ROMANTIC HISTORY
_General Editor_: MARTIN HUME, M.A.
TWO ENGLISH QUEENS
AND PHILIP
[Illustration: _Philip II in 1586._
_From a contemporary engraving by Essarts._]
TWO ENGLISH QUEENS
AND PHILIP
BY
MARTIN HUME, M.A.
(PEMBROKE COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE)
EDITOR OF THE CALENDARS OF SPANISH STATE PAPERS PUBLIC RECORD OFFICE
WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN PHOTOGRAVURE AND
TWELVE OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS
_Con todo el mundo guerra_
_Y paz con Inglaterra_
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1908_
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY (1552-1553) 1
The Emperor and England—Death of Edward VI.—Mary and
Renard—To capture England by marriage—Philip II. accepts the
sacrifice—Spanish efforts to moderate the religious reaction in
England
CHAPTER II
1553-1554 32
The Coronation of Mary—Noailles _versus_ Renard—Mary
accepts Philip—The marriage treaty—Alarm in London—Egmont’s
missions—Wyatt’s rebellion—Attitude of Elizabeth—The coming
of Philip—His voyage and arrival—His popular manners in
England—Arrival at Winchester
CHAPTER III
1554-1555 75
Philip’s first meeting with Mary—The marriage—Discontent and
disappointment of the Spaniards—Philip’s kindness to his
wife—Spanish descriptions of England—Philip in London—Arrival of
Pole—Philip’s religious policy in England—His attempts to marry
Elizabeth to Savoy—The Emperor’s war with France—Departure of
Philip from England
CHAPTER IV
1555-1558 128
Religious persecution in England—Philip’s attempts to restrain
it—His efforts to keep control of English policy—Elizabeth comes
to Court—Return of Philip to England—French intrigues—The
English drawn into the war—St. Quentin—Loss of Calais—Penury of
the English treasury—Illness and death of Mary—Feria’s approaches
to Elizabeth
CHAPTER V
1558-1565 181
Accession of Elizabeth—The beginning of the long duel—Feria
urges Philip to use force—Philip’s many difficulties—He offers
his hand to Elizabeth—The Peace of Cateau Cambresis—The
Franco-Spanish Alliance—Fears of a Catholic League—Philip marries
a French Princess—English Catholics appeal to Philip—Mary
Stuart claims the Crown of England—War with Scotland—Philip’s
efforts to effect a reconciliation—Bishop Quadra—His relations
with Leicester—Intrigue for a Catholic reaction in England—Mary
Stuart approaches Philip—Disgrace and death of Quadra—A war
of tariffs—Guzman de Silva, ambassador—The interviews of
Bayonne—Failure of the Catholic League
CHAPTER VI
1565-1569 234
Mary Stuart marries Darnley—Their intrigues with Philip through
Guzman—Plan to promote revolution in England in favour of
Mary—Expulsion of the English ambassador from Spain—Recall of
Guzman—Don Gerau de Spes ambassador—His character—Commences
conspiring at once—His turbulent behaviour—Seizure of Philip’s
treasure in England—Indignation of de Spes—His imprudent and
disastrous action—Alba stops trade—Strained relations—Proposed
declaration of war against England—The views of Philip and
Alba—The Norfolk plot—The Northern rebellion
CHAPTER VII
1570-1578 296
Desperation of Alba—Fresh Catholic conspiracies—De Spes’s
complicity—Alba and the Ridolfi plot—Discovery—The revenge
of John Hawkins—De Spes outwitted—His expulsion from
England—Guaras appointed Spanish Agent—Reopening of trade—Guaras’
intrigues with Mary Stuart and Don Juan of Austria—The plot
discovered—Imprisonment of Guaras—Fall of Don Juan—Bernardino de
Mendoza appointed ambassador in England
CHAPTER VIII
1578-1584 354
Mendoza and Elizabeth—His haughty behaviour—The French in
Flanders—Elizabeth’s approaches to Philip—The Spanish designs
on Portugal—Renewed plots of Mary Stuart—Appeals to Philip to
aid her in England—Philip’s attitude towards Guise—Co-operation
with him in Britain—The Jesuit mission—Mendoza and the Catholic
plot in Scotland—Elizabeth aids the Portuguese Pretender—Anger
of Mendoza—His altercation with Elizabeth—Progress of the
plots—Collapse of Lennox—The interference of Guise in the
plans—The jealousy between English Catholic exiles and the
Scots—Development of the Anglo-Spanish plans and intended
exclusion of Guise—Arrest of Francis Throckmorton—Discovery of
the plot—Expulsion of Mendoza—Philip faces the inevitable and
slowly prepares for a war of invasion
CHAPTER IX
1584-1588 416
English Catholics _versus_ Scottish—Santa Cruz’s proposal to
conquer England—Enlisting the Pope—Intrigues in Rome—Mary
Stuart and Philip—Drake’s raid on Galicia—Elizabeth assumes
the protectorate of the Netherlands—War at last inevitable—The
preliminaries of the Armada—The Babington plot—Philip’s
consent—His distrust—Discovery—Elizabeth’s fears of war—Her
approaches to Spain—Santa Cruz’s fresh proposals to invade
England—His great plan—The Scottish Catholics try again to
share the attack upon England—Failure of Huntly’s scheme—Guise
not allowed by Philip to interfere—Mendoza in favour of the
Scottish plan—Philip’s claims to the English crown—The peace
negotiations—Drake’s dash upon Cadiz—Parma and the Armada—Death
of Santa Cruz—Medina Sidonia—The Armada—The failure and its
causes—The end of the struggle to win England
ILLUSTRATIONS
PHILIP II. IN 1586 _Frontispiece_
From a Contemporary Engraving by Essarts
TO FACE PAGE
PHILIP II. AT THE AGE OF 24 38
From the Painting by Titian in the Prado Museum.
