Renard had first broached the subject of the

marriage to Mary in August, 1553, and all the

attempts of Noailles to inspire fear and hatred of

the match in the breasts of the Queen and her

people had only made her more determined to carry

out the wishes of her heart, and, as she no doubt

herself thought, to enhance the happiness and

prosperity of her people. Egmont and his glittering

train had been snowballed by the London 'prentices

when he came formally to offer Philip's hand to the

Queen in January, 1554. A whirlwind of passion

and panic had passed over southern England at the

thought of a Spanish consort ruling in the land, and

at about the time that gallant Wyatt and his

dwindling troop of "draggle-tayles" were wearily

toiling up Fleet Street, only to find that the Queen's

courage and their leader's irresolution had wrecked

their enterprise, a dusty courier clattered into

Valladolid with the premature news that Lord Privy

Seal, the Earl of Bedford, and another English lord

had started for Spain with the contract that was to

make Philip king of England. His Highness was

hunting at umbrageous Aranjuez, a hundred miles

off, and the messenger, just alighting to kiss the

hand of poor lame little Prince Carlos, went

scouring over the tawny plains again, bearing his

pregnant tidings.

The courting had all been done by the Emperor

through clever Renard; and the Prince, dutiful

{138}

son as he was, bent to his father's will without

even knowing the terms of the bargain by which

he was to be bound for life. The conditions

imposed by the patriotism of Mary and her Council

were hard for the most powerful monarch on earth

to brook for his son. Philip's power was so fenced

round by limitations and safeguards that it was plain

to see the English nobles meant his sceptre to be a

shadowy one, and the sombre, sensitive pride of the

Prince was wounded to the quick at the light esteem

in which they seemed to hold him; but, as Sandoval

says, "he, like a second Isaac, was ready to sacrifice

himself to his father's will and the good of the

Church." And he did so gracefully and with

dignity. No sooner had the courier delivered his

message at Aranjuez than Philip set off on his

return to Valladolid with his gaudy escort of horsemen

in their red and yellow doublets. In hot haste

the old Castilian capital put on its holiday garb to

celebrate the event; the great square, standing

much as it stands to-day, was bravely adorned, and

costly hangings covered all one side of it where the

Prince sat to see the jousts, tourneys, cane-play, and

fireworks, and where he sat, alas! the next time he

saw Valladolid, on his return five years afterwards, to

watch unmoved the hellish fireworks of the great

_auto de fé_.

The wedding rejoicings had hardly begun when

they were changed to mourning by the news of the

death of Don Juan of Portugal, the husband of

Philip's sister Juana; and the narrator, Muñoz,

breaks off in the midst of his rapture over the

splendour of Valladolid's joy to relate the pompous

grandeur of its sorrow--how between the screen

{139}

and the altar of St. Paul's there were 3,000

candles of white and yellow wax, and how all the

solemnity of previous exequies paled before these.

In the meantime Philip had sent one of his stewards,

Don Gutierre Lopede Padilla, to receive the English

envoys at Laredo. After waiting there for a month

with the Prince's guard to pay them due honour,

he found that the news sent had been premature,

and that the marriage treaty had not yet even been

ratified, and was not, indeed, until Egmont's second

visit to England in March. So Padilla found his

way back again to Valladolid by the end of March,

and they decided to take the matter in more leisurely

fashion in future. But in a few weeks came news

from the Emperor himself that the contract was

ratified, and then the Marquis de las Navas was

ordered to take the Prince's first present to his

bride. We are told that the Marquis fitted

himself out for his mission regardless of cost, and his

splendour appears to have been equalled by the

princely gifts of which he was the bearer, and

the noble hospitality extended to him in England.[11] Philip's

offering to Mary consisted of "a great table

diamond, mounted as a rose in a superb gold setting,

valued at 50,000 ducats; a collar or necklace of 18

brilliants, exquisitely worked and set with dainty

grace, valued at 32,000 ducats; a great diamond

with a fine large pearl pendant from it (this was

Mary's favourite jewel, and may be seen on her

breast in most portraits). They were (says narrative

No. 2) the most lovely pair of gems ever seen in the

world, and were worth 25,000 ducats. Then comes

{140}

a list of pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies of

inestimable value, and other presents without number

for the Queen and her ladies. Eighty fine horses

and fifty hackneys were sent on to Corunna to await

the Prince's coming, and all Castile and Aragon, not

to speak of Leon, were alive with artificers of the

gorgeous garb and trappings to fit out the proud

nobles who were to follow their Prince, each, with

true Spanish ostentation, bent upon outstripping the

others in the richness and splendour of themselves

and their train.[12] Muñoz, in narrative No. 2, gives

a list of the clothes made for each of the principal

grandees, which it would be tedious and unnecessary

to repeat here.

The Prince, great as he was, was only first among

his peers, and if he could be magnificent so could

his train, and Alba and Medina-Celi, Egmont and

Aguilar, Pescara and Feria vied with their master

in their finery. Each great noble--and there were

twenty of them--took his train of servants in new

liveries, and the Prince had a Spanish guard of

100 gentlemen in red and yellow, 100 Germans

in the same uniform, but with silk facings, "as

their custom is to go bravely dressed," 100

archers on horseback, and 300 servants in the

same gaudy colours of Aragon. All this splendid

apparatus was a comparatively new thing for

Spaniards at the time; the homely, unceremonious

relations between sovereign and people

had only been put aside for the pompous etiquette

{141}

of the house of Burgundy, on the coming of Philip's

grandfather from Flanders with his Spanish bride to

take up the sceptre dropped by the dead hand of

Isabel the Catholic, and the gold of the Indies had

since that time poured into Spain and spread a thirst

for showy pomp even amongst the frank, honest,

homely gentlemen who had formed a majority of

the Spanish hidalgo class. The changed taste,

however, was new enough still to attract the attention

of the crowd who had not yet become accustomed

to so much splendour.

All these elaborate preparations being completed,

Philip, with nearly 1,000 horsemen, glittering and

flashing in the pitiless Castilian sun, left Valladolid

on the 14th of May--not for England yet, but

far down on the Portuguese frontier, at Alcantara,

to meet his widowed sister, who had been forced to

come out of her bitter grief to govern her father's

kingdom during Philip's absence. He accompanied

her five days on her journey to Valladolid, and then

turning aside to take a last leave of his mad

grandmother, Juana la Loca, bent his course towards

Benavente, on the high road to Santiago, arriving

there on the 3rd of June, covered with dust of travel,

but gracious, as he could be, to those who had

entertained his boy Carlos, who had preceded him.

Next day there was a grand bull-fight in the plaza,

which Philip and Carlos saw from Pero Hernandez's

flower-decked house. The return of the Princes to

Count Benavente's castle was not quite so dignified as

it might have been, as one bull was so "devilish"

that it refused to be killed, and held the plaza

victoriously against all comers until the next

morning, whereupon Philip and his son had to slip out

{142}

by Pero Hernandez's back door and reach the

castle by a roundabout way. The day after there

was a hunt and a tourney, and then after supper

the Princes mounted on a high scaffold, richly

dight, to see "a procession of beautiful and strange

inventions." Torches blazed all round them, and

each device was led by one of the neighbouring

squires with twenty pikemen and drummers and

fifers, each detachment in a separate livery.

Elephants manufactured out of horses and pasteboard,

castles with savages inside, a green tabernacle

with a lovely maiden borne by savages, a

model of a ship dressed with English and Spanish

flags, and, strangest of all, a girl in a coffin

complaining of Cupid, who came behind on horseback.

When the device reached the middle of the plaza

the god of love was suddenly hoisted on high by a

rope round his middle, and let off fireworks, to the

delectation of the crowd. As a relief to this foolery

the great Lope de Rueda then represented "a sacred

play with comic interludes," which, no doubt, was

better worth seeing than the "conceits and fireworks"

that pleased the narrator so much. The next day,

after bidding good-bye to the son who was afterwards

to hate him so bitterly, the Prince started in the cool

of the summer night on his way to the sea.

At Astorga a splendid reception had been prepared

for him, but he could not stay, and pushed on

with all possible speed, news having reached him

that the Earl of Bedford and Lord Fitzwalter were

already awaiting him at Santiago. There he arrived

on the vigil of St. John, the 23rd of June, and there

as usual golden keys were offered by kneeling

citizens; silks and satins, velvets and brocades

{143}

flaunted in the sun, and in the upper window of

a house on the line of route sat the two English

lords, their mantles before their faces, watching

the progress of their future king to worship at the

shrine of the Spanish patron saint, St. James. The

next morning Philip sent a party of his highest nobles

to bring Bedford and Fitzwalter to him, and "being

advised of their coming, his Highness came out of

his chamber into a great hall, strangely hung with

rich tapestries, and on the lords half-kneeling and

doffing their bonnets the Prince received them

graciously, with his hat in his hand. The principal

ambassador (_i.e._, Bedford), a grandee and a good

Christian, produced the marriage contract, the

conditions of which his Highness accepted before all

present. As the contents were only known to the

Prince and his Council, we were unable to learn them.

