and nobles' barges could be commanded, but the hearty
cheers of the lieges could not be got for all King Harry's power, as the
new Queen, in the old Queen's barge, was borne to the frowning fortress
which so soon was to be her own place of martyrdom.[99]
On Sunday, 31st May 1533, the procession through the crowded city sallied
from the Tower betimes in the morning. Englishmen and foreigners, except
Spaniards only, had been forced to pay heavily for the splendour of the
day; and the trade guilds and aldermen, brave in furred gowns and gold
chains, stood from one device to another in the streets, as the glittering
show went by. The French element did its best to add gaiety to the
occasion, and the merchants of France established in London rode at the
head of the procession in purple velvet embroidered with Anne's device.
Then came the nobles and courtiers and all the squires and gentlemen whom
the King had brought from their granges and manor-houses to do honour to
their new Queen. Anne herself was seated in an open litter of white satin
covered by a golden canopy. She was dressed in a surcoat and mantle of
white tissue trimmed with ermine, and wore a robe of crimson brocade stiff
with gems. Her hair, which was very fine, hung over her shoulders
surmounted by a coif and a coronet of diamonds, whilst around her neck was
hung a necklace of great pearls, and upon her breast reposed a splendid
jewel of precious stones. "And as she passed through the city she kept
turning her face from one side to the other to greet the people, but,
strange to see it was, that there were hardly ten persons who greeted her
with 'God save your Grace,' as they used to do when the sainted Queen
Katharine went by."[100]
Lowering brows, and whispered curses of "Nan Bullen" from the citizens'
wives followed the new Queen on her way; for to them she stood for war
against the Emperor in the behoof of France, for harassed trade and lean
larders, and, above all, for defiance of the religious principles that
most of them held sacred; and they hated the long fair face with which, or
with love philtres, she had bewitched the King. The very pageants
ostensibly raised in her honour contrived in several cases to embody a
subtle insult. At the Gracechurch corner of Fenchurch Street, where the
Hanse merchants had erected a "merveilous connyng pageaunt," representing
Mount Parnassus, with the fountain of Helicon spouting racked Rhenish wine
all day, the Queen's litter was stayed a space to listen to the Muses
playing "swete instrumentes," and to read the "epigrams" in her praise
that were hung around the mount. But Anne looked aloft to where Apollo
sat, and saw that the imperial eagle was blazoned in the place of honour,
whilst the much-derided bogus arms of the Boleyns lurked in humble guise
below;[101] and for many a day thenceforward she was claiming vengeance
against the Easterlings for the slight put upon her. As each triumphal
device was passed, children dressed as angels, or muses, were made to sing
or recite conceited phrases of dithyrambic flattery to the heroine of the
hour. There was no grace or virtue of which she was not the true exemplar.
Through Leadenhall and Cornhill and so to Chepe, between lines of liveried
citizens, Anne's show progressed. At the cross on Cheapside the Mayor and
corporation awaited the Queen; and the Recorder, "Master Baker," with many
courtly compliments, handed her the city's gift of a thousand marks in a
purse of gold, "which she thankfully received." That she did so was noted
with sneering contempt by Katharine's friends. "As soon as she received
the purse of money she placed it by her side in the litter: and thus she
showed that she was a person of low descent. For there stood by her at the
time the captain of the King's guard, with his men and twelve lacqueys;
and when the sainted Queen had passed by for _her_ coronation, she handed
the money to the captain of the guard to be divided amongst the
halberdiers and lacqueys. Anne did not do so, but kept them for
herself."[102] St. Paul's and Ludgate, Fleet Street and Temple Bar, all
offered their official adulation, whilst the staring people stood by dumb.
