O n 18 March 1557, King Philip sailed from Calais to Dover, whence he travelled to Gravesend, there boarding the royal barge for Greenwich. There, at five o'clock in the afternoon of 20 March, he landed to the sound of a thirty-two-gun salute, and received a rapturous welcome from his wife in the presence of all the courtiers, many of whom were crying, 'God save the King and Queen!' It was immediately clear, from the small size of his personal retinue, that he did not intend to stay long and had not come just to be reunited with Mary. The twofold purpose of his visit was, indeed, entirely political: to persuade the English to declare war on France, and to conclude the marriage of the Lady Elizabeth with the Duke of Savoy. It did not concern him that few people in England, not least the councillors, wanted to go to war on behalf of the hated Spaniards, nor that Mary herself by now was averse to the Savoy marriage.
The next day, on the Queen's orders, all the bells in London pealed out in celebration of the King's return, and in every church Te Deums were sung. Later that day, however, Machyn recorded how the citizens had been alarmed by the arrival of three ships full of Spaniards in the Pool of London. Meanwhile, at Richmond, Mary had organised a splendid festival in Philip's honour, to which Elizabeth came, arriving in a state barge bedecked with flowers.
On 23 March, the King and Queen rode in state to Whitehall, with Elizabeth at their side. Her presence evoked a resounding response from the Londoners, which neither Philip nor Mary could ignore. The King was hoping that the people would believe the princess supported England entering the war, but in this he was mistaken.
A day or so later, Philip's bastard half-sister, Margaret, Duchess of Parma, and his cousin, Christina of Denmark, Duchess of Lorraine, arrived in England, and were met by the King at Whitehall Stairs and escorted by him up to the presence chamber to be presented to the Queen. Back in 1539, the beautiful and spirited Duchess of Lorraine had, at the age of sixteen, been suggested as a bride for Henry VIII, but had refused to consider the idea, declaring that, if she had two heads, one would be at His Grace's disposal.
The Venetian ambassador in Paris heard that 'The cause of their ladyships' going [to England] was that, on their return, they might bring with them Madame Elizabeth to give her for wife to the Duke of Savoy.' De Noailles, whose master had a vested interest in preventing such a marriage, sent the Countess of Northampton secretly to warn Elizabeth, who had returned to Hatfield, what was afoot, and to urge her not even to consider taking a husband who was 'so poor and stripped of all his wealth'.
'I would rather die than submit,' Elizabeth told the Countess, who reported her words to de Noailles. The Queen, however, proved an unexpected ally, refusing to invite her sister to court or to allow the Habsburg duchesses to visit her at Hatfield.
In fact, Mary was not at all at ease about the presence of the Duchess of Lorraine at her court. What the King's attendants referred to as her 'warmed-up honeymoon' with Philip was not progressing as she had hoped. Although he treated her with unfailing courtesy, he was preoccupied, not only with political matters, but also — his wife suspected — with the fair Christina. Rumours about an affair between them had preceded Philip's return, and the Queen, whilst affecting to be unaware of them, had allocated the Duchess apartments on the ground floor of the palace, far from the royal apartments. Michieli reported that, during Philip's absence, Mary's chief fear had been that her husband might become involved with another woman. She knew he had not been faithful to her, but was not so concerned about these passing fancies. What she did dread was him falling in love with someone else, which would make her 'truly miserable'. Now she felt she had cause to speculate over what Philip felt for another woman, and she also had to suffer the humiliation of seeing him dancing with the Duchess at court balls, and entertaining her over the Easter holiday; nor could Mary complain, for these were perceived as the normal courtesies due to visiting royalty.
Philip must have noticed how much Mary had aged during his absence. Michieli, who left England that spring, described her at this time as having 'some wrinkles caused more by anxieties than by age, which make her appear some years older', and spoke of her 'grave aspect'. However, he felt she was 'never to be loathed for ugliness, even at her present age'. In character, he wrote, 'She is like other women, being sudden and passionate - rather more so than would become a queen.' Yet, 'unlike other timid and spiritless women', Mary had shown herself to be 'brave and valiant', with never a sign of cowardice. Above all, she had a 'wonderful grandeur and dignity'.
What most concerned Michieli was her recent predisposition to 'a very deep melancholy, much greater than that to which she is constitutionally liable from menstruous retention, so that the remedy of tears and weeping, to which from childhood she has been accustomed, is not sufficient; she now requires to be blooded, either from the foot or elsewhere, which keeps her always pale and emaciated'.
Generally, she was not well. She still slept badly and had recurring problems with toothache. Michieli believed that her unfruitful confinement was the most devastating thing that had happened to her. Not only was her barrenness a constant sorrow to her as a woman, but in a queen it was also a reproach, an indication that God had withdrawn His favour from her. 'No one believes in the possibility of her having progeny, so that day by day she sees her authority and the respect induced by it diminish.'
Mary's failure to produce an heir meant that she was constantly worrying about who was to succeed her. It was vital to the stability of the country that this question be resolved, yet the Queen could not bring herself to acknowledge Elizabeth as her successor. It may fairly be said that by now Mary hated her sister, and although she tried to hide it, 'it cannot be denied that she displays in many ways the scorn and ill-will she bears her'. It was anathema to the Queen 'to see the illegitimate child of a criminal who was punished as a public strumpet on the point of inheriting the throne with better fortune than herself, whose descent is rightful, legitimate and legal'.
