CHAPTER IV

1555-1558

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

Renard had been right in his prediction. The moment that the restraining

presence of Philip was removed from England the ecclesiastics carried

things with a higher hand than ever.[103] Not only did the fires to burn

heretics increase in number, but proposals were made in the Council

to resume possession for the Church of the alienated first-fruits and

tithes, as well as the benefices in lay hands. The minutes of the

discussion were sent to Philip in Flanders with the report of the

publication of the Bull confirming the possession by private people of

the confiscated monastery and Church lands. To the latter Philip gives

his readiest acquiescence; but for the proposal to restore the dues

to the possession of the Church he has nothing but doubt and evasion.

The question, he says, should be maturely discussed by eight selected

Councillors, who should report to him before anything decisive is done,

and he warns them that in the forthcoming Parliament nothing must be

proposed without his prior consent. So, also, in the matter of the

English Navy. The Council reported to him that the ships were mostly

unseaworthy and should be brought into the Thames for repair, whilst

the few good vessels should be reinforced and stationed between Dover

and Calais. There was nothing that Philip needed more than that the

French should be held in check in the Channel, and he is emphatic in his

endorsement of the Council’s suggestion. “England’s chief defence depends

upon its Navy being always ready to defend the realm against invasion,

so that it is right that the ships should not only be fit for sea but

instantly available.... The vessels ought to be stationed at Portsmouth,

where they can much more easily be brought into service.” That Philip had

his own interests in mind quite as much as those of England in the matter

is seen by what follows. “The King is the more inclined to this course,

as the Emperor has decided to sail for Spain about the end of October ...

and has expressed a wish that twelve or fourteen English ships should

escort him beyond Ushant. This makes the King more anxious that these

ships should be ready and in excellent order; so that, besides other

necessary uses, they may go upon this service, which will be especially

grateful to his Highness.”[104]

Mary, it will be seen, counted for nothing. The sole object in view was

Philip’s interests, and, although decently cloaked with his usual bland

professions of his desire to serve England, everything he did at this

time was directed to using the country for his ends whilst his wife

lived. After that he would have to deal with a new state of affairs.

Another instance of the postponement of English interests for his

benefit is seen in the delay in summoning Parliament until after he had

left England. The sole object of the session was to raise money. Mary’s

Government was in the deepest penury. Extravagance, corruption, and

demoralisation existed everywhere in the administration; but pressing as

was the need for funds, Philip could not face the certain unpopularity

that would have fallen upon him if the demand for large taxation before

his departure had given a pretext to the suspicious English for the

belief that the money was being raised for him.

In great state Mary, with Pole by her side, proceeded from St. James’s

Palace in a sort of throne-litter on the 21st October, 1555, to open

Parliament at Westminster, and Gardiner as Lord Chancellor, now a dying

man, appealed in the Queen’s name for liberal supplies to conduct the

business of the nation. It was his last effort, and though Parliament

voted a million crowns, to be paid in two years, the Chancellor took

no further share in public business, dying three weeks after at

Whitehall, whither he was carried from the Parliament Chamber. The

death of Gardiner was an irreparable loss to Mary. The man had many

faults; he was arrogant, unscrupulous, and violent, but he was a bold

and experienced statesman, who kept his shifty, greedy colleagues in

something approaching subjection; and he was determined to prevent, if

he could, either of the great Continental rivals from obtaining control

of English policy for their ends. He had opposed the Spanish match as

long as opposition might have prevented it; but when it was effected

he minimised its disadvantages and never allowed either the Queen or

Philip to subordinate English interests to those of others. He was as

unpopular with the French faction as he was with the Spanish, and his

death left the greedy cliques of Councillors, of whom Paget was the

most active and corrupt, most of them bribed by one or both rivals, to

wrangle uncontrolled in the interests of their paymasters or their own,

with little thought for England. Pole had lost touch of English politics,

for he was, to all intents and purposes, an Italian ecclesiastic, with

a first thought for his papal mission. He lived in the Palace during

Philip’s absence, and every day solemnly prayed with Mary for the King’s

safe return; but he had refused to act as leading political Councillor,

and was only consulted, as the Queen was, on subjects of high importance

or upon which the Councillors differed. He, like the Queen, undoubtedly

meant well by England; but, like her also, his views were exalted and

unpractical, and thenceforward there was little restraining power upon

the Council, except such as could be exerted by Philip, far away in

Flanders and overwhelmed with his own affairs.

Philip had found his father in the last stage of mental and physical

depression, and soon after the son arrived from England, on the 25th

October, 1555, Charles V., in one of the most dramatic scenes in

history, surrendered to him the sovereignty of the land of his birth, his

beloved Flanders. This was soon followed by the abandonment of the rest

of his crowns; and Philip, in January, 1556, found himself monarch of all

the vast inheritance of Burgundy and Spain, whilst his uncle Ferdinand

took the exalted but powerless crown of the Empire. Almost simultaneously

with Philip’s accession to the Spanish Crown the Emperor, desirous above

all things of leaving his son at peace, brought the long-drawn peace

negotiations to an end by signing a five years’ truce at Vaucelles with

his rival, France. England was thus for a short time relieved from the

dread of being drawn into the war to please the King Consort.

In the meanwhile, Mary had been fretting and pining for her absent

husband. He had promised her faithfully to return in a month, but that,

of course, was out of the question. Stories came to her, also, that he

was enjoying himself there with ladies younger than herself, not wisely

but too well for the faithful spouse of so saintly a wife. “This has

so much upset her that in conversation with one of her most intimate

friends she said that if it should so happen that the King never came

back, notwithstanding all her efforts to recall him, she must put up

with living the rest of her life without the company of a man, as she

had done before her marriage, and with such patience as she could. This

gives food for the reflection that in order to persuade him to return

the sooner she will make incredible efforts in this Parliament in his

favour.”[105] Philip’s revenge for his enforced good behaviour in

England, indeed, almost alarmed the Emperor. For the only time in his

life the King Consort now became dissipated, carrying on vulgar intrigues

and scouring the streets of Brussels in disguise in search of adventure.

News came to Mary that he had fallen ill, though there was nothing

the matter with him but the effects of too much gaiety, and a special

English courier sent by the anxious Queen to learn the truth with regard

to his health was received by Philip in Brussels in December, 1555.

The King sent reassuring news to his wife with affectionate greetings,

and a faithful promise to go over to England at once, and the English

messenger, overjoyed at the good tidings he bore, promised the Spanish

courtiers that he would not damp the Queen’s delight by telling her of

her husband’s high jinks, “as she was so easily upset, and was so anxious

about him that it would afflict her too much.” For a few days after she

got Philip’s message Mary lived in a heaven of anticipation, but, alas!

orders came anon that the King’s Spanish household in England was to

make ready to depart, and this cast her into despair, for she believed

it portended Philip’s own return to Spain. The English people, unlike

their Queen, were rejoiced at the departure of the Spaniards, and as they

went on their way to Dover followed them with reviling and insults, for

Philip’s new dignity had in no way increased the popularity of himself

and his countrymen in Spain, because it was feared that when the war

broke out again with France, as it evidently soon would, his position

as King Consort of England and Sovereign of Flanders would make it

impossible for the English to keep out of the conflict.

One of Mary’s baits to draw Philip back to her was to persuade her

Council to consent to his coronation in England. From the first both

Philip and his father had laid great stress upon this, but the successive

English Parliaments, and even the English Council, had vetoed it. Now

that the strongest man who opposed it was dead, Philip urged his wife to

press the proposal again, certain that she would do so, if possible, in

order to bring him to London, if for no other reason; but Mary had to

face for the first time a Parliament of some spirit and independence,

consisting largely of gentry, and she wrote to her husband saying that

she did not dare to propose his coronation yet, as so many disaffected

members had been returned. Noailles was busy inciting opposition in

Parliament, and he noted with glee that now that the King had gone people

spoke more freely about him than ever. Another demand was repeated by

Philip to his wife, namely, that she should join him in the war with

France.[106] Mary, through an envoy of Cardinal Pole, was obliged to

tell her husband that she was surrounded by people whom she could not

trust, that the nation was already unquiet, if not disaffected, and that

any attempt to draw England into the war at present might cost her her

crown. But she ended with another earnest prayer that he would return

to her, and all might then be well. Once more Philip promised to come

immediately, and the English fleet was made ready to receive him at

Calais; but the truce of Vaucelles, already mentioned, for the next few

months made Philip’s need less pressing, and he came not.