Westminster Hall, into which Anne's litter was borne for the feast, was
richly hung with arras and "newly glazed." A regal throne with a canopy
was set on high for Anne, and a great sideboard of gold plate testified to
the King's generosity to his new wife. But after she had changed her
garments and was welcomed with open arms by Henry at his new palace of
Westminster, her disappointment broke out. "How like you the look of the
city, sweetheart?" asked the King. "Sir," she replied, "the city itself
was well enow; but I saw many caps on heads and heard but few
tongues."[103]
The next day, Sunday, Anne was crowned by Cranmer with full ceremony in
Westminster Abbey, and for days thereafter banqueting, tilting, and the
usual roystering went on; and the great-granddaughter of Alderman Boleyn
felt that at last she was Queen indeed. Henry, too, had had his way, and
again could hope that a son born in wedlock might perpetuate the name of
Tudor on the throne of England. But he was in deadly fear, for the
prospect was black all around him. Public indignation in England grew
apace[104] at the religious changes and at the prospect of war; but what
most aroused Henry's alarm was the sudden coldness of France, and the
probability of a great Catholic coalition against him. Norfolk and Lord
Rochford with a stately train had gone to join in the interview between
Francis and the Pope, in the hope that the joint presence of France and
England might force Clement to recognise accomplished facts in order to
avoid the secession of England from the Church. Although it suited Francis
to promote the antagonism between Henry and the Emperor by keeping the
divorce proceedings dragging on in Rome, it did not suit him for England
to defy the Papacy by means of Cranmer's sentence, and so to change the
balance of power in Europe by driving Henry into permanent union with
German Protestants whilst Francis was forced to side with the Emperor on
religious grounds. So long as Henry remained undivorced and unmarried
anything might happen. He might sate of his mistress and tire of the
struggle against Rome, or be driven by fear of war to take a conciliatory
course, and in any of these cases he must needs pay for France's aid; but
now that his divorce and remarriage were as valid as a duly authorised
Archbishop could make them, the utility of Anne as an aid to French
foreign policy disappeared. The actual marriage therefore deprived her of
the sympathies of the French party in the English Court, which had
hitherto sided with her, and the effects were immediately seen in the
attitude of Francis.
Before Norfolk could reach the south of France news came to him that the
Pope, coerced by the Emperor, had issued a brief declaring all of Henry's
proceedings in England to be nullified and he and his abettors
excommunicated, unless of his own accord he restored things to their
former condition before September.[105] It was plain, therefore, that any
attempt at the coming interview to reconcile Clement with Henry's action
would be fruitless. Norfolk found Francis also much cooler than before,
and sent back his nephew Rochford post haste to England to beg the King's
instructions. He arrived at Court in early August, at a time when Henry's
perplexity was at its height. He had learnt of the determination of
Francis to greet the Pope and carry through the marriage between the Duke
of Orleans and Katharine de Medici, whether the King of England's demands
were satisfied by Clement or not. He now knew that the dreaded sentence of
excommunication pended over him and his instruments. If he had been left
to his own weakness he would probably have given way, or at least have
sought compromise. If Norfolk had been at his elbow, the old aristocratic
English party might also have stayed the King's hand. But Cromwell, bold
and astute, and Anne, with the powerful lever of her unborn child, which
might be a son, knew well that they had gone too far to return, and that
defiance of the Papacy was the only road open to them. Already at the end
of June Henry had gone as far as to threaten an appeal from the Pope to
the General Council of the Church, the meeting of which was then being
discussed; but now that he knew that Francis was failing him, and the Pope
had finally cast down the gage, he took the next great step which led to
England's separation from Rome. Norfolk was recalled, and Gardiner
accredited to Francis only with a watching brief during the Papal
interview at Nice, whilst Henry's ambassadors in Rome were recalled, and
English agents were sent to Germany to seek alliances with the German
Protestant princes. When, therefore, Norfolk arrived in England, he found
that in his two months' absence Cromwell had steered the ship of state
further away than ever from the traditional policy of the English
conservatives; namely, one of balance between the two great Catholic
powers; and that England was isolated, but for the doubtful friendship of
those vassal princes of the Empire who professed the dreaded new heresy.