Photograph by R. Anderson
WILLIAM LORD PAGET 62
From a Painting in the National Portrait Gallery
QUEEN MARY AT THE PERIOD OF HER MARRIAGE 80
From the painting by Antonio Mor in the Prado Museum.
Photograph by R. Anderson
CARDINAL REGINALD POLE, PAPAL LEGATE AND ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY 102
After a Painting by Sebastiano del Piombo. Photograph by W. A.
Mansell & Co.
QUEEN ELIZABETH 192
From a Painting by Zucchero in the National Portrait Gallery
ROBERT DUDLEY, EARL OF LEICESTER 208
From a Painting at the National Portrait Gallery
WILLIAM CECIL, LORD BURGHLEY 228
From the Painting by Marc Gheeraedts in the National
Portrait Gallery
FERNANDO ALVAREZ DE TOLEDO, THIRD DUKE OF ALBA 308
From an Engraving
ROBERT PARSONS, S.J., 1546-1610 368
HENRI, DUC DE GUISE 400
From an Engraving. Photograph by W. A. Mansell & Co.
CARDINAL ALLEN 432
From a Photograph by W. A. Mansell & Co.
QUEEN ELIZABETH 464
From the Painting by Marc Gheeraedts at the National
Portrait Gallery
TWO ENGLISH QUEENS AND PHILIP
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
1552-1553
The Emperor and England—Death of Edward VI.—Mary and
Renard—To capture England by marriage—Philip II. accepts the
sacrifice—Spanish efforts to moderate the religious reaction in
England
At an uncovered table, upon which rested a clock, a pair of horn-rimmed
spectacles and some other trifles, there sat a prematurely aged man of
fifty-two with a long, fair, sallow face and a white beard. His great,
projecting nether-lip was cracked and sore with fever, and between it and
the tongue there lay a fresh green leaf to give coolness and moisture.
His hands and feet were distorted by gout; and his fur-lined, black
gown clung around a once-stalwart frame now shrunken with sickness.
On his right hand at the other side of the table a stout, somewhat
pursy, middle-aged English gentleman, with his cap in his hand and in
an attitude of profound respect, was delivering a speech in Italian,
to which the old man was listening with eager attention, now and again
painfully raising his hand to his flat black velvet cap in salute when
the name of King Edward was mentioned. It was in the little city of
Landau in the Bavarian Palatinate, and Sir Richard Moryson, the English
Ambassador, had ridden from Spires, nearly twenty miles away, that day,
the 4th October, 1552, bringing his message to the greatest potentate on
earth, the Emperor Charles V.
Fate had dealt hardly with the Emperor of late, and the impossible task
he had assumed was breaking him down mentally and physically. Once again
he had found himself faced, not only by his old enemy France, but by his
own German Princes; and solely by flight and good luck had he escaped
capture at the hands of the Judas whom he had made powerful at the
expense of right and justice, Maurice of Saxony. From sheer impotence to
struggle further, the Emperor had been forced to accept the humiliating
terms of the Peace of Passau dictated to him by the Lutheran Princes. But
free now from danger from his own people, he had turned again to cope
with the foreign ally of his rebel vassals, determined this time to make
a supreme effort to crush his French rival utterly before his growing
infirmities crushed him.
As he had always done throughout his reign at such a juncture, he looked
to England for aid. The insults offered by Henry VIII. to his House
and to the Catholic faith, whose champion he was, had not been able to
alienate the Emperor, who well knew that with England permanently on the
side of France against him, the vast ambitions he cherished for himself,
his son, and his country were doomed to failure; and now, notwithstanding
the still more aggressive Protestantism of young Edward VI. and his
mentors, it was as necessary to Charles as ever it had been to secure the
goodwill of England in his struggle against France in defence of his own
Netherlands. So long as Charles had been fighting his German Lutheran
subjects it was hopeless for him to bid for Northumberland’s help; and
one of the considerations that led him to accept the terms imposed upon
him by Maurice and the Germans was that thereby he might the better
enlist his old ally England against the monstrous coalition of France,
the Pope, and the Turk. The suggestion for an alliance had reached
Northumberland from Charles’ sister, Mary Queen of Hungary, his Regent of
the Netherlands; and Moryson had received his answer from England whilst
he was following a day’s march behind the Emperor and his army, who were
on their way from Austria to Flanders when Charles had fallen ill at
Landau.
Much dulcet verbiage there was in Moryson’s address, and much vague
desire expressed on the part of the English King—or, rather, the Duke of
Northumberland—to join a coalition against the Turk; but what Charles so
eagerly listened for—a declaration against the French—came not; though
he knew that the English had just then a bitter quarrel of their own
with France about the seizure of English ships and cargoes by French
privateers. Charles lisped and mumbled much at the best of times, but
now that he had the green leaf on his lip, it was difficult for Moryson
to understand what he said in reply to the speech, which, indeed,
the Emperor interrupted more than once in his anxiety to get at the
important point of it. “He could not forget,” he said, “the love of Henry
VIII. for him, shown at sundry times, nor betray the trust the late King
had put in him in asking him to protect his young son. He would never
forget the amity that for many years had lasted between England and his
House, and he had perpetually tried to preserve this ancient friendship.”
Then, raising his voice and speaking more emphatically, he said that
friendships that had long been tried and found good should be made much
of. Charles was not a man to wear his heart upon his sleeve; and his
stolid face and leaden eyes as a rule gave no key to his thoughts; but
Moryson says that on this occasion “he did so use his eyes, so move his
head and order his countenance, ... as I do surely think he meant the
most of what he said. Sure am I that he is too wise not to wish the
King’s Majesty surely his.”
