1553-1554
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
All London was ringing with preparations for the coming pageant of the
Queen’s coronation. Fenchurch, Gracechurch, and Leadenhall, Cornhill,
Chepe, and Saint Paul’s were erecting the scaffoldings for their
triumphs, repainting and gilding gable ends and pinnacles, and trimming
forth their fine stuffs and liveries in honour of the great day when the
Queen was to ride in state from the Tower to Westminster.[19] Away across
the fields in the little sylvan palace of Saint James’s, Mary sat under
her canopy in her audience chamber one day in late September, surrounded
by courtiers, all, like the Queen herself, in a blaze of magnificence;
for the prim Puritanism of the late reign had been banished as savouring
of Reform, and the splendour of King Henry was being copied by his
daughter. To one man alone had Mary somewhat sourly prescribed modesty
in attire, and that was to Courtenay. The dissoluteness of this young
man of twenty-six, who had never before been free since his childhood,
had already shocked the austerely virtuous Mary, and had made his chances
of winning her hand more impossible than ever. But neither she nor those
around her could fail to see that the cunning Frenchman Noailles was
still ostentatiously feasting and honouring him, and already the talk
of the French party at Court was coupling the names of Courtenay and
the Princess Elizabeth in a way that boded ill to Mary’s peace of mind.
Courtenay had ordered a gorgeous suit of blue velvet covered with gold
for the coming ceremony; but blue was the colour the Queen had chosen for
her own outer garb, and she had no intention of allowing so much bravery
to the man she knew was being made the tool of her enemies to injure her,
and Courtenay was ordered to put his finery aside and wear more modest
raiment. At the public audience Renard brought forward to present to the
Queen two great Spanish nobles—Don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza and Don Diego
de Geneda—who were on their way from Flanders to Spain, the latter a
member of Philip’s household. As the two gentlemen in their distinctive
Spanish garb and with national gravity were led forward for presentation
to the Queen, many scowling brows were bent upon them; for although the
matter was supposed to be so secret, the talk of the Spanish marriage was
already common at Court; and Noailles, in the deepest chagrin at the way
things were tending, noticed that Don Diego de Geneda on this occasion
had whispered conference with the Queen, unheard even by his colleague or
by the Imperial ambassador.[20]
Whatever French gold or interest could effect to alarm people at the idea
of the coming of a Spanish Consort was done. Stories of the terrible rule
of the Inquisition in Spain, and of the pride and cruelty of Spaniards
generally, were spread industriously by the agents of Noailles, and by
the day fixed for the Queen’s state procession to Westminster, the 30th
of September, 1553, London was almost in a panic of fear. The Queen
had come in with promises of toleration, and already the zeal of the
Churchmen and her own had belied her people’s hope for religious peace.
Parliament had been summoned for the 5th October, specially for the
purpose of restoring England to the orthodox Church; Cardinal Pole was
known to be coming to the land of his fathers as the Legate of the Pope
to receive the submission of England to the Power which King Henry had
flouted so contemptuously; and already the dungeons in the Tower were
being filled by the prelates of the newer ritual.
All the dazzling magnificence that accompanied the passage of the
Queen through London from the Tower to Westminster, on the last day of
September—all the official greetings, the frequent pageants at the street
corners, and the wonder of the multitude at the rare show of sumptuous
garb—could not banish the dread thought amidst the crowd that, perhaps,
all this bravery was only a prelude to a Spanish domination over England.
The nobles who rode in Mary’s train and filled the great Court offices
in her household had most of them been enriched by the plunder of the
monastic lands, and had their own reasons for dreading a return of the
old order in its extreme form; though they did not know as yet that the
Spanish Consort, whose advent they feared so much, would be the great
modifying influence in their favour. Frenchmen and Venetians joined the
alarmed Englishmen in their apprehensions of the coming change, but the
few Spaniards in London were jubilant. One Spanish resident,[21] who
described the splendid show for the benefit of a noble patron in Spain,
thus writes with reference to the match: “If the Lord vouchsafed us to
behold this glorious day, what great advantage would befall our Spain
in holding the Frenchmen in check, by the union of these kingdoms with
his Majesty’s dominions. And were it only to preserve the States of
Flanders, surely the Emperor and son must greatly desire it, for, as your
Lordship knows well, the day that the Emperor dies the Low Countries
will be in peril of attack from the French or of a German invasion under
French auspices, help from Spain being so remote, and Flanders itself
not being free from suspicion of revolt on the ground of religion or
from the disaffection of the people towards Spaniards. It would be most
advantageous, too, to Spain, for should aught happen to the Prince’s son
(Don Carlos), the son born here would be King of both countries, which
would be a good thing for the English too.... All the Catholics here
would lift up their hands to God, for they love their country and the
Queen, and especially Spain, for the sake of the good Queen Katharine;
and the goodly here are so many that there are a hundred Catholics for
every four heretics.”
With these mixed hopes and fears amidst the multitude, there went a
general trust in, and affection for, the Queen personally. She had
been ill-treated so long, as the people knew; she had grown faded and
middle-aged under unjust oppression, and she was a true Royal Princess
descended on both sides from kings of highest lineage. So when at the
Abbey next day, 1st October, during the interminable ceremony of the
coronation, Gardiner led the Queen, in her crimson velvet and ermine, to
the four corners of the daïs and called in a loud voice, “Is this the
true heir to this realm?” there was no hesitation, and all the lieges
shouted as if with one voice, “Yea! yea! God save the Queen!”[22]
Parliament met on the 5th October. The Catholics in the country were
unquestionably in a majority, though not so great, probably, as in the
ratio of twenty-five to one, as the Spaniards asserted; and Mary had
no difficulty in obtaining the repeal of all the anti-Papal laws which
severed England from Rome. Gardiner was willing enough to aid the Queen
in this; but, prompted by Noailles, he managed dexterously to get the
House of Commons to vote an Address to the Queen, praying her not to
marry a foreigner. This, it is true, voiced a very general feeling in
the country, but the Queen had now (November) quite made up her mind;
for she had seen a portrait of Philip by Titian, and had fairly fallen
in love with the young, fresh-coloured man with the curly, yellow beard
who was asking for her hand. So in a rage, and after much delay, Mary
received the deputation of the Commons led by the Speaker. “This is one
of the Chancellor’s tricks,” she muttered, “and I will be equal with him
for it.” Then haughtily addressing the deputation, she rebuked their
presumption in attempting to dictate to her on such a matter, and said
that if private persons were allowed to choose mates for themselves,
surely sovereigns were not to be less privileged. This was the true Tudor
attitude towards the representatives of the people; and the Queen, having
legalised her religious changes, promptly dissolved Parliament.
