P hilip of Spain had been born on 21 May 1527 at Valladolid in Spain. He had received an aristocratic education, becoming proficient in Latin, Greek, maths, geography, history and architecture, as well as the martial arts, music and painting. When he was twelve his mother, the beautiful Isabella of Portugal, had died in childbirth, and thereafter he grew up to be a reserved, stiffly-mannered youth with an anxious, melancholy and suspicious temperament. In appearance he was fair-haired and blue-eyed, more like his Flemish forbears than his Spanish ones, and he had the prominent Habsburg jaw, which he later concealed with a dapper beard. Of below-average height, he looked more imposing on horseback than standing, but he was slim and well-proportioned, and women found him attractive.
When he was sixteen, Philip was married to Maria of Portugal, but she died two years later, in 1545, in bearing him a son, Don Carlos, who grew up to be a vicious mental defective and died in 1568. Philip had been warned by his father not to indulge too often in marital sex because frequent intercourse could stunt his growth. Sex was for procreation only, and he should avoid the lusts of the flesh. In the death of his wife in childbirth the grief-stricken Philip saw only too plainly what could result from lust, and he had so far avoided marrying again. Instead, he had enjoyed a long-standing liaison with Dona Isabel de Osario, which his father chose to ignore.
In 1549, Charles V summoned Philip to Brussels to serve an apprenticeship in government in the Low Countries, and also gain the favour of the German Electors, so that when his father died they would elect him Holy Roman Emperor. Philip brought with him his musicians and his collection of paintings and professed himself impressed with the architecture and formal gardens of Flanders, but the
Flemings were disappointed in him. His rumoured arrogance and the fact that he would speak only Spanish were distinct disadvantages, and no one was sorry when he returned to Spain in 1551. Thereafter he ruled his native land in his father's stead wisely and well, displaying meticulous administrative skill; he patronised masters such as Titian, collected books, and resumed his affair with Isabel de Osario. Those who had dealings with him found him courteous but reticent.
In the spring of 1553, before Mary Tudor's accession, the Emperor had begun urging Philip to marry again, saying it was now a long time 'since the death of the Princess, and it seems to me suitable and necessary because of the progeny which I hope God may grant you'. There was a sense of urgency in Charles's words, because his health was beginning to fail and he wished to abdicate and retire to a monastery; before he could do that, he must see Philip settled and the succession assured. Thus had come about Philip's negotiations to marry another Maria of Portugal.
Undoubtedly Philip was the finest match in Europe, for he was the heir to a huge empire - Spain, the Low Countries, Austria, Sicily, Naples, parts of Germany and the Americas. Yet there were dark rumours circulating in Europe about his cruelty, his cold and calculating character, and his harsh treatment of heretics, and English envoys abroad were certainly aware of these things.
Renard, of course, extolled Philip's good qualities to the skies, telling Mary of his wise judgement and common sense, his sound experience in government, and his moderation. The Queen, however, expressed concern at Philip's youth: he was twenty-six and she was thirty-seven. Renard countered this by saying that Philip was 'an old married man' with a son aged seven. Mary seemed to be in a daze. She liked the idea of marrying Philip, but now that the suggestion had been made, she was thrown into confusion. Nervous at the prospect of marriage itself, she was reluctant to commit herself and fearful of her Council's reaction to the Emperor's proposal.
'I have never felt that which is called love,' she confessed to Renard, 'nor have I harboured thoughts of voluptuousness. I never even thought of marriage until God was pleased to raise me to the throne, and as a private individual I would not desire it. I must therefore leave all to the Emperor, whom I regard as a father.' The Emperor, she insisted, must approach the Council on this matter, as she could not face discussing such a delicate matter with them. Renard assured her that his master would do as she wished.
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By the beginning of September, Mary was becoming less tolerant of those who persisted in what she regarded as heresy, and increasingly angered by her sister's failure to attend mass. Elizabeth had been subj ected to mounting pressure to conform, and early in September the Council censured her to her face for ignoring the Queen's wishes -only to receive from the princess what Renard called 'a very rude response'. Elizabeth had also failed to respond to the Queen's heavy hints that she abandon the plain clothes that she wore to please the Protestants in favour of magnificent gowns like her own.