Gradually the centre of interest in English politics was changing from

Mary to her sister Elizabeth. Notwithstanding the Queen’s continued

assertion of hope that she yet might become a mother if Philip would

return to England again, every one but the deluded lady herself had now

abandoned such a hope. By the will of Henry VIII., which Mary did not

dare to alter, Elizabeth was the next heir. The Princess was idolised by

the people, and although she was to all appearance a devout Catholic,

the Reform party and the friends of France looked towards her as their

leader. Paget was more than suspected of intriguing in her favour, for he

was now receiving French pay; her kinsman, Lord William Howard, treated

her, to Mary’s anger, almost as a queen already; and other Councillors,

uncertain of the future, were unblushingly hedging in her favour. When

Philip left England he specially commended the Princess to the kindness

of the Queen; and according to Noailles, his chamberlain in England, Don

Diego de Geneda, with the other Spanish courtiers, paid marked attention

to her, visiting her in her apartments at Greenwich during her stay there

every day. Geneda appears, indeed, to have secretly offered to Elizabeth

Philip’s ten-year-old son as a husband, but the Princess again took

refuge behind her impenetrable reserve. She was determined, she said,

neither to marry nor to leave the country.[107]

The Spanish attempts to win Elizabeth were watched closely by Noailles,

as were the suspected intentions of the Queen in her disfavour whilst

Parliament was sitting. Mary, as we have seen, however, found the newly

elected Commons so stout and outspoken that she was afraid to advance

any of her dearly cherished designs to them, and hastened to dissolve

them in December, clapping some of the bolder members into prison for

speaking too freely. The group of English exiles still in France were

continuing to demand fresh help to aid their disaffected brothers in

England, and in the circumstances it is not surprising that Noailles and

his master should consider the juncture a favourable one for making a

clean sweep of Mary and the Spanish interest in England. Courtenay, in

Italy, was secretly warned to hold himself in readiness, but this was

only a matter of precaution, for poor Courtenay was in the hands of the

enemy and already a dead force. The principal card by which Noailles

hoped to win the game for France was Elizabeth, now living quietly

and devoutly at Hatfield, surrounded by servants upon whom she could

depend. Through a French agent named Bertheville Noailles approached a

number of disaffected gentlemen, several of them members of the late

Parliament, from Devonshire; and Sir Henry Dudley, Sir Anthony Kingston,

Sir William Peckham, Ashton, Daniel, the two Tremaynes, and others,

agreed to proclaim Elizabeth, expel or otherwise dispose of Mary, marry

the new Queen to Courtenay, and free the country finally from the Spanish

nightmare. The aid of France was, of course, a necessary condition

of success; but when the moment for action came Henry II. had just

signed the truce of Vaucelles, and he counselled prudence and a waiting

policy, knowing that the blow might be more effectually dealt when the

inevitable war recommenced. That Elizabeth was at least cognisant that

something was afoot is evident from Montmorenci’s letter to Noailles

of 7th February, 1556 (Ambassades, vol. v.), in which he says: “And,

above all, prevent Madam Elizabeth from moving in the slightest degree

to undertake what you say; for if she do it will spoil everything and

prevent the fruition of their designs, which must be deferred until a

good opportunity offers.”

The French Embassy in London became the rallying-point for treason

against Mary; crowds of disaffected Englishmen begged for means of

joining Dudley, who had gone to France, and there with French aid to

organise a descent upon England simultaneous with a rising at Court.

Noailles himself was an eager conspirator, but the French Government

advised delay, and the ambassador was obliged to temporise. The

conspirators were in no mood now for half-measures, for the country

was growing indignant at the religious persecutions and the unfounded

belief that Mary was impoverishing her country by sending out money to

her Spanish husband, and it was determined by the conspirators to act

at once. Sir Anthony Kingston, with the Devonshire men, was to march

to London, raising the country on the way; the Captain of the Isle of

Wight, Uvedale, was to place the island at the disposal of the English

refugees from France, whilst Heneage and other courtiers undertook to

raise London, pillage the treasury, and proclaim Elizabeth Queen. Pole

always distrusted Elizabeth, even in her most submissive and Catholic

moods; and, thanks to a spy, he had already been informed of the whole

plan of the conspirators; whilst Wotton, the English ambassador in

France, had kept the English Council well informed of the movements

and gossip of the English refugees. Just before the time fixed for the

rising, therefore, the hand of the Council came down heavily upon the

conspirators, and by the end of March all the principals found themselves

behind the bars, most of them on the way to the scaffold.

There was no direct evidence of Elizabeth’s guilt—she had taken good care

of that; but Mary and Philip were well aware that she was the person

to supplant them, and they determined, if possible, to remove her from

future temptation. The idea at first was to send her to Flanders or

Spain, with or without her consent; and this probably would have been

done but for the efforts of Pole’s secretary, the Abbé of St. Salut, a

Piedmontese, who had been gained over to the French side, and convinced

the Cardinal of the danger to England of thus handing the heiress to the

Crown to the keeping of Spaniards. As an alternative Mary determined

to search Hatfield House, arrest her sister’s confidential servants,

and place the Princess herself under arrest. Protestant books and

seditious publications against the King and Queen were discovered in a

hiding-place, and some of her household, when pressed in the Tower, gave

evidence seriously implicating Elizabeth herself. Again her fate trembled

in the balance. To carry her to the Tower or to deal with her as a rebel

might precipitate a rising in London, where she was greatly beloved; to

send her to Spain might be to perpetuate the hold of Philip upon the

country, and not even Pole wished for that. So in her perplexity, whilst

guarding Elizabeth straitly, Mary begged her absent husband’s direction.

Philip’s need for England’s co-operation was greater than ever, for he

was faced with a new formidable coalition of France, the Pope, and the

Turk against him, sworn to crush him finally; and he knew that his wife

was failing. To drive Elizabeth into the hands of the French now would

be impolitic, and for him policy was everything. So Mary was enjoined to

treat her sister gently, to release her from arrest, and to assure her

of future favour. Two members of the Council went to Hatfield with the

Queen’s message. Her Majesty did not believe the allegations against her

sister, they said, and so long as the latter was obedient and loyal she

would find that, very far from being distrusted, she would be beloved and

esteemed; and this kind message was sealed by the gift of a costly ring.

But blandishments had no more influence over Elizabeth than threats. She

had begun to realise her power and importance, and declined to play the

game of Spain by going to Court and allowing herself to be cajoled into a

marriage to suit her brother-in-law.

In the meanwhile the English refugees in France, led by Sir Henry

Dudley, were more active than ever, and the reports of the spies with

regard to the intention of Henry II. kept Mary in a state of constant

alarm,[108] for invasion was threatened at a dozen distinct points on

the English coast, and her navy was in a deplorable condition. Some

check was afforded to the intrigues by the premature death of Courtenay

in September, but this rendered more necessary than ever assurance of

Elizabeth to the Spanish party. In response to a peremptory command

Elizabeth was fain at last, in November, 1556, to travel from Hatfield

to London. Attended by two hundred horsemen in her livery, her ride

through the capital to her Palace of Somerset House was like a triumphal

progress. Cheers and blessings resounded on all sides, for she knew

well how to draw the affectionate greeting of the common people: but

what was more surprising was that the courtiers and Councillors, even

Cardinal Pole, who had previously refused even to see her, hastened

to salute her, and on her appearance at her sister’s Court no honour

was considered sufficient for her.[109] What could it mean, asked her

French friends, this sudden favour? and perhaps the Princess herself was

puzzled at first. She had not, however, many days to wait. Philip had

written to Mary and the Council directing them to press urgently the

suit of Emmanuel Philibert of Savoy for Elizabeth’s hand, and Mary left

no effort untried to carry out her husband’s wishes.[110] Letter after

letter came from the King in Flanders expressing his profound interest in

the result, for the new Pope had united the enemies of Spain, Henry II.

had broken the truce of Vaucelles, and, beset on all hands, Philip saw

that unless he could depend upon England even after his wife’s death,

his cause could never prevail. But Elizabeth was as adamant. To all the

arguments and desires of her sister she would only give one reply: she

was determined not to marry.