Watchful eyes followed Renard everywhere. The Queen’s Council, with the
exception of Paget, Arundel, and Petre, looked askance at him; French
and Venetian spies at Court reported his every movement; and his own
colleagues were bitterly jealous of him, as the marriage negotiation
had been kept exclusively in his hands. For many days he could obtain
no private access to Mary for the purpose of giving her the Emperor’s
message; but at last, by Paget’s management, on the 10th October, he
was introduced secretly into the Queen’s presence at Westminster. The
Emperor deplored, said Renard, that his age and infirmities prevented him
from offering his own hand in marriage to his cousin, as he would have
wished; but that being impossible, he begged her to accept his only and
beloved son as her husband. To the chagrin of Renard, Mary was now full
of hesitation. What would her people say, and how could her Council be
persuaded? She feared that when Philip succeeded his father, his many
other realms would occupy the whole of his time, and that he would never
be able to stay in England. Was Renard, moreover, quite sure of his
character? He could not be so wise as the Emperor, and he was very young
for her. Of course she would obey her husband, but he must not think for
a moment that she would allow him to rule her State, nor could she give
any offices to foreigners; and she threw out a strong hint that perhaps
Philip’s Austrian cousin, Maximilian, would be a better husband for her,
as she was absolutely free, and she had heard the Archduke was considered
wise. Besides, if Philip was voluptuous in his ideas, she had no desire
for anything of the sort at her age.
[Illustration: PHILIP II AT THE AGE OF 24
FROM THE PAINTING BY TITIAN IN THE PRADO MUSEUM]
All these objections were, no doubt, only a display of becoming maiden
modesty, but they somewhat disturbed Renard. He painted to her in lurid
colours the enmities by which she was surrounded, and the dangers that
threatened her—the intrigues of the French with Courtenay and Elizabeth,
the menacing attitude of the Protestant party in the provinces—and Mary
answered as best she might, asking Renard at last to put in writing the
arguments he urged in favour of her marriage with Philip. Four days later
he saw her again, and this time her hesitation took a more personal form.
With tears in her eyes she seized the ambassador’s hands and conjured
him to tell her truly whether Philip was so moderate, settled, and
well-behaved as he said. On his life and honour the ambassador protested
that he was, but still the perplexed Queen was unconvinced. If she could
only have seen the Prince first, she said, she would be better able to
judge. That, the ambassador gently told her, was not possible; but a good
portrait of him could be sent to her, and with this she was obliged to be
content.[23]
It was only after long hesitation and prayerful searching of heart that
Mary finally decided to carry through her marriage, in the face of the
almost universal opposition of her people. She undoubtedly yearned for
the support of a husband in her difficult position, and naturally hoped
for a son who should carry on her tradition of a Catholic England. She
was of affectionate disposition, and for all her modest assurance to
Renard that she had never felt the promptings of the flesh, there is
nothing unbecoming in believing that the sight of her cousin’s portrait
had lit up the feeling of love in her heart where natural affection had
been suppressed for so long. But, withal, her principal desire for the
match and her determination to effect it were mainly prompted by public
considerations. The intrigues of the French with the Protestant elements
in the country, and the almost open way in which Noailles was playing
off Courtenay and Elizabeth against her, had convinced Mary that France
was her enemy. The only force in Europe strong enough to resist France
was the Emperor; and unless the Queen could depend absolutely upon his
support, it was evident that sooner or later the Protestant element in
England with French aid would oust her from the throne—probably in favour
of the young Queen of Scots, her cousin, already betrothed to the heir of
France.
Motives personal, religious, and political, therefore all dictated to
Mary the absolute necessity of her prompt marriage with Philip; and, as
we have already seen, the motives of the Emperor and his son for the
marriage were equally strong. Some of Mary’s Council—especially Arundel,
Paget, and Petre—were first won over, for they were in the Emperor’s pay
before; and when Gardiner saw that the tide was too strong for him to
resist, he also accepted the inevitable with the best grace he could.
But when he had to be consulted on the terms of the marriage treaty, he
drove as hard a bargain as possible; for he, and, it is just to say, most
of his colleagues also, were determined that the marriage should not
mean the political subjugation of England by Spain. On the 31st October,
Sunday evening, Mary summoned Renard to her oratory, where she received
him, attended only by her devoted nurse, Mrs. Clarencius. Her eyes were
red with weeping, and she told the ambassador that for days she had been
sleepless, praying for guidance as to the choice of a husband. “My last
resource in all my difficulties,” she said, “is the Holy Sacrament, and
as it is even now displayed upon this altar, I will appeal to it for
counsel.” Then kneeling, as did Renard and Mrs. Clarencius by her side,
she recited with whispered fervour the _Veni Creator Spiritus_. After a
short period of silent meditation she rose, calm and self-possessed, and
told the ambassador that her mind was now made up: he, Renard, should
be her father confessor. She had consulted some of her Councillors, and
herself had pondered deeply upon the subject; and now, bearing in mind
what she had been told of Philip’s good qualities, she prayed the Emperor
to accept her as a daughter, to be indulgent with her, and to consent
to the conditions which her Councillors declared would be necessary for
the welfare of her realm. She hoped that henceforward the Emperor would
be doubly a father to her, and Philip a good husband. Then with all
solemnity she approached the altar and, with her hand upon the gospel
before the Sacred Presence, swore to marry Philip of Spain and make him
a good wife. God had now sent her light, she said, after she had wavered
long. No man but Philip should be her husband.[24]
Whilst Renard and the Council were fighting hard over every point of
the marriage treaty, Noailles and the Venetian ambassadors were busy
intriguing against it, entertaining Courtenay constantly, and doing their
best to draw cautious Elizabeth into their plots. The muttering of coming
trouble sounded on all sides—Mary, jealous and distrustful of Elizabeth,
whose illegitimacy she was determined to assert; the Protestant elements
in the Court and country already in a ferment, thanks largely to French
incitement, and disaffection showing itself by partial disturbances
in various parts of the country. Religious persecution, too, began to
raise its head. Cranmer and Ridley were condemned to death, as were Lady
Jane Grey and the three sons of Northumberland; whilst the Emperor,
determined for his part to avoid exacerbating the evil, had, to the great
indignation of the Pope and the Churchmen, almost violently forbidden
Pole to go to England with his extreme Papal mission, at least until the
ultimate control of it had passed into the Emperor’s own politic hands.
At length, by the end of the year, the hard terms of the treaty were
drafted. Renard had done his best, and so had the Imperial ministers in
Flanders; but Gardiner had been firm, and the conditions were a bitter
dose for Spanish pride to swallow; for, as they stood, they bade fair to
deprive the bridegroom’s country of the only benefit to be derived from
the marriage—namely, control of the policy and resources of England. The
Consort was to have no rule in the country, and none of his countrymen
were to hold office of any sort; the Queen was to receive a jointure of
30,000 ducats a year from Flanders; and the issue of the marriage, if
any, should, failing Philip’s only son Carlos, succeed to all his Crowns,
as well as to England; whilst in the case of Mary’s death, the Consort
was to have no hold whatever upon her country, nor was he to take the
Queen or her children out of England without the consent of the Council.
These and many similar provisions fenced round the authority of the
Consort so completely as to deprive him of any direct political power in
England; but Charles, confident in Mary’s secret promises to Renard that,
notwithstanding the conditions, the will of the Emperor should prevail in
England after the marriage,[25] determined to make the best of it, and to
gain the stubborn islanders by his son’s charming, if they were not to be
won by a diplomatic document.