Thenceforward the ruin of Anne and Cromwell was one of the main objects of
Norfolk and the noble party.
The treatment meted out to Katharine during the same time followed a
similar impulse. Chapuys had been informed that, the King having now taken
a legal wife, Katharine could no longer be called Queen, but Princess
Dowager of Wales, and that her regal household could not be kept up; and
on the 3rd July Katharine's principal officers were ordered to convey a
similar message to her personally. The message was roughly worded. It
could only be arrogance and vainglory, she was told, that made her retain
or usurp the title of Queen. She was much mistaken if she imagined that
her husband would ever live with her again, and by her obstinate contumacy
she would cause wars and bloodshed, as well as danger to herself and her
daughter, as both would be made to feel the King's displeasure. The
Queen's answer, as might have been expected, was as firm as usual. She was
the King's legitimate wife, and no reward or fear in the world would ever
make her abandon her right to the title she bore. It was not vainglory
that moved her, for to be the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabel was a
greater honour than to be a Queen. Henry might punish her, she said, or
even her daughter, "Yet neither for that, nor a thousand deaths, would she
consent to damn her soul or that of her husband the King."[106] The King,
beside himself with rage, could do no more than warn Katharine's household
that they must all treat their mistress as Princess of Wales, or suffer
the penalty. As for Katharine, no punishment short of death could move
her; and Cromwell himself, in admiration at her answer, said that "nature
had injured her in not making her a man, for she would have surpassed in
fame all the heroes of history."[107]
When a few days after this Katharine was removed to Buckden, crowds
followed her with tears and blessings along the road, even as they had
followed the Princess Mary shortly before, "as if she were God Almighty,"
as Anne said. In defiance of Henry's threats, "God save the Queen" rang
high and clear wherever she went, and the people, "wishing her joy,
comfort, and all manner of prosperity, and mishap to her enemies, begged
her with tears to let them serve her; for they were all ready to die for
her sake."[108] Anne's spite at such demonstrations was characteristic.
Katharine possessed a very rich and gorgeous length of stuff, which she
had brought from Spain to serve as a christening robe if she should have a
son and heir. Anne's time was drawing near, and she would not be content
until the King had demanded of his wife the Spanish material to serve as a
robe for the Prince of Wales, which he was confident would be born to
Anne. "God forbid," replied Katharine, "that I should ever give help or
countenance in a case so horrible and abominable as this!" and the
indignity of forcible searching of her chests for the stuff at least was
not insisted upon then.
Anne's own position was hardly a happy one; her one hope being that the
coming child would be a son, as the King was assured by astrologers that
it would be. For amorous Henry was already tiring somewhat of her, and
even Cromwell's tone was less confident than before. Early in August,
Henry left her at Greenwich to go to Windsor alone, for the first time
since they had been together. Sometime in July she had insisted upon a
very sumptuous bed, which had formed part of a French royal ransom, being
taken out of the treasure-room for the birth of the expected heir. It is
well, sneered Chapuys, in the first days of September, that she got it
betimes, "otherwise she would not have it now, for she has been for some
time past very jealous of the King; and, with good cause, spoke about it
in words that he did not like. He told her that she must wink at such
things, and put up with them, as her betters had done before her. He could
at any time cast her down as easily as he had raised her." Frequent
bickerings of this sort went on during the last weeks of Anne's pregnancy;
but on Sunday, 7th September, the day that was to heal all differences
came. Henry had defied the greatest power in the world, had acted basely
and brutally to his legal wife, and had incurred the reprobation of his
own people for the sake of having a son, and on the fateful day mentioned
a fair girl baby was born to Anne at Greenwich.