What made matters worse was that Elizabeth, knowing herself to be in a strong position thanks to the protection of King Philip and the love of the people, seemed insensible to her inferior status. 'She is proud and haughty,' wrote Michieli, 'and although she knows that she was born of such a mother, she does not consider herself of inferior degree to the Queen, whom she equals in self-esteem. She prides herself on her father and glories in him, everybody saying that she also resembles him more than the Queen does.' To Mary, this was an intolerable insult, seeing that she herself firmly believed - and had for years done her best to convince everyone else - that Elizabeth was the daughter of Mark Smeaton, Anne Boleyn's lute player.
Yet worse than her fear of Elizabeth succeeding her, claimed Michieli, was the Queen's dread of a further separation from her husband. What she felt for him was such 'violent love' that 'she may be said never to pass a day without anxiety' on this account. 'Separation, which to any person who loves another heartily would be irksome and grievous, is assuredly so to a woman naturally tender.'
Philip had not been in England a week before he began to put pressure on Mary to demand that her Council agree to declare war on France. He reminded her that she had promised him she would do this, and threatened that if she broke that promise he would leave England forthwith and never come back. On 1 April, the Queen summoned her Council and, in Philip's presence, set out the arguments in favour of war. They listened gravely but asked for time in which to consider the matter. Two days later they told her that England could not and should not become involved in a foreign conflict. Cardinal Pole had not taken part in these discussions. He had remained at Canterbury, thus depriving the peace party at court of a powerful advocate.
The conflict with the Pope turned out to be unexpectedly to Philip's advantage, in one respect at least. On 10 April, the pontiffrecalled all his legates, including Pole, from the King's realms and dominions. He also issued a brief depriving Pole of his status as legate. Then he passed sentence of excommunication on Philip II, casting him out from the Church and condemning him to eternal damnation. England would now be forced to take sides.
Sometime during April Mary bowed to Philip's demands and summoned her sister to court. The King had every intention of forcing Elizabeth into marriage with Savoy himself, and made it clear that he meant to take her back to Brussels with him as a bride, but Elizabeth, fortified by the knowledge that the Council would never allow him to do so, flatly refused to agree. Philip then tried bargaining with her, offering to ensure that her right to succeed was acknowledged in return for her agreeing to marry, but this too failed to move her. Nor did the reassurance that Savoy would be happy to come and live in England with her, having no lands of his own.
Mary was equally resistant to the match, refusing to be won over by her husband's arguments, which led him to accuse her of failing in her duty of obedience to him. At one point Mary capitulated, but changed her mind two days later, explaining that she could not make Elizabeth marry against her will or the will of the people, but Philip would not listen and ordered her to compel her sister to do as she was bid. Mary tried, but found the princess as adamant as before.
'What I shall do hereafter I know not,' she told the Queen, 'but, I assure you upon my truth and fidelity, I am not at this time otherwise minded than I have declared unto you; no, though I were offered the greatest prince in all Europe.' Torn between relief and fear of what Philip might do, Mary dismissed Elizabeth from court. Later that month she visited her at Hatfield, where she was entertained by a bear baiting, a Latin play performed by the boys of St Paul's School, and a recital on the virginals by her accomplished sister. The Savoy marriage was not mentioned.
When Mary returned, she and Philip presided over a chapter of the Order of the Garter at Whitehall and then visited Hampton Court for a few days' hunting, which were marred by tragedy: one of the courtiers was thrown from his horse and dashed his brains out against the privy garden wall. After that it was deemed best to return to London, where at the beginning of May a farewell ball was held in honour of the two Habsburg duchesses, who returned to Flanders immediately afterwards, having become 'very bored' in England. The Venetian ambassador in France reported, however, that the Queen, angry at the prolonged stay of her rival, had ordered her to leave.
The King, meanwhile, who cannot have been feeling very well-disposed towards his wife, had obliged her to see each of her privy councillors in turn personally to persuade them of the necessity for England to go to war. She even threatened 'some with death, some with the loss of their goods and estates, if they did not consent to the will of her husband'. Then, in late May, to her terrible distress, the Queen learned that the Pope had excommunicated Philip and deprived Pole of his legatine status. In her anguish, she realised that she would have to choose between the obedience she owed her husband and that which she must render to Christ's Vicar on Earth. It was a heart-breaking decision, but Philip won. In the Queen's mind there could now be no question of England remaining neutral, and she harangued her councillors accordingly. At the same time, both she and Philip wrote to the Pope, protesting at his treatment of Pole, reminding him of all the good work the Cardinal had carried out in the cause of the Counter Reformation, and warning Paul that without him the welfare of the Catholic Church in England would be severly endangered. The Council wrote in similar vein, as did Pole, though his letter read more like a lecture on the duties of a pope than a plea for reinstatement.
For a time, everyone thought that Paul would give in to pressure and restore Pole as legate. They could not know that on 31 May Cardinal Giovanni Morone, a close associate of Pole's, had been arrested in Rome by the Inquisition on a charge of suspected heresy, nor that the Pope had confided to the Venetian ambassador that he believed Pole to be guilty also. He knew he had no good reason for recalling the Cardinal, yet a charge of heresy would be regarded as sufficient cause for bringing him back.
Back in England, the Queen was still trying to bully her councillors into supporting Philip, assuring them that the King would finance the war out of his own funds, but what really convinced them of the necessity for war was a minor French-backed invasion of Yorkshire by one Thomas Stafford, in whose veins ran some Plantagenet blood. This was easily dealt with, but it left the government feeling nervous and angry, and provoked a declaration of war on France on 7 June. On that same day, Norroy Herald was sent to the French court to throw down the gauntlet to Henry II.