In vain Mary, losing all patience, stormed and threatened. She would

deprive her of the succession in favour of Mary of Scotland, she would

have her proclaimed a bastard, she would send her to the Tower as a

traitor, and much else of the same sort, said the angry Queen; and

Elizabeth, alarmed at the violence, fell ill. She thought, too, of

seeking safety by flight to France, though from this she was dissuaded

by Noailles. But, ill and frightened though she was, she never wavered

for a moment in her refusal to marry Emmanuel Philibert at the bidding of

her brother-in-law; and after only five days’ stay in London she stolidly

went in disgrace again under guard to Hatfield.[111]

The intemperate violence of the Neapolitan Pope Paul IV. (Caraffa)

against Philip and the Spaniards, and the war which the Pontiff had

precipitated, made it more difficult than ever for Philip to persuade

the English to join him in the fight: for to war against the Papacy

seemed to Mary impious, and Pole, now in the place of the martyred

Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury as well as Papal Legate, strongly

discountenanced any such an attitude on the part of a country only just

reconciled to the Holy See. The Lord Chancellor, Heath, Archbishop of

York, and a devout Catholic, was shocked at the idea of entering into a

war, and above all a war without any provocation, against the apostolic

power; and Philip found now that not only were the common people in

England against his adventure, but the principal advisers of his wife,

and, for the first time, even his wife herself. She was willing, even

eager, to make war upon France; for she had her own grudge against a

Power which harboured her rebels and subsidised all the plots against

her; but to go to war with Henry was now also to oppose Rome, and the

main bone of contention was the Spanish dominion over Italy, which

concerned England not at all. She was, moreover, in the deepest poverty,

for, against Philip’s wish, she had insisted upon restoring to the Church

all the ecclesiastical property in the hands of the Government; and the

country itself was seething with discontent; so that, whatever her own

wishes were, she was perfectly powerless to help Philip as he wished with

men, arms, and ships for his purpose.

Alba, whom Philip had sent from England to represent him in Italy, was no

weakling, and, like his master, though a devout Catholic he looked upon

the Papacy as a mere instrument for Spain’s exaltation, and he promptly

answered Paul’s denunciations by marching in September, 1556, boldly

upon Rome, submitting town after town in the Pope’s dominions. In vain

Paul shrieked anathemas and flung defiance at the hated Spaniards, and

threatened with instant death any one who dared to speak of peace with

them. Guise with the French army hastened to relieve Rome from imminent

capture; and in the hope of delaying matters until he could arrive,

the Pope entered into negotiations with Alba for a forty days’ truce,

leaving the Spaniards in possession of most of the papal fortresses.

Guise and his army soon altered the aspect of affairs, and through the

summer of 1557 Alba and Guise fought out the quarrel of Spain and France

upon Italian papal soil, whilst on the frontiers of Flanders Emmanuel

Philibert was at close grips with Henry II. himself.

Now, if ever, was the time when the English connection might help Philip,

but it was obvious that unless he could exert his personal influence upon

Mary and her Councillors he could not hope to obtain it. So, at length,

in February, 1557, Philip, sorely pressed though he was, announced to

Mary his intention of visiting her again. The Queen’s joy at the news was

pathetic in its intensity, though Pole warned her not to build too much

upon a promise that had been broken so often before. She had been ill and

disconsolate with hope deferred, but the news of Philip’s coming gave her

new life, and she hurried to London from Hampton Court, visiting Pole at

Lambeth on the way, exerting all her influence to win him to her side.

Thenceforward for some weeks, whilst the King’s voyage was pending, the

English Council sat nearly night and day, and couriers hastened backwards

and forwards between London, Brussels, and Paris. The English refugees

in France had treacherously given to Henry II. much information about

the weakness and disaffection in the English fortresses of Calais and

Guisnes; and at the first news of Philip’s fresh visit to England the

French forces around Calais were increased, for it was evident now that

Mary would be dragged into the war, and her most vulnerable point of

attack was Calais.

Philip landed at Dover on the 18th March, 1557, and took horse with all

speed to Gravesend. At Canterbury he alighted to attend service at the

cathedral; but so hurriedly that he did not wait to take off his spurs.

This being against the rule, a young student was bold enough to claim

the forfeit, or fine: and the King smilingly emptied his purse of gold

in the youth’s cap before he rode on his way. Again his habitual haughty

frigidity was changed for the genial _bonhomie_ that he found suited

his purpose best in England. At every stage messengers from the Queen

met him, one of whom galloped back to her immediately with news of his

progress, and on his arrival at Greenwich poor forlorn Mary hailed him

with love unutterable. For two days he remained with her alone, draining,

as he formerly said, the chalice of his sacrifice to the dregs; and then

they passed through London together once more, she borne in a litter,

he riding by her side. His reception was not unfriendly by the people,

whom he tried to gain by his affability and moderation, though the fear

that war might be the result of his visit made them uneasy. So far as

the Councillors were concerned, they were now but feeble folk to stand

against him and the Queen; though Pole, the Pope’s legate, did not even

officially greet one who was in arms against the Papacy, and the Cardinal

departed as quickly as might be to his diocese, so as to be out of the

way whilst Philip was at Court.

But still, bribed though the Council was and however submissive the

Queen, the state of feeling in England was such as to make a declaration

of war against France a dangerous matter. A series of bad harvests, the

depreciation of the coinage, and the enclosure of the commons and parks

had reduced the country to a condition of the utmost misery. Money was

extremely scarce, and the idea of squandering large sums upon a foreign

war drove the distracted Council to despair, though Philip in the course

of many conferences with them urged it incessantly. The Councillors

admitted that, in accordance with the old treaty of 1543 between the

Emperor and Henry VIII.,[112] England might be called upon to provide an

armed contingent if Flanders were attacked by France: but Philip wanted

more than that, and to some extent he was successful, notwithstanding

that Archbishop Heath tearfully protested that the country was quite

unable to meet the necessary expenditure. It was at last arranged that

eight thousand English infantry should be raised for service and one

thousand cavalry, three thousand of the former to reinforce the English

fortresses in France, and the rest to be at Philip’s service for four

months, under the command of Lord Pembroke, Sir Thomas Cheyne, Lord

Bedford, and Lord Grey de Wilton, one-half the cost only to be borne by

England. But there was also a promise on the part of the Council to fit

out and man with six thousand soldiers the English fleet to hold the

Channel against the French. Upon one point the Council was firm: these

forces were simple auxiliaries contributed in accordance with the old

treaty, and must not entail a national war between England and France.

But this arrangement did not suit France better than it did her enemy.

If England was to join Philip in the war, she must be open to counter

attack and reprisals. But if England could strike indirectly so could

France, and by such means a national rupture might be precipitated

which would allow of a French invasion over the Scottish border and

the siege of the English fortresses in France. So again the English

Protestant exiles in France were feasted and made much of by Henry II.

They were a turbulent lot of young gallants whose brawls and adventures

had scandalised the French Court: but now they suddenly assumed a new

importance. Thomas Stafford, the nephew of Cardinal Pole, a cadet of his

family with no valid claims whatever, was the most hairbrained of the

crew, and took it into his head to pose as the rightful pretender to the

English Crown. Henry could not openly countenance such a pretension, but

Stafford was allowed to recruit men for his attempt. Frenchmen, Scots,

and discontented English, a motley rabble of lawless adventurers, flocked

to his standard at Rouen, in ignorance of their exact destination.

Sailing in two well-armed ships from Dieppe, he suddenly descended

upon Scarborough. Affairs were in so critical a condition in England

that anything might have happened, and Wotton, the English ambassador

in France, believed that if Thomas Stafford once secured a footing in

England he might draw to him all the discontented element, to Mary’s

undoing. Stafford, however, was not of the stuff from which successful

pretenders are made. He seized Scarborough Castle in April, whilst

Philip was still in England, and at once announced that he came to claim

the Crown and deliver the country from the yoke of the Spaniards, who

intended to rule it by force. But in a day or two the Catholic Earl of

Westmorland with his militia took him by surprise and Thomas Stafford’s

bubble burst before it was well inflated, greatly to Noailles’ scorn and

annoyance. The retribution for treason came swiftly, and before a month

was out the heads of the principal rebels had fallen on the block on

Tower Hill. But a gust of indignation passed over England at the attempt,

prompted as it had been by the French, and suddenly the idea of war with

France, the enemy of the Queen, became popular. Henry II. did his best

to explain away his complicity;[113] but Mary, transported with rage,

dismissed Noailles, and Philip was delighted to find that England was now

ready to join him nationally in a war against France.