Noailles grew daily more bitter, and almost came to blows with Paget on
the subject of the marriage, but it became clear even to him now that
he had been beaten, and that in future England and the Emperor would
make common cause against France. A pompous Flemish embassy, headed by
the splendid young Count of Egmont, was known to be on its way across
to ratify the marriage treaty in the name of the Emperor; and Noailles
took care that all London should be in a fever of apprehension at their
coming. On the 1st January a great retinue of servants with the baggage
of the ambassadors rode through London to Durham House in the Strand,
where Egmont and his suite were to be lodged. Thick snow lay upon the
ground, and as the foreigners, with their long line of pack-horses,
passed through the narrow lanes of the old city, the very street-boys
pelted them with snowballs, “so hatfull was the sight of ther coming in
to theym.”[26]
The next day, at the Tower Stairs, a gallant company of courtiers, headed
by Sir Anthony Browne, in the gorgeous garb he loved so well, awaited the
coming of the Emperor’s representatives, whilst the guns on the Tower
overhead boomed out their salutation. Egmont, the first of the Flemish
nobles, was accompanied by Montmorenci, Sieur de Courrières, who had
formerly come with Renard to England, as well as by several other high
Imperial functionaries; and they were escorted by Lord William Howard,
from Calais, and by Lord Cobham, from Dover, as Lieutenant of Kent. As
the gallant embassy of eighty finely clad gentlemen pranced out of the
Tower Gate, they were affectionately greeted by Courtenay, Hastings,
and Strange on Tower Hill, and led through the City in state, though
“the people,” we are told, “nothing rejoysing, helde downe their heddes
sorrowfully.”[27] Nothing was left undone by Mary and her Court to
show honour to the guests; and banquet followed banquet, whilst Egmont
unsuccessfully strove to modify the terms of the treaty. Renard tells
in a letter to the Emperor of a banquet given to the ambassadors by the
Queen on the 6th January,[28] after which a little scene took place which
well illustrates the free manners of the time. “And towards the end of
the dinner the Lord Admiral [Howard], who had dined in an adjoining
chamber, came in and stood before her [the Queen], who seemed pensive.
He said something to her in English, and then turning to us, asked us
whether we would like to know what he had said. Although her Majesty did
her best to prevent him from translating it to us, he went on and said
that he had wished that his Highness [Philip] had been seated there by
her side, pointing to her right, in order to banish her melancholy. She
blushed at this and asked why he said it, to which he replied that he
was sure she was not cross and liked to hear it; whereupon the Queen and
every one else laughed, and it all went off in good part.”
The day after this entertainment (7th January, 1554), Egmont wrote an
urgent letter to Prince Philip, praying him to hasten his coming to claim
his bride. The treaty, he says, has now been agreed to with only a word
or two changed, and will be signed in two days. It is clear from this
letter that Egmont foresaw the trouble that was looming. The nobility,
he said, had received them better than he had expected. “But as for the
people, they are uncertain. We will advise the Queen to raise forces to
prevent any hostile movement, which would not be extraordinary, for these
people are very unstable.... It is of the utmost importance that your
Highness should come without delay. I hear that the French are arming
strongly in Normandy and Brittany.... I beseech you humbly to consider
how urgent it is that you come hither at once, for many reasons which I
hope to lay before you verbally soon. Besides this, I should like your
Highness to know that the Emperor has not provided us with a sou to spend
on necessary presents. More can be done here with money than anywhere
else in the world.”[29]
The hollow affectation of keeping the Queen’s marriage secret could
not be continued after the treaty was signed, and on the 13th January
Gardiner, with the best countenance he could command, made an oration in
the Presence Chamber of the Palace of Westminster before the assembled
lords and courtiers, declaring the Queen’s intention to marry the Prince
of Spain “in most godly, lawful matrimonye: and further that she should
have for her joynter xxxᵐⁱˡ duckets by the yere, with all the Lowe
Countries of Flanders; and that the issue betweene them two lawfully
begotten shoulde yf there be any, be heir as well to the Kingdom of
Spayne as also to the sayde Lowe Country.” He declared, farther, that “we
were much bounden to thancke God that so noble, worthye and famouse a
prince would vouchsaff so to humble himself in this maryadge to take upon
him rather as a subject than otherwise: and that the Quene should rule
all things as nowe: and that there should be of the Council no Spanyard,
nether should have rule or office in the quenes house or elsewhere in
England nor have custody of any fortes or castells.”[30] Gardiner made
the best of it; but the bare fact of the announcement being officially
made set light to the tinder which Noailles and his allies had so
carefully prepared. When, on the following day, Gardiner made a similar
announcement to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, Noailles had seen enough to
justify him in sending off a special courier post-haste to his master in
France. “The nobles and commonalty declare,” he wrote, “that they will
never tolerate the Prince of Spain for their King. They would rather die
fighting against him than obey him, and will defend their liberties by
force before they will submit to such servitude. They are making ready to
rise in arms any day and expel this Queen, who they now see is unworthy
of the Crown and as she had twice broken her promise to them after they
had raised her to the position she occupies. First, in changing the
religion after she had promised them toleration; and, secondly, in taking
a foreign husband although she had promised that she would not.”[31] In
a few days the result of all this excitement was seen. Carew and his
friends and kin in the west, depending upon poor feeble Courtenay’s
open co-operation, rose in revolt. Rumours ran that French troops were
on the way across to aid him. But Courtenay was a reed easily broken,
and allowed Gardiner to frighten him into alarmed submission, whilst
Elizabeth, closely watched at Ashridge, was too cunning to be drawn into
open complicity by Noailles’s intrigues; though the Emperor and Renard
were urging Mary to put her sister well out of harm’s way in prison.
And then came the most perilous movement of all—that of the men of Kent
under Wyatt. From the 26th January to the 3rd February Mary’s crown
was not worth a day’s purchase; for, though the cry of the rebels was
only against the Spanish marriage, the Queen knew full well that she
must now stand or fall by that. And she stood manfully when many of her
courtiers were distraught by fear and ready to desert her at a moment’s
notice. Whilst Wyatt and his growing host swept triumphantly onward from
Rochester Bridge to Blackheath, and so to Southwark, the Council were
wrangling. Should the Queen retire to the Tower or should she fly to the
country; should she believe what the friends of the French faction urged,
that the only safe place for her was Calais, where she could claim the
Emperor’s protection? Mary, almost alone, was undismayed. She sent word
privately to Renard that for their own safety’s sake the other Imperial
ambassadors should return home, but that she had no intention of backing
out of the marriage or of leaving London, although she might temporise
with Wyatt whilst she mustered her forces.[32] Riding to Guildhall, stern
and sorrowful but unafraid, she made a stirring oration to the citizens;
and although many were in favour of Wyatt, London Bridge was held
firmly by the Queen’s friends, until the rebel force began to melt away
discouraged at the delay.