The English nobles then kissed hands in turn, and

as they went out one said to the other in his own

tongue, 'Oh! God be praised for sending us so

good a king as this.' The remark was made so

quietly that it would not have been noticed, only that

a Spanish gentleman who understood their language

stood close to them and happened to hear it."

The envoys had some reason to be pleased with

their Queen's future consort, for after accompanying

him to the cathedral the next day Bedford received

as a gift what is described as being one of the finest

pieces of gold ever seen, of exquisite and elaborate

workmanship, chased with grotesque figures, and

standing a yard and a half high, of solid gold.

The narrator (No. 2) says that 6,000 ducats' worth

of gold was employed in the making of it, and

the handiwork cost more than 1,000. The twenty

{144}

English gentlemen who accompanied the envoys all

received splendid gifts, although their appearance

was already sufficiently rich with their "thick gold

chains and great copiousness of buttons," which last

characteristic of English fashion at the time seems

to have attracted most of the Spanish observers.

Four days were spent in rest and rejoicing at

Santiago, and then a three days' ride brought

them to Corunna, where there were more rejoicings.

Kneeling aldermen at the gate presented golden

keys as usual; a marvellous canopy was held over

the Prince's head; triumphal arches spanned the

way; and the local poet had contrived to evolve

the following couplet, which was held aloft by five

nymphs--

"No basta fuerza ni maña

Contra el principe de España,

which may be rendered--

"Force and cunning both in vain

Strive against the Prince of Spain."

The narrator (No. 2) airs his historical knowledge

in describing an allegorical group containing a figure

of Hercules, whom he speaks of as having been "a

King of Spain before Christ, and having built many

great edifices in the country, such as the Pillars of

Hercules at Cadiz and the tower at the entrance

to the port of Corunna, where there is a marvellous

mirror showing ships that are far off at sea."

With all pomp, and with a naked sword of justice

borne before him by his master of the horse, the

Prince was conducted to the shore to see the gallant

{145}

fleet riding at anchor awaiting him. Drawn up on

the beach were 600 Guipuzcoan sea warriors armed

with lances, and as the fleet and castle thundered

out their salutations the townsfolk, we are told,

feared their dwellings would all be shaken down,

and "for an hour and a half neither heaven nor

earth was visible." Thence the Prince went round

by the castle to the little dock, where forty Biscay

fisher boats were ready with their glistening cargoes

of fine fish to cast at the feet of their beloved Philip.

The English ambassadors begged as a favour that

the new consort would make the voyage in one of

the British ships that had brought them over, but

this was not considered prudent by Philip's cautious

councillors, and as a compromise the English envoys

were allowed to choose from amongst all the Spanish

ships the one that was to convey the Prince. Their

choice fell upon a fine merchant vessel commanded

by the bravest and best of those bold Biscay mariners

who are the pride of Spain, Martin de Bertondona,

and the next morning Philip and his Court went to

inspect it. A splendid sight it must have been with

its towering carved and gilded poop and forecastle.

It was hung, we are told, from stem to stern with

fine scarlet cloth, and aloft on every available spot

were coloured silk pennons. The forecastle was

hung with crimson brocade painted with golden

flames. A royal standard, thirty yards long, of

crimson damask, with the Prince's arms painted

on it, hung from the mainmast, and a similar flag

from the mizzenmast. The foremast had ten pointed

silk flags painted with the royal arms, and there

were thirty other similar flags on the stays and

shrouds. Three hundred sailors in red uniforms

{146}

formed the crew, and we are assured that the

effect of the ship was that of a lovely flower-garden,

as well it might be, and the cost of the

decorations was 10,000 ducats. The English ships

were then inspected and admired, and the ship that

had carried the Marquis de las Navas over to

England with the jewels was visited, and its

captain related how the good Queen was anxious

for her consort's arrival, and how she had ordered

1,000 gentlemen to await him with as many horses,

as she thought no horses would be brought from

Spain. All next day is spent in hunting, and the

favourite, Ruy Gomez, preceding his master on his

return into the town, is saluted by the fleet instead

of the Prince by mistake, much to the latter's

amusement. The next day heralds announced that every

one was to be examined by the Prince's alcalde before

embarking, and that no woman was to go without

her husband. Muñoz says that 12,000 soldiers were

shipped in the hundred ships (some of which

carried 300 bronze pieces) and thirty sloops that

formed the fleet, but this seems to be an

exaggeration, as narrative No. 6 gives 6,000 soldiers

and as many sailors as going in the main squadron

that convoyed Philip (consisting of about 100 sail);

and Noailles, who would minimise it as much as

possible, says 4,000. Don Luis de Carvajal

remained behind with about thirty sail to take the

troops that had not arrived (Noailles says 2,000) and

bring up the rear.

On the 12th of July Philip and his Court embarked

in a sumptuous galley of twenty-four oars, manned

by sailors in scarlet and gold, with plumed hats of

scarlet silk, and, amidst music, singing, and daring

{147}

gymnastic feats of the mariners, went on board

Martin de Bertondona's ship the _Espiritu Santo_.

The next day, Friday, at three in the afternoon

they set sail, the dense crowd on shore crying to

God to send the travellers a safe voyage, and in the

same breath hurling defiance to the French. There

was a slight swell and wind until next day at dinner,

when the weather fell dead calm, "which looked as

if it might last a month," but raised the spirits of

those who were depressed by "marine vomitings." The

next day a delightful fair breeze sprang up, and

on a smooth sea the splendid fleet ran across the

bay, sighting Ushant on Sunday. On Wednesday

a Flemish fleet of eighteen galleons, which was

cruising in the Channel, hove in sight, and

convoyed them past the Needles with some ships of

the English navy, and into Southampton Water,

where on Thursday, the 19th of July, at four o'clock,

the combined fleet anchored amid the royal salute

from the English and Flemish fleets of thirty

sail that were assembled to receive them. The

English and Flemish sailors had not got on

particularly well together during the time the

two fleets had awaited the arrival of Philip.

Renard had complained to the Emperor that

the Flemish sailors were hustled and insulted

whenever they set foot on shore, and Howard,

the lord admiral, had mocked at their ships

and called them cockle shells;[13] but I can

find no contemporary authority for the extremely

unlikely story of the English admiral having thrown

a shot across the bows of the Prince's fleet to compel

it to salute the English flag.

{148}

Philip, however, was determined to gain over the

jealous hearts of his new subjects by his courtesy and

graciousness. Renard's recommendations and the

Emperor's instructions had been very definite on the

point, and every account, Spanish, English, and

Italian, with the sole exception of Baoardo's, quoted

by Froude, agrees that the Prince's demeanour was

kindly, courteous, and frank. Damula, the Venetian

ambassador to the Emperor, writes to the Doge,[14]

saying that on disembarking the Prince treated

everybody with great graciousness and affability, without

any pomp or royal ceremony, mixing with people as

a comrade; and Cabrera, speaking of his arrival, says:

"Some of the English were inclined to be sulky,

but the King won them over with his prudence and

affability, and with gifts and favours, together with

his family courtesy." (Our narrative No. 6 specially

mentions the Prince's _cortesia e gentilezsa di parlore._[15])

As soon as the anchors were down the English

and Flemish admirals went on board the _Espiritu

Santo_ to salute the Prince, and the Marquis de las

Navas put off from Southampton with the six young

{149}

noblemen who were to be the new King's lords-in-waiting.

The Prince dined and slept on board, and

the next day there came off to him the Emperor's

ambassador, the Marquis de las Navas, Figueroa

("the ancient ambassador with the long white

beard"), Pescara, and the Earls of Arundel, Derby,

Shrewsbury, and Pembroke (?). Noailles was probably

wrong as regards the last-named nobleman, as

the Spanish narratives agree that he arrived at

Southampton from the Queen next day, with a splendid

escort for the new sovereign. He was also wrong

in asserting that the King was invested with the

Garter on board his vessel, for it appears to have

been given to him in the barge before he stepped

on shore by Arundel, probably assisted by Sir John

Williams--Lord Williams of Thame[16]--to whom

one of our narratives says the Prince gave the wand

of chamberlain, whilst the other narratives say the

office was conferred on "the man who brought him

the Garter." The future consort received these high

personages on board the _Espiritu Santo_ cap in

hand, and after presenting them to his principal

courtiers went on board the splendid barge awaiting

him, accompanied by the English nobles and by

Alba, Feria, Ruy Gomez and four chamberlains,

Olivares, Pedro de Cordoba, Gutierre Lopez de

Padilla, Diego de Acevedo, Egmont, Horn, and

Bergues. No sign was made to the rest of the

fleet, and the mass of courtiers only obtained leave

to land after the royal party had approached the

shore. No soldier or man-at-arms, however, was

{150}

to land, on pain of death, for not only had Philip

learnt from Renard the agony of distrust of the

Spanish arms felt by the English people, but he

had received news of his father's reverse in the

Netherlands and urgent orders to send him all

the troops and money he had or could obtain.

The Spanish fleet were not even allowed to enter

the port of Southampton, but after some delay, and

great discontent of the Spaniards at what they

considered such churlish treatment, were sent to

Portsmouth to revictual for their voyage to Flanders.

