Proposal to marry Philip to Queen Mary of England--The need for
alliance with England--The negotiations of Renard--Opposition of
France--Unpopularity of the match in England--Philip’s voyage to
England--His affability--His first interview with Mary--The
marriage--Philip made King of Naples--Failure of the objects of the
marriage--Philip’s policy in England--Pole’s mission--Philip and
the persecution of Catholics in England--Philip’s disappointment
and departure.
In the meanwhile Philip was doing well in Spain. He had raised both men
and money in plenty to reinforce the emperor, and Alba himself was sent
to command them. He pushed on vigorously the negotiations for his
marriage with his Portuguese cousin, whose dowry would once more provide
the sinews of war. But King John III. was less liberal with a dowry for
his sister than he had been for his daughter, and the project hung fire
month after month on this ground alone, notwithstanding the efforts of
Ruy Gomez, who was sent by Philip to Portugal in June 1553 to persuade
the king to loosen his purse strings and send his sister to Spain with a
rich dowry.
Then, almost suddenly, the whole aspect of affairs changed. It had been
known for some time that the young King of England, Edward VI., was in
failing health, and would probably die without issue, but the uncertain
element in the situation had been the extent of the Duke of
Northumberland’s power and the strength of Protestantism in the country.
Hardly pressed as he was, Charles’s principal preoccupation with regard
to England was to keep on good terms with it, although doubtless many a
time his busy brain must have conjured up circumstances which would
admit of fresh combinations being formed in which England should share.
The events in Germany, the terms of the peace of Passau, and the
unpopularity of Philip out of Spain, had convinced him that his dreams
of ambition for his son in that direction were impossible of
realisation. He must have seen also that the possessor of Flanders and
Holland without the strength of the empire behind him, and with a
covetous France on one flank and Protestant princes on the other, would
be in an untenable position, unless he could depend upon England’s
co-operation through thick and thin. This was the first manifestation of
the evil results which logically followed his ill-starred action in
attaching the dominions of the House of Burgundy permanently to the
crown of Spain.
Edward VI. died on July 7, 1553, and the popular acclamation of Mary and
the complete collapse of Northumberland’s house of cards, caused a new
departure in the emperor’s political plans. The hollow crown of the
empire might go, with its turbulent Lutheran princes and its poor
patrimony, but if only rich England could be joined in a lasting bond to
Spain, then France would indeed be humbled, Flanders and Italy would be
safe, the road to unlimited expansion by the Mediterranean would be
open, and Spain could give laws to all Latin Christendom, and to
heathendom beyond.
No time was lost in commencing the preliminaries. The first thing
evidently for the emperor to do was to consolidate Mary’s position on
the throne by counselling prudence and moderation in religious affairs.
The imperial ambassador was instructed immediately (July 29, 1553) to
urge upon the new queen not to be in a hurry openly to avow herself a
Catholic until she had sounded public opinion and conciliated the nobles
who had helped her to the throne.
Mary entered London on August 3, and in the place of honour near her
rode Simon Renard, the emperor’s ambassador. Only four days afterwards,
on the 7th, he first hinted to the queen that the Prince of Spain would
be a fitting husband for her. She affected to laugh at the idea, but,
Renard thought, not unfavourably. The English people had almost
unanimously fixed upon young Courtney as the queen’s future consort, and
Mary was as yet uncertain how far she could venture to thwart them. “Do
not overpress her,” wrote Granvelle, “to divert her from any other
match, because if she have the whim she will carry it forward if she be
like other women.” But Renard knew the human heart as well as any man,
and his report to the emperor was satisfactory as far as it went. The
next step was to consult Philip himself, the person principally
interested. He was a dutiful son, it is true, but Charles must have
known of his domestic arrangements with Doña Isabel Osorio, and could
not be certain that a man of twenty-six would be absolutely docile. So
Renard was instructed to say no more until a reply came from Spain. But
tongues began to wag in London, and by September 6, Noailles, the French
ambassador, knew what was in the wind. Henceforth it was a duel to the
death between him and Renard. The emperor was still at war with France,
burning to avenge the disaster of Metz; and if this marriage were
effected it would be revenge indeed. From the French embassy accordingly
flowed money in plenty to subsidise disaffection, hints that those who
held Church property would be forced to disgorge it, and panic-striking