A jubilant Philip at once threw himself into preparations for an offensive, enthusiastically supported by young English noblemen eager for military glory and - in the case of pardoned offenders such as the Dudley brothers, Sir Peter Carew and Sir James Crofts - the chance of rehabilitation. The fleet was made ready, having been augmented on Philip's orders with two new ships, the 'Philip and Mary' and the 'Mary Rose', the latter being named after Henry VIII's famous warship which had sunk off Southampton in 1545. Finally, the King dispatched Ruy Gomez to Spain to bring to England a fleet of ships and £48,000 in gold to defray the government's expenses. For Mary, it was as if Philip was already gone from her, for she knew that when Gomez returned, her husband would sail away to war.
In June, the Pope, ignoring Mary's pleas, sent a nuncio to England with the brief recalling Pole, and appointed Friar William Peto legate in the Cardinal's place. Mary knew Peto well: he had been her mother's confessor, as well as her own in childhood, and he had chosen exile after openly preaching against Henry VIII's nullity suit. He had returned to England after Mary's accession, and was now living in quiet retirement in the restored convent of the Observant Friars at Greenwich. He was, however, patently unsuited to becoming legate, being 'over eighty and of no ability whatever, but a good man and a Christian, who recognises his own shortcomings'. He was also a victim of senile dementia.
Mary was furious at his appointment, and refused to allow the papal nuncio to enter England. To her mind, the Supreme Pontiff was showing himself to be motivated entirely by vindictiveness and envy, qualities that rode ill with his role as Christ's earthly representative. Nor would she allow Pole to leave England. He had not received his papers of recall, so could not be accused of disobedience to the Holy See.
In Rome, however, the Pope had instructed the Inquisition to proceed against Pole on the grounds of heresy. This was preposterous, for while it was true that the Cardinal had openly supported reform within the Catholic Church, his orthodoxy had never yet been called into question, nor had he ever given any cause for it to be. But Paul believed Pole to be a secret agent working on Philip's behalf, and meant to destroy him. Sir Edward Carne, England's ambassador at the Vatican, warned Pole early in July that, if he once set foot in Rome, he would be arrested. The Cardinal responded by sending a representative, Dr Ormanetto, to plead his case with the Pope. At the same time, news came that Paul had appointed Peto a cardinal, but Peto, who was no keener to be legate than Mary was to have him, refused this honour, and returned his red hat to the Pope.
On 20 June, the returning Spanish fleet was sighted in the Channel, and preparations for Philip's departure began in earnest. The royal couple left Whitehall on 3 July, staying overnight at Sittingbourne and then Canterbury before arriving in Dover on the 5th. On each night they shared a bed, the Queen never having given up hope of conceiving another child.
Before he left, the King instructed his confessor, Francisco Bernarda de Fresneda, 'a man very dear to the Queen', to remain in England and do his utmost to persuade Mary that it was vital that Elizabeth be married without delay to Savoy. He was to warn her of what might happen if Elizabeth took a husband of her own choosing, 'who might convulse the whole kingdom into confusion', and to impress upon her the need for haste. If necessary, the match might take place in the King's absence. Fresneda was above all to convince the Queen of the desirability of naming Elizabeth her heir.
At three o'clock in the morning on 6 July, Mary said an emotional farewell to Philip on the quayside at Dover, then stood watching as his ship sailed into the distance. It may have occurred to her that she would never see him again.
The King was in Calais by noon that day, and reached Brussels on 9 July. Two days later he summoned his Spanish household to join him. This time, there was no pretence that his absence would be a short one. Fresneda was already doing his best to persuade the Queen to carry out her husband's wishes, but according to a secret Venetian report, 'For many days he found [her] utterly averse to giving the Lady Elizabeth any hope of the succession, obstinately maintaining that she was neither her sister nor the daughter of King Henry. Nor would she hear of favouring her, as she was born of an infamous woman who had so greatly outraged the Queen her mother, and herself.'
Distressed that she could not please him in this respect, Mary wrote to Philip, explaining that although he had told her to 'examine her conscience' on the matter, and although she had listened to all the arguments 'with a true and sincere heart', she knew she was in the right, 'for that which my conscience holds it has held this four and twenty years', as long as Elizabeth had been in the world.
Fresneda did not desist. He was a fine orator and frequently got the better of Mary in arguments, but he could not make her change her mind. Philip, learning of her continuing obstinacy, made it clear that he was extremely displeased, but even this did not move his wife. It was fortunate for her, therefore, that his attention was soon diverted away from English affairs to the war with France.
Late in July, Mary, hearing of the Pope's heresy proceedings against Pole, wrote again to the Pontiff, expressing her indignation that he had taken such unprecedented action against the Cardinal. Pole, she said, had given no cause for offence, and had indeed had a record of outstanding and distinguished service to the English Church. He did not therefore deserve to be recalled in such a manner.
In militant mood, Mary sent Pembroke with a force of 7000 men over to Philip, who had laid siege to the town of St Quentin. Robert Dudley also raised a company of soldiers at his own expense, and accompanied them. Although his brother Henry was killed during the siege, he himself displayed notable bravery and skill, and was mentioned in despatches home. On 10 July, the French King sent an army under Anne de Montmorency, Constable of France, to relieve the besieged town, but it was successfully routed by the Anglo-Spanish forces. On 27 August, Philip's men stormed into the town and occupied it, and afterwards the King praised Pembroke's soldiers for their valour. In England, Mary gave heartfelt thanks to God for her husband's miraculous victory, and prayed that this would increase his popularity with her subjects. There seemed little sign of this however, even after news of his capture of other towns and fortresses filtered across the Channel.