It was clear to Elizabeth, however, that some kind of compromise was called for. Much as she wished to remain a focus of hope for her sister's Protestant subjects, she dared not risk incurring the Queen's wrath by openly adhering to the reformed faith. She therefore requested an audience. Mary kept her waiting for two days before agreeing to see her in a gallery at Richmond Palace.
In the meantime, Renard had been poisoning the Queen's mind with his suspicions of Elizabeth. He had never trusted her, believing her to be in league with a burgeoning opposition of heretics and dissidents led by the French ambassador, a proven troublemaker. Already it was being said that the papists were having their turn but that the Lady Elizabeth would remedy all in time.
'She seems to be clinging to the new religion out of policy to attract and win the support of those who are of this religion,' he told Mary. 'We may be mistaken in suspecting her of this, but at this early stage it is safer to forestall than be forestalled.' The princess, he warned, was clever and sly and possessed of'a spirit full of enchantment'. She should be sent to the Tower, or at the very least away from court, for her presence there was a threat to the Queen's security, and she 'might, out of ambition, or being persuaded thereto, conceive some dangerous design and put it to execution by means which it would be difficult to prevent'. Mary shared Renard's suspicions, confiding to him that 'the same considerations had occurred to her'. Nevertheless, she would not agree to consigning Elizabeth to the Tower. What she most earnestly desired was her sister's conversion to the Catholic faith, for it was unthinkable that the heiress presumptive to the throne should be a heretic.
Now, when Elizabeth came into Mary's presence, she fell on her knees, trembling and weeping, looking - according to Renard - 'very timid'.
'I see only too clearly that Your Majesty is not well-disposed towards me,' she faltered, 'and I can think of no other cause except religion.' However, she begged to be excused on this issue as she had been brought up a Protestant and 'never been taught the doctrines of the ancient religion'. She entreated the Queen to arrange for her to take instruction from a learned man and be given books, so that she might know if her conscience would allow her to be persuaded. A gratified Mary promised to grant these requests and told her that, if she went to mass, belief would surely follow. It was her pleasure, she added, that Elizabeth attend mass in celebration of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary on 8 September, after the court had moved to Whitehall. Elizabeth tried to excuse herself on the grounds that she was suffering from stomach pains, but Mary would hear no excuses.
On the appointed day, Elizabeth went in procession to chapel, but not, as Renard reported, 'without a certain amount of stir. She complained loudly all the way to church that her stomach ached, wearing a suffering air.' She even asked the Queen's ladies to rub her stomach for her, but her protests availed her nothing, and she had no choice but to go to the service, hoping that her Protestant supporters at court would notice the miniature gold book containing her brother's deathbed prayer at her girdle. The Queen, however, was overjoyed by her sister's apparent conversion, and - as was her way - lavished gifts upon her: a diamond, a ruby brooch, and a coral rosary that Elizabeth deliberately never carried.
The Queen's joy was short-lived, however; when the princess failed to attend mass on the following Sunday, all her former distrust and doubts were revived, fuelled by Gardiner and Renard, who believed that Elizabeth was merely dissembling the better to play her own game. Even de Noailles wrote, 'Everyone believes that she is acting rather from fear of danger and peril than from real devotion.'
Mary herself thought that her sister's request for books and instruction had been prompted only out of hypocrisy and summoned her to a second audience, in which she begged Elizabeth to speak freely and say 'if she firmly believed what Catholics had always believed concerning the Holy Sacrament'. Elizabeth, seemingly overcome with awe, and visibly shaken, replied that she had seen the error of her former ways and was planning to make a public declaration 'that she went to mass because her conscience moved her to it, that she went of her own free will and without fear, hypocrisy or dissimulation'. Renard, hearing about this interview from Mary, did not believe that Elizabeth's trembling was due to awe: ' We maintain that she appears quite composed and proud,' he told the Emperor, reiterating his conviction that she was deceiving them all and lying about her conversion.