That Charles was sincere in his wish to gain the help of England against
France on this, as on all other similar opportunities, did not require
much penetration to understand; but when Moryson left the Imperial
presence and came to close quarters with Charles’s minister de Granvelle,
the wily ecclesiastic and future Cardinal tried what cajolery could do
the further to persuade the Englishman of the goodwill of the Emperor,
and his wish for England’s friendship. “He [the Emperor] only wished,” he
said, “that he found in the rest of the Princes the like godly mind as
in King Edward, his good brother, and did trust he should be a king of
as great honour as hath been in England this hundred years. This and a
hundred times as much he spake with such affection as, if words may be
thought to mean what they say, there can be no more wished for than is to
be hoped for.”[1] There was no thought yet of the young King’s premature
death; but Northumberland had many bitter enemies at home, and to him it
was a matter of policy to secure for himself a powerful supporter on the
Continent. The Catholic and Spanish interest being naturally against him
for his religious action and his treatment of the Princess Mary, he had
always hitherto looked towards France as his friend; but the maritime
aggression of the French and ancient prejudice had aroused a bitter
feeling against them generally in England; and it behoved Northumberland
at this juncture to make an appearance at least of conciliating the
ancient ally of England, the Emperor-king of Spain and monarch of the
Netherlands. To Northumberland in the circumstances this was a passing
expediency: to Charles the alliance or benevolent neutrality of England
was a permanent necessity if his cause and country were to prevail.
This necessity became more pressing still three months after the
interview just described. The Emperor with a demoralised and discontented
army laid siege to Metz, which the French had captured from him, and
after months of effort and hardship in the depth of winter he was obliged
to retreat, defeated and heartsick; already swearing that he would turn
monk: “for fortune, like a very strumpet, doth reserve her favours for
the young.” In his palace at Brussels—sick, sorry, and dejected—he was
obliged to haggle with the German Princes as to the price of their
aid to fight the French. His darling son Philip, they stipulated,
must be separated from the succession to the Empire, and the dream of
the Emperor’s life to leave Philip strong enough to triumph where he
himself had failed must be forfeited. The French had stirred up trouble,
too, in the Emperor’s Italian dominions; the Turk was dominating the
Mediterranean with the blessing of the Christian Pope; the Netherlands
were sore and angry at the war taxes and the presence of marauding
Spanish soldiery; the Imperial ministers were at deadly feud with each
other; and on all sides Charles was surrounded by debts and difficulties.
If only England could be prevailed upon to divert the French by attacking
them in the Channel during the coming spring campaign, the tide of
victory for the Emperor might yet be turned and France be rendered
powerless. That, however, was the last thing that suited Northumberland’s
book.
The continuance of the war, nevertheless, was a standing danger
to England itself, for it would have been impossible for her very
long to have stood by idly whilst the French overran Flanders; and
Northumberland made desperate efforts to bring about peace between the
two antagonists. To all approaches in this sense the Emperor and his
sister, the Queen-Regent of the Netherlands, could only point to the
aggressive action and impossible demands of the King of France. “And,”
writes Moryson in April, 1553, “whyle all these sturres ar growing great
in Germanie, and whyle the French King is plying both sides with secret
aydes and unseen practices, th’ Emperor keepyth his bed as unfyt to hear
of the myschiefs that grow rownd about him, as unable to devise how to
remedie them if they were told him.”
All through the spring, however, the Emperor’s officers worked hard
to muster his armies in Germany and Flanders to face the French and
save the Netherlands. Northumberland still pressed upon both sides the
mediation of the King of England in their quarrel, but in the midst
of these negotiations in April, 1553, the new Imperial general, young
Prince Emmanuel Philibert of Savoy, suddenly dashed upon the French
frontier-fortress of Thérouenne and inflicted a heavy defeat upon the
Emperor’s enemies. Northumberland’s new embassy to urge peace upon
Charles found less ready response even than before, whilst the King of
France in no wise abated his extravagant claims now that the Emperor was
looked upon as sick unto death. When the English envoys at length gained
audience of Charles in Brussels early in June, 1553, they found him with
his gouty limbs propped up, “looking very pale, weak, lean, and feeble,”
though his eyes were still bright and his mind clear. “Marry, to judge
him by our sight, we must say that he appeareth unto us rather a man of
short time rather than continuance.”[2]
How important the life or death of the Emperor was at that juncture to
England, few people outside the immediate circle of Northumberland’s
friends fully understood. Already dark rumours were spreading abroad that
the slight indisposition of the boy King of England was really a mortal
malady. If Charles died first, it might easily be foreseen that the break
up of his Empire and the confusion resulting from the demise of his many
Crowns would deprive his successor of the power at the critical moment to
interfere with Northumberland’s plans to exclude the Princess Mary from
the throne and to perpetuate the Protestant _régime_ in England under
his own Dudley descendants. If, on the other hand, Edward died whilst
the Emperor’s power was intact, it was certain that such support as he
could give would go to his cousin Mary Tudor. To Spain and Flanders the
goodwill of England was the crucial point upon which their future power
and prosperity turned. To gain that, Charles had already condoned and
suffered much, and there was hardly any sacrifice too great for him if he
could win it now. With Mary on the throne and at his bidding—for he had
been her only friend in all her tribulations—the sympathy of her country
would be secure to him, and he and his could face France with confidence.
So Charles and his Ministers were alert for every whisper as to Edward’s
sickness, and the English envoys who were at his Court grew daily more
apprehensive at what would happen to them and their master if the young
King died before the old Emperor.