When the Pope learned of the fall of St Quentin, he again denounced Philip, provoking the King to order Alba to march on Rome and force the Holy Father to make peace. Acting on Philip's instructions, the Duke knelt at Paul's feet and begged his pardon for having invaded his territories, but it was clear all the same who held the upper hand. The Pope therefore had no choice but to accept Philip's terms, and an uneasy peace was negotiated on 12 September, which was celebrated with Te Deums being sung in London. By October, the English troops were on their way home, and Philip's army was seeking out winter quarters.
Although the Pope eventually agreed to restore legatine status to the See of Canterbury, he would not consent to dropping the charges against Pole, despite receiving further anguished letters from Queen Mary, and when Dr Ormanetto was granted an audience with the Pontiffin September, his arguments fell on deaf ears. In fact, by the end of 15 57, Paul had persuaded himself that Pole was a secret Lutheran and had for years been involved in a treacherous conspiracy against the Church, supported by Morone and others. Yet for reasons of his own the Holy Father stayed his hand and never pressed the charges against Pole, probably realising that Mary would never allow the Cardinal to go to Rome to answer them. For the rest of his life, though, the threat of heresy proceedings would hang over Reginald Pole like a dark shadow.
Six months after Philip's departure, the Queen announced that she was expecting another child. As she explained in a letter to her husband, she had delayed making the announcement until she was absolutely certain of her condition, although the Venetian ambassador thought she had really done so 'lest the like should happen as last time'. But Mary insisted that she had 'very sure signs' of pregnancy, and that the child would be due in March.
Few people believed her. Some thought it was a ruse to make Philip return to her. Most thought she was deluding herself. The King expressed his satisfaction at the news, but entertained private doubts, as did most of the English courtiers. This time, the Queen did not even look pregnant when she was supposed to be in her sixth month. Yet there is no doubt that she herself was genuinely convinced that she was carrying a child, for she was hardly likely to have risked a second humiliation by staging an elaborate charade. What may have convinced her could have been the cessation of menstruation — her periods were notoriously erratic and it seems likely that she had entered the menopause by then in any case - and the slight swelling of her stomach, as yet imperceptible under the stiff court gowns of the period with their flattening stomachers. Once again, though, she was most probably deluding herself.
Winter had brought a natural lull in the fighting in France, and therefore the Queen and her people were surprised and shocked to learn that on 7 January 1558 the French had mounted a surprise attack on Calais and taken it. The news was 'the heaviest tidings to England that ever was heard of. Calais had been the last remaining bastion of the Plantagenet Empire in France, and had been in English hands for over two hundred years. Now it had fallen, to England's utter humiliation and the Queen's abject distress. For the rest of her life she would look upon the loss of Calais as the worst failure of her reign. It was she who bore the blame, for people said that, had she not agreed to involving England in her husband's war in the first place, this would never have happened. What made matters worse was that it quickly became apparent, not only at home but also abroad, that the kingdom did not have the resources to attempt to recapture Calais. England's weakness was therefore exposed for all Europe to see, and the morale of her people plummeted.
The loss of Calais, catastrophic as it was, was not the only evil to afflict the country that winter. Despite the first good harvest for years and an end to famine, the kingdom was in a desperate state. In 1560, Sir Thomas Smith, Secretary of State under Edward VI, recalled,
I never saw England weaker in strength, money, men and riches. As much affectionate as you know me to be to my country and countrymen, I assure you I was ashamed of them both. Here was nothing but fining, heading, hanging, quartering and burning, taxing, levying and beggaring, and losing our strongholds abroad. A few priests ruled all, who, with setting up of six foot roods, thought to make all cocksure.
And in 1558 Armagil Waad, another of Edward VI's councillors, reported,
The Queen is poor, the realm exhausted, the nobility poor and decayed. The people are out of order. Justice is not executed. All things are dear. There are divisions amongst ourselves, wars with France and Scotland. The French King is bestriding this realm. There is steadfast enmity but no steady friendship abroad.
The Queen was vilified in seditious pamphlets as 'an utter destroyer of her own subjects, a lover of strangers, and an unnatural stepdame both to these and to thy mother England'. It was said that she was a traitor to God and her country, a promoter of idolatry and a persecutor of saints. To make matters worse, a great epidemic of influenza had broken out the previous autumn, and would rage for the best part of a year, killing a great number of people and giving the Protestants cause to say that this was a plague sent by God to punish the Queen for her sins.
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It was believed in England that Philip had not lifted a finger to save Calais, but in fact he had done what he could to avert disaster in the limited time available. Pole wrote and told the King that Mary had taken the bitter blow in a spirit of patient acceptance; he also told him that she was still certain she was with child. Philip thanked the Cardinal for the comforting news 'of the pregnancy of the Queen my beloved wife, which has given me greater joy than I can express to you, as it is the one thing in the world I have most desired, and which is of the greatest importance for the cause of religion and the welfare of the realm. I therefore render thanks to Our Lord for this mercy He has shown me, and I am obliged to you for the news you have given me of it, which has gone so far to lighten the sorrow I have felt for the loss of Calais.'
In order to reassure himself about his wife's condition, Philip sent the Count of Feria to England, ostensibly to convey the King's congratulations, but in reality to look for signs of pregnancy. He was also to ask for more men to be sent to France.