Nor had Mary's doubts been allayed. She could not bear to think that if she died before producing a Catholic heir, her throne would pass to one whose religious views were so suspect. To Renard, she protested bitterly that it 'would burden her conscience too heavily to allow Elizabeth to succeed, for she only went to mass out of hypocrisy, she had not a single servant or maid-of-honour who was not a heretic, she talked every day with heretics and lent an ear to their evil designs, and it would be a disgrace to the kingdom to allow her to succeed.' She was, moreover, 'the offspring of one of whose good fame he might have heard, and who had received her punishment'. She had inherited too many dubious characteristics from her mother to make a worthy queen. As for her paternity, Mary often claimed not to believe that Elizabeth was Henry VIII's child, but the result of the suspected liaison between Anne Boleyn and a lute-player, Mark Smeaton. She told Jane Dormer many times that Elizabeth had his 'face and countenance'.
In order to eliminate the possibility of Elizabeth ever becoming queen, it was imperative that Mary marry soon and produce an heir. De Noailles was mischievously spreading rumours that she was deeply in love with Courtenay and refusing to consider anyone else, and the Queen's prudish silence on the subject lent weight to these rumours. Gardiner and a group of pro-Courtenay councillors, including her former devoted servants, Rochester, Englefield and Waldegrave, seized this opportunity for an audience and begged Mary to come to a decision soon about her marriage, urging her seriously to consider Courtenay as a husband. The Queen, however, had been hearing alarming reports of that young man's behaviour, of his consorting with prostitutes, his vow to avenge the deaths of his family by slaying a cousin who had betrayed them, his involvement with the French ambassador, and the linking of his name with Elizabeth's. He was too young, she told Gardiner dismissively.
Renard, however, foreseeing the ruin of all the Emperor's carefully-laid plans, feared that the Queen might be open to persuasion. Even were she not, if Courtenay was in league with de Noailles and Elizabeth, as had been rumoured, then Mary's very crown might be under threat. He told Charles V,
The Lady Elizabeth is greatly to be feared. I hear she already has her eye on Courtenay as a possible husband. This is very dangerous, and I foresee that Courtenay's friends, who include most of the nobility, are hatching some design which may later menace the Queen.
The Emperor had also heard talk that Mary would marry Courtenay, and replied that, if she had indeed made up her mind to do so, 'nothing would stop her, for she is like other women'. There was no time to lose.
In mid-September, Renard learned that Philip's negotiations with Portugal had been formally ended, and towards the end of the month a letter arrived from the Emperor himself, recalling Scheyfve and the other two envoys, and instructing Renard to obtain a private audience with Mary and formally offer her Philip's hand in marriage, asking her for a plain answer as to her own inclination. If she was not interested, Renard was quietly to drop the idea.
It was some time before Renard was able to see the Queen in private because her coronation was imminent and she was deeply involved in plans for it. By late September London was hung with tapestries and adorned with ceremonial arches, flowers and painted backdrops for the pageants that would be staged along the processional route. On 27 September, to the sound of fanfares and cannonfire salutes, the Queen, escorted by the Lord Mayor and accompanied by Elizabeth, came by barge from Whitehall to the Tower, where monarchs traditionally spent a night before their crowning. Tradition also demanded that the sovereign create new Knights of the Bath at the Tower, but this ceremony had to be performed by Arundel, as Great Master of the Household, because it was unthinkable that the Queen should participate in a ritual which demanded that the knights bathe naked with their king and kiss his bare shoulder.
On 30 September, Mary was attired in blue velvet and ermine with a glittering trellised tinsel and pearl caul on her head so weighty that she was frequently to resort to supporting her head with her hands. To gasps of admiration she went in procession in a chariot upholstered in cloth of gold through the streets of London to Whitehall, past cheering crowds, children singing and making pretty speeches, and fountains running with free wine. There had been some concern for her safety after a plot by Protestants to murder Gardiner had been discovered, and even though a fruitless search was made in the city for concealed arms the Queen was still nervous.
Behind Mary came another chariot, in which rode Elizabeth with Anne of Cleves; preceding the Queen were the new Knights of the Bath, with Courtenay foremost among them, Gardiner, Winchester, Norfolk, Oxford bearing the sword of state, and the Lord Mayor and aldermen. Forty-six gentlewomen brought up the rear of the great procession.