On the 6th June heralds in London proclaimed hostilities, and Philip

for the first time, even at this eleventh hour, saw some return for the

sacrifice he had made in marrying the Queen of England. He hated war, and

his methods were essentially peaceful and diplomatic; but he knew that

his best chance of securing a durable peace was to exert his utmost power

whilst his control of English resources lasted, which it was evident

could not be very long, for the Queen’s declining health was plain now to

every one but herself, though she clung still tenaciously to her pathetic

dream of happy maternity. Satisfied with the results of his mission,

Philip rode on the 1st July, 1557, from Gravesend through Canterbury to

Dover. Mary would not leave him whilst he remained on English soil, and,

weak and ailing but happy with her new fallacious hope, she was carried

in a litter by her husband’s side to the coast. On the 3rd July she bade

him a last farewell, as he stepped upon the barge that was to carry him

to the waiting galleon, and then, with sorrow and satisfaction mingled,

she turned her back upon the sea and was carried to her desolate palace

at Greenwich.

The gentry of England, at all events, were ready to welcome the war with

France that gave them the taste of warlike adventure which they loved,

and the contingent to fight in Flanders was soon made ready, whilst the

Lord Admiral with his fleet of twenty-three ships held the Channel.

Philip’s General-in-Chief was his young cousin Emmanuel Philibert of

Savoy, who had an army of fifty thousand men under him ready for the

autumn campaign; whilst the French on the Flemish frontier, under

Constable Montmorenci, numbered less than half that strength, for the

flower of the French troops were under Guise in Italy, with difficulty

defending the Pope from the great Duke of Alba, and Emmanuel Philibert

opened his campaign as soon as the English arrived. By a series of rapid

and unexpected movements, which entirely misled the French, he suddenly

concentrated his attack upon the rich and important city of St. Quintin,

weakly garrisoned and in poor condition of defence. Montmorenci hurried

with his main army to relieve the fortress, and on the 10th August was

cleverly outflanked by Emmanuel Philibert; caught in a trap between a

stronger enemy and a morass, the French were utterly routed with a loss

of half their numbers, Montmorenci himself being captured, and the whole

force dispersed. Coligny with his tiny garrison in St. Quintin heroically

held out for a fortnight longer; but from the day of Montmorenci’s

defeat there was no force to prevent Philip from marching upon Paris and

crushing his enemy for good.[114] This was his chance, and he missed

it, as he did every great opportunity in his long life by that “prudent”

leaden foot of his which always lagged when it should have hastened. In

vain Savoy begged his permission to march on, and was refused, to the

indignant surprise of the old Emperor when he heard of it in his cloister

at Yuste.

Philip had been at Cambrai on the day of the battle, but when he saw

the awful sack and sacrilege after the surrender of St. Quintin he was

horrified at the sight. Te Deums were chanted, votive offerings of

unheard of richness were promised,[115] joy bells were rung in Flanders,

Spain, and England for the great victory; but Philip’s host moved no

further onward towards Paris. The German Schwartzreiters, mercenary

troops in Philip’s service, unpaid ruffians, held high revel in the

ruined town, burning and ravaging unchecked. The Earl of Bedford, writing

to Sir William Cecil from St. Quintin a few days after the surrender,

says that these rascals, “being masters of the King’s whole army, used

such force as well to the Spaniards, Italians, and other nations as unto

us, that there were none could enjoy nothing but themselves. They have

now shown such cruelty as the like hath not been seen for greediness.

The town by them was set afire, and a great piece of it burnt. Divers

were burnt in cellars, and were killed immediately; women and children

gave such pitiful cries that it would grieve any Christian heart.”

The Germans, discontented with their loot, quarrelled and deserted in

thousands, for Philip’s fatal deliberation had left them idle; the

English, sulky and unpaid, grumbled incessantly. Bedford reports that

“they are pinched with scarcity and divers have fallen sick”; and,

again, a month later: “Our General is sick of ague, our pay very slack,

and people grudge for want. I trust we shall speedily be discharged.”

The Spaniards asserted that the English had shown no stomach for the

fight before St. Quintin, and certainly they did not shine in it. Their

discontent at last became so pronounced that Philip, realising their

uselessness, and being, as usual, short of money, acceded to their

clamour to be allowed to return home at the end of the stipulated four

months of their service. Much was made of the King’s victory in London.

Mary and Pole congratulated him upon the signal mark of God’s favour.

Bonfires, free feasts, and official rejoicings were provided; but London

wanted to gain no victories for Spaniards, and refused to be glad.

Whilst Philip’s army was melting away in idleness Guise, realising

where the danger lay, quietly abandoned the Pope to the mercy of Alba,

and by forced marches hurried to the Flemish frontier. The intemperate

Pontiff was then obliged to make terms with Alba, who entered Rome, as

a pretended penitent instead of a conqueror, and once more the two

great antagonists were left to fight out their quarrel without papal

interference. Henry II. had long had his eye upon England’s important

foothold on France, the citadel and town of Calais. The English refugees

had exposed to him the weak points in its defence, it had been starved

and neglected both by Edward VI. and Mary; and the younger Noailles on

his way home when Mary had dismissed him, carefully scrutinised the

fortress and reported to the King that it might easily be captured.

Guise, on his hurried return from Italy, directed himself straight

towards the place and beleaguered it, capturing the Rysbank, the island

fort defending the harbour, on the first days of January, 1558. Philip

had long known that Calais was weakly held, and in many of his letters

to the Queen and Council he had urged that it should be effectively

reinforced. On Guise’s approach the King sent his favourite, the Count

de Feria, hurriedly to England to say how desperate the condition now

was with the Rysbank in the hands of Guise; but the preparations for

the voyage of so important a person as Feria took much time, and the

Queen in London learnt of the disaster immediately by a letter from Lord

Wentworth, the Governor of Calais.

Mary, still full of her renewed hope of maternity, which all but herself

knew was piteously fallacious, received the news courageously and set to

work to reinforce the town. Pembroke was ordered to raise five thousand

men and cross at once to Philip’s harbour of Dunkirk, whence Calais might

be reached by land. Unfortunately, the English town of Guisnes, near

Calais, was in as perilous a condition as Calais itself, and Lord Grey de

Wilton, the Commander, found himself, as he says, “clean cut off from

all aid and relief. I have looked for both out of England and Calais,

and know not how to have help by any means, either of men or victuals.

There resteth now none other way for the succour of Calais, but a power

of men out of England or from the King’s Majesty or both.”[116] Alas! the

King’s Majesty himself had now few fit troops to meet Guise’s veterans.

His demoralised army, scattered wide in winter quarters through Flanders,

were difficult to collect rapidly, and Lords Wentworth and Grey de Wilton

in vain sent daily beseeching letters to Philip to come to their aid, as

Guise pressed Calais and Guisnes more closely. Calais particularly was

crowded with traitors and enemies of the Spaniard, anxious to deliver

the place to the French; and, although the English troops repulsed one

attempt to storm the town on the 6th January, it cheerfully surrendered

to the besiegers two days later; and Guisnes fell with but little more

resistance directly afterwards.[117]

The news fell like an aerolite upon the English Queen and nation. The

possession of Calais had been regarded for centuries as the keystone to

England’s commercial prosperity and political importance in Europe, and

the surrender of the last foothold in France seemed a loss irreparable.

That it should have been lost in a war undertaken on behalf of the

Queen’s Spanish Consort, whilst he with a great though scattered force

was in the immediate neighbourhood, added bitterness to the humiliation;

and the Count de Feria, foreseeing the storm of anger that in England

would greet the news, tarried a day or two in Dunkirk rather than

cross the Channel with the sinister tidings. His first mission had

been to induce the English Council to send forces to defend Calais and

Guisnes, but he knew full well that behind this demand there was the

need for English forces again to aid his master in the coming campaign;

so, interpreting his instructions freely, he determined to proceed on

his journey and turn his request into one for troops to recover the

fortresses with the King’s help.