On the 24th June Sir Philip Hoby, one of the English envoys in Brussels,
received a visit from Evered, “the King’s jeweller dwelling at
Westminster,” who had just come from Antwerp. In that city, he reported,
it was current, and wagers laid on it, that King Edward was already
dead, and that Mary had succeeded. To make matters more threatening for
Northumberland’s friends, it was further stated that the Emperor was
sending to England with all speed three Catholic Flemish statesmen to be
councillors of the new Queen of England. Well might Hoby in his private
letter to Cecil, written the next day, exclaim in dismay: “Pray God that
England’s wickedness may not be the cause of His taking away the King”;
for if the country was to be guided by Charles’s councillors, of whom
Hoby held but a poor opinion, then goodbye to Northumberland’s ambitions
and to the prosperity of all his friends. “England would go to utter
ruin,” he said, “if ruled by such men.”[3]
The three envoys sent by the Emperor to capture England for Spanish ends
when Edward should die had indeed received their instructions two days
before Hoby wrote his letter to Cecil. They were all men of mark—Jean
de Montmorenci, Lord of Courrières, Jacques de Marnix, Lord of Tholuze,
both members of the highest Flemish nobility, and one of the Emperor’s
Masters of Requests, a keen, sagacious lawyer named Simon Renard. Charles
had maintained a minister resident in London, one Schefyne, who became
Chancellor of Brabant, but for so important a mission as that now in
hand he was considered inadequate; and in right of his experience and
ability Simon Renard, though inferior in point of rank to his colleagues,
became the real leader of the embassy. The envoys were to seek audience
of Northumberland and Edward, and to say that, as the King of France had
sent a secretary to visit him on account of his sickness, the Emperor,
whose affection for him was infinitely greater, could do no less. All
sorts of assurances of friendship and goodwill towards England were to be
given, and care was to be taken in any case to conciliate Northumberland.
“But,” continue the instructions, “if you arrive too late, you must take
counsel together and act for the best for the safety of our cousin the
Princess Mary, and secure, if possible her accession to the Crown: whilst
doing what you see necessary to exclude the French and their intrigues.
You must endeavour also to maintain the confidence and good neighbourship
which it is so important that our Flemish States and Spain should enjoy
with England for mutual trade and intercourse; and especially to prevent
the French from getting their foot in, or gaining the ear of the men
who now rule England, the more so if it be for the purpose of troubling
us.”[4]
Already news had reached Flanders that Northumberland would endeavour to
exclude Mary from the throne on the death of her brother; and although
the Emperor foresaw that in such case the life of his cousin would be
in grave peril, especially if French aid were given to Northumberland,
the principal efforts of the envoys were to be directed to assuring the
English Government, in any case, that the Emperor was their real friend
and not France, the ancient foe of England. If Northumberland and his
friends feared that Mary would contract a foreign marriage under the
Emperor’s influence, they were to be assured that no such thing was
thought of, and Northumberland was to be given to understand that any
husband chosen by him for the Princess as future Queen would be willingly
accepted, though the actual fulfilment of the promise was to be postponed
as long as possible in order that Mary might, if she was strong enough
later, avoid compliance with it altogether. The envoys, indeed, were to
promise anything and everything to secure the throne for Mary. No change
should be made in the government or in religion, and full indemnity
should be given for all past acts against her. It is clear throughout
these instructions, however, that, much as Charles desired the accession
of his cousin Mary, he was prepared to accept any solution that would
enable him to remain friendly with England and exclude French influence
from the country.
Before Renard and his colleagues arrived in England, Schefyne wrote
to the Emperor the news of the King’s expected death, and the patent
intrigues of Northumberland to exclude Mary from her inheritance; and
when, on the 6th July, 1553, the Imperial ambassadors entered London,
though Northumberland’s officers greeted them as though all was well,
they promptly discovered that Edward was no more for the world, and that
everything was prepared for the elevation of Jane Grey to the English
throne. On the day after their arrival, the 7th July, the ambassadors
learnt secretly that Edward had died the previous night, and that Mary
in fear for her life had fled to Norfolk and had resolved to proclaim
herself Queen as soon as her brother’s death was officially announced.
In their perplexity at this critical state of affairs, and their dread
at driving the ruling power of England into enmity with the Emperor, the
envoys took the unheroic course of blaming Mary’s bold action instead
of supporting it. Certain it is that if the Princess had waited upon
her Imperial kinsman’s effective aid, her opportunity would have been
missed and she would never have been Queen of England. She had, indeed,
no one to thank for her crown but herself; and the attitude of the
Imperial envoys towards her in her hour of trial proves once more the
impossibility of the Emperor and his son allowing any considerations,
either of religion or kinship, to stand in the way of their securing the
co-operation of England to their ends.
Renard and his colleagues were weak reeds for Mary to depend upon,
and she did well to go her own way, understanding the feeling of her
countrymen better than they did. The envoys found Mary’s action in
defying Northumberland: “Strange, difficult, and dangerous.... All the
forces of the country are in the hands of the Duke, and the Lady has no
hope of obtaining forces nor aid to oppose him, whilst her proclamation
of herself as Queen will justify the new King and Queen in attacking
her by force, and she will have no means of resisting them unless your
Majesty stands by her. Considering your war with the French, it seems
unadvisable for your Majesty to arouse English feeling against you, and
the idea that the Lady will gain Englishmen on the ground of religion is
vain.”[5] Serious remonstrances were sent to Mary herself by the Imperial
envoys, pointing out her danger and the hopelessness of her position in
the face of Northumberland’s supposed strength; and at the same time they
laboured hard to dissuade the Duke from the idea that they had been sent
to England to sustain Mary’s cause.
The Emperor himself was no bolder than his envoys. “If you cannot draw
the Duke of Northumberland to our cousin’s cause, you may see if you can
gain over some of the nobles by promises about religion or otherwise, in
order to alarm the Duke into showing some favour to the Princess.”[6]
Renard and his colleagues had been in London five days and had already
assumed the attitude towards Mary just referred to, before Secretary
Petre came officially from Northumberland on the 10th July to inform
them of the King’s death. They merely begged the Council to be kind to
Lady Mary, although they well knew that she was mustering her forces and
issuing her decrees in Norfolk, and that Jane was to be crowned in the
Tower of London on the following day; after which they feared that Mary
would be captured and done to death as a rebel.