After the presentation of the chain and badge of

the Garter Philip stepped on English soil, and the

first to greet him was Sir Anthony Browne, who

announced in a Latin speech that the Queen had

chosen him for her consort's master of the horse,

by whom her Majesty had sent him the beautiful

white charger housed in crimson velvet and gold

that was champing the bit hard by. The Prince

thanked his new grand equerry, but said he would

walk to the house prepared for him; but Browne

and the lords of the household told him this was

unusual, and the former "took him up in his arms

and put him on the saddle," and then kissing the

stirrups walked bare-headed by the side of his

master. All the English and Spanish courtiers

preceded them, and amidst apparent rejoicing they

slowly passed through the curious crowd to the

Church of the Holy Rood. The Prince must have

looked an impressive figure with his dapper, erect

bearing, his yellow beard and close-cropped yellow

head, dressed as he was in black velvet and silver,

his massive gold chains and priceless gems glittering

in his velvet bonnet and at his neck and wrists.

{151}

Browne was no unworthy pendant to his prince.

He was dressed in a suit of black velvet entirely

covered with gold embroidery and a surcoat of the

same with long hanging sleeves.[17] When the Prince

had returned thanks for his safe voyage he was

conducted to the lodgings prepared for him, which we

are told were beautifully adorned, particularly two

rooms, a bedroom and presence chamber hung with

gold-worked damask with the name of King Henry

on it; but none of our narrators say anything about

Baoardo's story of the dismay caused by the words

_Fidei defensor_ on the hangings. All the English

archers and the guard and porters about the Prince

wore the flaming colours of Aragon, and the Spanish

attendants and courtiers looked on with jealous rage

at the attendance on him of English servants. The

dinner and supper were private, but the meals were

ostentatious, ceremonious, and too abundant for the

Spanish taste. On Saturday, the next day, the

same programme was gone through: to Mass in

the same order as before, the Spanish courtiers

being obliged to leave before the service was over,

in order to banish the idea that they were in official

attendance on the Prince, who came out surrounded

by Englishmen only. It rained so hard that his

Highness, who had no hat or cape, had to borrow

them of an Englishman near him, although the

church was just opposite his lodging.

Southampton is described in glowing terms. It

is said to be a beautiful port with 300 houses, which

were filled to their utmost capacity by the courtiers

{152}

and the 400 Spanish servants who landed the day

after the Prince. The Queen at Winchester had

learnt post-haste of the landing of her future

husband, and an active interchange of messengers were

soon scouring backwards and forwards through the

pitiless rain of the next three days. Early on

Saturday morning the Earl of Pembroke arrived from the

Queen with an escort for the Prince of 200 gentlemen

dressed in black velvet with gold chains and medals,

and 300 others in scarlet cloth with velvet facings,

all splendidly mounted. Then Egmont posts off to

kiss the Queen's hand, and meets Gardiner coming

to Philip with a costly diamond ring from her

Majesty. The next day twelve beautiful hackneys

come from the bride to her affianced husband, and

after that the well-beloved Ruy Gomez is dispatched

with a ring to thank her, and this interchange of

courtesy and compliment is thus kept up until all

things are arranged for the journey to Winchester.

Before Philip left Southampton, however, better

news came from Flanders. The French had not

followed up their victory at Marienberg, and the

Imperialists could breathe again. The 600 jennets

that came from Spain were therefore disembarked

and remained in England, as well as Philip's own

horses, "which," says Pedro Enriquez (No. 3), "the

master of the horse took to his own stable; not a

bad beginning to try and keep them altogether in

the long run." On Sunday, the day before he left

Southampton, Philip dined in public for the only

time there. He was served with great ceremony

by the English, but Alba, although he took no

wand of office in his hand, insisted on handing his

master the napkin, and the Spanish courtiers looked

{153}

on with ill-disguised contempt at what they

considered the clumsy service of their successors. The

courtier who wrote narrative No. 3 bursts out at this

point with his complaint: "My lady Doña Maria de

Mendoza was quite right when she said we should

be no more good. We are all quite vagabonds now

and of no use to any one. We had far better go

and serve the Emperor in the war. They make us

pay twenty times the value of everything we buy." The

next morning in the pouring rain the royal

cavalcade set out for Winchester, 3,000 strong. The

nobles and gentry had been flocking in for days

with their retainers in new liveries; Pembroke's

escort, with 200 halberdiers of the guard and as

many light-horse archers, dressed much as are the

beefeaters of to-day, guarded the Prince's person,

the Spanish guard, to their chagrin, being still on

board the ships. On the road 600 more gentlemen,

dressed in black velvet with gold chains, met his

Highness, and when nearing Winchester six of

the Queen's pages, beautifully dressed in crimson

brocade with gold sashes, with as many superb

steeds, were encountered, who told his Highness

the Queen had sent the horses to him as a present.

But not a word anywhere of Baoardo's sensational

story, embellished by Froude, of the breathless

messenger from the Queen, the terror-stricken

Prince, and the gloomy resolve to consummate his

sacrifice even if he got wet in doing it.

Philip was surrounded by the English nobles

Winchester, Arundel, Derby, Worcester, Bedford,

Rutland, Pembroke, Surrey, Clinton, Cobham,

Willoughby, Darcy, Maltravers, Talbot, Strange,

Fitzwalter, and North, and by about fifteen Spanish

{154}

grandees, whose names will have less interest for

English readers. He was dressed, when he started,

in a black velvet surcoat adorned with diamonds,

leather boots, and trunks and doublet of white satin

embroidered with gold; but this delicate finery had

to be covered by a red felt cloak to protect it from

the rain. Notwithstanding this it was too wet for

him to enter Winchester without a change, so he

stayed at a "hospital that had been a monastery

one mile from the city," and there donned a black

velvet surcoat covered with gold bugles and a suit

of white velvet trimmed in the same way, and thus

he entered, passing the usual red-clothed kneeling

aldermen with gold keys on cushions, and then to

the grand cathedral, which impressed the Spaniards

with wonder, and above all to find that "Mass was

as solemnly sung there as at Toledo."

A little crowd of mitred bishops stood at the great

west door, crosses raised and censers swinging, and

in solemn procession to the high altar, under a velvet

canopy, they led the man whom they looked upon as

God's chosen instrument to permanently restore their

faith in England. Then, after admiring the cathedral,

Philip and his Court went to the dean's house,

which had been prepared for his reception, in order

to allay the maiden scruples of the Queen with

regard to his sleeping under the same roof with her

at the bishop's palace before the solemnisation of

the marriage. After Philip had supped, and

presumably was thinking more of going to bed than

anything else, the Lord Chamberlain[18] and the Lord

Steward[19] came to him, it being ten o'clock at night,

{155}

and said the Queen was waiting for him in her

closet, and wished him to visit her secretly with

very few followers. He at once put on another

gorgeous suit, consisting of a French surcoat

embroidered in silver and gold, and a doublet and

trunks of white kid embroidered in gold, "and very

gallant he looked," says Muñoz's informant (No. 2).

The party traversed a narrow lane between the two

gardens, and on reaching a door in the wall the

Lord Steward told the Prince he could take with

him such courtiers as he chose. Philip did not

seem disposed to run any risks, and construed the

invitation in a liberal spirit, taking into the garden

Alba, Medina-Celi, Pescara, Feria, Aguilar, Chinchon,

Horn, Egmont, Lopez-Acevedo, Mendoza,

Carillo, and others. They found themselves in a

beautiful garden with rippling fountains and arbours,

which reminded them, they say, of the books of

chivalry. Indeed, nothing is more curious than the

grave seriousness with which all the Spanish

narrators refer to England as the land of Amadis and

of Arthur and his knights, and their attempts to

identify localities and characteristics of England

with the descriptions they have read of the land of

romance, which they firmly believe to be England

and not Brittany.

The Prince and his party entered by a little back

door, and ascended a narrow, winding staircase to

the Queen's closet. She was in a "long narrow

room or corridor where they divert themselves,"

surrounded by four or five aged nobles and as many

old ladies, the Bishop of Winchester being also with

her, and the whole party, we are told, was marvellously

richly dressed, the Queen herself wearing a

{156}

black velvet gown cut high in the English style

without any trimming, a petticoat of frosted silver,

a wimple of black velvet trimmed with gold, and a

girdle and collar of wonderful gems. She was

walking up and down when the Prince entered, and

as soon as she saw him went quickly towards him

and kissed her hand before taking his. In return

he kissed her on the mouth "in the English

fashion," and she led him by the hand to a chair

placed by the side of her own under a canopy.