On the next day, 1 October, as bells pealed, trumpets sounded, the organ played and choristers sang, Mary, in a regal purple robe, was crowned by Gardiner in Westminster Abbey, which was entirely floored with blue cloth for the occasion. Elizabeth, wearing white and silver beneath a scarlet and ermine mantle, had the honour of bearing the Queen's train, and was the first to take the oath of allegiance to her. In the procession to the Abbey she rode behind the Queen with Anne of Cleves, followed by Lady Katherine Grey, who wore red velvet. The Queen, in her coronation oath, swore to keep 'the just and licit laws of England', thus neatly avoiding swearing to uphold the Protestant settlement that was still law. The solemnities began at ten in the morning and ended at five in the afternoon, when a magnificent coronation banquet was served in Westminster Hall. The Queen, seated beneath a canopy of estate, feasted on wild boar sent by Mary of Hungary amongst other delicacies; she was offered 312 dishes out of the 7112 prepared for the occasion; 4900 were uneaten and were afterwards distributed to the poor. Whilst the company ate, Derby, Norfolk and Arundel rode about the hall on horses, trapped in cloth of gold, ensuring that everything ran smoothly, and after the second course had been served, Sir Edward Dymoke, the Queen's Champion, rode into the hall and challenged any man to dispute her title, throwing down his gauntlet as he did so. Elizabeth sat with the Queen and Anne of Cleves at the high table, but Renard (whom the princess had pointedly ignored all day) later observed her deep in conversation with the French ambassador; sidling close to them he heard the princess groaning about the weight of her coronet. When de Noailles advised her to have patience, since this small crown would soon bring her a better one, Renard immediately concluded that they were hatching some conspiracy.
On 5 October, Mary's first Parliament met and, under Gardiner's leadership, cautiously began dismantling Edward VI's religious legislation, repealing nine statutes including the Act of Uniformity and restoring the ecclesiastical settlement that had existed at the end of Henry VIII's reign. This had the effect of reinstating the Catholic faith, but with the Queen, not the Pope, as Supreme Head of the Church, which was what the conservative majority wanted. A disappointed Mary was left in no doubt that Parliament was unwilling to consider reunification with Rome unless an agreement about alienated church property could first be satisfactorily reached. She disliked the tide Supreme Head, which Pole had said 'misbecame her sex', and could never bring herself to write it, putting'et cetera' in its place.
From now on it was, however, forbidden to criticise the mass and for priests to marry, and the Book of Common Prayer was suppressed.
There was a vociferous reaction to these measures from the Protestant minority, with churches being vandalised, priests attacked and virulent propaganda tracts issued, but to little effect.
Further legislation included the reversal of several attainders, including that on the Courtenay family, and an Act of Restitution, which declared that Henry VIII's annulment of his marriage to Katherine of Aragon had been invalid and that the Queen, their daughter, was therefore legitimate. Elizabeth was still officially a bastard, but remained heiress to the throne under the terms of her father's will. Mary had asked Paget, Renard's crony, if it would be possible to disinherit her sister, but he warned her that Parliament would never agree to it. Paget knew that Mary was in favour of a Spanish marriage and he himself supported the alliance, but he also knew that it would be extremely unpopular in England. He therefore suggested that Mary marry Elizabeth to Courtenay in order to make her subjects more amenable to the idea of a Spanish marriage for herself, but Mary would not consider it.
As if to underline the legality of her parents' union, the Queen presented Elizabeth with a miniature gold dyptich containing portraits of them, to wear at her girdle. Whether Elizabeth ever did so is not recorded.
Immediately the coronation was over, Renard again sought an audience with the Queen, and in the late evening of 10 October a servant came to lead him to Mary's private chamber at Whitehall. After greeting the Queen, the ambassador wasted no time in declaring his purpose. The Emperor, he said, would gladly have offered himself as a husband for her, but he was 'a poor thing to be offered' because of his age and ill-health. He had therefore, after 'maturely examining her requirements', decided to offer as a most fitting substitute his son, Prince Philip.