Feria arrived in London on the 26th January, 1558, and to his surprise he

found the people and the Queen quite changed in temper since he had left

them with the King six months before. There was no despondency anywhere

now; for though the blow had been a shrewd one it had aroused the spirit

of the nation. The Queen was like a lioness; for she was fighting now, as

she thought, poor soul, for the inheritance of her unborn offspring; and

she threatened to have the head of any Councillor of hers who dared to

talk of peace with France until she had recovered the towns her ancestors

had held for centuries. She would win them again, she said; her son would

be born, and she and Philip, triumphant and at peace, would live happily.

It was a dream, but it was shared, so far as concerned the recovery of

the English territory in France, by the nation at large, which was now

on its mettle; and clergy, gentry, and merchants opened their coffers,

melted their gold chains, and mortgaged their belongings to provide funds

for avenging English honour and protecting the English soil against the

foreigner.

The moment the news of the peril of Calais had reached Mary she

despatched the Earl of Sussex and her Controller, Sir R. Rochester, to

assure Philip that she would send the forces to defend or recover Calais

without loss of time. When both Calais and Guisnes had been surrendered,

however, it seemed better to Philip to curb somewhat the Queen’s ardour

in the matter. It was too early in the year for him to begin his regular

campaign, and it was obvious that without his powerful co-operation the

English troops alone would be unable to recapture the lost fortresses. So

the first letter written by the King to Feria after the arrival of the

latter in England was couched in the cool, prudent tone so characteristic

of him. The ambassador was to thank the Queen heartily for her goodwill

to send him the troops, even after Calais had been lost, but as his own

territories were not in present danger, “I do not wish the Queen to begin

yet to incur expense, especially as we shall have to spend a great deal

later in attempting to recover the ancient English territory. You will

therefore tell the Queen how highly I appreciate her affectionate regard

for my interests; but as I have now sufficient forces to hold my own I

hope she will countermand the sending of troops, and apply the money to

defending the English coast, which is of the greatest importance.”[118]

Before receiving this letter Feria saw Mary in the Palace of Greenwich on

the day he arrived, 26th January, 1558, and found her, as usual, eager to

serve Philip’s interests. Feria said he only wished that her Councillors

were as willing as she. She would, she said, summon the Council at once

that Feria might discuss matters with them; but as Parliament was sitting

it was Friday, 28th, before Feria and the resident ambassador, Figueroa,

met the Councillors in Cardinal Pole’s room. Feria had agreed with the

Queen as to the tone he should adopt with the Council. It was being

murmured in London, and even in the Council itself, that this misfortune

had fallen upon the nation because Philip had dragged it into the war;

and Mary urged upon Feria that he should anticipate any such talk as

that by saying at once that as Calais had been lost during a war which

the English had undertaken on Philip’s behalf, he considered it his duty

to help them to recover the fortress. The first need, however, he said,

was to ensure the coasts of England from attack. What did the Council

propose to do in the matter? Heath, who was the spokesman, was apologetic

and despondent. The nation was in dire danger and its resources were

very low: they agreed that defence of England must precede recovery of

the fortresses on the other side of the Channel, and thought it best not

to send across the hasty levies already collected at Dover. Feria, who

had seen the mob of recruits as he passed through Dover, quite agreed

with them. They had only been sent, said the Councillors apologetically,

because the Queen had insisted. As for the broad question of national

defence, they asked for time to consider what they proposed; and although

Feria and Mary urged expedition, three days passed before the Council,

headed by Heath, came in a body to Feria’s lodging and laid before him

their plan of campaign.

In a harangue full of honied words for Philip the Chancellor set forth

the poverty of the country, the need for a strong force on the Scottish

border to defend the north from a French incursion, the undefended

condition of Ireland, and, above all, the danger of the Isle of Wight

and Portsmouth, now that eighty French ships were collected at Dieppe

with, it was feared, hostile intent. What they proposed was to fit out

a hundred English vessels with fifty victualling smacks for service in

the Channel, carrying an army of some fifteen thousand soldiers, ready,

if Philip needed it, to land upon any spot on the northern French coast

as a diversion. They were in fear, too, of a league of Denmark and the

Free Cities to attack the northern coast of England in the interests of

France; and they knew of no other means of raising a force to defend that

part of the country than to beg the King to choose for them some good

German mercenary leader who would engage to come over in their service

with some three thousand Germans, to embark in Amsterdam for Newcastle.

When they had found the money for all this, they said, they did not see

how they could do more even to recover Calais.

These proposals, which had indeed been suggested first by the Queen and

Philip, were exactly those which suited the latter. Under the guise of

defending the English south coast a large English fleet and army would

be practically at his orders, to alarm and divert the French wherever

he needed. Lord William Howard,[119] the Lord Admiral, a great-uncle of

Elizabeth’s, and little in Philip’s favour, was by Feria’s intrigues

superseded by Clinton, who was his obedient servant. The great

difficulty, of course, was money. Everyday Feria urged the need for

raising large sums at once. Parliament was sitting, and it was believed

would vote liberal supplies in view of the national danger; and Mary

herself once complaisantly told Feria that she believed Parliament would

vote her a larger amount than had ever been granted to her father. “That

is not to the purpose,” replied Feria, “but to get all the money you want

in the circumstances.” The Earl of Sussex when in Flanders had given

the King an idea that the nobles in England might still be induced, as

Spanish nobles were, to supply feudal contingents of mounted men on the

Sovereign’s demand; but when Feria suggested this to the Queen she told

him flatly that all the nobles of England together would not contribute a

hundred horse.

The loss of Calais was unquestionably a serious blow to the prestige

of Mary. Already people were grumbling that this was what she and her

Spanish husband had brought the nation to. Here was this haughty Count

of Feria, too: what had he come over for but to carry some more English

money out of the country to feed Philip’s armies? This, of course, had

no foundation whatever in truth, but the mere whispering of it made

people stay away from the Catholic churches, and frown more sourly at

the persecutions than they had done before. So far from carrying English

money out, except to pay for the recruiting of the German mercenaries,

whom Philip all along, however, meant to use for his own purposes, the

Councillors to a man began dunning Feria for their unpaid Spanish

pensions;[120] for although the Spaniard scornfully complains of their

unwillingness to serve Philip’s interests first, they were all anxious

for his money. The fear of invasion, which was, in fact, very remote, was

industriously promoted by Feria and the Spaniards in order to keep the

English Council up to their determination in raising forces which might

be, and were, subsequently used by Philip for his own purposes when his

summer campaign opened. These forces, however, did not satisfy Philip,

who was somewhat chagrined to find that the English Council was so ready

to limit its efforts to the defence of the coasts, without insisting upon

the recovery of Calais. He had counted upon using the national anger at

the loss to bring when he most needed them a good English contingent

across the Channel to join his army, though the hasty levies in January

would have been worse than useless to him.

Both the King and Feria were impatient at the cumbrous English

constitutional way of raising money, and pestered poor Mary daily by word

and letter to obtain resources by other means. This she knew, and said,

was impossible in England, and might cost her her crown. One day Paget

came to Feria with a great plan to raise the vast sum of 800,000 crowns,

in addition to the parliamentary vote, and the Spaniards were all eager

to put it into practice; but when the time to discuss it seriously came,

Paget’s proposal, to Feria’s anger, reduced itself to a loan of £100,000

to be raised by Gresham in Antwerp and £80,000 to be borrowed from the

London bankers. All would have been well managed, grumbled Paget, if he

had the direction of affairs; and the other Councillors thereupon fell to

wrangling with him as to their responsibility. This was early in March,

1558, and Feria had quite lost patience with what he considered the

ineptitude of Mary’s advisers, which really meant their disinclination

to subordinate English interests entirely to the wishes of Philip and

his minister. From the sitting of the Council just referred to, Feria

and his colleague Figueroa went off in a rage to the Queen to: “complain

of the reply [about the money], and to warn her again of the danger in

which the country and she herself are, her Councillors being so inept

that, although they say that the country is not rich, they cannot devise

means even to raise sufficient money to defend themselves and recover the

prestige that has been lost. We dwelt much upon this, as much indeed as

we could; for the Queen was not fully aware of the poor service rendered

by the English contingent which you had with your army last year. She was

not even yet undeceived as to their not having been the first to enter

St. Quintin until yesterday, we told her amongst other things. She was

much grieved and promised that she would press them again about the money

at Greenwich, where she will go to-day. Her one thought is that your

Majesty should come to her again. She seems still to believe that she

is pregnant, though she does not say so openly. She promises me to send

Gresham to Antwerp at once to borrow the £100,000 they say have arranged.