Having seen Mary, the Count reported back to his master, 'The one thing that matters to her is that Your Majesty come hither, and it seems to me she is making herself believe that she is with child, though she does not own up to it.' In fact, although she now had a distended belly, Mary looked ill rather than pregnant, and seemed overwhelmed by the strain of her royal duties. The court was rife with squabbles, the demoralised councillors divided by dissensions, and the only person with the power to control them was Mary, who was in no fit state to do so. 'It would be well if those who govern this kingdom shared the Queen's spirit,' commented Feria.
At the end of February 1558, Elizabeth visited the court 'with a great company of lords and noblemen and noblewomen'. Mary received her graciously enough, but Feria decided not to see the princess for fear of offending the Queen. Elizabeth brought with her a layette of baby clothes that she had herself made; these still exist, and can be seen today at Hever Castle in Kent.
Shortly after Elizabeth's arrival, the Queen 'took to her chamber' to await the birth of her child. In France, the Cardinal of Lorraine, hearing of this, remarked, 'We shall not have so long to wait this time, since it is eight months since the King left England.' Few people were optimistic about a happy outcome.
In March, Friar Peto died. The Pope did not replace him, and Pole tried to carry on as before, but his health was failing and he was no longer able to assist Mary in the onerous task of governing England. 'The Cardinal is a dead man,' wrote Feria. The Queen seemed to be overwhelmed by her problems. Her councillors were demoralised and squabbling, and her court was seething with discontent. The treasury was empty, and even the food served to Mary was of inferior quality. Yet no one seemed to be doing anything about any of these problems. 'I am at my wits' end with these people,' raged Feria. 'It is impossible to make them realise what a state they are in, although it is the worst any country has ever fallen into.'
That spring, a flood of vituperative Protestant propaganda poured into England, in which the Queen was pilloried as 'a raging madwoman' or 'mischievous Mary' and insulting remarks were made about King Philip's attitude towards her. One writer even asked, 'what shall the King do with such an old bitch?' It was at this time that the Scots reformer John Knox issued his scathing attack on petticoat government, First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, which was targeted at Mary Tudor and Mary of Guise, the Regent of Scotland.
In March, Philip received a report from Renard, who had continued to take an interest in English affairs, summarising the problems of the succession, and urging that Mary be made to acknowledge Elizabeth as her successor. No mention was made of the possibility of the Queen producing an heir, and it appears that neither the King nor Renard believed it would happen. Fearful lest Mary would die without making her intentions clear, Philip urged her to make her will, which she did on 30 March.
'I Mary, Queen of England,' it began, 'thinking myself to be with child in lawful marriage between my dearly beloved husband and lord and I, being at this present (thanks be unto Almighty God) otherwise in good health, yet, foreseeing the great danger which, by God's ordinance, remains to all women in their travail of children, have thought good both for discharge of my conscience and continuance of good order within my realm, to declare my last will and testament.'
Her kingdom she bequeathed to 'the heirs, issue and fruit of my body', designating Philip as regent if she died before their child came of age. To her husband she left 'her chiefest jewel', the love of her subjects, along with the more substantial jewels he had given her at the time of their marriage. He would be her chief executor, assisted by Cardinal Pole. The will concluded with a long list of generous bequests, in which the London poor, destitute scholars and prisoners were remembered.
As the wording of the will shows, Mary still believed herself to be pregnant at the end of March; this was confirmed in a codicil added on 18 October, in which she stated that in the spring she had 'thought myself to be with child'. Yet when April came the infant had not arrived.
That month, Gustav Vasa, the Protestant King of Sweden, sent an envoy to England offering his son, Eric, Duke of Finland, as a husband for Elizabeth. The envoy, disregarding royal protocol, approached the princess before consulting the Queen, but she dismissed him without giving him an answer and informed Mary at once what had happened. Mary was agitated in case Philip should think that she herself had instigated the Swedish proposal when she was supposed to be urging Elizabeth to accept Savoy, and make this an occasion to demand that she renew the pressure on her sister. In fact, Gustav's suggestion quite appealed to the Queen, and she sent Sir Thomas Pope, Elizabeth's good friend, to discover what the princess thought of it. On 26 April, Pope informed Mary that her sister had no wish to marry anyone at all, but had said that she wished 'to remain in that estate that I was, which of all others best liked me. I so well like this estate as I persuade myself there is not any kind of life comparable to it.'
Pope commented, 'The Queen's Majesty may conceive this rather to proceed out of a maidenly shamefastness than upon any such certain determination. Few or none would believe but that Her Grace could be right well contented to marry, so that there were some honourable marriage offered her by the Queen's Highness.'
When the King heard of the affair he reminded Mary that she was supposed to be promoting the match with Savoy; it was time, he said, that she reconsidered her objections to it. All she would agree to, however, was laying the matter before Parliament, knowing that the Lords and Commons would not sanction a forced marriage. The cool tone of her husband's letters had distressed her greatly, however, and she felt that now was not the time to be bothering her with this quarrel. She wrote to Philip, 'I beseech you in all humility to put off the business until your return. For otherwise Your Highness will be angry against me, and that will be worse than death for me, for I have already begun to taste your anger all too often, to my great sorrow.'
The King, however, thought she was dissembling, because on 1 May Feria informed him that the Queen was still taking a passionate interest in the Swedish proposal, which was the last alliance Philip wanted for Elizabeth. As for Elizabeth, she felt as if she was being 'buried alive' with the pressure on her to take a husband.
Early in May, Mary gradually faced up to the fact that she was not pregnant. On the ipth Pole, who was himself ill with a tertian fever, wrote to inform Philip of her 'Christian resignation' to what must have
been the most bitter disappointment. Philip responded with a loving letter to his wife, apologising for not having been able to come and see her as he had hoped, and saying how impressed he was by her bravery. He also wrote to Pole, thanking him for 'cheering her loneliness'.