If Wyatt had struck promptly, he would probably have won; but loath to
shed blood and to use arms openly against the Crown, he lingered in
Bermondsey, hoping for the declaration of the citizens of London in his
favour, until it was too late. Then came the ignominious march through
the mire to Kingston Bridge, and the footsore, famished, and rain-soaked
crew tramping through the night into London, to be beaten almost without
effort by those who, if they had shown a fine front, would have joined
them. Vengeance promptly fell upon the offenders. The scaffolds at the
street corners with their dangling corpses taught the common people that
treason was a dangerous game to play; the block in the Tower was soaked
with the blood of Greys and Dudleys and many of their noble friends,
and Elizabeth was no longer bidden courteously to join her sister at
Court, but was sternly, if ceremoniously, brought to London, dangerously
ill though she seemed to be (22nd February). And, as the young Princess
passed through the silent, sorrowful crowd that greeted her, making, as
she did, an appeal to their sympathies by her proud, pale face and her
snow-white garments, the Londoners in their hearts felt that Elizabeth
was their champion against the Spaniard, whose coming they feared so
much. On the same day (Ash Wednesday, 7th February) that poor Wyatt’s
draggled host toiled up to Ludgate, there to meet final failure and
the gallows, Renard urged the Queen to make an end of Elizabeth and
Courtenay; and the Count of Egmont was already hurrying to England with
advice from the Emperor to the same effect; but Mary, who allowed herself
to be drawn into extreme severity against those who had openly conspired
against her crown, asserted her own will in the matter of her sister,
whose countenance of the French ambassador’s intrigues was amply proved
by Wyatt’s avowals and the seizure of Noailles’s letters at Gravesend.
Thus whilst Courtenay once more found himself in the Tower a prisoner,
Elizabeth was at first only secluded in her sister’s palace at Whitehall.
A perusal of the letters of Renard and Noailles, and the evidence given
by Wyatt himself, leaves no shadow of doubt that Elizabeth and Courtenay
were accomplices in the series of risings that, with French support,
were intended to frustrate the Spanish match; and, although Froude and
other English historians have done their best to exonerate them, Mary’s
clemency to her sister on this occasion is at least entitled to a word of
praise, considering the great provocation she had suffered at her hands.
When at last Elizabeth was sent to the Tower, in March, it was only
because Mary was about to absent herself from the capital for a time;
and it was, of course, impossible to leave the disaffected Princess,
beloved as she was by the Londoners, practically at liberty in their
midst. Thus the open enemies of the marriage were silenced; Wyatt and
his accomplices, as well as the Greys and Dudleys, were dead or doomed,
Noailles was found out and raging impotently, Courtenay and Elizabeth
behind the bars, and the Carews and their West-country friends refugees
in France.
When, therefore, on the 2nd March, 1554, Egmont again arrived in London,
with the Bulls, powers, and other formal documents necessary for the
solemn betrothal, it seemed as if all would now run smoothly. Renard,
it is true, always anxious to augment the importance of Philip, gravely
raised the question before the Queen and Council whether it would be safe
to bring the Prince to England in the circumstances; because, he said,
if there was to be any risk to either the Queen or her betrothed, it
might be better to abandon the match. But whilst Mary declared that for
the world she would have no harm happen to Philip, “neither she nor her
Council saw any means or danger that should cause the postponement of a
marriage so beneficial and honourable. Thank God, the heretics and rebels
were imprisoned, their conspiracy discovered and proved, and in a short
time exemplary punishment would be inflicted upon them! For the future
the Queen would see to it that the strong hand would be hers, and that
she retained full authority over her subjects; so that they had no doubt
whatever that his Highness might safely pass over to England, provided
that he guarded himself against the French naval force which was being
prepared to intercept him.”[33]
A more private matter still had to be settled by Renard with the Queen.
Which of her ministers and household should be pensioned and bribed
by the Emperor, and to what extent, “as in order to gain them for his
Highness [Philip] his Majesty had ordered us to be liberal to those she
thought best”? and this question was gravely submitted to the Council
for consideration. Charles, as usual, was dreadfully driven for money,
but an extra turn of the screw could always be applied to long-suffering
Castile; and when it was a question of gaining England, money had to
be procured in plenty at any cost. As may be supposed, the list sent
by the Council to Renard for presents to themselves and others did not
err on the side of modesty; and four thousand crowns’ worth of gold
shoulder-chains and as much ready money was promptly handed over to the
itching palms of the English courtiers; whereupon “the Councillors gave
us such a good response, that if the result corresponds with their words,
we have no doubt that safety will attend the coming of his Highness to
this country.”[34]
The further to secure Philip from the attacks of the French, a fleet of
twenty English ships was commissioned for his escort in the Channel; and
when all this was arranged, a deputation of the Council on the 7th March
came to lead Renard and Egmont to a chamber in Whitehall, where the Queen
and her household awaited them. Upon an altar in the room the Blessed
Host was exposed, and before it Mary and Egmont respectively swore that
the conditions of the marriage treaty should be held binding. Mary was
fervid and excited. Before taking the oath she spontaneously “fell upon
her knees and cried to God to witness that the marriage she had agreed to
had not been prompted by any carnal affection, by cupidity, or any other
reason than the honour, welfare, and profit of her realm, the repose and
tranquillity of her subjects; and that she had no other intention than
to keep true to the marriage and oath that she had already made to her
Crown; saying all this with such grace that the spectators were moved
to tears.”[35] The ceremony ended with more devout prayer by the Queen
on her knees; and then Egmont, handing to her the magnificent ring that
had been sent by Philip as a token of his troth, bade her farewell and
hurried off to Spain.[36]
In the meanwhile Philip himself was busy with his great preparations.
All Spain was impressed with the grandeur of the occasion. The marriage
meant for Philip’s faithful lieges the final conquest over France and the
bringing back into the Catholic fold of the rich realm of England; it
meant, they believed, a cessation of the ruinous wars which had beggared
the realms of Castile and reduced whole provinces to misery. But, though
the Spaniards rejoiced at the great stroke of policy that in their view
was to fasten another crown upon the brows of their beloved Prince, they
were doubly enthusiastic at the noble self-sacrifice that he was making
for their sake, and filled with regret at his leaving them. Endless
preparations had to be made for the tremendous transport that would be
necessary for the crowds of nobles, courtiers and servants who were to
accompany the Prince to England. The absence was looked upon as being
for an indefinite time, and only such persons as were able-bodied and
fairly unencumbered were allowed to go. Indeed, a great assembly of
members of the household was held in order that the Duke of Alba might
announce that any of those who had good reason for not accompanying his
Highness were free to stay behind. Those who elected to go—the great
majority—were granted considerable sums of money for their outfit; and
the nobles, too, were given leave to go to their own towns to prepare the
gorgeous dresses and appointments they and their households were expected
to take with them. It is curious to note that many of the servitors
who were to undertake the journey sold all their property in Spain, in
the belief that they were at once to settle and take possession of the
land of England. We are told that the wife of one officer, expecting to
obtain the approval of Philip, asked for his leave to sell all they had
in order to follow him unencumbered. Philip’s answer was significant and
characteristic. “I do not order you either to sell or not to sell your
property, for know ye that I am not going to a marriage feast, but to a
fight.”[37] This was the spirit in which all regarded the sacrifice he
was making. He was going on a holy crusade, amidst many heretics, whom
he was to win for the Church; the French were lying in wait to thwart or
capture him; and all Spaniards felt that the Prince went to conquer and
not to woo, though none doubted, nor did he, that victory would finally
be his. Old servitors unable to make the journey were pensioned; the
girl children of those who went were, at Philip’s expense, boarded and
educated in their parents’ absence, the boys being similarly provided for
at Alcalá de Henares.