I think if that be the case, it would be easy to get them to borrow

another £100,000, though I have not pressed it until he is there.”[121]

Gresham’s instructions are dated two days after this letter was written,

12th March. He had previously been dismissed from his former post as

royal financial agent at Antwerp, and his reappointment was probably

owing to the fact that in the narrow condition of the national finances

he alone had sufficient authority on the Continental money market to

raise the funds required. He was to bargain for the loan of £100,000

that had been offered through one Germayn Scholl for one year, and to

ascertain what powder and other munitions of war could be obtained in

Flanders for English use.[122] Scholl was Gresham’s kinsman by marriage,

but the bargain does not seem to have been fully concluded, only £10,000

being obtained from that source,[123] Gresham remaining in Flanders

until the summer, spending much of the money he could raise in munitions

of war. He had been instructed to present letters of recommendation to

King Philip, and to acquaint him with all he did. But Gresham, who was

no admirer of the Spanish faction, appears to have been somewhat remiss

in paying court to the King, for he failed to mention anything about him

in his letters. Mary, who was always hankering for news of her husband,

began to get restive at the omission, and her Secretary, Boxall, writes

a private letter to Gresham in April hinting to him that he will make

things easier all round if he will pay more court to the King, as the

Queen asked about him. Gresham promptly took the hint and wrote a long

letter to Mary, saying that he had just seen King Philip at a monastery

outside Brussels, where he had passed Easter, “who is in right good

health as your Majestie’s own harte can desyre.”[124]

Whilst Gresham in Flanders was thus borrowing and spending money, Feria

was chafing at the lack of sympathetic activity in the Councillors in the

direction he desired. Writing to Philip in March, he says: “Before God,

I can do no more, Sire! I do not know what to make of these people. For,

believe me, your Majesty, from morning to night and from night to morning

they are changing their minds about everything, and do what I can it is

impossible for me to make them understand what a state they are in—the

worst, surely, that ever people were in before. If it were only for their

own sakes, I should like to leave them to the mercy of those who would

treat them as they deserve; but I am afraid that they will drag us after

them, as your Majesty knows. The Queen does, and says, all she can, and

she really has spirit and goodwill; but in all else there is nothing

but trouble. As for the Cardinal, he is a dead man; and although he has

plucked up a little with what they write to him every day from Italy

since the loss of Calais, he is not so warm as I should have liked to see

him. Of all the rest of them, I really do not know which is the worst

disposed to your interest. But I know that those whom you have favoured

most serve you the least.”[125]

Feria noticed that Mary grew ever thinner and more despondent. She slept

badly and was devoured with anxiety and yearning for her husband, whose

letters came to her so rarely. Both she and Pole, indeed, were now almost

negligible forces; and Feria began to plot with a few of the Councillors

upon whom he could depend to take into his own hands practically the

direction of affairs. How it was managed is well set forth in a letter

of his to the King of 1st May, 1558. He has, he says, been able to hold

a private conference with Privy Seal (Bedford) and the Admiral (Clinton)

“about that enterprise they had proposed to me, and also to press them

about the land armaments.” They were of opinion that they could raise a

land army, and that the recovery of Calais would not be so difficult as

people imagined. “They say that they could get together 12,000 English

and German infantry, 3,000 horse (2,000 Germans and 1,000 English),

2,000 English pioneers, and if your Majesty did not think well of the

_enterprise_ they might be used for other purposes. I did not dwell so

much upon this point as upon getting the force together. They think, and

quite rightly, that it is useless to deal with this matter with more

than four or five persons who will be in favour of it; and they propose

besides themselves Jerningham, the Master of the Rolls, who was the

Solicitor-General (Cordell), and the Controller (Rochester), although the

latter is a man who always raises difficulties to everything. I think

that these three will suit best for the purpose, as they are favoured by

the Queen.

“I know of no other way to remedy matters but this: that your Majesty

should write to the Queen saying that on mature deliberation you have

decided that the best course will be for her Majesty to raise these

troops, beginning with the money voted by Parliament: for as soon as the

people see your Majesties determined to avenge the loss of Calais you

believe that they will favour the enterprise, since no prince ever begins

a war with all the money in hand necessary to finish it. You might add

that nothing should be said about spending the Parliament money, but

that it should be entrusted to some person for the object in view. Paget

thinks that Bacon would be a fit person for this, and the Queen would

agree to him. Your Majesty should also write to her that the business

should be discussed with nobody but the five persons mentioned. Paget,

Clinton, myself, and Figueroa think that this is the last thing we can

do. Paget thought lately that Rutland would be the best man to command

this force, and we think that Clinton and the Vice-Admiral should conduct

the fleet. The fleet is now ready and is costing money with no profit.

Even if your Majesty does not think well to press the Queen about the

foregoing business you might send her instructions at once as to what she

is to do with this fleet.”[126]

It will be seen by this that the plan was to use every atom of the force

raised in England and with English money, not for the defence of the

country itself, which had been the first pretext for raising it, but

to send across the sea, either to aid in the recovery of Calais or,

at Philip’s option, for any other purpose he might choose, and that

similarly the fleet was to be placed at his disposal.[127] It is quite

plain from the way in which Feria writes of her that Mary was simply to

be told what to do by Philip, and that she was expected to do it without

demur. How completely she hung upon Philip’s words, and subordinated

everything to his wish, is seen in a paragraph in the same letter as

that quoted above from Feria to the King. A Swedish envoy had arrived in

England with an offer of marriage to Elizabeth from Prince Eric, the heir

to the crown. He had been already several days in London and had not even

asked audience of the Queen, though he had committed the gross breach of

propriety of going down to Hatfield and delivering the Prince’s letter

to Elizabeth before he saw Mary. The poor Queen was terribly upset at

this; and hearing that Feria was despatching a courier to Antwerp, she

feared that he was going to write to Philip about it. Sending for Feria

she with tears and reproaches upbraided him for his supposed intention,

and said that she herself was going to write to her husband telling him

all about it. “When the ambassador from Sweden first came,” writes Feria,

“she was in great trouble, fearing that your Majesty would blame her for

not having carried through that affair last year [_i.e._, the marriage of

Elizabeth with Savoy]. Since then, however, Madam Elizabeth has replied

that she will not marry; and the Queen is more tranquil, but she is

intensely impassioned in the matter; and one of the reasons for her grief

at the pregnancy having turned out fallacious is the fear that it will

cause you to press her in this other business [_i.e._, the marriage of

Elizabeth]. Both Figueroa and I think that your Majesty ought to do so

_apropos_ of the coming of this Swedish ambassador and the failure of

the pregnancy. But it is necessary that such pressure should not come at

the same time as the matter of the land armament, or it will upset the

business altogether. In short, Sire, I believe that the Queen will not

stand in the way of her [_i.e._, Elizabeth] being Queen if God does not

send you children.”[128]

Already Elizabeth’s sun was seen to be in the ascendant, and, regardless

of the feelings of her sister the Queen, it suited Spanish policy to

ensure her marriage, if possible, with a nominee dependent upon Philip.

How anxious Philip personally was not to lose touch of Elizabeth at this

juncture is seen in his reply at the end of May to a suggestion of Feria

that the latter should go to Hatfield and pay his respects to her before

he left England: “What you say about visiting Madam Elizabeth before you

depart appears to me to be very wise, for the reasons you point out,

and I am writing to the Queen, saying that I have ordered you to go.

You will act accordingly; and I have no doubt that when the Queen sees

the firmness with which I write on the subject she will consent.”[129]

Philip’s fiery and impetuous ambassador Feria went considerably beyond

his master in his high-handed dealing with the English Government; for

Philip’s methods were diplomatic and far-seeing, and his object was not

to ride roughshod over his wife’s country, as Feria would have done,

but to use its resources for his ends, as if without design, and to

perpetrate his hold upon it after his wife’s death.