All through the critical time, whilst Mary was sturdily asserting her
rights and gathering her friends, the envoys of her cousin were thus
paltering, in mortal fear of driving the new government into the arms of
France, limiting themselves to a repetition of the mission originally
intended for Edward, and: “recommending Lady Mary to them with all
softness and modesty, without entering into any contention as to the
succession, which would be of no use.” In the meanwhile Northumberland’s
cause grew more and more hopeless, though the Imperial envoys did not
even yet understand it. English Catholics and others came to them begging
for information as to the Emperor’s attitude, and urging him to make
at least some declaration in his cousin’s favour; but all the answer
they got was a mild deprecation of violence of any sort, and an appeal
to the Emperor for instructions. The over-cautious ambassadors first
began to pluck up courage when the heralds proclaimed in London the
accession of Jane and her Dudley husband on the 11th July amidst the
silence of the frowning citizens; but when on the following day, 12th
July, a deputation of Jane’s Council, Lord Cobham and Dr. Mason, came to
inform them of the accession of the new Queen, and told them haughtily
that their embassy had come to an end, as they were known to be in
England only to help Mary, the ambassadors replied with bated breath and
whispering humbleness, and with perfect truth, that they had done nothing
of the sort. Their only mission, they said, which they had hitherto no
opportunity of carrying out, was to thank King Edward for his efforts to
bring about peace, and to assure the Government of the Emperor’s desire
to be friendly with England in spite of French lies and intrigue.
On the 13th July the ambassadors had their first audience with the
Council. Northumberland, of course, was absent: he had just started on
his disastrous expedition to Cambridge, already a beaten man in the
face of Mary’s growing popularity; but Arundel, Shrewsbury, Pembroke,
Mason, Petre, and others received them. Renard was the spokesman of
the envoys, and he laboured hard, even now, to persuade the Englishmen
of the Emperor’s desire to banish from their minds all suspicion
of his motives—a suspicion, he said, engendered solely by French
misrepresentations. He was naturally anxious for the safety and good
treatment of his cousin, Lady Mary, but he had no desire whatever to
use her as a political instrument, or to promote her marriage with a
foreigner, or indeed to interfere in any way with the established order
of affairs in England. The Emperor’s message was received courteously,
as well it might be, for the Councillors were already trembling in their
shoes, and the envoys were requested to defer their departure from
England until further instructions came from the Emperor—a notable change
of tone since their interview with Cobham and Mason the day before.
The ambassadors, however, were still as far as ever from understanding
the real state of affairs, even at the date of their next letter (16th
July). “We consider it certain that before four days are over the Lady
will be in the Duke’s power if she has no force to resist him.... He is
raising troops everywhere and is strong on land and sea, so that we do
not see how those who secretly hold with the Lady will be able or dare
to declare themselves. We have no confirmation that the Lady is aided
by so many people as was reported.... On the contrary, a messenger from
the Lady brought us to-day the copy of the Council’s reply to her letter
to them, and a verbal message from her telling us that she saw the ruin
into which she would fall unless your Majesty helped her.”[7] If this had
really been the case, Mary would never have been Queen of England, for
the Emperor plainly told his envoys that, for an infinity of extremely
sage and prudent reasons which he detailed at great length, he could not
give the help that Mary hoped for. New credentials, indeed, were sent
to them, and instructions that they were again to ply the Council with
assurances that nothing was farther from the Emperor’s thoughts than to
interfere in any way in England. A mild word or two was to be introduced
on behalf of Mary; but the whole object of the mission was to induce
the English Government, whatever it might be, to renounce the French
friendship and depend solely upon their ancient ally the Monarch of Spain
and Flanders.[8]
Before these instructions reached London, Northumberland’s house of cards
had fallen. His son, Henry Dudley, had in vain prayed for help from the
King of France; but the latter was now at grips with the Emperor and
dared not send troops to England, where the dread and hatred of the
French was one of the principal reasons of Northumberland’s fall. The
Duke himself was hopeless and helpless at Cambridge, ready to save his
unworthy skin by throwing up his bonnet and crying, “Long live Queen
Mary!” when in spite of him the Princess he had just declared a bastard
was acclaimed Queen; whilst the miserable Councillors he had coerced into
being his tools in London were tumbling over each other in their anxiety
to disclaim him and betray the unhappy girl whom his ambition was to lead
to an untimely death.
On the 19th July the Earl of Shrewsbury and Dr. Mason came to the
Imperial ambassadors in a very contrite mood. There was no talk of their
embassy being ended now, no haughty reproaches for their supposed support
to the bastard Lady Mary. After much hemming and hawing, the deputation
of the Council announced to Renard and his colleagues that they came with
glad news, which they thought would be welcome to the Emperor. All that
the Council had done previously had been under the coercion of the wicked
Duke of Northumberland, whom they repudiated. They now all acknowledged
Mary as their true Sovereign, and they had decided to proclaim her
publicly that day in London. To the delight of the Imperial envoys, but
still apparently to their bewildered surprise at the failure of all their
predictions, Mary was proclaimed both in the Tower and the City amidst
the frantic joy of the people. Bonfires blazed, feasts were spread,
wine ran freely in London,[9] and coins galore were scattered; for the
rightful Queen had come into her own at last, whilst the “nine-days’
Queen”—the poor fated girl in the grim fortress that had been her only
palace—found herself a prisoner instead of a potentate; and the cowardly
craven whose tool she had been was basely striving to win mercy, if not
favour, from the proud Princess whom he had injured beyond forgiveness.