The official rejoicings were held, but beneath the surface every one knew
that a tragedy lurked,[109] for unless a son was born to Anne her doom was
sealed. Henry had asserted his mastership in his own realm and had defied
Christendom. He had found that his subjects, however sulkily, had accepted
his action without open revolt; and that Charles, notwithstanding the
insult to his house, was still speaking softly through his ambassadors. If
a great princess like Katharine could thus be repudiated without disaster
to his realm, it would indeed be easy for him to cast away "that noughty
pake, Nan Bullen," if she failed to satisfy his desire for a son. But in
the meanwhile it was necessary for him to secure, so far as he could, the
succession of his new daughter, since Cranmer's decision had rendered
Mary, Princess of Wales, of whom her father had been so proud,
illegitimate. Accordingly, immediately after the child Elizabeth was
christened, heralds proclaimed in the King's name that Princess Mary was
thenceforward to lose her title and pre-eminence, the badge upon her
servants' coats being replaced by the arms of the King, and the baby Lady
Elizabeth was to be recognised as the King's only legitimate heir and
Princess of Wales. In vain the imperial ambassador protested and talked to
Cromwell of possible war, in which England might be ruined, which Cromwell
admitted but reminded him that the Emperor would not benefit thereby; in
vain Katharine from her retirement at Buckden urged Chapuys and the
Emperor to patronise Reginald Pole as a possible threat to Henry; in vain
Princess Mary herself, in diplomatic language, told her father that he
might give her what title he liked, but that she herself would never admit
her illegitimacy or her mother's repudiation; in vain Bishop Fisher and
Chapuys counselled the invasion of England and the overturn of Henry:
Cromwell knew that there was no drawing back for him, and that the
struggle must go on now to the bitter end.
Anne with the birth of her daughter became more insolent and exacting than
ever. Nothing would satisfy her but the open degradation of Katharine and
her daughter, and Henry in this respect seems to have had no spark of
generous or gentlemanly feeling. Irritated by what he considered the
disobedience of his wife and child, and doubtless also by their constant
recourse for support and advice to the Emperor's ambassador against him,
he dismissed Mary's household and ordered her to go to Hatfield and serve
as maid the Princess Elizabeth. Mary was ready with her written protest,
which Chapuys had drafted for her, but, having made it, decided to submit;
and was borne to Hatfield in scornful dudgeon, to serve "the bastard" of
three months old. When she arrived the Duke of Suffolk asked her if she
would go and pay her respects to "the Princess." "I know of no other
princess but myself," replied Mary. "The daughter of Lady Pembroke has no
right to such a title. But," added she, "as the King acknowledges her I
may call her sister, as I call the Duke of Richmond brother." Mary was the
true daughter of her proud mother, and bluff Charles Brandon got many a
tart answer from her before he gave her up in despair to perform a similar
mission to her mother at Buckden.
Katharine had never changed her tone. Knowing Henry's weakness, she had
always pressed for the final Papal decision in her favour, which she
insisted would bring her husband to his knees, as it doubtless would have
done if he had stood alone. For a time the Pope and the King of France
endeavoured to find a _via media_ which should save appearances, for
Charles would not bind himself to carry out by force the Papal deposition
of Henry, which Clement wanted. But Katharine would have no compromise,
nor did it suit Cromwell or Anne, though the former was apparently anxious
to avoid offending the Emperor. Parliament, moreover, was summoned for the
15th January 1534, to give the sanction of the nation to Henry's final
defiance of Rome; and persistence in the path to which the King's desire
for a son and his love for Anne had dragged England, was now the only
course open to him. Suffolk and a deputation of councillors were
consequently sent once more with an ultimatum to Katharine. Accompanied by
a large armed force to intimidate the Queen and the people who surrounded
her, the deputation saw her on the 18th December; and Suffolk demanded
that she should recognise Cranmer's decision and abandon her appeal to
Rome; whilst her household and herself were to take the oath of allegiance
to the King in the new form provided. The alternative was that she should