Whilst all Spain was thus busy providing the splendid stuffs and
adornments by which the savage Englishmen were to be dazzled, news came
to Philip at Valladolid that the English special ambassadors, the Earl
of Bedford and Lord Fitzwalter, who were coming with greetings from his
betrothed, might be expected any day at Laredo, on the Biscay coast, and
his Steward, Gutierre Lopez de Padilla, hurried off to do them honour at
the end of February, whilst Valladolid was hastily decked from end to
end with bravery and lists erected for sports, bullfights, tourneys, and
the like. But the news was premature, for it was the 13th March before
Bedford and his colleagues left London on their embassy; and before they
arrived in Spain the rejoicings prepared for their reception were turned
into mourning by the news of the death of Philip’s brother-in-law and
cousin, the Prince of Portugal.
As soon as the tidings of Mary’s ratification of the treaty reached
Philip, he, like the gallant suitor he intended to appear, despatched
the Marquis de las Navas to England with a present to his bride truly
magnificent in its richness. “A table diamond set as a rose, beautifully
wrought and worth 50,000 ducats; a necklace of brilliant diamonds
consisting of eighteen stones worth 30,000 ducats. A great diamond with
a large pendant pearl, one of the most beautiful pieces ever seen in
the world, worth 25,000 ducats; besides many jewels, necklaces, pearls,
diamonds, emeralds, and rubies of inestimable value.” This list is given
by one of Philip’s lackeys, attached to the service of Don Carlos. The
sartorial splendour of velvets, silks, satins, and bullion, which the
same authority sets forth for our admiration, as being in preparation for
Philip and his Court, and the extravagant richness of the appointments,
dresses, armour, saddlery, plate, and furniture, for the Prince’s service
sent forward to Corunna, where he was to embark, reads like a fairy
tale. Every noble’s dress and livery is described with the minuteness
of a tailor’s bill, and the appearance of these proud hidalgos must
have been sumptuous in the extreme.[38] Philip himself always preferred
serious gravity in his dress; but he had been told that the English loved
splendour, and he was determined on this occasion that they should have
it to their hearts’ content. Some of his beautiful garments we shall have
an opportunity of describing later, but here is one suit which must have
been exceedingly gorgeous. A crimson velvet cape, covered with little
chains made of silk twist, enclosing lozenges, and a sort of sprig with
large leaves running between them, made of silver lace and filled in
with silver fringe. The lining of this cape was smooth cloth of silver
embroidered with the same sort of work; the trunks, doublet, and tunic
were of smooth crimson velvet embroidered in the same way.
All these elaborate preparations being completed, Philip, with the
Dukes of Alba and Medini Celi, Egmont, Feria, Pescara, Ruy Gomez, and a
score of the highest grandees of Spain and nearly a thousand horsemen
glittering and flashing in the Castilian sun, rode out of Valladolid on
the 14th May, 1554. The Prince’s Spanish and Teuton guards and his three
hundred servants were all dressed in the gaudy red-and-yellow livery
of Aragon, and each of the nobles was followed by a retinue which vied
with that of the Prince in brilliance. The cavalcade had to make a long
detour down to the Portuguese frontier to receive the grief-stricken
young widow, Philip’s sister, who was to govern Spain in his absence, and
again to Tordesillas for the Prince to take a last farewell of his mad
grandmother, Jane the Crazy. At each town, too, especially at Benavente
and Astorga, there were bullfights and tourneys, banquets and religious
ceremonials, so that it was the 22nd June, the day before the Vigil of
St. John, when the kneeling aldermen of Santiago de Compostela tendered
to Philip the golden keys at the gates of their sainted city.
As the Prince and his suite rode through the decorated streets to worship
at the shrine of the Spanish patron Saint James, and thank him for his
protection so far, a party of gentlemen at the upper window of a house
looked on with faces shrouded in their cloaks. These were the English
ambassadors—the Earl of Bedford, Lord Fitzwalter, and others—sent by Mary
to pledge her troth to her new husband; and on the following morning they
were brought by a crowd of Spanish hidalgos into the presence of the
future King Consort of England. Philip received them smilingly, cap in
hand, for even thus early he had taken to heart the injunctions of his
father and of Renard that he would conciliate the English by changing
his habitual grave aloofness for the gay amiability which he afterwards
assumed in England. Bedford, Fitzwalter, Sidney, and the rest of them,
bowed low and half bent the knee before him one by one;[39] and when the
presentations were over, Bedford took from a secretary a copy of the
capitulations and handed them to the Prince, who confirmed them by word
of mouth without opening the paper. Bedford appears to have impressed
the Spaniards favourably as “a great gentleman and a good Christian,”
and both he and his colleagues did their errand in courtly fashion. When
Philip had confirmed the capitulations, we are told, “they showed the
greatest delight, from the highest to the lowest, kissing his Highness’s
hands with great demonstration; and as they went out they said to each
other in their own tongue, ‘Blessed be to God who has given us as good a
king as this!’ This was said so quietly amongst themselves that it would
not have been noticed, but that a Spanish gentleman who understood their
tongue heard and repeated it.”[40] The next day the Englishmen attended
pontifical Mass at the Cathedral with Philip, greatly, we are told, to
their edification and devotion, “which God grant may continue, for they
need it badly enough.” Before starting on his thirty-miles’ ride from
Santiago to Corunna, Philip distributed costly presents to the English
embassy, Bedford’s gift being “one of the finest pieces of gold plate
ever seen, more than three feet in height, exquisitely and elaborately
chased with classical and grotesque figures, the intrinsic value of the
gold contained being six thousand ducats.”
A brave show of ships awaited the arrival of Philip in Corunna, for
many soldiers were to pass over with the Prince to defend him from the
French on the way and reinforce the Emperor’s army in Flanders; and as
the glittering cavalcade came in sight of the harbour, he was met “by
six hundred seaman—lancers from the province of Guipuzcoa, smart men
and prettily accoutred, who performed many evolutions, waving their
lances joyously, with much playing of drums and fifes. Then the fleet
and the fortress shot such a salute that in very truth it seemed as if
town and fortress together were coming down, the people being in great
fear and wonder to see the houses tremble thus as if by earthquake. All
said that the human race had never witnessed such a discharge as this.