Mary was silent for a while; now that the expected proposal had come, her instinct was to shrink from it, but, controlling her inner panic, she said, 'I thank the Emperor for suggesting a greater match than I deserve.' Then she marshalled her arguments against it: she was unsure how her subjects would take to a foreign consort, she did not know if the Council would consent, Philip might be too busy abroad to spend much time with her in England, and might involve the kingdom in his own wars; lastly, he was 'not as wise' as his father, and 'very young, being only twenty-six years of age'.
'A man of twenty-six,' replied Renard, 'can hardly be called a young man, but rather a middle-aged one, because nowadays a man nearly thirty is considered as old as men formerly were at forty, and few men survive to more than fifty or sixty.'
'A man of twenty-six,' retorted the Queen, 'is likely to be disposed to be amorous, and such is not my desire, not at my time of life, and never having harboured thoughts of love.' She declared she could not possibly make up her mind quickly, even though she was not contemplating marrying anyone else and had 'never taken a fancy to anyone'.
'Prince Philip,' Renard assured her, 'is so admirable, so virtuous, prudent and modest as to appear too wonderful to be human. I have in fact been minimising his qualities. Far from being young and amorous, His Highness is a prince of stable and settled character.' If the Queen accepted his proposal, she would be 'relieved of the pains and travails which were rather men's work than the profession of ladies. His Highness is a puissant prince to whom this kingdom could turn for protection and succour. Your Majesty and your Council would do well to remember that you have four certain open enemies: the heretics and schismatics, the rebels and partisans of the late Duke of Northumberland, the French and the Scots, and the Lady Elizabeth, who will never cease to trouble you while they have the means, and will even rise against you.'
Mary promised to consider the matter carefully, and then changed the subject, saying she had spoken with Courtenay, who had revealed that he did not wish to marry Elizabeth at all, since she was 'too heretic, too proud, and of too doubtful lineage on her mother's side'. The Queen had told him that, if he wished to marry, she would find him a Catholic bride with impeccable credentials, whereupon he disclosed that he had fallen in love with Jane Dormer, and wanted to make her his wife. But Mary did not wish to lose Jane's services and had told her that Courtenay was not worthy of her. Dormer had submitted meekly, and the romance came to an abrupt end. Mary informed Renard that she had decided not to permit Courtenay to marry in England; she had hinted that he should go abroad, but to no effect. Therefore she proposed to enrich him sufficiently to attract a foreign heiress.
There the interview ended, but two days later Mary summoned Renard again. Taking his hand, she begged him to confirm that what he had said about Philip was really the truth; was he indeed 'of even temper, balanced judgement and well-conditioned'?
'His Highness,' Renard reassured her, 'has qualities as virtuous as any prince in this world.'
'That is well,' answered Mary, squeezing his hand, but was he sure he was not speaking out of fear of, or affection for, Philip?
'I beg you to take my honour and my life as hostages for the honesty of my words,' replied the ambassador.
Still Mary was not reassured. Would it be at all possible for the Prince to visit her, so that she could see him before making up her mind?
No, said Renard, knowing that the Emperor would never risk a rebuff, but he was certain that Philip would come as soon as she accepted his proposal, having heard much of her great virtues. And with that she had to rest content.
Thinking over the proposal afterwards, she could see that there were great advantages to it. Philip had considerable political experience and in Spain had become used to ruling. He was wealthy and backed by the vast resources of the Habsburgs - more than a match for the unruly factions on the Council. Above all, he was her beloved mother's kinsman, and a champion of Catholicism. Yet she knew little of him as a man, other than through Renard's fulsome praises and some rather nasty rumours about his 'sinister and taciturn disposition' and his notorious promiscuity. Paget later noted that, 'In order to estrange the Queen, people have told her that His Highness is very voluptuous and has bastards.' Renard reported Mary's fears to the Emperor, who cagily replied, 'We admit there may be some youthfulness in our son, though it is far from being as grave a matter as some people have sought to make out.'