rumours of what would happen if Spain got the upper hand in England. The
hatred and prejudice aroused against Philip by Noailles for purely
political reasons in 1553 have left an abundant crop of prejudice, even
to our own times. Philip was a politician and a patriot before all
things. However distasteful to him the marriage may have been, his own
personal pleasure was never his aim, and he saw the increment of
strength which the union with England would bring to his father’s cause
and his own; so, like a dutiful son, he wrote, “I have no other will
than that of your Majesty, and whatever you desire, that I will do.” On
receipt of this news Renard opened the attack, and pressed Philip’s
suit. Mary was coy and doubtful at first, mainly, it would seem, on
personal grounds, but Renard’s persuasions prevailed even over the
powerful Gardiner, and the Queen of England formally accepted the hand
of the Spanish prince when Egmont came with his splendid embassy to
offer it in January 1554. London was in a perfect whirlwind of panic,
thanks mainly to Noailles, and the gallant Egmont himself and his
followers were attacked in the streets by London prentices. Carews,
Wyatts, and Greys struggled, rebelled, and fell, but the queen knew her
own mind now, and in her sight the Spanish marriage meant the
resurrection of her country and the salvation of her people. Philip and
his father doubtless thought so too, in a general way; but that was not
their first object. What they wanted was to humble France for good and
for all, and make Spain henceforward the dictatress of Europe. It was a
disappointment to Philip when, at Valladolid in the early spring, he
learnt the conditions by which he was to be bound for life. They were
very hard, for Mary’s council were determined that the marriage should
not mean the political subjugation of England by Spain, and all Renard’s
cunning and the emperor’s bribes failed to move them.
Philip was a gallant suitor withal, and determined to do the thing
handsomely if it were to be done at all. First he sent a special envoy,
the Marquis de las Navas, to England, sumptuously attended, with “a
great table diamond mounted as a rose in a superb gold setting, valued
at 50,000 ducats; a necklace of eighteen brilliants, worth 32,000
ducats; a great diamond with a fine pearl pendant from it, worth 25,000
ducats; and other jewels, pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies of
inestimable value for the queen and her ladies.” Never before had so
much magnificence been witnessed in Spain as in the preparations for
Philip’s voyage to England. He left Valladolid on May 14, with nearly
1000 horsemen and half the nobility of Spain, all glittering and
flashing with splendour. Puling little Carlos, with his big head and
frail limbs, was by his side for a day on the way to Corunna, and when
Philip left him he was to see him no more as a child. Passionate
devotion and loyalty followed Philip on his progress through
North-western Spain. He was a true national monarch, and his people knew
it. Charles had always been a Fleming before all things, and his
wide-spreading dominions had kept him mostly away from Spain; but the
Spaniards knew well that, no matter what other nations fell under his
sway, Philip would remain a true Spaniard to the end, and rule them all
from the country he loved. It has been said that Philip was naturally
grave and unexpansive, and in his previous voyage in Germany and
Flanders his demeanour had made him extremely unpopular. Charles,
indeed, had to remonstrate with him, when it was already too late, for
his want of geniality. The emperor was determined that his son should
not again fall into a similar error for want of timely warning, and sent
him--as also did Renard--urgent exhortations to bear himself affably,
and to conciliate the stubborn English by respecting all their
prejudices and adopting their customs. It was against his very nature,
but he had schooled himself to self-control and sacrifice, and his most
intimate friends were astonished at the change in his manner from the
day he set foot on English soil at Southampton on July 20, 1554. He was
no longer the grave and moody prince they had known, but smiling,
courteous, and frank. Gifts and favours were lavished on all sides, and
although he came heavily handicapped by the prejudice against him, and
London especially bitterly hated the Spaniards, and did not hesitate to
show it, Philip himself became personally not unpopular during his stay
in England. He brought with him in his fine fleet of 100 sail 6000 or
8000 soldiers to reinforce the emperor in his war with the French, and
not a man of them was allowed to land in England; they and many of
Philip’s courtiers proceeding to Flanders as soon as might be. The
nobles and gentlemen who accompanied the prince were warned that they
must in all respects make way for the English and take a secondary
place. This was gall and wormwood to them, and their scorn and hatred
grew as they became convinced of the fruitlessness of their sacrifice
and that of their master.