The Queen spoke in French and her future husband

in Spanish, and they thus made themselves

well understood. Whilst they were in animated

converse the Lord Admiral (Lord William Howard),

"who is a great talker and very jocose," risked

some rather highly flavoured jokes, which the free

manners of the time apparently permitted. The

two lovers sat under their brocade canopy chatting

for a long time; but this probably seemed somewhat

slow to the bridegroom, who, after asking the

Queen to give her hand for all his Spaniards to kiss,

as they loved her well, begged to be allowed to see

her ladies, who were in another room. The Queen

went with him, and as the ladies approached two by

two he kissed them all "in his way" with his

plumed cap in his hand, "so as not to break the

custom of the country, which is a very good

one." Whether the Queen thought it good on this

occasion is not clear; but when her lover wanted to

leave directly the extensive osculation was over she

would not let him go, but carried him off for another

long talk with her. "No wonder," says the narrator

(No. 2), "she is so glad to get him and to see

what a gallant swain he is." When he had to leave

{157}

her she playfully taught him to say "Good-night,"

and he made this the excuse for going to the ladies

again to say it to them; but when he reached them

he had forgotten the outlandish words, and had to

come back to the Queen to ask her, "whereat she

was much pleased," but probably less so when he

found it necessary to go back once more to the

ladies to salute them with "God ni hit," Car, the

Marquis of Pescara's servant (narrator No. 6), in

describing this interview says that the Queen's

governess told the Prince she thanked God

for letting her live to see the day, but asked

his pardon for not having reared a more beautiful

bride for him. According to one of the Italian

variants of the same narrative the Queen is

still less complimentary to herself, and in reply

to Philip's thanks to her after the marriage says

it is she who is grateful to him for taking an old

and ugly wife[20] (_brutta e vecchia_). The courtier's

narrative (No. 4) speaks of the Queen in somewhat

less unfavourable terms and says: "Although she

is not at all handsome, being of short stature and

rather thin than fat, she has a very clear red and

white complexion. She has no eyebrows, is a

perfect saint, but dresses very badly."

This narrator is very critical about the ladies'

dresses and is quite shocked at some of the English

fashions. He says:--

"They wear farthingales of coloured cloth without

silk; the gowns they wear over them are of

{158}

damask, satin, or velvet of various colours, but very

badly made. Some of them have velvet shoes

slashed like men's, and some wear leather. Their

stockings are black, and they show their legs even

up to the knees, at least when they are travelling,

as their skirts are so short. They really look quite

indelicate when they are seated or riding. They

are not at all handsome, nor do they dance gracefully,

as all their dancing only consists of ambling

and trotting. Not a single Spanish gentleman is in

love with any of them[21] ... and they are not

women for whom the Spaniards need put themselves

out of the way in entertaining or spending

money on them, which is a good thing for the

Spaniards."

When the same narrator reaches London he

speaks with somewhat more experience, but his

opinion is not much modified. He says, when

speaking of the vast numbers of ladies that served

the Queen:--

"Those I have seen in the palace have not struck

me as being handsome; indeed, they are downright

ugly. I do not know how this is, because outside I

have seen some very beautiful and attractive women.

In this country women do not often wear clogs and

wraps, as they do in Spain, but go about the city

and even travel in their bodices. Some of them

walk in London with veils and masks before their

faces, which makes them look like nuns, who do not

wish to be known. Women here wear their skirts

{159}

very short, and their black stockings are trim and

tightly gartered; the shoes are neat, but are slashed

like men's, which does not look well to Spanish eyes."

Philip, we are told, slept late next morning, and

as soon as he was up the Queen's tailor brought him

two superb dresses, one made of very rich brocade

profusely embroidered with gold bugles and pearls,

with splendid diamonds for buttons, and the other

of crimson brocade. His Highness went to Mass

in a purple velvet surcoat with silver fringe and

white satin doublet, and then after his private dinner

went in great state to see the Queen. She received

him in the great hall of the palace, with the courtiers

ranged on a raised platform on each side. The

great officers of state preceded her, and she was

followed by fifty ladies splendidly dressed in purple

velvet, "but none of them pretty," and having met

her consort in the middle of the hall she led him to

the daïs, where he stood in sweet converse with her

for some time. But fickle Philip "went, as usual,

to talk to the ladies, and we, about twelve of us,

kissed the Queen's hand." "We" also seem to

have been talking to the ladies before that, but do

not appear to have got on very well, as "we could

hardly understand each other." Then Philip went

to Vespers and the Queen to her chapel, and after

supper they met again, and Figueroa privately read

the Emperor's abdication, which made Philip king

of Naples, and all the ambassadors, except Noailles,

paid homage to the new sovereign, who received

them bareheaded.[22]

{160}

The wedding ceremony next day is fully described

by the English authorities already mentioned, and

the narratives before us, although extremely minute

in detail, do not vary much from the accepted

accounts. The ancient cathedral was all aflame

with splendid colour, and the world has rarely seen

so gorgeous and so rich a company as was there

assembled. All the pomp that regal expenditure

could buy in an age of ostentation was there. All

the impressive solemnity that the Roman Church

could give to its ceremonies was lavished upon this.

The Queen, we are told, blazed with jewels to such

an extent that the eye was blinded as it looked upon

her; her dress was of black velvet flashing with

gems, and a splendid mantle of cloth of gold fell

from her shoulders; but through the Mass that

followed the marriage service she never took her

eyes off the crucifix upon which they were devoutly

fixed. Her fifty ladies were dressed in cloth of gold

and silver, and "looked more like celestial angels

than mortal creatures." Philip matched his bride

in splendour. He too wore a mantle of cloth of

gold embroidered with precious stones, and the rest

of his dress was the white satin suit the Queen had

sent him the day before, and he too was a blaze of

jewels. The Earl of Derby, who preceded the

Queen with a sword of state, appears to have

greatly impressed the imaginations of the Spaniards,

as several references are made to his power and

splendour. He is spoken of as the "king of

Mongara (Man), who wears a leaden crown," and it is

easy to see that much of the interest in him is

caused by the supposed identification of his

kingdom with scenes of the romances of chivalry.

{161}

After the ceremony the King and the Queen

walked through an immense crowd to the palace

side by side, and entered the great hall,[23] which the

narrator (No. 2) calls the "hall of Poncia," for the

wedding banquet. A high table, eight yards long,

was placed on a daïs, and at it sat the King and

Queen, the latter being on the right and in a finer

chair than her husband. Gardiner sat at the end of

the high table, and on the floor were four other

tables, where the nobles, to the number of 158,

partook of the feast. Before the King and Queen

stood Lords Pembroke and Strange with the sword

and staff of state, and all the courtly ceremony of

saluting the dishes as they are brought in, and

doffing bonnets to the throne, even in the absence

of the Queen, is set forth with admiring iteration by

the form-loving Spaniards. Their jealous eyes, too,

do not fail to notice that the Queen takes precedence

in everything. Not only has she the best chair, but

she eats from gold plate, whilst her consort eats

from silver. This, they say, is no doubt because he

is not yet a crowned king, and it will be altered

later. All the tables are served with silver, except

some large dishes; and great sideboards of plate

stand at each end of the hall. The buffet behind

the high table had over a hundred great pieces of

gold and silver plate, with a "great gilt clock half

as high as a man," and a fountain of precious marble

with a gold rim. There were four services of meat

and fish, each service consisting of thirty dishes,[24]

{162}

and minstrels played during the feast, whilst the

solid splendour and pompous ceremony appear to

have impressed all the Spaniards with wonder not

unmixed with envy. It is, indeed, here that the

jealousy of the courtier narrator (Nos. 3, 4, and

5) first bursts out. The only Spaniard who was

allowed to serve the King was Don Iñigo de

Mendoza, son of the Duke of Infantado, who was

cup-bearer, and four yeomen of the mouth, who helped;

but "as for any of the Prince's own stewards doing

anything, such a thing was never thought of, and

not one of us took a wand in our hands, nor does it

seem likely we ever shall, neither the controller nor

any one else, and they had better turn us all out as

vagabonds." The Earl of Arundel presented the

ewer with water for the King's hands, and the

Marquis of Winchester the napkin. The ewer, we are

{163}

told (narrative No. 6), contained "not water, but

white wine, as is the custom here."

Then, after the Queen had pledged all her guests

in a cup of wine, and a herald had proclaimed the

titles of Philip as King of England, France, Naples,

and Jerusalem, Prince of Spain, and Count of

Flanders, the royal party retired to another

chamber, with the English and Spanish nobles, where

the time passed in pleasant converse, the Spaniards

talking with the English ladies, "although we had

great trouble to make out their meaning, except of

those who spoke Latin, so we have all resolved not

to give them any presents of gloves until we can

understand them. The gentlemen who speak the

language are mostly very glad to find that the

Spaniards cannot do so."

When all was ready the ball began, but as the

English ladies only danced in their own fashion and

the Spanish courtiers in theirs, the latter were rather

left out in the cold, until the King and Queen danced

a measure together in the German style, which was

known to both. After dancing until nightfall,

supper was served with the same ceremony as

dinner, and then more talk and gallant compliment,

and so to bed.

The next day the King only was visible, and

dined alone in public, and on the succeeding day

the same; but on the third day (Saturday) the

Queen heard Mass in her private pew and received

the Duchess of Alba, who had arrived from Southampton

after the marriage. The reception of this

proud dame was ceremonious enough for anything;

but from the bitter complaints of her kinsman, who

probably wrote three of the letters before us, it is

{164}

clear that she, in common with the rest of the

Spanish nobles, was deeply dissatisfied with her

position in this country, so different from what they

expected. The Duchess was conducted to the

palace by the Earls of Kildare and Pembroke and

all the Court, and when she entered the presence

the Queen came almost to the door to meet her.