Courtenay might have told the Queen that he did not wish to marry Elizabeth, but he had by no means abandoned his hopes of marrying Mary herself. Encouraged by Gardiner, he and his supporters seized every opportunity to blacken Philip's name, and distributed pamphlets claiming that he was hated in Spain for his 'excessive pride and small wisdom'. Lady Exeter, ambitious for her son, joined forces with Pembroke to persuade Parliament to beg the Queen not to wed a foreigner. Learning of this, Mary had her erstwhile friend evicted from her lodging at court and sent her to live in Pembroke's house. The Marchioness, fearing she had gone too far, sought to regain Mary's favour by telling her that Courtenay intended to ask her permission to visit de Noailles.
'He has gone often enough without leave,' retorted the Queen icily. 'I hope he will behave prudently and do nothing inconsistent with his duty.' After a week her anger cooled and she permitted Lady Exeter to return to her old lodgings, but their friendship was never as close as formerly.
Courtenay's propaganda had its effect. Backed by a majority on the Council, Gardiner found it easy to convince members of Parliament that a Spanish marriage would not be in England's interests. At the same time, many were persuaded that a marriage between Mary and Courtenay would not be in England's interests either, which gave the Imperialists cause for hope. A number of people felt that Courtenay should marry Elizabeth. The princess herself had shown him marked favour and was often in his company; Renard believed that their friendship was a threat to the Queen, which led Mary to the conclusion that Elizabeth should be married abroad as soon as possible to a Catholic prince who would curb her ambitions. However, on 19 October, Renard reported that Elizabeth had fallen out with Courtenay 'for having spoken otherwise than she had looked for about the love that is said to have existed between them'. Six days later de Noailles heard that 'Madame Elizabeth is very discontented and has asked permission to withdraw from court'. The Queen refused it; she wanted to keep an eye on her sister's doings. Again, Gardiner and Renard, convinced that Elizabeth was working with Courtenay and de Noailles against the Queen, begged Mary to send her to the Tower, but she demurred, saying that if Elizabeth was intriguing with Courtenay, she would hear of it, because Courtenay would tell his mother, who would tell her.
Mary was still agonising over her own betrothal, unable to make up her mind whether or not to accept Philip. Her ladies-in-waiting urged her to do so, but the Queen baulked at the prospect of marriage, knowing that to run the risk of pregnancy at her age, having had a history of menstrual problems, was to court disaster. Yet she knew that it was her duty to present the kingdom with an heir. Her loyal supporters, Englefield and Waldegrave, were still trying to persuade her to marry Courtenay, but she had long ago rejected that idea. She spent hours praying for guidance, and later confided to Renard that she had spent many sleepless nights in tears before reaching a decision. The uncertainty affected her badly, and on 27 October, it was announced that the Queen was ill and would keep to her apartments.
On 28 October, Renard sought an audience of the Queen and, in the presence of Gardiner, Arundel, Paget and Petre, handed her Charles V's formal written proposal of marriage to his son. He had already shown it to Mary, so that she would be composed when she opened it in front of her councillors, but when she took it she could hardly speak for emotion and, moving out of earshot of the others, told the ambassador that she had wept for two hours that morning, and prayed God to give her guidance in her decision. She said she was almost resolved to agree to the Emperor's proposal. As she left the room, she whispered, 'Believe!'
The next evening Mary granted a private audience to Renard, with only a smiling Clarencieux present, and spoke again of the agony her indecision had caused her. Then, moving to the corner of the room where the Holy Sacrament stood on the altar, she knelt before it and began praying aloud for guidance. Renard and Clarencieux knelt also, joining her in prayer. Then Mary breathed, 'Veni, Creator Spiritus!' Standing up, she declared that God, 'who had performed so many miracles in her favour' had now performed one more: He had inspired her to give a solemn promise before the Holy Sacrament to marry Philip. She then broke down in tears: 'My mind is made up and I can never change it. I will love His Highness perfecdy and never give him any cause to feel jealous.'
Renard was jubilant, but he knew that he and the Queen had a difficult task ahead of them in persuading the Council and her subjects at large to accept Philip and all he represented. For this reason, Mary agreed that the announcement of her betrothal should await an opportune moment, while Renard immediately began making strenuous efforts to convince her councillors of the advantages of the match.