The queen’s first interview with her husband was at night on July 23 in
the bishop’s palace at Winchester. He was dressed in a suit of white kid
covered with gold embroidery, and wore a French grey satin surcoat, “and
very gallant he looked.” He was surrounded by ten of the highest nobles
in Spain, and from the first moment the queen saw him she seems to have
fallen in love with him. She had fervently invoked divine guidance in
her choice, and had managed to work herself into a condition of
religious exaltation, which rendered her peculiarly open to hysterical
influences--for she too was a granddaughter of Isabel the Catholic. All
that pomp and expenditure could do to render the marriage ceremony at
Winchester for ever memorable was done. Philip himself and his friends
had no illusions about the matter. They all confess with depressing
unanimity that the bride was a faded little woman with red hair, and no
eyebrows, and that the Spanish objects in the marriage were purely
political. But Mary looked upon it in quite a different light. She was
taking part in a holy sacrament which was to bring salvation to
thousands of souls, and make her for ever memorable as the saviour of
her country and her race. Philip acted like a gentleman, under very
difficult circumstances. He treated his wife with gentle courtesy,
returning her somewhat embarrassingly frequent endearments with apparent
alacrity, and never by word or deed hinting that her charms were on the
wane. On the day of the marriage Charles had equalised his son’s rank
with that of Mary by making him King of Naples, but still English
suspicion and jealousy resented the idea of his coronation, or even his
aspiring to equal place with the queen. “He had only come,” said the
Londoners, “to beget an heir to the crown, and then he might go--the
sooner the better.” So by the time when the king and queen entered the
city in state on August 27 it was clear that, come what might, Philip
would never be allowed to govern England. “The real rulers of this
country,” wrote one of Philip’s courtiers, “are not the monarchs, but
the council,” and the councillors, though ready enough to accept Spanish
gold, were Englishmen above all things, and would never submit to
Spanish government. The hard terms of the marriage contract had been
accepted by Charles and Philip in the belief that they could be
nullified after the marriage by the influence of the husband over the
wife. It was now seen that however great this influence might be, the
queen herself was almost powerless in the hands of the council and the
nobles who had raised her to the throne.
Philip whilst in England showed his usual diplomacy. He carefully
abstained from publicly interfering in the government, but he had not
failed to draw to his side some of the principal members of the council,
and his influence certainly made itself felt, if it was unseen. His
efforts were at first entirely directed to the conversion of England to
the faith by preaching and persuasion, the subsequent object, of course,
being the complete return of the country to the papal fold, which would
be but a stepping-stone to the political domination by Spain. But
Charles and Philip were statesmen first, and religious zealots
afterwards. On this occasion, as on several subsequent ones in Philip’s
career, the zeal of the churchmen outran the discretion of the
politicians, and the king-consort’s influence, such as it was, had to be
exercised mainly in the direction of moderation and temporisation.
Immediately after Mary’s accession the pope had appointed Cardinal Pole
to negotiate for the submission of England to the Holy See, and the
cardinal was eager to set his hand to the work at once. He was an
Englishman of royal blood, a firm Catholic, who had no other end in view
than to bring back his country to what he considered the true faith.
Mary at first was just as eager as Pole, but Charles saw from afar that,
if affairs were to be directed into the course he wished, they must be
managed gently. The new pope, Julius III., was a docile and vicious
pontiff, and was soon brought round to the emperor’s views. He was
induced to alter Pole’s appointment to that of legate, with instructions
first to go to Brussels and endeavour to mediate in the pope’s name
between the emperor and the King of France, and then await a favourable
opportunity for proceeding to England.