The Duchess knelt, and the Queen, failing to raise

her, courtesied almost as low and kissed her on the

mouth, "which she usually does only to certain

ladies of her own family." She led the Duchess to

the daïs and seated herself on the floor, inviting her

guest to do likewise, but the latter begged her

Majesty to sit on the chair before she (the Duchess)

would sit on the floor. The Queen refused to do so,

and sent for two stools, upon one of which she sat,

whereupon the Duchess, instead of accepting the

other, sat beside it on the floor. The Queen then

left her stool and took her place on the floor also,

and finally, after much friendly wrangling, both

ladies settled on their respective stools side by

side. The Queen understood Spanish, but spoke in

French, and the Marquis de las Navas interpreted

to the Duchess, who only understood Spanish.

When the Earl of Derby was presented to the

Duchess, he greatly shocked her by offering to kiss

her on the mouth, according to the universal

English fashion, and she drew back to avoid the

salute, but not quite in time, although she assured

the Spaniards that the earl had only managed to

kiss her cheek.

But the chagrin of the proud, dissatisfied

Spaniards was growing deeper as they saw their

hopes of domination in England disappear. The

{165}

men-at-arms and bodyguard, cooped up in their

ships at Portsmouth and Southampton, forbidden

to land under pain of death, were becoming restive;

the courtiers and their followers, scoffed at and

insulted in the streets, and waylaid and robbed if

they ventured into the country, were forced to put

up with everything silently, by order of the King;

but they could relieve their minds by writing to

their friends in Spain an account of their sorrows.

Writing from Winchester, narrator No. 2 says:--

"After all this weary voyage, these people wish to

subject us to a certain extent to their laws, because

it is a new thing for them to have Spaniards in their

country, and they want to feel safe. The Spaniards

here are not comfortable, nor are they so well off

as in Castile. Some even say they would rather

be in the worst stubble-field in the kingdom of

Toledo than in the groves of Amadis."

The courtier who wrote No. 3 is even more

emphatic. He says:--

"Great rogues infest the roads and have robbed

some of our people, amongst others the chamberlain

of Don Juan de Pacheco, from whom they took

400 crowns and all his plate and jewelry. Not a

trace has been found of them, nor of the four or five

boxes missing from the King's lodgings, although

the Council is sending out on all sides. The friars

have had to be lodged in the college for safety and

bitterly repent having come."

But dissatisfied as the Spaniards were, there was

still sufficient novelty in their surroundings during

their stay at Winchester in the last days of July to

keep them amused. The wonderful round table of

King Arthur in the castle, where the twelve peers

{166}

are still enchanted, and their names written round

in the places where they sat, claims the wondering

attention of the visitors. The curious beer made

with barley and a herb, instead of wheat, as in

Flanders, is discussed; and the strange habit the

ladies, and even some gentlemen, have of putting

sugar in their wine, and the never-ending dancing

going on amongst the ladies of the palace excite

remark. On the last day of July most of the English

lords and squires had gone home for the present;

the Spaniards were distributed about Winchester

and Southampton; the admiral of Spain was under

orders to take a part of the fleet back again; and

the bulk of the Spanish troops were only awaiting a

fair wind to take them to Flanders, and the King

and Queen, with a small suite, set out for Basing,

the Lord Treasurer's[25] house, fifteen miles off.

Most of the accounts before us end at this point

but the two interesting letters to which I have given

the numbers 4 and 5, written respectively from

Richmond and London, show clearly the gradual

exacerbation of the dislike between the Spanish and

English as time went on, in spite of the diplomatic

attempts to connect Philip's name at every

opportunity with acts of clemency and moderation.

On the 19th of August, which is the date of the

letter from Richmond, the royal honeymoon seems

yet not entirely to have waned:--

"Their Majesties are the happiest couple in the

world, and are more in love with each other than I

can say here. He never leaves her, and on the

{167}

road is always by her side, lifting her into the

saddle and helping her to dismount. He dines

with her publicly sometimes, and they go to Mass

together on feast days."

This letter from Richmond gives the following

curious account of the lavish scale on which the

royal establishment was maintained:--

"All the rejoicings here consist only of eating

and drinking, as they understand nothing else. The

Queen spends 300,000 ducats (a year?) in food, and

all the thirteen councillors and the Court favourites

live in the palace, besides the lord steward, the lord

chamberlain, the chancellor, and our people, with

their servants. The ladies also have private rooms

in the palace, with all their servants, and the

Queen's guard of 200 men are also lodged there.

Each of the lords has a separate cook in the

Queen's kitchens, and as there are eighteen different

kitchens such is the hurly burly that they are a

perfect hell. Although the palaces are so large that

the smallest of the four we have seen is infinitely

larger, and certainly better, than the Alcazar of

Madrid, they are still hardly large enough to hold

the people who live in them. The ordinary (daily?)

consumption of the palace is 100 sheep (which are

very large and fat), twelve large oxen, eighteen

calves, besides game, poultry, venison, wild boar,

and a great number of rabbits. Of beer there is no

end, and they drink as much as would fill the river

at Valladolid."

The writer is very indignant at the scant courtesy

paid to his great kinsfolk the Albas, and at the fact

that they have had to put up with lodgings that are

considered below their dignity even in the villages.

{168}

"It is not enough," he says, "to deprive them of

their office, but they must needs give them bad

quarters as well.... These English are the most

ungrateful people in the world, and hate the

Spaniards worse than the devil, as they readily

show, for they rob us in the town itself, and not

a soul dares to venture two miles on the road

without being robbed. There is no justice for us. We

are ordered by the King to avoid dispute and put

up with everything whilst we are here, enduring all

their attacks in silence. They therefore despise us

and treat us badly. We have complained to

Bibriesca and the ambassador, but they say it is for

his Majesty's sake that we must bear everything

patiently."

It was no wonder that under such circumstances

these proud hidalgos begged to be allowed to join

the Emperor in Flanders for the war. Medina-Celi

was the first to revolt at his treatment, and no

sooner had he obtained leave to go than eighty

other gentlemen followed him with their suites, and

so by the middle of August the only Spanish nobles

in attendance on Philip were Alba, Feria, Olivares,

Pedro de Cordoba, Diego de Cordoba, and three

gentlemen, amongst whom was Pedro Enriquez, the

supposed author of the letters. The insults upon

the Spaniards personally were bad enough; but

what was more galling even was the disappointment

they felt at the political effect of the match. Instead

of a submissive people, ready to bow the neck at

once to the new king and his followers, they found

a country where even the native sovereign's power

was strictly circumscribed, and where the foreigner's

only hope of domination was by force of arms; and

{169}

this they saw in the present case was impossible.

Enriquez, if he be the author, says: "The marriage

will indeed have been a failure if the Queen have no

children. They told us in Castile that if his

Highness became king of England we should be masters

of France; but quite the contrary has turned out

to be the fact, for the French are stronger than ever

and are doing as they like in Flanders.... Kings

here have as little power as if they were vassals,

and the people who really govern are the councillors;

they are not only lords of the land, but lords of the

kings as well. They are all peers, some of them

raised up by the Church revenues they have taken

and others by their patrimonial estates, and they

are feared much more than the sovereign. They

publicly say they will not let the King go until they

and the Queen think fit, as this country is quite big

enough for any one king."

Great preparations were made for the entrance

of the Queen and her consort into London. The

signs of vengeance had been cleared away, and the

city was as bright and gay as paint and gilding

could make it. The "galluses," from which dangled

the fifty dead bodies of the London trainbandsmen

who had deserted to Wyatt at Rochester Bridge,

were cleared away from the doors of the houses in

which their families lived, and the grinning skulls

of the higher offenders were taken from the gates

and from London Bridge; but London, for all its

seeming welcome and for all its real loyalty to the

Queen herself, was more deeply resentful of the

Spanish intrusion than any city in the realm, and

the few Spaniards who still remained with Philip

repaid with interest the detestation of the Londoners

{170}

towards them. "We enter London (narrative

No. 4) on Saturday next, but, considering their

treatment of the Spaniards already there, we ought

to stay away. Not only will they give them no

lodgings,[26] but they affront them on every opportunity,

as if they were barbarians, maltreating them and

robbing them in the taverns to their hearts' content.

The friars brought by his Majesty had better not have

come, for these English are so godless and treat them

so vilely that they dare not appear in the streets."

Only a few days before this letter was written from

Richmond (August 19th) two Spanish noblemen of

the highest rank, Don Pedro and Don Antonio de

Cordoba, ventured to walk in the streets of London

in their habits as knights of Santiago, with the great

crimson cross embroidered on their breasts, as they

are worn in Spain to this day, and this attracting

the derisive attention of the irrepressible London

street boy of the period, the two gentlemen were

soon surrounded by a hooting crowd, who wanted

to know what they meant by wearing so outlandish

an ornament, and tried to strip the offending coats

from their backs. The affair nearly ended in bloodshed,

and the Spaniards had to fly for their lives.