In fact, Mary soon became ill with a depression so terrible that she refused to leave her apartments and lay unmoving and withdrawn in her bed. According to Foxe, she was also afflicted with a painful 'dropsy'. Early in May Feria noted that she was weak and melancholy and could not sleep - natural enough in one whose hopes of a child had . just been dashed for ever. On 18 May, he referred obscurely to her 'usual ailments', but at the beginning of June he described Mary's condition as 'worse than usual'. In her misery she imagined that everyone was against her, and even wore armour when she was well enough to leave her bed, which was by the end of June, at which time the King was expressing concern because he had not heard from her for several days. 'I cannot help being anxious,' he had written.
There was certainly enough in Mary's life to make her unhappy. She could not forget the loss of Calais, nor her failure to carry out her husband's wishes. Her greatest fear was of losing him, and it grieved her that he was so far away. She had expected to see him in May, but, as he informed Feria, affairs of state had kept him away. 'I had greatly desired to go, and it would have given the Queen and myself much happiness had I been able to do so. I thank you for keeping the Queen company and the devotion you show in her service, and affectionately beg you to continue to cheer her loneliness, for thus you are doing us the greatest pleasure.'
Mary, however, remained hopeful that Philip would come to her, and gave orders that a fleet be kept waiting in readiness to escort him across the Channel and that lodgings on the road between Dover and London be prepared for him.
There was now no doubt in Philip's mind that Elizabeth would succeed Mary, probably quite soon, and he instructed Feria to pay the princess a visit on his behalf to present his compliments and express his goodwill. The ambassador was also to cultivate those who were friendly with Elizabeth and might be influential when she came to power. What Philip did not tell Feria was that, if he could not force Mary to marry Elizabeth to Savoy, he was considering marrying the princess himself if he could persuade cantankerous old Pope Paul to grant the necessary dispensation. In fact, in Brussels it was expected that Philip would marry his sister-in-law.
In June, Feria went to Hatfield and was warmly received by the princess, who was 'very much pleased by his visit'. She was gratified by the King's kindness and favour to her and expressed herself ready and willing to do his pleasure if it were in her power. When the Queen learned of the ambassador's visit, and several subsequent ones, she was most displeased, but she dared not risk alienating Philip by complaining. Even Feria was not entirely at ease about the situation, for he did not relish the prospect of England being governed by a Protestant queen - like many others, he did not believe in the sincerity of the princess's conversion. When he conveyed this concern to his master, Philip wrote to Mary suggesting that she make Elizabeth give an undertaking to uphold the Catholic faith when she became queen, but Mary still could not bring herself to accept her sister as her heir.
In August, the Queen left Richmond, where she had been staying since her illness, and moved to Whitehall. Here, she began 'suffering from intermittent fever', which may have been influenza; the epidemic had lasted all through the cold, wet summer. Mary was also bringing up a lot of'black bile'.
The burnings were still taking place in London and elsewhere - in June, seven were burned in one fire at Smithfield - and in August the Queen wrote personally to the Sheriff of Hampshire to reprimand him for reprieving a heretic who had recanted as the fire was lit. Other sheriffs received similar rebukes from the Council. Bishop Bonner of London, notorious for his cruelty to heretics, was now so terrified of 'tumults' at executions, that he begged the Queen to order that they take place early in the mornings, but Mary would not allow it. By now, nearly 300 people had been burned in four years, a vast number compared to the numbers burned under other Tudor monarchs: Henry VII had burned ten in 24 years, Henry VIII 81 in 3 8 years, and Elizabeth I would burn only five in 45 years. The persecution had become irrevocably associated with the papacy and the Spaniards in people's minds, causing a national hatred of the Roman Catholic religion that would endure for centuries, and robbing Mary of her popularity. She was now hated and feared by the subjects who had welcomed her to the throne with such enthusiasm.
Englishmen longed for stable government, economic recovery, and an end to the persecution and foreign interference in English affairs. According to John Hayward's Annals, they longed for 'their Elizabeth'.
Philip was keeping a close eye on bulletins concerning his wife's health, and was relieved to hear from Pole, himself suffering from a 'double quartan ague', that she was taking good care of herself. The Cardinal asked Philip to come to England, but the King did not do so because early in September, he heard that his wife had recovered and moved to Hampton Court. She had not been there long, though, before the fever recurred, worse than before. Her doctors assured everyone that there was no cause for alarm, and the Queen insisted on returning to London and taking up residence in St James's Palace, but once there, her condition became so grave that the physicians began to despair. However, they continued to issue reassuring bulletins, stating that 'Through this malady, she will obtain relief from her habitual indisposition' - the old, ill-defined autumn sickness that had troubled her all her life. Again, Mary 'took the greatest care of herself', and there were periods when she rallied, but then the fever would take hold again and she would suffer violent convulsions, which weakened her resistance, and a black pall of depression, which impaired her will to recover. 'The truth is', wrote one ambassador, 'that her malady is evidently incurable and will end her life sooner than later, according to the increase or decrease of her mental anxieties, which harass her more than the disease, however dangerous it may be.'
On 21 September, Charles V died at Yuste. The news took six weeks to reach Philip, and longer to reach England, and it may be that Mary never learned of the passing of the man whom she had looked upon as a second father.
By the end of September her condition had worsened, and again Philip was sent for, but he still declined to come, pleading the pressure of official business. There is no doubt that he felt some concern for Mary, but matters of state had to take precedence.