Still intent, as ever, upon gaining the friendship of England, no matter
who reigned over it, the first instructions of the Emperor to his envoys
when he heard the good news of Mary’s accession were to urge upon the new
Queen the acceptance, at all events at first, of the _status quo_: not to
be in a hurry to change anything, to bow to the decisions of Parliament,
to practise her own religion only in private, if necessary. “And above
all things she should be a good Englishwoman, and let people understand
that she has no intention of acting alone and without the advice and
co-operation of her nobles and the Parliament.” An assurance might now be
given to her of the Emperor’s desire and intention of supporting her—as
had always indeed been his intention, he said—and upon her, as formerly
upon her brother, was to be urged the first and principal points of
all—distrust of the French and the conviction that the real, trustworthy
friend of England was the Sovereign of Spain and Flanders.
Mary was perfectly well aware that she owed her Crown to her own right
and to the boldness of the action she had taken, and she was not inclined
to accept to their full the moderating counsels of the Emperor, who
had done so little for her in her need. But she also understood that
her position was, as yet, far from stable; and with French intrigue
against her and in favour of the _régime_ she had supplanted, she turned
naturally to her powerful Spanish kinsman for such support as she might
need, as well as for counsel. So anxious was Charles to consolidate her
position as Queen, that the advice he gave her might rather have come
from a Protestant constitutional monarch than from the absolute champion
of Catholicism. She was urged to moderate her religious zeal, to abandon
her intention of celebrating the obsequies of Edward with Catholic rites,
and whilst using severity with the few leaders of the revolt against
her, to be clement to the great majority, and not to begin her reign by
any vengeful action either of her own or of the friends who had suffered
under the rule of her brother. Above all, she was recommended to summon
Parliament in the old form and banish most of the foreigners, especially
Frenchmen, of course, from her realm. With these sage counsels the
Emperor sent Mary a promise that if the French attempted anything against
her, she might depend upon the aid of Imperial troops under the Prince of
Savoy.
The very first letter written by the Emperor after he had news of
Mary’s proclamation instructed Renard to tell the new Queen that it
would be advisable for her to take a husband at once, and to say that
the Emperor would support her in any choice she might make. There were
really very few princes whom Mary could have chosen. If she married an
Englishman, there was none of fitting rank and faith to be her husband
but Courtenay, whom she had just released from his long durance in the
Tower, and the elderly Churchman, Cardinal Pole, both of these being of
the blood royal of England. Mary, in violet velvet, rode in triumph from
New Hall in Essex to the Tower of London on the 3rd August. A thousand
velvet-clad courtiers followed in her train and ten thousand armed men
formed her bodyguard. As she passed through the leafy lanes and into
the smiling villages, and so to the eastern gate of her capital, no
discordant voice reached her. Close behind her in a litter rode her
younger sister, Elizabeth, with her fair skin and yellow hair, composed
and self-possessed; but, as Mary well knew, ready to make common cause
with her enemies if it would serve her own ends. Before Mary had left
New Hall the clever, courtly French ambassador, Antoine de Noailles, had
ridden out from London to greet her. Noailles’s task was a difficult one.
He had done his best, almost openly, to aid Northumberland and exclude
half-Spanish Mary from the throne; indeed, the Londoners, who hated
him and his country, were loudly proclaiming that six thousand armed
Frenchmen had been ready to invade England in the interests of Queen
Jane.[10] But Noailles was supple and insinuating, and the first speech
he made to Mary when he greeted her was an assurance of the devotion of
his master to her and an offer of armed assistance if she needed it. Mary
was polite but cool, for she knew, notwithstanding Noailles’s charming,
that she had nothing to hope for from France. As she entered London there
rode also in her train the Imperial ambassadors, jealous and distrustful
of the Frenchman, who they knew was trying to checkmate them. Beyond
formal greetings in the presence of many watchful eyes Renard had not
been able to obtain private conference of the Queen, who remained in the
Tower of London awaiting her journey to Richmond. Mary herself, knowing
who her friends were, was naturally anxious to have speech with the
representatives of her Imperial cousin, to whom she looked for guidance,
and she suggested that Renard should seek entrance to the Tower in
disguise to see her.[11] The ambassador, however, appears to have thought
it safer and more dignified to have patience for a few days until, in
the comparative freedom of Richmond, he could see the Queen without
attracting so much attention as in the Tower. In the meanwhile he had
been able in private conversation with Paget, of the Council, to broach
the subject of the Queen’s marriage. From him he had learnt positively
that the current rumour of the intention of Mary to make Courtenay her
Consort was untrue. “She was against such a match, because she distrusted
the English nation, knowing it to be treacherous and fickle, because
Courtenay is too young and lowly, her heart being high and magnanimous.
Besides which, if she married an Englishman, the children—if she had
any—would not be so much thought of as if her husband were a foreign
prince.”
The Emperor’s son Philip, a young widower of twenty-seven, after
several years of widowhood, was betrothed to his cousin, the Princess
of Portugal, whose rich dowry was sorely needed by the Emperor for the
war; but Renard well understood without instructions that if Mary of
England could be won for the House of Spain, the gain would be infinitely
greater than any Portuguese money dowry could bring. So he gently hinted
to Paget in his talk that the Prince was not married yet, though the
Spanish merchants in England had falsely reported that he was. Paget
was doubtful. Yes, he said, no doubt the Queen’s marriage would be
the richest one in the world, but it was not yet time to discuss it.
Nevertheless, Renard decided when first he saw the Queen in private to
mention Philip’s name as if by chance, “so as to put the idea of such a
marriage into her head; for if she takes to it, she will be better able
to convert her councillors to it than anybody else in the world.”