The very few Spanish ladies who came with Philip

were as resentful as their spouses, and we are told

that "Donna Hieronima de Navarra and Donna

Francisca de Cordoba have decided not to wait

upon the Queen, as there is no one to speak to them

at Court, these English ladies being so badly

behaved; and the Duchess of Alba will not go to Court

again, as she had been so discourteously treated."

{171}

With all this grumbling, however, the country

itself extorted the admiration of the visitors; the

books of chivalry, we are told, have only stated half

the truth. The palaces, rich and splendid with the

unhallowed spoils of the monasteries; the flowery

vales, gushing fountains, enchanted woods, and

lovely houses far exceed even the descriptions in

Amadis; but there are "few Orianas and many

Mavilias amongst the ladies," and the romancers

have said nothing about the strange, uncouth beings

who inhabit the enchanting land. "Who ever saw

elsewhere a woman on horseback alone, and even

riding their steeds well, and as much at home on

their backs as if they were experienced horsemen?" And

after confessing the beauty of the country

itself, the narrator concludes that the disadvantages

of it outweigh the advantages, and wishes to God

that he had never seen the place or the sea that led

to it. And things got worse as time went on. The

Londoners themselves were in an exaggerated

panic, that explains their hard treatment of their

guests. The author of the "Chronicle of Queen

Mary," who lived in the Tower of London, and

faithfully set down from day to day the news he heard,

reflects the terror inspired by the presence of Philip's

suite in the capital. We have seen that at the

utmost the number of Spaniards of all ranks who

landed from the fleet did not exceed 500, of whom

four-fifths had left for Flanders and Spain before

the King entered London, and yet the diarist, writing

about this time, says, "At this tyme ther was so

many Spanyerdes in London that a man shoulde

haue mett in the stretes for one Inglisheman above

iiij Spanyerdes to the great discomfort of the

{172}

Inglishe nation.... The halles taken up for

Spanyerdes.' And, again, as showing how

complete was the panic, fomented, no doubt, by

Noailles and the Protestants, there is an entry

in the "Chronicle of Queen Mary" of September

8th, as follows: "A talke of XII. thowsand

Spanyerdes coming more into this realm, they said

the fetch the crowne." It is not surprising, with

such a feeling as this current in the city, that the

courtier's next letter, written from London on

October 2nd, should be more despondent than ever.

They were all ill and home-sick; some had almost

died, and the country did not agree with them.

"God save us and give us health, and bring us

safely home again. The country is a good one,

but the people are surely the worst in the world. I

verily believe if it were not for the constant prayers

and processions for us in Spain we should all have

been murdered long ago. There are slashings and

quarrels every day between Englishmen and

Spaniards, and only just now there was a fight in

the palace itself, where several were killed on both

sides. Three Englishmen and a Spaniard were

hanged for brawling last week. Every day there

is some trouble ... God help us, for these

barbarous, heretical people make no account of soul

and conscience; disobey God, disregard the saints,

and think nothing of the Pope, who they say is

only a man like themselves, and can have no direct

dominion over them. The only Pope they recognise

is their sovereign."

The futility of the marriage, from a national

point of view, rankled in the breasts of the

disappointed courtiers as much as did their personal

{173}

discomfort. They felt that the trouble they had

undergone, and the humble pie they had eaten, had

added nothing to the power of their country or their

sovereign, and their prevailing idea was how soonest

and best to wash their hands of an ungrateful and

profitless business in which all their sacrifices had

been in vain.

"We Spaniards," says the narrator, "move

about amongst all these Englishmen like so many

fools, for they are such barbarians that they cannot

understand us, nor we them. They will not crown

the King nor recognise him as their sovereign, and

say that he only came to help govern the kingdom

and beget children, and can go back to Spain as soon

as the Queen has a son. Pray God it may be soon,

for he (Philip) will be glad enough, I am sure, and

our joy will be boundless to be away from a land

peopled by such barbarous folk. The King has

forgiven the Queen 2,250,000 ducats she owed him,

and has distributed 30,000 ducats a year in pensions

to these lords of the Council, to keep them in a good

humour. All this money is taken out of Spain. A

pretty penny this voyage and marriage have cost

us, and yet these people are of no use to us after all."

Bitter disappointment is the note struck all through.

The English lords who had been so heavily bribed

were ready enough to take all they could get; but

they were as patriotic as they were greedy, and did

not sell their country's interests for their pensions.

Renard for once had made a mistake. He was

ready to assent to any conditions the English liked

to propose on paper, trusting to the personal

influence of Philip on his queen after the marriage

{174}

was effected. But he forgot that the Queen herself

was a mere puppet in the hands of her nobles, as

the narrator I have quoted soon discovered, and,

whatever ascendency the young bridegroom might

obtain over his half-Spanish bride; her councillors,

from the stern Gardiner downwards, were Englishmen

before everything, to whom the over-weening

power of the Emperor had been held up as a terror

since their childhood. And so the whole splendid

plot failed, and the magnificent nuptials had hardly

been forgotten before Philip, recognising that his

sacrifices had been in vain, and that he could never

rule in England, made the best of an unfortunate

speculation, and with all gravity, courtesy, and

dignity left Mary to die of a broken heart, alone,

disappointed, and forsaken.

[1] _The English Historical Review_, April, 1892.

[2] This curious and rare tract was reprinted by the Camden

Society, 1849, and is the groundwork of Foxe's and

Hollingshed's accounts of the events related therein.

[3] Edward Underhyll was one of the gentlemen pensioners,

and his quaint narrative of the accession of Mary and the

subsequent events, now amongst the Harleian manuscripts,

was largely used by Strype and others.

[4] Ambassades de Noailles. Leyden, 1763.

[5] To these may be added the slight but interesting narrative

existing in manuscript at Lotivain, and printed by Tytler

in his "Edward VI and Mary," and the letters of the

Venetian ambassador in Flanders to the Doge and Senate, for

which see Calendar of State Papers (Venetian) of the date in

question.

[6] He was equally at sea at the beginning of Mary's reign,

when he vigorously aided Northumberland's conspiracy to

place Lady Jane Grey on the throne, and repeatedly told his

master that Mary's cause was an absolutely hopeless one. On

the ignominious collapse of Dudley, Noailles excused his own

want of prescience by saying that nothing but a direct miracle

from heaven could have brought about such a change.

[7] I am of course aware that the ambassador had previously

sent his brother François de Noailles to request the Queen

to stand godmother to his newly born son, but François only

arrived at Winchester from London on the day the Queen

received news of the arrival of the Prince off the Isle of

Wight, which could not have been earlier than the 19th,

and was back in London again in time for the child to be

christened, with the Countess of Surrey as the Queen's proxy,

on the 22nd, which would certainly leave him no time to

go to Southampton to witness the landing. See "Ambassudes

de Noailles," iii. 282.

[8] Mr. Prescott is the only historian writing in the English

language who refers to Spanish accounts at all, and his

reference is confined to a single mention of Cabrera's bald and

stolid history and one or two quotations from Sepulveda, who

appears to have derived what little information he gives from

one of the narratives now before me. Simon Renard's letters

to the Emperor in the Granvelle papers are naturally also

referred to by most historians of the period in question, but,

important as they are from many points of view, they only

give a purely official and diplomatic account, and are Flemish

and imperial rather than Spanish and personal in their interest.

[9] Cabrera, "Relaciones," and Nicolas Antonio, "Biblioteca

Nova."

[10] "Chronicle of King Henry VIII. of England." London:

Bell and Sons. 1889.

[11] See letter from Lord Edmund Dudley to the Council,

quoted in Tytler, "Edward VI. and Mary."

[12] This was in despite of Renard's recommendation to

Philip: "Seulement sera requis que les Espaignolez qui

suyvront vostre Alteze comportent les façons de faire des

Angloys et soient modestes, confians que vostre Alteze les

aicarassera par son humanité costumiere."

[13] Renard to the Emperor, quoted in Tytler, "Edward

VI. and Mary."

[14] July, Calendar of State Papers, Venetian.

[15] Soriano, the Venetian ambassador in Madrid, says that

the gentle courtesy he adopted in England was continued

after his return to Spain, and that, whilst maintaining his

natural gravity and dignity, his kindness and graciousness

were remarkable to all persons. Michaeli, the Venetian

ambassador in London, who had sided with Noailles in his

opposition to the match, is emphatic in his testimony of

Philip's affability whilst in England, and says that his

conduct towards his wife was enough to make any woman love

him, "for in truth no one else in the world could have been

a better or more loving husband." These and many other

similar contemporary assurances prove that Philip acted all

through the business like an honest, high-minded gentleman.

[16] He died in 1559, and a magnificent alabaster monument,

with the recumbent figures of himself and his wife, exists in

fine preservation in the chancel of Thame church, of which

he was a liberal benefactor.

[17] Probably the dress in which he is represented in the

magnificent painting of him belonging to the Marquis of

Exeter at Burghley (No. 236, Tudor Exhibition).

[18] Sir John Gage.

[19] The Earl of Arundel.