The smoke was so great during the hour and a half that the firing lasted
that neither earth nor heaven could be seen. After this there entered
the harbour nine ships of the fleet, well supplied with everything and
very smart, with a vast number of painted standards and 3,500 soldiers
on board. These ships then took up the salute with their big guns, after
which the infantry shot with their muskets for half an hour.”[41]
On Philip’s return to his lodging, forty fishing sloops cast at his feet
their fresh-caught harvest of the sea, and the next day he inspected the
ship, _The Holy Ghost_, of Martin de Bertondona, in which it had just
been arranged that he was to make the voyage to England. From end to end
the ship was alive with scarlet silk streamers, and many-hued heraldic
pennons waved aloft: the bulwarks and castles were hung with crimson
damask, and the cabin destined for the Prince was a marvel of chased and
chiselled gold and exotic woods. The great standard of crimson damask,
painted with the Imperial arms and golden flames, was thirty yards long,
and dozens of other standards rivalling it in size fluttered from every
mast and spar. Three hundred sailors, garbed in scarlet liveries, manned
this gallant craft. But all this splendour seems to have aroused some
jealousy amongst the English, and when Philip went on board the ship
that had brought the ambassadors to Spain to be bounteously entertained
at dinner, Bedford urged him to trust himself to an English ship and
English sailors. The Prince hesitated a while, but his councillors, and
particularly the Duke of Alba, would not hear of it, for none knew as yet
how far they might trust to the islanders so recently heretic. To please
the English sailors, however, Philip allowed them to choose for him the
Spanish ship they considered the safest; and at their recommendation he
sailed in Bertondona’s vessel, instead of, as intended, in the galleon of
the great sailor Alvaro de Bazan.
To muster and ship six thousand soldiers as well as the great train
of courtiers and servants that followed Philip took many days, whilst
the Prince was being feasted and entertained by neighbouring nobles.
During this time there entered Corunna the Spanish ship that had carried
the Marquis of Las Navas to England with the presents for Mary, and
marvellous stories had the mariners to tell of the eager preparations
being made by the Queen and her people to receive the new King. How she
was at Winchester with a thousand gentlemen, and how, amongst other
fine things to welcome her bridegroom, she had collected two thousand
fine horses for the Spaniards, believing that they would bring none by
sea with them.[42] At length the fleet of nearly a hundred sail was
ready. The gilding upon the towering stern and forecastles, with lines
of shining lanterns, flashed back the summer sun, and the crowds of
gaily clad soldiers and sailors played strange pranks in the rigging and
amongst the gaudy flags to amuse grave Philip, whilst for two days the
ships lay idle in Corunna harbour awaiting the fair wind that was to
carry the Prince of Spain upon his mission of conquest.
On Friday, 13th July, a soft breeze from the south enabled the fleet to
sail, whilst a dense crowd upon the shore sent up fervent prayers for the
safety of the Prince, who in a pure spirit of martyrdom was thus going to
“our new realm of England for the exaltation of our holy faith and the
good of Christendom.” Others there were on the shore who shouted insults,
taunts, and challenges to all the Frenchmen alive; for with England at
the bidding of the Emperor, the poorest beggar in Spain knew that France
was powerless against him. The slight swell that at first somewhat upset
unaccustomed stomachs, was succeeded on the morning of Saturday by a dead
calm and a motionless sea, which, whilst it comforted the landsmen, made
the seamen look blank; for, as they said, it might delay the fleet for a
month. But the next day, Sunday, a delightful fair wind sprang up, and
the long trail of vessels stretched across the tranquil Bay until Ushant,
the land of the enemy, loomed up to starboard on Monday afternoon. On
Wednesday morning in the Channel a fleet of galleons was sighted, which
it was feared might be Frenchmen, but which turned out to be the Flemish
escort sent by the Emperor, with several ships of the English navy. Thus
accompanied, the Spaniards sailed up to Southampton Water on Thursday,
19th July, and at four o’clock in the afternoon anchored amidst the royal
salute from the thirty English and Flemish ships assembled to receive
the Queen’s new Consort.[43]
Things had not been going very smoothly in England in the meanwhile.
Mary’s Council was profoundly disunited, Paget and the Chancellor, Bishop
Gardiner of Winchester, being at bitter feud with each other; and Mary
herself was angry and distrustful with Gardiner and his adherents, who,
she feared, quite without reason, were secretly favouring Elizabeth
and the Wyatt prisoners. On one occasion, late in March, a number of
members of the Council, even Paget being amongst them out of enmity to
Gardiner, took the bold course of entering the Queen’s oratory after
vespers, and told her that it was now time for clemency, and that
if any more noble blood was shed it would no longer be justice but
cruelty. The bloody-minded advice, they said, of others should not be
followed—meaning by this Gardiner, who was absent, and Renard, who was
never tired of urging severity upon Mary. The Queen, taken by surprise,
at once pardoned six of the gentlemen of Kent implicated in Wyatt’s
rising who had been condemned to death. Poor Mary was beset on every
side by warring counsels, with Renard telling her that for her own and
her husband’s safety she must strike hard, and her Council in revolt
at what they considered the cruelty inculcated by Gardiner, and at one
time she consented to Renard’s plan for a _coup d’état_ which should
practically make her supreme. The Lord Admiral (Howard), Pembroke, Derby,
Shrewsbury, and Sussex were to be employed in distant parts of the realm;
a reconciliation was to be effected between Gardiner and Paget, and the
whole business of State was to be managed by them, with the assistance
of Petre, the Earl of Arundel, and two others. Renard thought that
this solution was the only one which offered any security for Philip’s
safety, and when the Queen was induced by some of her Councillors to
pardon on Good Friday the Marquis of Northampton and eight more prisoners
implicated in the Wyatt rising, the Imperial ambassador roundly scolded
her for her ill-timed clemency. It was not by any means certain, he said,
that Philip would consent to come to England at all. The dissensions of
her Councillors were very dangerous, and it behoved her to consider very
carefully, since the security must be furnished by her, and the Prince
could not come armed, what a scandal and calamity it would be if anything
happened to him.[44] Mary wept at this, and said that “she would rather
never have been born than that any outrage should be committed on his
Highness, but she trusted to God that no such thing would occur. All her
Councillors would do their duty in receiving the Prince, and are in great
hopes of him. She would reform her Council and reduce it to six members;
she would do her best to incline her subjects to his Highness’s favour;
and she would take good care that the cases of Courtenay and Elizabeth
were finished before the Prince arrived.”[45]
[Illustration: WILLIAM LORD PAGET
FROM A PAINTING IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY]
Noailles and the French sympathisers, too, were still at work stirring
up alarm at the coming of the Spaniards. Here was a bridegroom, they
sneered, who was coming to win a wife, with a great army intended to
land on English soil and proclaim himself King in his own right, with
all his swarm of priests, friars, and inquisitors to oppress the English
people. Even the English sailors on Howard’s ships were so distrustful
of the Spaniards that when the Flemish crews of the Emperor’s fleet set
foot on shore during the time they awaited Philip’s arrival the visitors
were hustled and insulted everywhere, whilst the Lord Admiral himself had
openly mocked at their ships as mussel-shells.[46] Whether it be true,
as was asserted, that Howard committed the grave discourtesy of throwing
a shot across the bows of the Prince’s fleet to compel a salute to the
English flag is doubtful, but it is certain that the feeling in the
country amongst high and low as the time went on was as strongly against
the Spanish bridegroom as ever.