The great difficulty in the English question was the restitution of the
property taken from the Church during the previous reigns. It was
evident to the emperor that, if an uncompromising stand were taken up on
that point, the whole edifice would collapse. Pole was all for complete
and unconditional restitution, and his powers, indeed, gave him little
or no discretion to compromise or abandon the claim of the Church. The
first point therefore agreed upon by Charles and Philip was to delay
Pole’s voyage to England until the pope had been induced to confer large
discretionary powers on Pole, and the latter had been made to promise
that he would do nothing except in accord with Philip. When this had
been effected, and Renard, at Philip’s instance, had seen Pole and
obtained a promise that he would not insist upon restitution of the
property that had passed into private hands, he was allowed to proceed
to England. Forty years afterwards, one of Philip’s English adherents,
Father Persons, told him that all the ill-fortune that had attended his
efforts in England was due to the impious omission at this juncture of
insisting upon some sort of restitution of the ecclesiastical property
in private hands.
In November 1554 England returned to the bosom of the Church, and Pole
to this extent was satisfied; but he was no politician, and could never
be brought round to the purely Spanish view of English politics, which
may be said indeed of most of Mary’s advisers.
On the very day of Pole’s arrival it was officially announced that the
queen was with child, and the new legate and the rest of the churchmen
fell into what would now be looked upon as blasphemous comparisons, the
people at large being suddenly caught up by the wave of rejoicing at the
promise of an heir to the throne. The opportunity was discreetly taken
by Philip to cause his instruments to propose in Parliament the sending
by England of armed aid to the emperor against France, and the
nomination of himself as Regent of England in the event of the
looked-for heir outliving his mother. But again the over-zeal of the
churchmen spoilt his game. Bonner and Gardiner began to think that
persecution of Protestants was necessary and holy. Reaction in the
country was the natural result, and Philip and Mary were obliged to
dissolve Parliament in a hurry, without the political plans being
effected.
Philip’s Spanish chaplains had been extremely unpopular. Such insults
indeed had been offered to them, that they dared not appear in the
streets in priestly garb. But they were really mild and conciliating,
and when the fierce zeal of the English bishops led them to burn the
Protestants, Philip’s principal confessor openly denounced them from the
pulpit, doubtless at his master’s instance--certainly with his approval.
The cruel persecution of the Protestants, indeed, was dead against the
realisation of Spanish aims. Philip and Renard clearly saw that it would
bring about reaction and hatred, and used their influence to stay it.
Charles himself was appealed to by Renard. “If,” he said, “this
precipitancy be not moderated, affairs will assume a dangerous
appearance.” For nearly six months Philip’s efforts stayed the storm of
persecution, and his active intercession saved many condemned to the
stake.
But Charles was impatient for his presence in Flanders. The deadly
torpor had already seized upon the great emperor. The man who had been
indefatigable in his youth and prime had now sunk into indifference to
the world. For weeks together no word could be got from him, and of
action he was almost incapable. He had begged Philip to come to him
before his honeymoon was over, and had continued to do so ever since.
The king had waited and waited on, in the ever-deluded hope that Mary’s
promise of issue would be fulfilled, but at last even she had become
incredulous, and her husband could delay his departure no longer. By
August 1555 the rogations and intercessions to the Almighty for the safe
birth of a prince were discontinued, and the splendid plot was seen to
be a failure.
Consider what this meant for Philip and for the Spanish power. An
Anglo-Spanish dynasty ruling England, Spain, and Flanders, supreme over
Italy and the Mediterranean, with the riches of the Indies in its hands,
would have dominated the world. The German Protestant princes, without
effective seaboard, must remain a negligeable quantity outside of their
own country. France, shut in on every side by land and sea, could have
progressed no more, and Spain would have become paramount more
completely than if Charles’s first dream of the universal spread of the
power of the Roman-Austrian empire had been realised.
But it was not to be, and Philip made the best of it without exhibiting
disappointment. In vain Renard wrote to the emperor that as soon as
Philip’s back was turned the fires of persecution would recommence in
England; Charles would wait no longer, and peremptorily ordered his son
to come to Flanders. On August 26 Mary accompanied her husband to
Greenwich, where he took leave of her three days later. The queen was in
deep affliction, but she bore up before the spectators of the scene.
With one close embrace she bade the king farewell, but so long as the
boat in which he went to Gravesend remained in sight from the windows of
the palace, the unhappy queen, her eyes overflowing with tears, watched
the receding form of her husband, who on his part continued to wave his
hand as a signal of adieu, a quiet, courteous gentleman to the last,
though his heart must have been heavy with disappointment, and his
crafty brain full of plans for remedying it.