The Council had constantly pressed Mary to name her successor, but she was still refusing to do so. On 18 October she did agree to make a codicil to her will, because 'God hath hitherto sent me no fruit nor heir of my body, and it is only in His most divine providence whether I shall have any or no,' and also because she was 'feeling myself presently sick and weak in body, and yet of whole and perfect remembrance, Our Lord be thanked'. Whilst not naming her successor, she ordered that 'my most Dear Lord and Husband shall, for default of an heir of my body, have no further government, order and rule within this realm', yet requested him to be as a father, brother and friend to the next sovereign.
By the middle of October the Queen's life was perceived to be in danger, and in London it was rumoured that she was already dead. Feria was back in Brussels, but when, on the 22nd, Philip realised how serious Mary's illness was, he ordered the Count to prepare to return to England. The Venetian ambassador heard that 'The matter to be treated by him is the marriage of my Lady Elizabeth, to keep that kingdom in any event in the hands of a person in His Majesty's confidence, and that the Count's instructions purport that he is to try and dispose the Queen to consent to Lady Elizabeth being married as her sister, and with the hope of succeeding to the crown.' Feria was also, as Philip's representative, 'to serve the Queen during her illness'. Feria was by no means unhappy to be returning to England because during his earlier visit he had fallen in love with Jane Dormer, who had accepted his proposal of marriage. Jane had recently been ill with influenza, but her loving mistress had displayed great 'care and regard' for her, commanding that she be attended by one of the royal physicians. Jane had quickly recovered, and when she learned that Feria was coming to England, she asked for the Queen's blessing on their union. Mary had for a long time been averse to losingjane, but she now told her that she 'deserved a very good husband', and that the Count was 'a most perfect gentleman' whom she held in 'great favour'. The prospect of their wedding cheered Mary considerably, although she asked Jane to delay it until the King's return.
All the signs were that Elizabeth's accession was imminent, but because the Queen had not named a successor, those close to the princess anticipated that she might have to fight for her throne. Cecil and Parry therefore contacted Sir Thomas Markham, commander of the garrison at Berwick against the Scots, who diligently canvassed the northern magnates for their support, securing a potential force of 10,000 men 'to serve for the maintenance of her royal state, tide and dignity'. Already, a number of supporters, among them substantial gentry like John Thynne of Wiltshire, were making contact with the princess. A letter from Elizabeth to an unnamed adherent, dated 28 October 1558 at Brocket Hall in Hertfordshire, survives, thanking the recipient for his readiness to provide soldiers and 'to do unto us all the pleasure you can'. The letter ends with an assurance that she will not forget such kindness 'whensoever time and power may serve'.
The Council were praying daily for the Queen's recovery, but because her condition was so grave, Parliament was recalled on 5 November. Mary had just rewarded one of her physicians, Dr Cesar, with £100 for using his skills to bring her back from the brink of death, and was quite capable of discussing Parliament's agenda with her councillors on the 4th, although she was 'both sick and very weak' and could not talk for long. It was obvious to all that she was dying, and on 6 November the councillors all trooped into her bedchamber 'with a view to persuading her to make certain declarations in favour of the Lady Elizabeth concerning the succession'. Sick and worn down by arguments, the dying Queen at last gave in, asking only that Elizabeth
'would maintain the old religion and pay her debts'. Two days later, the Master of the Rolls and John Boxall, Controller of the Royal Household, were dispatched on the Queen's orders to Hatfield to convey the news to Elizabeth, and Jane Dormer was also sent, to ensure that Elizabeth swore to uphold the ancient faith, take care of her sister's servants, and see that the provisions in her will were faithfully carried out. Mary, meanwhile, had lapsed into a stupor from which she would now only occasionally awaken.
The King, who was keeping a close eye on events in England, had received the sad news, not only of the death of his father, but also that of his aunt, Mary of Hungary. In his grief, he wrote to his sister Juana:
You may imagine what a state I am in. It seems to me that everything is being taken from me at once. The Queen my wife has been ill, and although she has recovered somewhat, her infirmities are such that grave fears must be entertained on her score.
He had felt it right to retire to a monastery to observe a period of mourning, and could not go to visit Mary until a memorial service for his father had taken place. Instead, he was sending with Feria, who was just about to depart, his own physician, a Portuguese called Lodovicus Nonnius, to attend her. It is likely that news of the Emperor's death was withheld from Mary in case the shock of it hastened her end.
On 9 November, Feria arrived in London to find that the Queen was too ill to receive him. The ambassador therefore decided that he could most usefully deploy his time by supporting the Lady Elizabeth's claim to the succession. But when he informed the Council that he had come to serve her 'on all occasions and employ every effort to enable her to ascend the throne', he was astonished to find himself received 'like a man accredited with bulls from a dead pope'. It was then explained to him that the Queen had already acknowledged Elizabeth as her heir, and he was invited, as the King's representative, to preside over the Council meeting convened that day to confirm the princess's right to the succession.
Feria suspected that Mary could not live long, and perceiving that his presence at St James's Palace was not needed for the moment, rode off to Hatfield, where the princess was in residence. There, he found her already assembling a court, in which 'young folk, heretics and traitors' seemed to be predominant. This, Feria felt, did not augur well for the future of Catholicism in England.