[20] In the narrative signed by Car (British Museum) the

Queen is described in this interview as "chatting gaily, and

although she is a little elderly

she displays the grace befitting

a queen."

[21] Don Pedro Enriquez was wrong here. One of the

greatest of the Spanish nobles, Count de Feria, had fallen

madly in love with Jane Dormer, one of the Queen's maids

of honour, and soon afterwards privately married her.

[22] Baoardo, quoted by Mr. Froude, says "he raised his hat

to nobody," but these narratives often mention his being

uncovered.

[23] Narrator No. 6 says, "The hall, which is beautifully

hung with cloth of gold and silk, measures forty of my paces

long and twenty wide."

[24] Underhyll (Harleian Manuscript, 425, f. 97) gives a very

quaint account of his share in this banquet. "On the

maryage daye the kynge and queue dyned in the halle in the

bushop's palice sittynge under the cloth of estate and none

eles att that table. The nobillitie satte att the syde tables.

Wee (_i.e._, the gentlemen pensioners) weare the cheffe

sarueters to cary the meate and the yearle of Sussex ower

captayne was the shewer. The seconde course att the

maryage off a kynge is gevyne unto the bearers; I meane

the meate butt nott the dishes for they were off golde. It

was my chaunce to carye a greate pastie of a redde dere in a

great charger uery delicately baked; which for the weyght

thereoff dyuers refused; the wyche pastie I sentt unto

London to my wyffe and her brother who cherede therewith

many off ther trends. I wyll not take uppon me to

wryte the maner of the maryage, off the feaste nor of the

daunssyngs of the Spanyards thatt day who weare greatly

owte off countenaunce specyally King Phelip dauncynge

when they dide see me lorde Braye, Mr. Carowe and others

so farre excede them; but wyll leve it unto the learned as it

behovithe hym to be thatt shall wryte a story off so greate a

tryoumffe." The Louvian Chronicle (Tytler) says:--"The

dinner lasted till six in the evening, after which there was

store of music, and before nine all had retired."

[25] This was the Marquis of Winchester, not, as Señor

Gayangos supposes, Sir Edward Peckham, who was Treasurer

of the Mint.

[26] The Spaniards had to be quartered in the halls of the

City guilds.

[Illustration: Signature: Marye the queene]

{175}

_THE EVOLUTION OF THE SPANISH ARMADA._

{177}

[Illustration: Headpiece]

_THE EVOLUTION OF THE SPANISH ARMADA._

Perhaps no character in history has been more misjudged and

misrepresented than Philip II. For three centuries it has pleased

English writers particularly, to portray him as a murderous ogre,

grimly and silently plotting the enslavement of England for thirty

years before the great catastrophe which reduced his vast empire to the

rank of a harmless second-rate power. As a matter of fact he was a

laborious, narrow-minded, morbidly conscientious man, patient,

distrustful, and timid; a sincere lover of peace and a nater of all

sorts of innovations. He was born to a position for which he was

unfitted, and was forced by circumstances stronger than himself to

embark upon gigantic warlike enterprises which he disliked and deplored.

For ages it had been considered vital in the interests both of England

and Spain that a close alliance should exist between the two countries,

in order to counterbalance the immemorial connection between Scotland

and France; and that the Flemish dominions of the house of Burgundy

should under no circumstances be allowed to fall under the sway {178}

of the French. It is easy to understand that with France paramount

over the North Sea ports and in Scotland, England would never have been

safe for a moment; whilst the principal continental seat of English

foreign trade would have been at the mercy of England's secular foe.

At the same time all central Europe would have been cut off from its

Atlantic seaboard, whilst the principal maritime powers, Spain and

Portugal, would have been excluded from all ports north of Biscay,

except on the sufferance of their jealous rival. This was the

tradition to which Philip had been born; inheriting as he did the

dominions both of Spain and the house of Burgundy, and almost at any

cost he was forced, as his forefathers had been, to cling to the

connection between his country and England. Henry VIII. had known full

well that he might strain the cord very tightly without breaking it

when he flew into the face of all Christendom, and contemptuously cast

aside for an ignoble passion the aunt of the Emperor, a daughter of the

proudest royal house in Europe. Charles V. dared not, and did not,

break with England in consequence; for Henry had taken care to draw

close to Scotland and France, and the very hint of such a combination

was sufficient to render the Emperor all amiability.

For a time it looked as if the alliance had been rendered proof against

all attack by the marriage of Philip and Mary, and it is highly

probable that it would have been so if Renard's plan to marry Elizabeth

to the Duke of Savoy had been carried out; but here again circumstances

were too strong for persons. The marriage would have been useless

unless Elizabeth were first legitimised, and Mary {179} could not

legitimise her without bastardising herself, which she obstinately

refused to do, notwithstanding all the entreaties of Philip and his

friends. But Philip ostentatiously favoured his young sister-in-law,

in the hope that when she came to the throne he might have some claim

upon her gratitude, and induce her to maintain the friendship which was

so necessary for his interests. It was no question of Catholic or

Protestant yet. He would have supported her--as indeed he did--however

firm a Protestant she might be; for the next Catholic heir to the

crown, Mary Stuart, was practically a Frenchwoman, married to the heir

of the French throne, and with her as Queen of England and France,

Spain and the house of Burgundy would have been ruined.

Elizabeth knew as well as any one how vital it was for Philip to be

friendly with England; and during a long course of years she traded

unscrupulously upon her knowledge that she might assail, insult,

plunder, and make more or less veiled war upon him, and yet that he

dared not openly break with her whilst France was greedily eyeing his

Flemish harbours. From the first moment that Elizabeth's reform policy

became evident it was seen by Spanish statesmen that either the

government of England must be changed, so as to bring it back to the

old cordial alliance, or else Spain must seek new combinations of

powers, in order to redress the balance. For the first alternative to

be successful promptness was necessary, and the government of the Queen

changed whilst the country was yet unsettled and divided. Feria wrote

from London to Philip only a day or two after Mary's death that {180}

the country must be dealt with sword in hand rather than by cajolery,

unless it were to be allowed to slip through their hands; and

thenceforward for years all of Philip's agents, one after the other,

pressed upon their master the necessity of using force, either by

aiding the Catholics to revolt or by a direct attack on England.

Angry, almost contemptuous, references to the King's hesitancy and

timidity are constantly occurring in the letters of the various Spanish

ambassadors in England, but beyond occasional money aid to the English

Catholics nothing could be obtained from the King.

Of all things slow-minded, unwarlike Philip desired peace, almost at

any price, and he saw, as his advisers did not, the dangers that

surrounded him. Marriage designs, cajolery, and other peaceful methods

having failed to bind Elizabeth to him, he attempted to form a new

combination. He married the French king's daughter as his third wife;

and doubtless even thus early had evolved in his mind the idea of a

league of the Catholic powers as a counterbalance to Elizabeth's

friendship with Denmark, Sweden, and the German Protestant princes. He

knew that overt assistance from him to the English Catholics to depose

the Queen and stifle Protestantism would increase the enmity of the

allied Protestants of the Continent, and perhaps let loose the storm of

which the mutterings were already audible in Flanders. So, in answer

to Feria's advice and Bishop Quadra's arguments in favour of force, he

insisted upon a policy of soft words, pacification, and palliation; and

again and again told his ambassadors, "You _must_ keep principally in

view by all ways and means to avoid a rupture ... the importance of

which is so {181} great that I cannot be satisfied without repeating it

so many times."

But if he thus deprecated open warfare he was at all times, after Mary

Stuart's French husband was dead, ready enough to subsidise plots to

assassinate or depose Elizabeth; and large sums were sent to England

for that purpose. In vain his agents continued to tell him how useless

it was to expect that the English Catholics would pull the chestnuts

out of the fire for him, unless they were assured of his armed support.

But this assurance he would not give. A marriage of his son Carlos

with the widowed Mary Stuart, simultaneously with a Catholic rising in

England, was an expedient after his own heart, but even here his

timidity was so great that he would run no risk of firing a shot in

favour of a project in which he would have been the principal gainer.

He writes (June 15, 1563) to Bishop Quadra: "With regard to the

adherents that the Scots will have in England, and the increase of

their number if necessary, you will not interfere in any way further

than you have done, but let them do it all themselves, and gain what

friends and sympathy they can for their opinions amongst the Catholics

and those upon whom they depend. _I say this because if anything

should be discovered they should be the persons to be blamed and no one

in connection with us._" He was told plainly that the negotiations

could not be carried on in this way, which pledged everybody but

himself, but it was all useless: his instructions were firm and

undeviating: under no circumstances was he to be drawn into war with

England.