Mary, still suffering from her usual indispositions, persuaded herself

in May that Philip was coming over to see her again. It was, as Feria

said, unreasonable; for Philip was overweighted with business, arranging

the summer campaigns and a thousand other things: but Mary, full of hope

again, caused herself to be carried to St. James’s to be ready to receive

her husband, and had horses and lodgings prepared for him from Dover to

Gravesend and an escort of ships at Dover to convey him across. Feria

told her blankly that the King was too busy to come, and again pressed

her about raising the land army to reinforce Philip in Flanders. He found

her less ready in the matter than he had hoped—“for the Cardinal and

Council persuade her as they like”—and she wearily suggested that Clinton

should go to Brussels to discuss the matter with the King. “This,” said

Feria, “was only because they think that I push them too hard; and they

believe they can deal more easily with your Majesty, their real object

being to upset the scheme altogether;” and the ambassador continues by

recommending the King when Clinton arrived in Brussels to deal with him

high-handedly, blaming the Council angrily for their slackness in the

past. Clinton was evidently the most pliant tool of all; and yet, even of

him, Feria writes: “Nothing that he says will be true, unless he thinks

it will be investigated. I have had no end of trouble about this, for

they do nothing but lie and prevaricate.”

All this haughty pressure on the part of Feria, and the servile

compliance of Paget and the rest of the Spanish clique, in order to bully

the English into raising a large force to join Philip’s army on the

pretext of recovering Calais, was seen by the politic King to be unwise.

The English fleet, with its seven thousand soldiers on board, might be

useful for him in many ways, and he made much of Clinton when he saw

him in Brussels, urging him to have the fleet provisioned and ready for

service whenever ordered from June to September; but the raising of a

land army of Englishmen did not suit him: in the first place because it

would pledge him to a regular campaign against the French in Calais for

the ultimate benefit of England alone, to the neglect of the Flemish

frontier that concerned him most, and secondly, as he says, because “the

English, as they would arm unwillingly, however much they were pressed

and encouraged, would not be of much use. I can even see that they

might cause more inconvenience than otherwise. Either they might come

so badly organised and weak as to be easily defeated, which would be

most injurious, or they might force me to go to their rescue, and upset

my own plans.” The King was of opinion that the English had much better

concentrate their land strength on the Scottish frontier and in Ireland,

so long as he was allowed to do as he liked with the English fleet.

The meaning of this is made abundantly clear, and Philip’s own foresight

vindicated by the sequel. If the English Council were encouraged to

employ all their own forces on the Scottish Border it was foreseen that

they would not need the three thousand or more German auxiliaries which

were now mustering on the Rhine under the leader Wallerdun, much of the

money for them having been already disbursed by the English special

agents in Flanders, Sir William Pickering and others. Feria, in his

letter of 18th May to the King, says: “I understand that these people

already repent of having asked for the three thousand Germans, for their

view now is only to defend their own shores, and the Scots will not

trouble them. They have said nothing to me about it yet, but I know that

what I say is true.... If they do not want to bring these 3,000 Germans

over, your Majesty might consider whether you will ask for them for

yourself.” This, although it was exactly what Philip himself desired and

intended, was only effected after much wrangling about the money spent

and the responsibility incurred by the English Council. Philip, writing

on the 10th June, instructs Feria cunningly to manage so that the Council

may be got to propose that the German mercenaries might be taken off

their hands as a favour; but if they could not be got to see it in this

light that the Queen should be told in confidence that the King needed

the Germans very much. The Council proved recalcitrant; for, as they

said, they had spent already a large sum upon the mercenaries, and might

need them; but they had to give way before the pressure of the Queen and

Feria, insisting ultimately, however, that Philip should pay the sum of

£2,000 for which Gresham had made himself responsible but had not paid

for the arms supplied. The recruiting money of the Germans and first

month’s pay was lost.

Relations between the imperious Feria and the English Council became

daily more strained, every unimportant point was made a question of

dignity by the ambassador,[130] and the sick, disconsolate Queen between

the jarring elements, wishing to conciliate both sides, was rendered

doubly unhappy. From Feria’s contemptuous and insulting references to

Pole it is evident that the Cardinal declined to become an instrument for

purely Spanish ends; whilst all the rest of the Councillors are dismissed

by the ambassador in his letters to the King as lying rascals intent

only upon plunder. Looking beyond Feria’s intemperate, angry words,

the principal sin of the Councillors in his eyes seems to have been a

disinclination to squander money of which the nation was so sorely in

need upon raising forces without some assurance that they would be used

for English ends. Already people were grumbling that the powerful fleet

under Clinton was to be merely an auxiliary of Philip in the war, at his

entire disposal, and the continued bad fortune that followed the Spanish

arms increased the anger in England at being thus tied to the tail of

Philip in the war, without any attempt being made by him to recover the

lost English fortresses.

So far from doing this, indeed, news came early in July that Dunkirk, one

of the most useful of his ports, within a few miles of Calais, had been

captured by the French, as well as Thionville, an important fortress.

Mary was panic-stricken at the news, and summoned Feria from Durham House

to say that she must at once send off a courier to Philip to know the

truth. Feria made light of the news, and said it was not worth while

to send in such haste, and the overburdened Queen broke out in angry

reproaches at his indifference. How could her merchants send their wool

to Flanders, she asked, if Dunkirk was in French hands? and yet Feria

treated the matter as of no importance. But when the ambassador suggested

that the English fleets in Plymouth and Dover should at once sail to

Dunkirk to help the King, Mary eagerly assented, though the Council at

once vetoed it; for, said they, the French have also captured Alderney,

and it behoved the admiral to go there first. “And really, to tell your

Majesty the truth,” wrote Feria, “I did not dare to contradict them,

for I saw that if but four French ships were to land their companies in

England they would overturn everything.” This was written in July, and

shortly afterwards Feria, having hectored the English Queen and Council

thus into placing the English fleet almost entirely at Philip’s disposal,

and having raised and paid three thousand German mercenaries which he had

appropriated, took his leave and returned to Flanders, first visiting

Elizabeth at Hatfield, much, he says, to her and his pleasure: “for

reasons which I will tell your Majesty when I see you.”

Mary now was a mere shadow. The cruel persecutions and the loss of Calais

together had completely destroyed the belief of the people in her power

to rule England for its own benefit. Her father and grandfather, and

even the greatly inferior Northumberland, had managed to maintain the

balance of power between the two great Continental rivals upon which

the importance of England depended. Mary from the first day of her

accession, as we have seen, had neglected this essential point in English

policy, and had ended by becoming a mere satellite of the Spanish

King, involving her country thus in a ruinous war, in which it had lost

much and had nothing to gain. The Council, against which Feria raged so

savagely, was, it is true, after the death of Gardiner, composed of men

of no commanding ability; but it had done its best to prevent the utter

subjection of England to Philip’s aims. The success of its efforts was

not great; for as Feria’s correspondence shows the most active members

of the Council were bought body and soul by Spain, and Mary was in

most cases ready to back up Feria’s arrogant hectoring with her royal

authority. For her, in her forlorn condition, the first consideration

was to please her husband and prevent the Catholic power, upon which she

increasingly depended, from collapse.

Her great hope was that Philip might be lured back again to her side

to live in prosperity and peace. Again and again her fond hopes were

disappointed, and, a prey to a constitutional disorder, she sank deeper

and deeper in despondency. After Feria left her in July she continued

ailing, whilst those around her, seeing the approach of the inevitable

change, busied themselves in plans which might, if they were fortunate,

save them from disaster in the future. For men of all opinions recognised

that it was not alone a woman who was dying, but a political and

religious system that had failed; and vengeance was sharpening its knife,

whilst those who had thus made England the servant of a foreigner and a

prey to the bigots were trembling for the wrath to come.

Early in September a fever came to add to the Queen’s ailments, and this,

being an unusual symptom with her, caused grave anxiety; but Philip’s

Flemish councillor Dassonleville, who was in London to inquire whether

any league was being negotiated between England, Sweden, and Denmark,

wrote early in October that both the Queen and Cardinal Pole were better

than they had been since the beginning of their maladies. Parliament met

at Westminster on the 5th November, and in it resounded loud complaints,

bold and unsuppressed now, of the cost and damage to England caused by

the war undertaken to please King Philip, and suggestions were made that

the peace negotiations already in progress should be actively pushed.