During the months that passed between the formal betrothal in March and
the coming of Philip, Mary grew more and more impatient, railing at her
quarrelling Councillors, worried almost daily by Renard to hasten the
execution of Elizabeth and Courtenay, and a prey to frequent hysterical
attacks of wounded pride at what she considered the ungallant lack of
eagerness on the part of her new husband to join her. She grew more
faded and older with her anxiety, and this increased her distress,[47]
for Elizabeth was young and beautiful, and the Queen knew that the love
of the people for her was growing with the dread of Spanish Catholic
intolerance. And yet the majority of the Council, not to mention the
Parliament that was sitting, would never sanction the sacrifice of the
Princess at the instance of the Imperial ambassador; and even the Lord
Admiral and his fleet were suspected of a design to declare against the
Queen unless his cousin, Princess Elizabeth, was well treated. Renard’s
letters of the time reflect the distracted condition of affairs from
day to day, no man knowing in which direction future safety or ruin
to him might be encountered. “The Queen is reduced to such a state of
perplexity that she is at a loss whose advice to adopt, knowing well
that all is being done in favour of Lady Elizabeth.” Scurrilous ballads
were flung about in public places, even in the Queen’s palace, bitterly
lampooning the unhappy Mary and her lagging Spanish bridegroom. To make
matters worse, when the French ambassador, Noailles, who was known to
be the principal fomenter of all this trouble, went to take leave of
Mary at Whitehall the day before she set out on her gradual approach to
the coast to meet Philip at the end of May, an open wrangle took place
between them, and the ambassador in a rage threatened to leave England
immediately—a threat not at all distasteful to the Imperialists, because
it brought nearer what they aimed at before all things—the breaking out
of hostilities between England and France.
By slow stages Mary travelled through the latter half of June and early
July from Richmond by Oatlands and Farnham to Winchester, where she
arrived two days after Philip had landed at Southampton. As Philip had
truly said, this was no romantic love voyage that he was making, but a
deliberate sacrifice of all his personal tastes and wishes for the sake
of overwhelming political expediency. No effort was to be spared to gain
England to the side of Spain against France, and Philip deliberately laid
himself out to please. On his famous voyage to stay with his father in
Flanders some years before, his cold hauteur and lack of expansiveness
had quite alienated the Germans and Flemings from him. His grave young
face, his prim demeanour, his sober garments, his rigid abstemiousness
in eating and drinking, and his distaste for the martial amusements of
the time, were all foreign to the rough vitality of the Teutons; and
Renard and the Emperor had warned the Prince that he must not repeat
his mistake, but conform to English customs and learn at least some
English words. The Spaniards of his train were enjoined also “to behave
themselves according to English fashion, and to be modest in their
bearing, trusting that your Highness, with your accustomed kindness,
will make much of them.”[48] And the Emperor, desirous of avoiding all
occasion for dissension, writes to his son (1st April, 1554): “They tell
me that some married women are going with their husbands in your company.
I think they will be more difficult to govern and keep friends with the
English women than even soldiers would be. You had better see whether
it would not be wiser to send them here [to Flanders] until affairs in
England are more settled.”[49]
Even Philip’s enemies, the Venetians, testified to the change of
his demeanour during his stay in England; and Soriano, the outgoing
ambassador, said that from that time forward, even in Spain, his gentle
courtesy and kindness were continued habitually, whilst Michaeli, the
new Venetian ambassador, who was the staunch ally of Noailles, was
emphatic in his testimony of Philip’s affability in England, and says
that his conduct towards his wife was such as to make any woman love
him: “for in truth no one in the world could have been a better or more
affectionate husband.” Yet another Venetian envoy, Damula, accredited
to the Emperor, wrote that on disembarking in England the Prince was
“remarked by everybody for his graciousness, without any stiffness or
assumption of royal ceremony, mixing with the courtiers rather as a
comrade than as a king.” Certain it is, with public opinion in England
strongly unfavourable and in a perfect panic of apprehension, Philip’s
tact and graciousness to a great extent overcame the prejudice against
him, and he became in a few months personally quite popular, whilst he
contrived almost immediately to gain his wife’s devoted affection. The
over-coloured picture of Philip as a trembling, seasick creature,[50]
in daily fear of poison, which Froude drew from the letters of Noailles
and the account of the Venetian, Baoardo, needs much modification to be
near the impartial truth; for though, as we have seen, Philip looked
upon the marriage as a sacrifice to reasons of State, as undoubtedly it
was, he bore his cross gaily and like a well-bred gentleman. If he had
done otherwise, indeed, as he was quite clever enough to recognise, the
sacrifice itself would have been useless.
From the hour of his arrival in Southampton Water, two o’clock in the
afternoon of Thursday, 19th July, until after breakfast the next day,
Philip remained on board the _Espiritu Santo_ at anchor, whilst the
salutes of the ships and forts thundered out their welcome; state barges
brought the English and Flemish Lord Admirals to visit the Prince, and
the Marquis of las Navas, Figueroa, the Emperor’s special ambassador, and
several high English nobles, came to pay their respects to the new king.
After breakfast on the 20th July, Howard’s state galley came alongside
the _Espiritu Santo_, and from it climbed to the deck the Lord Admiral
and a little group of English nobles—Arundel, Derby, and Shrewsbury—with
Sir John Williams, to whom Philip at once handed the white wand of
Chamberlain. The Prince stood upon the high deck, cap in hand and with
smiling face, to receive them, and after they had been presented to
the principal grandees the English nobles led the Prince to the barge,
followed by the Duke of Alba, with his lean, dark face and long, grizzled
beard; Count de Feria, with his raven hair and flashing eyes; Ruy Gomez,
Philip’s dearest friend, suave and imperturbable; Pescara, Egmont, Horn,
and a dozen other high courtiers, Spaniards and Flemings. No permission
was given to the other courtiers to land until the Prince’s barge touched
the shore, whilst no soldier or man-at-arms was allowed to land at all
on pain of death, for Philip dared not offend English feeling in this
matter, and he had learnt from his father that the fortune of war had
been against him, and he needed every man-at-arms at once in Flanders.[51]
As the gaily dressed oarsmen rapidly forced the great gilded galley
through the smooth water to the shore, a little ceremony was performed
under the stern canopy. The Earl of Arundel and Sir John Williams as a
commission from the Queen besought permission to invest the Prince with
the Order of the Garter; and Williams fastened the gilt ligature around
his leg, whilst Arundel placed upon his breast a glittering pendant rose
and George. As Philip stepped upon English soil for the first time,
thirty nobles and gentlemen of the Queen’s Court did him reverence, and
Sir Anthony Browne, leading a beautiful white hackney caparisoned in
crimson velvet and gold, announced himself in a Latin speech as the new
Consort’s master of the horse. The Prince thanked the new grand equerry,
but replied that, as the distance was short, he would walk on foot to
the house prepared for him. But this he was told was not in accordance
with English etiquette, and without more ado Browne, lifting him up in
his arms, placed him in the saddle, and then, humbly kissing the golden
stirrups, walked bare-headed by his master’s side. With crowds of gaily
clad English and Spanish courtiers preceding him, Philip passed thus
through the curious townsfolk to the Church of Holy Rood. He must have
looked an impressive figure, with his dapper, erect bearing, his yellow,
curly beard and close-cropped fair head, dressed, as he was, in black
velvet and silver, hung all about with massive gold chains and with
glittering precious stones in his velvet cap, upon breast, neck, and
wrists. Browne himself was no unworthy company for his Prince, for he too
was garbed in a rich suit of black velvet entirely covered with fine gold
embroidery, with a surcoat of the same, of which the long, hanging false
sleeves were lined with cloth of silver.