The idea once started was eagerly taken up by the Emperor—if, in fact, it
did not originate with him—and no time was lost by him in preparing the
ground on his side. He wrote to Philip as soon as Renard’s information
reached him that Mary would probably favour a foreign marriage,
recommending him to send from Spain a formal embassy to congratulate
Mary upon her accession. But to this recommendation he added the hint
that if Philip would break off the Portuguese match and consent to his
marriage with the new Queen of England it would be a masterstroke of
policy. Charles had not seen his son for two years, and although he knew
well that Philip was dutiful, yet he did not venture to press him too
urgently. The Prince was, as Granvelle wrote to Renard, a man of full
age, with children,[12] and the Emperor would do nothing decisive with
regard to the English marriage unless Philip’s own inclinations led him
to it. There was some fear on the part of the Emperor that Mary might
think of himself for a husband. To this he had no inclination.[13] He
was, as we have seen, in declining health, and had in secret already
made up his mind to embrace a monastic life as soon as he could cripple
France and leave his son at peace. Pending Philip’s reply, Renard was
instructed to keep the affair open with the Queen, always mentioning
Philip as being the preferable _parti_, but without pledging him, “in
case the Portuguese affair has gone too far, ... or if the Prince’s fancy
alights elsewhere.” Even Courtenay, who was known to be intriguing with
the French ambassador, was not to be banned entirely, though that idea
was to be gently discouraged; “for if her fancy tends that way she will
not fail, if she be like other women, to go on with it, and would never
forgive you if you had said anything against it.”[14]
When, after all, Renard was received privately by the Queen in the Tower
on the 6th August, he slily introduced the idea of marriage, after
all the more prosaic points of his instructions had been disposed of.
At the suggestion of a foreign match, but with no mention of Philip,
Renard says: “She laughed, not once only but several times, whilst she
regarded me in a way that proved the idea to be very agreeable to her.
She clearly made me understand that she would not attempt or accept an
English marriage, but preferred a foreign one, ... by which I recognised
that she had her usual pride and inclination to speak of her rank and
grandeur. From what I can understand, her idea is that the Emperor should
propose some one to her, ... and I am in good hope that if his Majesty
inclines to our Prince [Philip], it would be the most welcome piece of
news that could be taken to her.”[15] But whilst this was the case, the
observant ambassador also recognised that the English Council would not
be so easily pleased as the middle-aged Princess, who for her thirty-nine
years of life had been starved of love—she, a Tudor, true daughter of her
father, whose passions and affections were strong; she, a Queen, who had
been outraged and insulted for years and now hungered for the vengeance
upon her foes that was only possible with the possession of power such
as the Imperial connection could give her. The French, said Renard with
perfect truth, were leaving no stone unturned, by intrigues, bribes, and
promises, to make the idea of a Spanish alliance hateful to the English
people; and if Mary’s councillors were to be gained to the Spanish side,
it could only be done by lavish expenditure both in ready money and in
future pledges. Gardiner, the most powerful of Mary’s Ministers, was
strongly in favour of his late pupil Courtenay as a Consort for the
Queen, and even Paget and Petre, both pro-Spaniards and former pensioners
of the Emperor, looked askance at a match which it was seen would be
hateful to the great majority of the English people.
As week followed week—for the road between Spain and Flanders was a
long one—it is plain to see that Mary became somewhat restive at the
delay. Renard saw her privately at Richmond early in September, and, in
order to start the conversation on the subject, mentioned the common
talk in London of her intended marriage with Courtenay. Mary coldly
replied that she had never spoken to the man except when she pardoned
him. She knew nobody in England whom she would care to marry. Had the
Emperor, she asked, made up his mind about recommending any suitor to
her? Renard had much to say about the difficulty of selecting a fitting
person, though he was sure that the Emperor would do his best. Renard
dared not go too far, for no reply had yet been received from Philip;
and rumours were current in London that his marriage with his Portuguese
cousin was now irrevocably settled. But Renard began by mentioning the
various unmarried Catholic Princes—the Archduke of Austria, the Prince
of Savoy, the Princes of Ferrara and Florence, and even the Dauphin; to
all of which Mary listened crossly, for she knew this was only fencing.
“Of course, your Majesty,” continued Renard, “if you think twenty-seven
or twenty-eight too young for a husband, I do not know any other Princes
who are not too old.” Mary took the hint, for she knew that the age of
Philip was twenty-seven, and she replied: “But your Prince is already
married, I hear, to the Princess of Portugal.” Renard said that he did
not think that the marriage was concluded yet, though he knew that it
had been mentioned before the war;[16] whereupon Mary, apparently losing
patience at so much beating about the bush, determined to speak more
plainly. She was sorry, she said, that Philip should marry his Portuguese
cousin, as they were such near relatives. All the Princes that Renard
had mentioned to her were very young—she might be the mother of any
of them. She was even twelve years older than Prince Philip; besides
which, the Prince would want to remain in Spain and his other dominions,
and she knew how much English people objected to any reigning foreign
Prince marrying an English Princess.[17] When her father was alive, she
continued, several proposed matches for her had fallen through for this
reason alone; and when the late Duke of Orleans was proposed to her,
the affair was prevented by the antagonism which always existed between
England and France. She hoped the Emperor would bear this point in mind,
and not recommend her to marry a man she had not seen and spoken to in
England. Renard then began praising Philip’s good sense, judgment, and
seriousness. He had already a son six or seven years old, he said, and
was wise and experienced beyond his years. Mary, apparently thinking she
had gone far enough, broke into Renard’s panegyrics and declared most
emphatically that she had never felt the smart of what was called love,
nor had she ever had a voluptuous thought. She had never had an idea of
marriage until God called her to the throne, and now the step would be
taken against her own inclination and on public grounds alone.
There need have been no misgivings as to Philip’s attitude in the
matter. Throughout his life he made of himself a martyr to his duty.