The great question, moreover, that was occupying all minds was that of

the succession to the Crown when the Queen should die. “If your Majesty

could have been present it would have been of the greatest importance in

moving the Parliament to your desires,” wrote Dassonleville. “But if that

be impossible, and important affairs should detain you in Flanders, the

coming of the Count de Feria, who is much liked here,[131] would serve,

nevertheless, to direct affairs so far as the time will allow. Many of

the Council are beginning to understand how necessary the alliance of

Flanders is to this realm, the salvation of which depends upon it, as

England cannot alone withstand for long the efforts of its old enemies,

the French and Scots, without the aid of your Majesty. The common people

do not understand it yet, and talk of allying the Lady Elizabeth with the

Earls of Westmorland or Arundel, and sometimes with a Prince of Sweden or

Denmark, so inconstant are they.”[132]

It is quite evident that when Dassonleville speaks of the impossibility

of England holding its own without Philip’s aid he meant under the

existing system. In this, of course, he was right; but he overlooked

the fact that if the country freed itself from the Spanish connection,

which had dragged it down, and once more dexterously held the balance

between the two Powers, neither would attack it, because neither would

be benefited by weakening a possible useful ally. But the English

people were quite awake to the alternative if Dassonleville was not,

and were looking anxiously away from the sad sufferer who had failed

as a Queen and was awaiting extinction in St. James’s, to the demure,

self-controlled young woman who bided her time so patiently and so

confidently at Hatfield. She knew now she would not have to wait long.

“Sire,” continued Dassonleville, “the Queen has had some good intervals

since her grave malady; and for some days past has been quieter from her

paroxysms. The issue of her illness is as yet uncertain. The people make

her out to be worse than the doctors say, and rumour says that a change

is so imminent that it will cause the enemy to be the more obstinate

about the restoration of Calais. Nevertheless, if your Majesty insists

upon not making peace without it, they will have to put up with it.”[133]

This was written on the 6th November; but before the letter was

despatched Dassonleville heard from Paget that the Queen’s malady

being recognised as grave, the Council had requested her to make some

pronouncement with regard to the succession. Mary, feeling the hand of

death upon her, consented to a deputation of the Council waiting upon

the Princess at Hatfield on the morrow, to tell her that the Queen was

willing that she should succeed when she (Mary) should die, only begging

two things of her—one to maintain the old religion, and the other to pay

the debts she (Mary) had incurred. It was known by this that the gravest

anticipations of the people were justified. Ten days before this Philip

had learnt that his wife was not likely to live, and he had at once

instructed Feria to start for England, for the special purpose of pushing

forward urgently the question of Elizabeth’s marriage, which was now seen

to be the only means by which he might still hold England. As has been

already explained in previous pages, Mary had on each former occasion

when the matter had been urged firmly stood out against it, as well as

Elizabeth herself. Once the Queen had been won over for a day to the

Savoy project, but Cardinal Pole had changed her mind, and nothing had

been done. The bold offer of the Swedish prince had shown to Mary as well

as to Philip the danger of Elizabeth’s accepting a Protestant marriage;

and even at this late hour Philip determined to make a desperate effort

through Feria to win Elizabeth for a nominee who would suit him. Suriano,

the Venetian ambassador with Philip, writes[134] with regard to Feria’s

mission: “The Count’s instructions are that he is to try and dispose the

Queen to consent to Lady Elizabeth’s marriage as her sister, and with the

prospect of succeeding to the Crown. This negotiation is being conducted

with the utmost secrecy, as they suspect that were the French to learn

of it they would easily find means to thwart the project, as the greater

part of England is opposed to the Queen and most hostile to King Philip

and his party, whilst strongly inclined to Lady Elizabeth, who was always

attached to the French faction rather than the other.” Feria tarried a

few days in Flanders when the news came that Mary was somewhat better;

but Dassonleville’s and Cordova’s letters, foreshadowing, as they did,

Mary’s rapid passing, sent him hurrying across to England in order to

perform his mission before she should die. The great obstacle to the

marriage with Savoy—apart, of course, from Elizabeth’s own reluctance—had

now disappeared, for Mary had recognised her sister as her successor,

without which her marriage would have been useless to Philip.

Feria arrived in London on the 9th November, and he found England in a

turmoil. Whispers spread every few days that the Queen was indeed dead,

and that her Council only kept back the news until King Philip should

come with the strong hand. “Every man’s mynde was then travayled with a

strange confusione,” says Hayward, who lived through the crisis, “all

things being immoderately eyther dreaded or desired. Every report was

greedily both inquired and received, all truthes suspected, diverse tales

believed, many improbable conjectures hatched and nourished. Invasion

of strangers, civil dissentions, the doubtfull dispositione of the

succeeding prince, were cast in every man’s conceite as present perills;

but noe man did buysy his witts in contriving remedyes.” Whilst her

people were anxiously looking to the future, some with dread and some

with hope, the Queen lay in anguish waiting for the end. It was only five

years since, full of faith and belief in her system, she had passed over

ruined ambitions amidst the acclamations of the people to the throne of

her fathers. In that short time, with the best of intentions, she had

sapped the basis of England’s international importance, she had opened

wide the doors of religious persecution, and, so far as she could, had

laid the resources of her country at the feet of her foreign husband.

She was leaving England poorer in possessions, in power and in spirit,

than it had been at any time since her grandfather brought to an end

the civil strife of a century. She had sacrificed her people’s welfare

and happiness, as well as her own popularity, by obstinately ignoring

accomplished facts and leaning upon a foreign Power to enable her to

restore a state of things that was dead.

The Queen was only partially conscious and unable to read Philip’s letter

when Feria came to bring her a message from her husband, and he lost no

time in travelling to Hatfield on his principal mission. Elizabeth had

been so wary and diplomatic in her difficult circumstances that she was

as yet an unknown quantity; and doubtless the crafty men of the world who

proposed to win her for Spain anticipated no great difficulty from this

reticent young woman of five-and-twenty, who had accepted Catholicism

so readily. The country was profoundly divided, and it was thought that

the new Queen—as Dassonleville wrote, in good faith—would be unable to

establish her authority without help from abroad. It was therefore, on

the face of it, not an extravagant presumption that she might prefer to

follow her sister’s lead and adhere to the traditional policy of England

in allying herself with the sovereign of Spain and Flanders.

When Feria arrived at Hatfield he received his first surprise. Before

starting from London he had summoned the Council, and in Philip’s name

had approved of Elizabeth as the heir to the Crown. Believing that this

would enable him to claim Elizabeth’s thanks, he began at Hatfield to

enlarge upon the service Philip had done her in thus securing to her

the succession. So long as high-flown compliment had been the staple of

conversation Elizabeth had given Feria as good as he had brought; but

the moment he bespoke her gratitude she stopped him, and said that she

would owe her Crown to no one but her people; and when he broadly hinted

at the advantage to her of a marriage with her Spanish brother-in-law or

a nominee of his she evaded the suggestion dexterously.[135] All through

the interview she showed a determination to resist any attempts to place

her in the tutelage of Philip. She answered Feria, indeed, somewhat

tartly at one point, that her sister had lost her people’s love by

marrying a foreigner; and the ambassador left her already convinced that

she would be no docile instrument in his master’s hands, as her sister

had been.

Mary and Pole lay dying at the same time, fortified by the rites of

their Church, whose services were celebrated ceaselessly before their

weary eyes. With the Queen there were few now to do her reverence,

for most of her courtiers and Councillors were flocking to Hatfield

to worship the rising sun; but Mrs. Clarencius, the Countess of Feria

(Jane Dormer, Mary’s favourite maid of honour), and a few other faithful

friends stood by her to the last. On the morning of the 16th November

the Council assembled in her room, and Cordell, the Master of the Rolls,

read aloud the Queen’s will, although Mary was unconscious at the time.

Feria asserts that when the reader reached the bequests to her personal

attendants the Council desired him to omit that portion. In any case,

little attention was afterwards paid to the Queen’s testament, for there

were none who loved or mourned the forlorn woman. Before dawn on the

17th November Mass was celebrated in the dying chamber in the Palace of

St. James. Like her mother on her death-bed in similar circumstances,

Mary followed the sacred office devoutly, in the full possession now

of her faculties, making the responses audibly and fervently. When the

celebrant appealed to “the Lamb of God who took upon Himself the sins of

the world,” Mary answered clearly “_Miserere nobis, Miserere nobis, Dona

nobis pacem_.”[136] These cries for mercy, for mercy and peace, were the

last words of unhappy Mary Tudor. A few moments afterwards, as the priest

held up before her the Sacramental Host, her eyes flushed with tears, and

then closed for ever. Philip had no longer any footing in England. He

must win one again by force or favour, unless Spain was to surrender her

proud supremacy and Catholicism cease to rule the world.