Nevertheless, although Elizabeth - who now had 'a certain air of authority about her' - did not receive him 'as joyfully as she did last time', they shared a pleasant dinner, during which 'we laughed and enjoyed ourselves a great deal'. Afterwards, the ambassador and the princess had a serious private talk, in which she expressed her appreciation of all that King Philip had done for her and showed herself eager to be his friend in the future. She declared that, while the French held Calais, they should never have her friendship. This was just what Philip had wanted to hear, but Feria was uneasy, thinking he detected a note of insincerity in Elizabeth's voice. He also found her too independent, and lacking in the modesty considered becoming in a woman. When he suggested that it was Philip whom she had to thank for making Mary acknowledge her as heir to the throne, Elizabeth shook her head, saying 'she owed her crown not to Philip but the attachment of the people of England, to whom she seemed much devoted'. Providence, she concluded, had brought her where she was.
Feria asked her about marriage, to which she replied with a smile that she knew the King wanted her to marry the Duke of Savoy, but had seen how her sister had lost the affection of her people as a result of her marrying a foreigner, and she did not wish to make the same mistake. She might, she said laughing, marry Arundel. Then she became serious, making it clear that she was 'highly indignant about what has been done to her during the Queen's lifetime'. It was small wonder, thought the Count, that some members of the Council were anxious about the future. Already it was clear that Elizabeth had her own ideas as to who should serve her; she had, Feria reported, already appointed William Cecil her secretary, and other courtiers, hopeful of preferment, were already arriving at Hatfield to declare their loyalty. Similarly, the princess was receiving a growing pile of letters from supporters. 'There is not a traitor or heretic in the country who has not risen to welcome her accession,' he wrote sourly.
On 14 November, the Count reported his visit to Philip, concluding, 'She is a very vain, clever woman, who has been thoroughly schooled in the manner in which her father conducted his affairs.'
On 10 November, five heretics went to the stake at Canterbury, the last to suffer under the Marian persecution. On that day, Feria returned to court, where he was informed that the Queen had recovered consciousness and would see him. Her physicians, who could do nothing more for her, had been dismissed, and she was attended only by her ladies. Feria delivered a loving message from Philip, but Mary was too weak to read the letters her husband had sent her.
She did, however, call Dormer to her, and apologised to the young couple for having delayed their marriage. She knew now that she would not live to see it, and gave them her blessing. She also, with 'much sighing', gave Feria a ring to take to Philip as a sign of her undying love. Her ladies told Feria afterwards that their mistress was dying of'thought and sorrow' rather than of any bodily illness.
On 12 November, it was reported in Brussels that the Queen was on the point of death, but on the next day she was able to sign a warrant for the burning of two London heretics; it was never issued, though, and the fortunate wretches were spared the flames. The persecution was, in effect, over.
After 14 November, Mary declined rapidly, drifting in and out of consciousness. Jane Dormer remembered one occasion when, waking to see her ladies weeping, the Queen 'comforted those that grieved', saying 'what good dreams she had, seeing many little children, like angels, play before her, singing pleasing notes, giving her more than earthly comfort'.
Mass was celebrated daily in her bedchamber, and she derived her greatest comfort from it during these final days of her life. A mile or so away, at Lambeth Palace, Cardinal Pole was also dying, and he and Mary consoled each other with loving messages.
Even so, the Queen spent many of her waking hours in tears, impervious to the attempts of her ladies to comfort her. Some visiting councillors asked the Queen why she was so sad, thinking 'that she took some thought for the King's Majesty, her husband, which was gone from her'.
'Indeed, that may be one cause,' she answered, 'but that is not the greatest wound that pierceth mine oppressed mind.' Despite their entreaties, she would not tell them what so grieved her, but later, when just Clarencieux and an attendant called Mrs Rise were with her, she returned to the subject.
'Is it for King Philip's departing from you?' asked Mrs Fuse.
'Not only that,' said the Queen, sighing, 'but when I am dead, you will find Calais lying in my heart.' Years later, Mrs Rise reported the Queen's words to the chronicler Raphael Holinshed, who recorded them for posterity.
One of the Queen's last conscious acts was to send a message to Elizabeth, exhorting her to preserve the Roman Catholic faith. Pole sent a similar message, and his secretary expressed himself satisfied with Elizabeth's answer. The princess had secretly arranged with Sir Nicholas Throckmorton that he would inform her immediately of the Queen's death, bringing with him as proof Mary's betrothal ring that never left her finger. Cecil, meanwhile, was drafting proclamations announcing Elizabeth's accession. By now, the road from London to Hatfield was busy with courtiers hastening to transfer their allegiance to their future queen. Although she was gratified, the princess was also shocked at the alacrity with which they had deserted their lawful sovereign, and when, forty-five years later, her own turn came to die, she took care not to name her successor until the last possible moment. On 16 November, the Lord Chancellor and privy councillors presented themselves in the Queen's bedchamber to read out her will, as was customary. But Mary did not hear them, being too far lapsed into unconsciousness.
Before dawn on the following morning, the Queen woke and, realising that her end was near, summoned her ladies.
'Always remain steadfast to the true faith,' she told them. She then asked that her priests celebrate mass, and, according to Dormer, made the responses clearly, 'with so good attention and devotion', praying 'that the weakness of my flesh be not overcome by the fear of death. Grant me, merciful Father, that when death has shut up the eyes of my body, yet that the eyes of my soul may still behold and look upon Thee.' At the moment when the Host was elevated, she shuddered with emotion and bent her head forward.
When her ladies looked at her again, they thought she had fallen asleep, but Jane Dormer alone realised that the Queen had 'made her passage'. The last thing she had seen had been the image of'her Saviour and Redeemer, no doubt to behold Him presently hereafter in His glorious body, in Heaven'.