The strain of the past weeks inevitably took its toll. Early in November Mary suffered such bad palpitations that she was obliged to keep to her chamber for a week. 'They say it comes from the womb,' observed de Noailles, although Renard believed her symptoms were due to a change in the weather. By 8 November the Queen had recovered and on that day she summoned her Privy Council to hear her answer to the Emperor's proposal. 'With a royal mien, becoming modesty, a timid countenance and trembling gesture', and 'dissembling as if she had never heard the question mentioned before', Mary expressed her gratitude to Charles V and announced that she would marry his son. Although many councillors had anticipated such an announcement, the general reaction was one of shocked surprise.
The Queen had by now become quite enamoured of the idea of marrying Philip, and coyly accused Renard of making her fall in love with him, saying that His Highness might not be obliged to him for that, although she would do her best to please him in every way. 'It seems that she is beginning to understand what love is,' the ambassador told Charles V, 'for she is always overjoyed to hear His Highness spoken of.'
When the news of the Queen's betrothal became public knowledge, however, her subjects were anything but overjoyed. There was widespread dismay and alarm that England might be dragged into interminable and ruinous Habsburg wars. Courtenay's supporters resolved to warn Mary not to marry a foreigner because 'the people simply will not stand it', while Gardiner longed to speak out, but knew the Queen would accuse him of being prejudiced in Courtenay's favour.
In every strata of society objections were raised to the match. In accepting Philip, Mary had underestimated the insularity and xenophobia of her subjects, who resented Spanish monopolies in trade with the Americas and had heard terrible tales of the tortures of the dreaded Inquisition. Up until now, Mary's religious reforms had been accepted placidly by most people, but from now on they would be associated in the public mind with Spanish influence and become more controversial. Overnight, it became patriotic to be Protestant.
In London in particular, public outrage was expressed vociferously. The citizens declared they would not welcome 'Jack Spaniard' to England, for he was a proud villain notorious for his vices, his thieving and his lechery. Reformists cried that 'They would rather die than suffer Spaniards to rule this country.' In a climate of enmity and panic, many people concluded that Mary would bring 'the proud Spaniard' England as her dowry, and that it would become his property on marriage, as was the usual custom with dowries. They foresaw him ruling harshly and ruthlessly, characteristics for which the Spanish were notorious. Above all, their sense of national pride was outraged at the prospect of England becoming a satellite of the vast Habsburg empire.
Mary and her councillors were sensitive to these concerns, and took such steps as they could to allay them. The Queen told Renard, 'I will wholly love and obey him to whom I have given myself, following the divine commandment, and will do nothing against his will; but if he wishes to encroach upon the government of the kingdom, I will be unable to permit it.'
Renard understood the fears of the English, and spent most of November trying to allay them, whilst at the same time thrashing out the terms of the marriage treaty. The English councillors were determined to retain the sovereignty of their kingdom, and were resolved that Philip should be merely his wife's consort, without political influence or regal authority. Charles V, apprised of their concerns, told Renard to be as accommodating and conciliatory as possible. Nothing must stand in the way of the Anglo-Spanish alliance.
The ambassador made it his business to eliminate opposition to the marriage wherever possible. He told the Queen that she must neutralise her sister, either by putting her in the Tower under restraint or by treating her with the courtesy due to the heir to the throne. Mary still refused to imprison Elizabeth, but was almost as reluctant to show friendship to her. 'She still resents the injuries inflicted on Queen Katherine, her lady mother, by the machinations of Anne Boleyn,'
Renard explained to the Emperor. De Noailles reported that Elizabeth's position at court was such that no lady dared visit her without Mary's permission, and she was treated as subordinate in rank to her cousins, the Duchess of Suffolk and the Countess of Lennox. Miserable at being so out of favour, Elizabeth again solicited leave to retire to her estates, but the Queen still refused to grant it.