After a brief service of thanksgiving, Philip was taken to the house
destined for his reception. The English guards and archers on duty
and a crowd of English household servitors had been dressed by Mary’s
directions in the red-and-yellow livery of Spain; and when Philip
entered the rooms prepared for him, he found that here, too, his wife’s
thoughtful prevision had been exercised; for the appointments and
furniture were sumptuous, and upon the walls there hung royal draperies
of gold-embroidered damask.[52] To the assembled English nobles Philip
then delivered a dignified speech in Latin, saying that he had left
his own land not to augment his possessions or his power, of which he
had sufficient, but because God had called him to marry their Queen,
with whom he intended to live here in harmony; and he promised his
hearers that if they were faithful to her and to him, “he would be to
them a right good and loving prince.” He was from the first all smiles
and graciousness to the English, who were, indeed, agreeably surprised
at his amiability when after his private supper he came out into the
presence chamber and chatted unaffectedly and gaily with the gentlemen
there. To bluff Lord Admiral Howard he said that he had come to England
for his wedding unprovided with garb sufficiently sumptuous to do honour
to their Queen, but he hoped that the velvet horse-cloth of the hackney
the Queen had sent him might serve him to make a splendid vestment withal.
The pledging of the company after supper in a draught of English
beer, which the partial view of Froude presented as a repellant and
unwilling concession, was a perfectly natural part of the whole of
Philip’s behaviour. He had come to win the English by affability, and
he was determined as much as possible to conform to English prejudices
and to impress upon his Spanish followers the need for their doing
likewise. Even the enemy, who records the action, does not hint at any
demonstration of dislike or reluctance on the part of Philip to the
politic course he took. So thoroughly, indeed, did he act up to his
policy, that before he left Southampton his Spanish attendants were
all scowling and grumbling in spite and jealousy that their Prince was
preferring Englishmen to them, and that his service and safety were
placed in the hands of foreigners to the exclusion of his own people.
Though Philip had great ends to serve in drinking beer and sitting out
gargantuan English feasts, at which his proud frugal countrymen scoffed,
to the courtiers who accompanied him from Spain, it was as gall and
wormwood to see the greatest Prince in Christendom thus curry favour
with these rough islanders, whom they regarded as inferiors; and when,
on Saturday, the Spaniards were all ordered to leave the church at
Southampton before the service was over, in order that the Prince might
come out attended only by Englishmen, they broke out into almost open
protest, particularly when, as the rain was coming down in torrents and
the Prince was without cape or hat, he borrowed the garments from an
Englishman near him rather than from a Spaniard, to go the few yards from
the church to his lodging.
The three hundred houses of which Southampton consisted were already
crammed to overflowing with Philip’s great train of courtiers and four
hundred servants, but every hour the crowd in the little port grew as
the neighbouring gentry, with their followers, rode in to honour their
new King in accordance with Queen Mary’s orders. Nor was this all, for
early on Saturday morning the Earl of Pembroke came with an escort for
the Prince of two hundred English gentlemen in black velvet and gold
chains, and three hundred more in scarlet, all splendidly mounted. In
return for this, Philip sent Egmont to the Queen with thanks and loving
messages. Half way to Winchester Egmont met a great train coming towards
him, escorting the Lord Chancellor, Bishop Gardiner, bearing from his
Sovereign a valuable ring to her spouse. Gardiner had done his best to
prevent the match, and when that had proved impossible, he had cleverly
minimised its disadvantages from an English point of view, so that he was
far from being _persona grata_ to Renard and the Spaniards. But for weeks
past he had been in hourly danger of ruin from the cabals against him
and the distrust of the Queen; and he now sought safety in an apparent
cordiality towards the Spanish marriage, an attitude which Philip repaid
by treating him with almost excessive deference. The next day (Sunday),
in the torrential rain, the favourite Ruy Gomez rode to Winchester with
another beautiful ring for Mary, and the Lords of the Council and a
host of other nobles came in to salute Philip, who, after rising late,
dined and supped in public for the first time in England. To the rage
of the Spaniards, his English household served him; though the proudest
of his grandees, the Duke of Alba, was allowed unofficially to hand him
the napkin.[53] “We are of no more use here, and are simply vagabonds.
We should be better employed in serving in the war, for they make us
pay here twenty times what a thing is worth,” grumbled one of Philip’s
gentlemen-in-waiting, who fairly represented the general feeling amongst
them, even on the first days of their arrival in England.
Before Philip started on Monday afternoon for Winchester, better news
came from the Emperor. The French had not followed up their victory at
Marienburg, and the six hundred Spanish jennets which had come in the
fleet, with Philip’s own horses, might now be landed.[54] The anxious
Queen, nevertheless, continued to send fresh supplies of splendidly
caparisoned horses for Philip’s use; and when, in a perfect deluge
of rain, at two o’clock in the afternoon the Prince started out to
join his bride in the ancient city seven miles away, a train of three
thousand magnificently accoutred horsemen clattered in his train. With
the exception of some fifteen of the highest Spanish nobles, who rode
close around the Prince—Alba, Medina-Celi, Feria, and their like—Philip’s
strong bodyguard was formed of English men-at-arms dressed in Spanish
colours, much to the jealousy of the Spanish guard still cooped up in
the pestilential ships. On the road six hundred more English gentlemen
in black velvet and gold met the cavalcade and joined it. Then, nearer
Winchester, six of the Queen’s pages, dressed in crimson brocade and
cloth of gold, were encountered with a herald bringing for the Prince six
more beautiful steeds as a present from their mistress. The malicious
Venetian tells a story embellished by Froude of a breathless, galloping
messenger from the Queen, whose haste threw Philip and his Spanish
friends into a panic of fear; but everything that Baoardo wrote on
the subject of the marriage is suspect and cannot be accepted without
confirmation, of which in this case there is none.
When the Prince started from Southampton, he wore a surcoat of black
velvet adorned with diamonds, and doublet and trunks of white satin
embroidered with gold. But this delicate finery, though covered by a
thick red felt cloak, was wet through before he arrived at Winchester;
and a halt was made at the beautiful hospital of Saint Cross to enable
a change of garments to be donned, the fresh suit consisting of a
black velvet surcoat trimmed with gold bugles, and under-garments of
white velvet and gold. Thus bedizened he entered the ancient gateway,
past kneeling mayor and aldermen, and through silent, gaping crowds of
townsfolk, direct to the splendid cathedral, the shrine of England’s
ancient Kings. A little group of mitred bishops stood before the great
west door, crosses raised and censers swinging; and in solemn procession
to the high altar they led beneath a velvet canopy this slim, erect,
little man with fair face and yellow hair, whom they and their like
regarded as God’s chosen instrument to undo the impious work of Henry and
of Somerset.