be deprived of her servants and be removed to Fotheringay or Somersame,
seated in the midst of pestilential marshes.[110] Suffolk was rough in his
manner, and made short work of the English household, nearly all of whom
were dismissed and replaced by others; but he found Katharine the same
hard woman as ever. Considering all the King had done for her and hers, he
said, it was disgraceful that she should worry him as she had done for
years, putting him to vast expense in embassies to Rome and elsewhere, and
keeping him in turmoil with his neighbours. Surely she had grown tired of
her obstinacy by this time, and would abandon her appeal to Rome. If she
did so the King would do anything for her; but if not he would clip her
wings and effectually punish her. As a beginning, he said, they were going
to remove her to Fotheringay. Katharine had heard such talk many times
before, though less rudely worded; and she replied in the usual tone. She
looked to the Pope alone, and cared nothing for the Archbishop of
Canterbury. As for going to Fotheringay, that she would not do. The King
might work his will; but unless she was dragged thither by main force she
would not go, or she would be guilty of suicide, so unhealthy was the
place. Some of the members of the household were recalcitrant, and the two
priests, Abell and Barker, were sent to the Tower. The aged Spanish Bishop
of Llandaff, Jorge de Ateca, the Queen's confessor, was also warned that
he must go, and De la Sa, her apothecary, and a physician, both Spaniards;
but at her earnest prayers they were allowed to remain pending an
appeal.[111] The Queen's women attendants were also told they must
depart, but upon Katharine saying that she would not undress or go to bed
unless she had proper help, two of them were allowed to stay. For a whole
week the struggle went on, every device and threat being employed to break
down the Queen's resistance. She was as hard as adamant. All the servants
who remained but the Spaniards, who spoke no English, had to swear not to
treat her as Queen, and she said she would treat them as gaolers. On the
sixth day of Suffolk's stay at Buckden, pack animals were got ready, and
preparations made for removing the establishment to Fotheringay. But they
still had to reckon with Katharine. Locking herself in her chamber, she
carried on a colloquy with her oppressors through a chink in the wall. "If
you wish to take me," she declared, "you must break down my door;" but,
though the country gentlemen around had been summoned to the aid of the
King's commissioners, and the latter were well armed, such was the ferment
and indignation in the neighbourhood--and indeed throughout the
country--that violence was felt to be unwise, and Katharine was left in
such peace as she might enjoy.[112] Well might Suffolk write, as he did,
to Norfolk: "We find here the most obstinate woman that may be; inasmuch
as we think surely there is no other remedy than to convey her by force to
Somersame. Concerning this we have nothing in our instructions; we pray
your good lordship that we may have knowledge of the King's pleasure." All
this petty persecution was, of course, laid at the door of Anne by
Katharine's friends and the Catholic majority; for Cromwell was clever in
avoiding his share of the responsibility. "The lady," they said, "would
never be satisfied until both the Queen and her daughter had been done to
death, either by poison or otherwise; and Katharine was warned to take
care to fasten securely the door of her chamber at night, and to have the
room searched before she retired.[113]
In the meantime England and France were drifting further apart. If Henry
finally decided to brave the Papal excommunication, Francis dared not make
common cause with him. The Bishop of Paris (Du Bellay) once more came
over, and endeavoured to find a way out of the maze. Anne, whom he had
befriended before, received him effusively, kissing him on the cheek and
exerting all her witchery upon him; but it was soon found that he brought
an ultimatum from his King; and when Henry began to bully him and abuse
Francis for deserting him, the bishop cowed him with a threat of immediate
war. The compromise finally arrived at was that if the Pope before the
following Easter (1534) would withdraw his sentence against Henry, England
would remain within the pale of the Church. Otherwise the measure drafted
for presentation to Parliament entirely throwing off the Papal supremacy
would be proceeded with. This was the parting of the ways, and the
decision was left to Clement VII.