On 14 November 1553, Lady Jane Grey, Lord Guilford Dudley and his brothers, and Archbishop Cranmer were tried at the Guildhall in London on charges of high treason. The Queen, insisting that their trials be fair, took steps to ensure that witnesses were allowed to speak freely, and were not intimidated, and directed Chief Justice Morgan to 'administer the law impartially. It is my pleasure that whatever can be produced in favour of the subject shall be heard.'
The prisoners came by barge from the Tower, then walked through the City to the Guildhall, past crowds kept in control by a detachment of 400 halberdiers. Jane came first in the procession, wearing a black velvet gown and a black satin hood trimmed with jet. A tiny prayer book was attached to her girdle, and she read from another as she walked along, escorted by guards and followed by two gentlewomen.
The proceedings did not last long, for all the accused pleaded guilty and all were condemned to death, Jane being sentenced 'to be burned alive on Tower Hill or beheaded, as the Queen pleases'. She showed no emotion and calmly walked from the hall with the ceremonial axe of the executioner turned towards her. When she returned to her lodgings in the Tower, her servants burst into tears.
'Remember, I am innocent,' she told them, 'and did not deserve this sentence. But I should not have accepted the crown.'
Mary had no intention of having the sentences carried out. 'It is believed that Jane will not die,' wrote Renard, and a few days later de Noailles heard that, 'Her life is safe, though several people are trying to encompass her death.' Mary was resolved to be merciful. The condemned prisoners would remain in the Tower at her pleasure, and when the time was right she would consider releasing them.
On 16 November, Gardiner made one final attempt at preventing the Queen from carrying out her plan to marry Philip. Leading a deputation comprising members of both Houses of Parliament, he came to present a petition begging her to abandon the idea of a foreign match and marry an Englishman. But when the Speaker began ponderously to recite it, Mary angrily turned on him, telling him that Parliament was not accustomed to use such language to the kings of England, and that monarchs could marry where they chose. They could trust her to remember her coronation oath and always put her country first.
'If you try to force me to take a husband who would not be to my liking, you would cause my death, for if I were to be married against my will, I would not live three months and would have no children, and then you would be sorry!' she warned somewhat dramatically. 'Is it suitable to expect me to marry someone just because the Bishop has made friends with him in prison?'
'What will the people say?' Gardiner asked her. 'They will never stomach a foreigner who will make promises that he cannot keep.'
'My mind is made up,' answered the Queen, 'and if you, my Lord Chancellor, prefer the will of the people to my wishes, then you are not keeping your promises.'
Gardiner knew when he was defeated, and assured the Queen he would obey the man she had chosen.
'It is too dangerous to meddle in the marriages of princes,' he muttered as he withdrew. Arundel made a joke at his expense, saying 'He had lost his post as Chancellor that day, for the Queen had usurped it,' which drew wry laughter from the deputation.
De Noailles was crestfallen at the failure of Gardiner's plea. Although Mary had instructed her ambassador in Paris to reassure Henry II that, whoever she married, she intended to live in peace and amity with him, the French were pessimistic. 'It is to be remembered,' King Henry observed, 'that a husband may do much with his wife; and it shall be very hard for any wife to refuse her husband anything.' De Noailles was doing his best to whip up anti-Spanish feeling in England - no difficult task - and was busily spreading rumours that a Spanish army would shortly arrive to subjugate the people, that Philip meant to make England a mere province of the Empire, and that the Pope's authority would be forced on the English court. Public feeling was running so high, especially in London, that the Queen issued a proclamation forbidding 'unlawful and rebellious assemblies, lewd words and seditious tumults'.
Renard, fearful that Mary would bow to pressure and abandon the Spanish match, sent urgently to Madrid for a portrait of Philip. A likeness painted by Titian in 1551 was dispatched on 21 November, with a note from Mary of Hungary advising the Queen to view it from a distance as, 'on a close view, the sitter cannot be recognised'. There has been much speculation as to which portrait this was, but it seems likely that it was the one that now hangs in the Prado in Madrid. The Regent wanted the portrait returned to her as soon as Mary and Philip were married, 'as it is only a dead thing, when she has the living model in her presence'.
Renard need not have worried. Mary took one look at the portrait and declared that she was 'half in love' with Philip.