In 1564 the English Protestants were almost {182} openly sympathising

with the growing discontent in the Netherlands, and flocks of refugees

from Holland were daily crossing to England. Spanish ships were being

pillaged on every sea by English privateers, and a war of tariffs and

commercial prohibitions was being carried on between England and

Spanish Flanders; and Philip's advisers told him that an open war with

England would not injure him so much as his present inactivity was

doing. But withal when he sent a smooth-tongued ambassador, Diego de

Guzman, to mollify the English, his secret instructions were that he

was to tell Elizabeth that "his orders were to endeavour to please her

in all things, _as in effect we wish you to do, using every possible

effort to that end; and striving to preserve her friendship towards us

and our mutual alliance._"

In August, 1568, Philip sent a new ambassador to England, Gerau de

Spes. Relations at the time were extremely strained between the two

countries, owing to the expulsion of the English ambassador from Spain

for some offence against the Catholic religion; and Alba's cruelty in

the Netherlands had aroused a bitter feeling in England against Spain,

which was increased by the plots which were known to be in progress

between the Guises and Alba in favour of Mary Stuart. And yet Philip's

orders to his new ambassador were, "that he was to serve and gratify

Elizabeth on every possible occasion, _as in fact I wish you to do,

trying to keep her on good terms, and assuring her from me that I will

always return her friendship as a good neighbour and brother._"

When Elizabeth a few months afterwards seized Philip's treasure-ships,

which had been driven to take refuge in English ports to escape from

the {183} privateers, he pursued the same peaceful policy. Fiery de

Spes was all for war and retaliation, but beyond seizing English

shipping in Spanish and Flemish harbours, Philip would not go. He was

driven for money and sorely beset on all sides, his commerce well-nigh

swept from the seas, his credit diminished, and his rebellious subjects

in Flanders blockading his own coasts against him. Mary Stuart was

urging him to action, his own ministers were assuring him ceaselessly

that the only way to check English aggression was to "set the fire to

Elizabeth's own doors by raising troubles in England or Ireland if he

was not prepared to go to war." But in the face of all provocation, in

the face of Alba's assurance that his prestige was being ruined by his

tame submission, he could only say after long delay (December 16, 1569)

that if Elizabeth's hardness of heart continued he should really have

to consider what could be done. "We here think that the best course

will be to encourage with money and secret favour the Catholics of the

North, and to help those in Ireland to take up arms against the

heretics and deliver the crown to the Queen of Scotland, to whom it

belongs by succession." And the only outcome of it all was the futile

aid to the plots of Norfolk and Ridolfi.

It was the same again twelve years later when Drake's appalling

atrocities on the South American coasts had aroused the fury of all

Spain; and England was enriched by the plunder of sacred shrines and

peaceful merchantmen. English troops were in arms against him in

Flanders, and public money had been flowing over to the aid of the

rebels with the thinnest possible disguise, but still {184} Philip

clung obstinately to the English alliance, hoping against hope that at

last Elizabeth would become friendly with him. The most he would do,

as before, was to help the Irish Catholics in their revolt, in order to

hamper the English queen and prevent her from injuring him further.

Certainly in all these years he had never entertained for a moment the

idea of the subjugation of England; he only sought either by removing

Elizabeth or by diverting her attention to troubles at home to draw her

country back again to the old alliance and friendship.

Up to this period (1580) the principal reason, beyond Philip's natural

love of peace, which had caused him to follow his long-suffering policy

was the fear of finding himself opposed both to England and France.

Catharine de Medici was as facile as Elizabeth herself, and could

generally, when it suited her, patch up a reconciliation between

Huguenots and Catholics and unite them, for a short time at least,

under a national banner. But in January, 1580, an event happened which

for the first time seemed to hold out hopes that he might be able to

revenge himself upon Elizabeth without the fear of France before his

eyes. Archbishop Beaton, Mary Stuart's ambassador in Paris, secretly

told Philip's ambassador there that he _and the Duke of Guise_ had

prevailed upon the Queen of Scots to place herself, her son, and her

realm entirely in the hands and under the protection of the King of

Spain, and would send James VI. to Spain to be brought up and married

there to Philip's pleasure. This meant the detachment of the Guises

from the French interest, and Vargas, the Spanish ambassador, at once

saw its importance. He sent off a special {185} courier to Philip,

urging him now to action: "Such is the state of things there," he says,

"that if even so much as a cat moved the whole edifice would crumble

down in three days. If your Majesty had England and Scotland attached

to you, directly or indirectly, you might consider the States of

Flanders conquered, and ... you could lay down the law for the whole

world."

Guise's adhesion to Spain made all the difference, and Philip welcomed

the idea of deporting James Stuart to Spain as a preliminary measure.

Mary herself was in high hopes, and Beaton said she was determined to

leave her prison only as Queen of England. Her adherents, he asserted,

were so numerous in the country, that if they rose the matter would be

easy without assistance, "but with the aid of your Majesty it would

soon be over." The plan was shelved for a time in consequence of the

death of Vargas; and James' deportation became unnecessary on the fall

of Protestant Morton, and the accession to power of D'Aubigny, Earl of

Lennox, who had already sent Fernihurst to Spain to assure Philip of

his devotion; but in April of the following year Mary Stuart opened

negotiations with Tassis, the new Spanish ambassador in Paris.

"Affairs," she assured him, through Beaton, "were never better disposed

in Scotland, than now to return to their ancient condition, so that

English affairs could be dealt with subsequently." The King, her son,

she said, was quite determined to return to the Catholic religion, and

inclined to an open rupture with the Queen of England.

Philip, however, wished to be quite sure that {186} James was really to

be a Catholic before helping him to the succession of the English

crown. Father Persons and five or six Jesuits were busy in Scotland

with Spanish money plotting for the restoration of the Catholic

religion, and the young King himself told them, "that though for

certain reasons it was advisable for him to appear publicly in favour

of the French, he in his heart would rather be Spanish." Even thus

early James' duplicity was the subject of wonder to those who

surrounded him; and in January, 1582, Mary wrote rather doubtfully

about his religion to Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador in England. "The

poor child," she said, "was so surrounded by heretics that she had only

been able to obtain the assurance that he would listen to the priests

she sent him." But she assures the Spaniard that she will bind herself

and her son exclusively to Philip in future, and begs that the Scottish

courtiers should be bribed in his interest. The Catholic revival in

Scotland was being vigorously worked by the Jesuits and the nobles, and

it soon became evident to them also that James was too slippery to be

depended upon. So they sent Father Holt to London in February with

some important proposals. The rank and file of the Jesuits had no idea

that their Catholic propaganda in Scotland had been contrived and paid

for by Spain with a political object, and Holt was astounded when the

person to whom he was directed in London took him to Mendoza. His

message was that the Scottish nobles had decided, as a last resource,

if James continued obstinate, to depose him, and either convey him

abroad or hold him a prisoner until {187} his mother arrived in

Scotland. They besought the guidance of the King of Spain in the

matter, and begged that 2,000 foreign troops might be sent to them to

carry out their plans. This message was repeated in a softened form to

Mary Stuart in her English prison, and Mendoza urged his master to send

the troops requested, "with the support of whom the Scots might

encounter Elizabeth, and the whole of the English north country would

be disturbed, the Catholics there being in a majority; and the

opportunity would be taken for the Catholics in the other parts of the

country to rise, when they knew they had on their side the forces of a

more powerful prince than the King of Scotland."

Philip was on the Portuguese frontier at the time, and affairs in

Madrid were being managed by the aged Cardinal de Granvelle, who sent

to the King notes and recommendations on all letters received.

He warmly seconded Mendoza's recommendations that the troops requested

by the Scots nobles should be sent, and says: "The affair is so

important both for the sake of religion, and to bridle England, that no

other can equal it; _because by keeping the Queen of England busy we

shall be ensured against her helping Alençon or daring to obstruct us

in any other way._" Somewhat later Granvelle repeats the same note.

Speaking of the fear of the Scots nobles that the landing of a large

foreign force might threaten their liberties, he says: "This is not

what his Majesty wants, nor do I approve of it, but that we should

loyally help the King of Scots and his mother to maintain their rights;

and by promoting armed disturbance keep the Queen of England and the

French busy, at a comparatively {188} small cost to ourselves, and so

enable us to settle our own affairs better. If it had no other result

than this it would suffice, but very much more when we consider that it

may lead to the re-establishment of the Catholic religion in those

parts. It is very advantageous that the matter should be taken in hand

by the Duke of Guise, as it will ensure us from French obstruction.

_Since we cannot hope to hold the island for ourselves, Guise will not

try to hand it over to the King of France to the detriment of his near

kinswoman._" He also speaks of the probability of Elizabeth's coming

to terms with Spain on being secured to the throne during her life, and

the re-establishment of the old alliance between the two countries.

Thus far, then, the aims of Spain were legitimate and honest under the

circumstances; and Philip had no avowed intention, or thought, of the

conquest of England for himself. We shall see how he was gradually

forced by circumstances and the jealousy between the English and

Scottish Catholics to adopt a different attitude.

So long as Mary and Mendoza kept the direction of the conspiracy in

their own hands all was done wisely and prudently, but as soon as

Lennox and the Jesuits had a hand in it a complete muddle was the

result. Tassis, the Spanish Ambassador in France, and Guise had been

quite outside the new proposition of the Scots nobles, but in March,

1582, Lennox wrote a foolish letter to Tassis, which he sent by

Creighton to Paris, laying bare the plan and giving his adhesion to it,

but making all manner of inflated and exaggerated demands.