Parliament opened on the 15th January, perhaps the most fateful assembly
that ever met at Westminster. The country, as we have seen, was indignant
at the treatment of Katharine and her daughter, but the instinct of
loyalty to the King was strong, and there was no powerful centre around
which revolt might crystallise. The clergy especially--even those who,
like Stokesley, Fox, and Gardiner, were Henry's instruments--dreaded the
great changes that portended; and an attempt to influence Parliament by a
declaration of the clergy in Convocation against the King's first
marriage, failed, notwithstanding the flagrant violence with which
signatures were sought. With difficulty, even though the nobles known to
favour Katharine were not summoned, a bill granting a dowry to the Queen
as Dowager Princess of Wales was passed; but the House of Commons,
trembling for the English property in the imperial dominions, threw it
out. The prospect for a time looked black for the great ecclesiastical
changes that were contemplated, and the hopes of Katharine's friends rose
again.
The Bishop of Paris in the meanwhile had contrived to frighten Clement and
his Cardinals, by his threatening talk of English schism and the universal
spread of dissent, into an insincere and half-hearted acquiescence in a
compromise that would submit the question of a divorce to a tribunal of
two Cardinals sitting at Cambray to save appearances, and deciding in
favour of Henry. When the French ambassador Castillon came to Henry with
this news (early in March 1534) the King had experienced the difficulty of
bringing Parliament and Convocation to his views; and, again, if left to
himself, he would probably have yielded. But Anne and Cromwell, and indeed
Cranmer, were now in the same boat; and any wavering on the part of the
King would have meant ruin to them all. They did their best to stiffen
Henry, but he was nearly inclined to give way behind their backs; and
after the French ambassador had left the Council unsuccessful, Henry had a
long secret talk with him in the garden, in which he assured him that he
would not have anything done hastily against the Holy See.
But whilst the rash and turbulent Bishop of Paris was hectoring Clement at
Rome and sending unjustifiably encouraging messages to England,
circumstances on both sides were working against the compromise which the
French desired so much. Cromwell and Anne were panic-stricken at the idea
of reopening the question of the marriage before any Papal tribunal, and
kept up Henry's resentment against the Pope. Henry's pride also was
wounded by a suggestion of the French that, as a return for Clement's
pliability, Alexander de Medici, Duke of Florence, might marry the
Princess Mary. Cromwell's diplomatic management of the Parliamentary
opposition and the consequent passage of the bill abolishing the
remittance of Peter's pence to Rome, also encouraged Henry to think that
he might have his own way after all; and the chances of his making further
concessions to the Pope again diminished. A similar process was going on
in Rome. Whilst Clement was smilingly listening to talk of reconciliation
for the sake of keeping England under his authority, he well knew that
Henry could only be moved by fear; and all the thunderbolts of the Church
were being secretly forged to launch upon the King of England.
On the 23rd March 1534 the consistory of Cardinals sat, the French
Cardinals being absent; and the final judgment on the validity of Henry's
marriage with Katharine was given by the head of the Church. The cause
which had stirred Europe for five years was settled beyond appeal so far
as the Roman Church could settle it. Katharine was Henry's lawful wife,
and Anne Boleyn was proclaimed by the Church to be his concubine. Almost
on the very day that the gage was thus thrown down by the Pope, Henry had
taken similar action on his own account. In the previous sitting of
Parliament the King had been practically acknowledged as head of the
Church in his own dominions; and now all appeals and payments to the Pope
were forbidden, and the bishops of England were entirely exempt from his
spiritual jurisdiction and control. To complete the emancipation of the
country from the Papacy, on the 23rd March 1534 a bill (the Act of
Succession) was read for the third time, confirming the legality of the
marriage of Henry and Anne, and settling the succession to the crown upon
their issue to the exclusion of the Princess Mary. Cranmer's divorce
decision was thus ratified by statute; and any person questioning in word
or print the legitimacy of Elizabeth's birth was adjudged guilty of high
treason. Every subject of the King, moreover, was to take oath to
maintain this statute on pain of death. The consummation was reached: for
good or for evil England was free from Rome, and the fair woman for whose
sake the momentous change had been wrought, sat planning schemes of
vengeance against the two proud princesses, mother and daughter, who still
refused to bow the neck to her whom they proclaimed the usurper of their
rights.