Overshadowed always by the immensity of the task confided to him and
his House, awed by the greatness and majesty of his father, he looked
upon himself from youth to age as an instrument in the hands of the
Most High to compass the victory of righteousness upon the earth as he
understood it, and incidentally to exalt Spain to the highest place among
the nations. That human suffering had to be endured to arrive at the end
was only an incident: that he himself, in his degree, should forego his
own inclinations, his ease, his comfort, and his pleasures in favour
of the great objects for which he lived, was to him quite natural and
inevitable, and he accepted the fate without repining. The marriage with
Mary—a woman whom he had never seen, who was twelve years his senior and
no beauty at best—could not have been attractive to him. His domestic
life with Doña Isabel de Osorio had apparently been harmonious; and the
absence from Spain which the English marriage would entail was both
inconvenient and unpleasant, whilst the necessary concessions in manner
and demeanour to his wife’s English subjects would, perhaps, be more
distasteful to him than any other of the sacrifices imposed upon him by
the match. But, as his Spanish contemporary biographer says, like another
Isaac he readily submitted himself to his father’s will and wrote without
a day’s delay that the Portuguese match might still be avoided, and he
had already taken steps in that direction, “cheerfully and unreservedly
placing himself in the Emperor’s hands to do with him as he thought
best in the interests of their great cause.”[18] Two days after the
Emperor had received the welcome letter from his son, a swift courier was
speeding to England with instructions to Renard to propose Philip, Prince
of Spain, as a husband for Queen Mary.
The occasion was one of supreme international importance. Ever since
Ferdinand the Catholic sixty years before had betrothed Mary’s mother to
the heir of Henry VII., the sovereign of Spain had been trying to win for
his country the control of English policy, in order that France might
be beaten in the struggle for the hegemony of Europe. The tremendous
cataclysm of the Reformation, personal ambitions, the weakness and
sensuality of Henry VIII., and unexpected deaths, had again and again
frustrated the design. England had more than once fought by the side of
France in the great Continental duel, and the English friendship upon
which the House of Spain was forced to depend as one of the main elements
of success, had been for all those sixty years an unstable quantity,
though generally on the side of its traditional ally. But what was
necessary for Charles and his son was a friendship that could be counted
upon in all circumstances—an alliance that no bribes nor blandishments of
Frenchmen and Lutherans could shake; and for the first time this seemed
possible of attainment if by the marriage of Philip and Mary the crowns
of England, Spain, and Flanders could rest upon the same brows.
To Mary of England, too, the match with her Spanish second cousin had
more than a sentimental interest, strong as that was with her. The
English people had rallied to her cause under the influence of their
recognition of her legal right to the throne, and their detestation of
Northumberland and his French friends; but Protestantism was undoubtedly
strong, especially in London and the Eastern Counties, which had first
acclaimed the new Queen; and it was evident to Mary that if she was to
impose her faith upon the country, as she was determined to do, even
against the advice of the Emperor, she must be able to depend upon some
force independent of her own people to aid or support her at a pinch.
France, of course, being out of the question for her, she could only look
to a Spanish match to serve her turn. Mary shut her eyes obstinately to
the vast change that had come over her country in the last thirty years.
She believed, as did the Churchmen throughout Europe, that she only had
to decree a return to the state of affairs prior to her father’s apostasy
for the country to accept the change without demur. Pole was for extreme
measures at once, and so, of course, was the Pope, Julius II.; but the
Emperor, who in the supposed cause of religion was always ready to
postpone religious considerations for politics, continued to advise Mary
through Renard to go slowly and to avoid incensing her people until at
least she was strong enough to coerce them. The marriage of Philip with
the Queen therefore seemed to hold out to both contracting parties the
ideal opportunity of attaining their great desire—in the one case the
control of English policy to the detriment of France, and in the other
the increment of strength necessary to force England once more into the
fold of the Church.
Thenceforward for forty-five years Philip of Spain strove, often in
almost impossible circumstances, to attain this end. There was no
instrumentality left untried by him to secure it. Marriage, and proposals
of marriage, wars, and threats of wars, arrogance, humility, diplomacy,
bribery, subornation of treason and murder, were some of the means to
which Philip in his long struggle appealed; for to him and his cause and
country it was a matter of life and death; and it is my object to set
forth in the following chapters from contemporary sources the story of
this long series of efforts on the part of the Spanish King to win the
support of England by fair means or foul. To regard Philip as a fiend,
or even as a bad man, because in the cause of this life-struggle of
his he assailed England with weapons that would now be rejected by any
right-thinking statesman, would be unjust. The ethics of the time were
widely different from those prevalent to-day; the supposed interest
of the State was infinitely greater in proportion to the lives of
individuals that is at present the case, whilst the assumed interests of
religion—or, rather, of the orthodox Church—were considered by Philip to
be so overwhelming as to condone any action necessary to serve them, no
matter how criminal it would be if employed for other ends. No doubt,
in the view of the present day, Philip blinded himself to a sense of
right and wrong in his zeal to serve the cause for which he lived,
namely, the dominance of Catholicism for the temporal benefit of Spain.
But to him there was no wrong if it was done by his orders in the cause
which he believed to be that of righteousness. Sacrifice and suffering
seemed to him, as to most Spaniards of his day, a natural and necessary
preparation for spiritual exaltation and triumph; and whilst he never
flinched from inflicting suffering upon others, though naturally he
was a tender-hearted man, he never spared himself in the same cause.
Throughout his long life he made himself a martyr to what he conceived
to be his duty; a slow, laborious, unimaginative, morbidly conscientious
man, a good son, a good husband, and, according to his lights, a good
father; kind and indulgent to his servants, patient under adversity and
humble in success: indeed, a man endowed with most of the elements of
righteousness; and yet with a sense of right so blunted by his zeal as to
think that he might do God’s work with the weapons of the devil, and turn
enemies into friends by fear. How these principles as applied to England
ended in failure, it is the purpose of the present book to tell.